Voltaic Will
just barely missing being called a drabble!
Also on AO3 here.
an OC of mine that I've barely spoken about here yet, Binx is left to wander the city as his father works. Following his feet into a situation he couldn't have imagined.
Written in first person!
Word Count: 1009
Characters: Binx (OC), Volkner, Flint
Info: Binx is a fan-kid for Volkner! In my main setting I write Volkner being in his mid-late 40's when platinum happens. My timeline charts are too detailed. If I continue these you'll get the chance to meet his brother as well. This takes place well before Platinum.
It was all on a whim really.
Waiting for dad to get out of work so he could come home with the next insane thing he came up with to build from the ever growing piles of scrap in the workshop. Eating instant food out of the same beige scratched up bowls he bought when I was 5. Was still sick back then, fell asleep to the cranking of a wrench or clicking of the welder.
Same yesterday as the day before, waiting and wandering around town aimlessly with my Shinx at my heels. Carrying the big idiot every time he tried to pick a fight with the local streetlife. Buying snacks with pocket money won from the kids around town. Always thought they would get better, maybe even beat me someday. They never did.
My feet took me out of town, the sun beating down on my back to leave another sunburn the old man would get on me about. I never could remember the sunscreen no matter how often it happened. Said I'd get skin cancer or something someday from it, the worst I got so far was a mess of freckles.
The whim though, that's where my mind wandered two hours out from town. The Idea that drove me out of town. That lake that everyone told me was special. Some kind of guardian that gave us the will to keep going. Keeps us moving forward.
It sounded nice, and I couldn't remember why I was doing much of anything anymore. Something that sat in my bones and filled my head with dreams left me behind. Kept moving forward, forget that it had a job to do. Maybe whatever was in that lake had it. Gave it to someone better, more deserving of it.
The lake wasn't too far then. I could see the forest surrounding it leaking between the corners of the hills. Desperate to spread beyond its limits despite being chopped back over and over again. Could the trees feel that itch? That haze of static over your skin as you got closer to the water? By the time I broke the treeline and saw the lake I was sprinting. Air heavy in my lungs as I fell to my knees.
My reflection stared back at me, foggy sunglasses surrounded by a ruddy face smattered with freckles. Hair sticking to the sweat on my forehead as it ran in rivers to my chin. Shirt damp and limply clinging to my skin as I dropped my jacket on the grass.
The sky was red, sunset looming heavy over the water full of threats of dark woods and stern words from dad. He should be home soon. Work always let him out just before dusk, long enough light left to stop at the corner store and drag home something sweet for me. Always looked forward to doughnut days. Rare treats they were though, dad said they were expensive.
My attention snapped back to the lake again, a fine mist crawling over the water and rising like a tide over the rocky island sitting center stage in the waves.
That fizzle ran over my skin again, humming under the surface like jet fuel waiting for its spark.
I rose to my feet.
My hand met the water before I realized I was running.
The ground giving way under my feet, the surface tension not being able to hold the weight of a 12 year old boy with fire in his blood.
The water was cool. Cold even. Whatever spark it was kept that realization heavy in the back of my head as I swam to that island. I'd never swam so far in my life. Even living on the coast dad and I only made it to the ocean when his friend visited with his little brother.
I hadn't seen them in a while. I hoped Buck was doing ok.
The stone under my hands was sharp as I climbed to the peak of that island. It jutted out of the water in defiance. The entrance to its cave was hidden in the stone and shaped in such a way that water couldn't get into that gaping hole.
I don't remember much after that.
I remember the blood on my hands from the stone. The heavy weight in my legs as they struggled against me, screaming for salvation. Desperate for rest. I remember something in the cave entrance. Its eyes wide, twin tails wrapping around each other like listless DNA. White skin and a blue head, red eyes burning as cotton filled my ears.
I woke up in an alleyway.
Night firmly set into the sky, Clothes sopping wet and chilling me to my bones. I was shivering in Sunyshore. Still had my pokeballs. Still had my jacket. I couldn’t remember grabbing them.
I could hear dad yelling for me, that edge of fear in his voice I rarely heard. A desperation. My legs screamed as I stood, begging me to sit down again. I trudged to the sound of his voice.
To this day I'm not sure if the look on his face was anger, relief or joy. He just grabbed me. Held me so tight it made my ribs ache for days.
Flint stayed with us for a few weeks after that. Kept me with him all the time. I think they thought that I’d dissolve or something.
Looked at me weird when I told him about the island in the lake. Told me the fences keep people out. That there was no way to get to it without permission and a guide. The guards patrol all day, he said.
I asked him why. He handed me a drink and shook his head. Never answered.
Whatever that thing was, it had what I was missing. My dad called it my spark.
One day I'll find it again. Thank it. Even if chill water on my hand makes my bones ache, the fog rolling over the shore driving fear into my skull like an ice pick.
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only the black rose (chapter 8)
pairing: jimmy page x layla porter (oc)
warnings: big nsfw warning, drinking, jimmy being himself, fluff
words: 3.6k
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: so. layla’s a freak in the... well... not necessarily the sheets, i guess? more stressy hands because they're my weakness, and just... please savour the last bit of happiness you get here. that is all. (two more chappies to go!!!) hope you enjoy :) feedback as always is so very welcome!
masterlist
playlist
chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7
———
As she’s checking over the stage, ensuring the lights and speakers are set to do their job, Layla’s thoughts roam. After the chaos at the hotel pool, while everyone was asleep, Layla had been anything but. Her tossing and turning had disturbed Jimmy, who had pulled her further into his arms with a tired grunt. She lay there for another hour, her conversation with Jonesy running through her mind over and over. It was obvious she’d have to go back to her own time, and she missed her friends. She missed her mom. She missed everything.
Layla couldn't help, though, but think that maybe she didn’t want to leave.
She had made friends that meant the world to her, and… she’d found Jimmy. The guitarist had changed her life, and had shown her what it meant to love. She’s falling for him, and it’s not long before she hits the ground. It’ll be worth it, she thinks, for someone like him. Jimmy Page is a rare gem, precious, and she knows that she would spend her life trying to find her way back to him.
A throat clears from behind her, and, looking over her shoulder, Layla spots Peter Grant standing a few feet away. Soft smile resting upon his lips, he steps closer, placing a large hand on Layla’s shoulder.
“Layla, I trust everything’s going well?”
“Yep! Lights and sound are looking good, and the stage is set up. Anything else you need me to do?”
“No, this is perfect, dear,” Peter shakes his head, smile morphing into a smirk as he continues. “Though, you’ve been requested elsewhere. Follow me, Layla.” Leading her through the venue, Peter stops in front of a closed door, a laminated sign next to it reading, “Dressing Room: Led Zeppelin”. Turning to Layla, he holds out an arm, beckoning her to take it.
“Shall we?”
“We shall, Peter.”
Arm in arm, they walk into the room. Robert, lying elegantly across the comfortable couch pressed against the wall, has his eyes closed. He hasn’t thrown up yet, but his voice is hoarse, and he has a terrible cough. Knowing these boys as well as she does, Layla suspects that nothing will bring them down. The show must go on, after all. Bonzo is next to him, Robert’s feet in his lap. The drummer speaks quietly to the sick man, who answers in the voice of a 20-year smoker. Jonesy speaks in hushed tones to Jimmy, eyebrows pinched in worry. Jimmy, Layla realizes, has his finger in a bowl of what looks to be ice water, if the cubes of ice scattered across the table are anything to go by. From the doorway, Layla can’t hear what’s being said, but by the downwards tilt of Jonesy’s lips, she can assume Jimmy’s stubbornness is on full display again. Her entrance with Peter hadn’t been noticed, until Robert’s eyes open to slits and he sits up, a smile breaking out on his face.
“Peter! Ah, look, if it isn’t my favourite little dove…”
“Hey, Robert. How are you feeling?”
“Better, better,” Robert smiles, and stands up to pull Layla into a hug, hands splayed across her back. “All thanks to you, Layla. Seriously, thank you for taking care of me.”
Layla grins in response, waving at Bonzo as she passes. He lifts up a hand, as if to splash the woman, and her face lights up, a giggle flying out past her lips. Layla walks over to Jonesy, and he gives her an uncertain look, beckoning her closer. Leaning close, he whispers into the woman’s ear, a worried glance at the guitarist beside him following.
“He was in a lot of pain, even with the meds, so he, uh… found a bottle of Jack’s and… Layla, he won’t listen.”
As if on cue, Jimmy takes a pull from the large bottle of whiskey that rested next to him on the table. Layla hadn’t noticed it, walking in, but it stuck out like a sore thumb now.
“Hey, petal,” Jimmy slurs slightly, bottle in hand as he sends the woman a lazy smile. Injured finger in plain view now, Layla can see how the nail is completely black, the skin around it still dyed purple from the force applied to it. Layla shakes her head, eyes downcast, as she walks closer to Jimmy. She grasps the bottle of alcohol in his hand, replacing it with her own, a warm palm meeting his.
“Jimmy… you can’t just…” Layla drifts off, not wanting to argue with him this close to showtime. They can always talk about this later, after all. Jimmy, noticing her internal battle even through his alcohol-fueled haze, pulls her into his lap. Jonesy, confident that Jimmy is in good hands, nods at Layla before giving the couple a moment to themselves. Jimmy brings a finger to the apple of Layla’s cheek, stroking it almost hesitantly, as though she would break under a stronger touch. Layla’s eyes, once meeting his, drift to his plump, pink lips. They shine in the artificial light, as he swipes his tongue across to wet them.
“Layla,” Jimmy starts, snapping her out of her trance. Her eyes meet his, and he smirks at her dilated pupils. She knew he had caught her staring, she wasn’t exactly subtle about it. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Shoot.”
“What is the meaning of life? Please, answer seriously. This is important.”
“Jimmy, I didn’t peg you as someone who indulges in drunk philosophical discussions.”
Jimmy huffs a sigh, and leans in closer, pressing a quick kiss against her lips. Pulling back, he looks at their joined hands, before meeting her eye once more.
“Humour me.”
“Well—”
Before she could answer, Peter floats back into the room, telling the boys to follow him backstage. It’s showtime, and Layla doesn’t want her guitarist to leave yet. Jimmy looks at her expectantly, green eyes searching her face as though the answer to his question was written in the curve of her lips.
“It’s okay, Jimmy,” she says, squeezing the hand in hers, passing courage from one to the other. “We can continue this after the show.”
Jimmy nods, and releases her hand slowly, not wanting to break the contact. Layla hops out of his lap, and helps him stand. Her lips meet his in a soft kiss, as she presses their foreheads together. Their eyelashes flutter against each other, and the scent of citrus, tobacco and pine was ever-present, invading all of Layla’s senses. Jimmy pulls away first, and walks to the door, glancing back at her over his shoulder. She smiles at him, adrift in the empty dressing room, and he smiles back, walking out the door.
“Good luck, angel.” Layla whispers, voice swallowed up by the silence of the deserted dressing room.
Making her way to the familiar lip of the backstage area, Layla’s hands wring together, her lips bitten red. Robert hadn’t sounded well at all earlier, and Jimmy… It seemed like he was deteriorating right before her eyes. The mixture of codeine and Jack Daniels killed the pain, sure, but he was no longer the sharp, pragmatic man she was falling for. He was too caught up in the burn of the drink down his throat, a way to forget the agony rushing through his hand like a current. Bringing her attention back to the stage, she spots the boys, who share a loaded glance. Robert takes a deep breath, and launches right in. ‘Rock and Roll’ passes without a hitch, save for some voice cracks. If anything though, they add to the authentic performance, the crowd electric as usual. ‘Sick Again’ stuns, followed by ‘Over the Hills and Far Away’, and all is well, until ‘How Many More Times’ rolls around.
It was small. Insignificant, really. If Layla hadn’t been searching Jimmy’s face, entranced by the way his brow furrowed as he got lost in the music, she wouldn't have noticed. Breaking apart from the rest of the band to complete a complicated lick, Jimmy’s fingers trip up on the fretboard. To the audience, the only consequence is a slight dead note in the midst of heavenly riffs. Gazing over at Jimmy, however, Layla could see the discomfort in the downwards tilt of his lips, and the pain stiffening his shoulders. She could see the anger flaming in his dark eyes. Jimmy recovers well, delivering attack after attack, though his solos, from that point on, tended to go a little off-track. Whether from nerves or self-doubt, Layla didn't know. But she knows him. She knows the guitarist will let it cloud the entire night. She knows he’s gonna pick the show apart, minute after exhilarating minute, looking for the smallest flaw. Layla knows that she’ll be there for him through it all.
No matter what.
----------
With a hoarse thank you and a flourish directed at the audience, Robert finally leads the band off-stage to voltaic cheers. Robert, ecstatic as ever during the concert, seems to deflate the second he gets off. With a nod and a soft smile at Layla, he disappears into the depths of the backstage area. Jonesy and Bonzo pass by with tight-lipped smiles, clapping her on the shoulder as they follow Robert. Jimmy is the last to appear, and the reason for the rhythm section’s warning glances becomes apparent immediately.
Jimmy scowls as he approaches, eyes glassy, as though she were looking into a clear stream. Layla can see herself reflected in them; can see the worry reflected in her own gaze. Slipping a hand around his bicep, she steers Jimmy into a corner. He refuses to look at her, even as her hand tilts his face upwards softly.
“Jimmy, love, that was—”
“Shit.”
“No, not at all,” Layla steps closer, a hand finding the familiar spot on his cheek. “It was a great show. You saw the audience, Jim. They loved you guys!”
“It was shit, and everyone knows it. If I could just—”
“Jimmy, come on…”
“—be good enough, this would have gone differently.”
Layla’s breath catches, eyes as wide as saucers as she steps closer to the guitarist, who turns away. His gaze at the floor never wavers as he paces, muttering to himself.
“Jimmy, look at me,” Layla stops him in his tracks with a hand at his back. His shoulders heave with deep breaths as he tries to calm himself down. “You played a good gig. It doesn’t matter if you missed a note or two. You came to play a great show, and you did.”
“But it isn't enough. These people came here for an extraordinary show and we couldn't deliver. I couldn't deliver, and—”
“Hey—”
“—if my finger wasn’t broken, we would have been as good as we’ve always been. This is my fault.”
“Jimmy, this isn’t on you. You did nothing wrong.”
Jimmy’s hands fly up to land in his hair, as he pulls at it almost unconsciously. Layla grips his cheek lightly, as the other hand comes to rest at a thin wrist, pulling it away from the dark locks it had latched onto. Jimmy averts his eyes from the woman’s earnest gaze and turns his back once more, treading a hole in the wooden floor of the backstage area. Layla’s palm rubs soft circles into the fabric of his cardigan, patches of whispering dandelions catching on her fingers. From her place behind him, she can see the way he’s beating a fist into the palm of his injured hand repeatedly, perhaps a way to atone for a mistake that hasn’t been committed.
“I fucked up this tour. It’s my fault. I can’t do everything I know I can do, and that’s on me. I just…”
“Jimmy…”
“I can’t do this anymore!”
Layla shrinks back slightly at the exclamation form the man, who is shaking like a leaf. His head drops, long hair hiding his face once again. Recovering quickly, she spins him around carefully to face her. Hands cupping his cheeks, she presses her lips to his. His eyes flutter closed and he immediately reciprocates, a hand pressed to Layla's hips; his new favourite spot for them. Jimmy lets out a whine of pleasure, and Layla pulls away, looking into his tired eyes.
“Jimmy, listen to me. You did play well. I am so, so proud of you. Okay?”
“...Okay. I’ll… work on trying to believe you.”
“That’s all I can ask for.”
If Layla sees the sparkle and shine of tears on the man’s cheeks, she doesn't mention it as she grabs his hand, leading him to an empty room, locking the door immediately.
Finally away from prying eyes, Layla unfurls the guitarist’s hands from their clenched position, bringing the injured one up near her mouth. Gazing up at him, eyes shining in the dim light of the room, she presses a chaste kiss to each finger, slowing as she reaches the one painted shades of purple and black and blue. Jimmy nods, exhale shaky, and she presses the softest of kisses to the tip, hoping to cause pleasure rather than pain.
Jimmy’s hands slide lower from their place on her hips to cup her bum lightly, in case she was uncomfortable and wanted to slip out of his grasp. Her lips find his again as he pushes her against the large table in the middle of the room. Layla lets out a whimper, swallowed by the mouth against hers, as Jimmy’s tongue laps at her bottom lip, asking for entrance. He’s always been soft with her, but this new side of the dark-haired guitarist excited her. The kiss was over as soon as it began, Jimmy pulling away to stare at her, close enough still that their noses touched.
“Petal, I… We were gonna take it slow, and we will, but if you're ready…”
“I’m ready.”
Jimmy smiles, crashing his lips against her quickly, passionately. Pulling back once more, Jimmy smirks as Layla chases the high the feel of his lips gave her. Pressing into his space again, she frowns, which makes Jimmy chuckle. Layla’s hand reaches up, twisting in his hair.
“Angel,” Layla starts, a light tug on a mussed ebony ringlet following the nickname. His mossy eyes were dark with desire, and he placed his lips on her neck, kissing a trail down her jaw, stopping at her collarbone. Slipping the sweat-soaked cardigan off his shoulders, she traces a line down his cheek, eyes glued to his blush-red lips. “Can you lie down on the table for me? Please do try not to break any other body parts.”
“Haven’t I told you I’m afraid of heights?” Jimmy laughs, and with a small smile thrown over his shoulder, he hops up onto the table.
“You overlooked that, love,” Layla says, unbuttoning her blouse ever-so-slowly, surely teasing the guitarist, who leans back on his elbows. His eyes follow her every move as she takes off the rest of her clothing. “Now, I feel like you might have too many clothes on, Jim. We need to be even, after all.”
Slipping his pants and underwear off in record time, he reclines back, already hard. Fully exposed now, Layla climbs up onto the table as well, straddling the man’s lap, before sinking herself onto him. A calloused hand lands on her hips, helping her find the perfect position, until a soft groan rang through the near-empty room. Jimmy’s hands move up to her breasts, toying with the woman’s nipples, much to her delight. Layla grabs onto his chest for support, craning her head back in pure euphoria at the sensation, the hollow of her neck exposed as Jimmy raises up to nip at it. Grinding her hips to the rhythm of the man’s soft groans, she trails hickies up his chest and neck.
“Something to remember me by.” she says, looking at him with dark eyes, a haze of lust filling them. Hand gripping Layla’s ass tightly, he brings her ever-closer, a mumbled “fuck” leaving the woman’s kiss-bitten lips. The guitarist’s face is creased with absolute exhilaration, as he rocks back and forth to the movement of Layla’s body on his. The couple didn’t know where one ended and the other began. Ecstasy fills the room, and whispers of praise flow like music from lips bruised and bitten.
“You did so well today, angel. You’re incredible.”
Jimmy raises up once more to capture her lips in a bruising kiss, a hand raking through the woman’s hair roughly, landing on her throat. Jimmy squeezes it lightly, warningly, and presses his lips to Layla’s once more, swallowing the shriek of pleasure she gasps out.
“You liked that, petal?” Jimmy’s hoarse voice reaches Layla’s ears almost belatedly, too caught up in the pleasure of his hands on her, though she nods as if her life depended on it. Panting hard now, Layla quickens her pace, noises of pleasure growing louder. With the friction of his hand on her, roaming everywhere it could reach, Layla felt divine; heavenly in this embrace. Leaning down for a heavy, passionate kiss, Jimmy’s hand finds her hair again, and he tugs on it hard. The pain elicits a moan from Layla, as she reaches her peak.
With a stuttered breath, Jimmy releases as well, gasps leaving his lips as he looks at Layla reverently. The wetness from her core rushes over him as she lays back down beside him, spent. Back arching as she pants, her head turns to face him, faces painted with bliss.
In a post-coitus haze, Jimmy has his arms wrapped securely around Layla’s shoulders, as her head rests on his chest. Layla giggles tiredly, as her breaths ruffle the dark hair on Jimmy’s chest. Looking up at him, she’s pleased to see him looking right back at her.
“That certainly cheered you up, didn’t it?”
“You’re the best at cheering me up after all. This, of course, was just a bonus.” Jimmy noses at her messy hair, smelling a combination of fresh linen, sweat and her shampoo; hints of strawberry and mango tickling his nose.
“We should get up, the boys are probably looking for us,” Layla says, dragging light fingers across his stomach, watching goosebumps appear on the pale skin. Whether it’s from the sensation or the chill of the table, Layla didn't know, but she’s comfortable in his embrace, in danger of drifting off.
“What if we just… stayed here forever. They can find another guitarist.”
“You’re pretty irreplaceable, Page,” Layla whispers, reaching up to press her lips to his jaw. “I mean, who would the boys chaperone if you were gone?”
“Chaperone? I’m not that bad. I can take care of myself just fine.”
“Right, so Robert was lying about the time you refused to sleep for 5 days out of pure adrenaline? New York, 1973, I believe it was?”
“...”
“That’s what I thought. We need to have a serious talk about your habits, Jimmy.”
With a chuckle from the guitarist, the two lapse into a comfortable silence, as Jimmy presses a kiss to the top of Layla’s head, nuzzling it with his cheek.
“Hey,” Layla shifts to look up at him, eyes filled with adoration. She felt as though she were looking at a star. Beautiful and shining, but out of reach, as much as she wished for the opposite. She knew this couldn’t last, though she’d savour every last minute of it that she could. “I need to… tell you something.”
“What’s wrong, Layla?”
“Nothing’s wrong, really. It’s… kind of the opposite, actually.”
Jimmy tilts his head in confusion, turning on his side to face her. He looked like a puppy, hair wild about his head, and Layla couldn’t help but giggle at the sight.
“S-So,” Layla shifts, nervous all of a sudden. Jimmy grips her hand in his, and nods when their eyes finally meet. “Do you remember what you asked me earlier? About the… meaning of life. You might not remember, you were a little out of it, and—”
“I remember. You’re rambling, petal. What’s going on?”
“Well, it’s… it’s love. The meaning of life is… love. Jimmy, I…um…”
“What is it? You know you can tell me anything, right?”
“I’m… I guess... What I’m trying to say is,” Layla says, taking a deep breath as she looks into the eyes that captivate her, and make her smile, and set her on fire. “I’m falling in love with you, and I just… Yeah.”
Jimmy grins brightly, surging forward to capture her lips in a kiss bursting with joy. He laughs into it, as their noses brush together, his finger tracing nonsensical designs across her side.
“Very eloquently put, Porter.”
“Oh my God, I just confessed that I’m falling for you, and you focus on—”
“I’m falling in love with you too. I thought that may have been obvious, considering the state of this poor table.”
“W-Well,” Layla stutters, blushing crimson as Jimmy’s plush lips tilt up in a picture-perfect smirk. “Put your clothes on, Page. The boys are probably waiting for us.”
Jimmy laughs, but redresses in his stage clothes, turning to stare at Layla as she slips her jeans back on. Buttoning up her shirt and flattening her hair, which frizzed up like a halo around her flushed face, she gazes over at Jimmy. Crowding into his space, she put a hand to the back of his neck, up on her tiptoes to peck at his lips once more. He slips a hand to her cheek, and deepens the kiss. Pulling away to glimpse the golden smile that rests on Layla’s lips, he feels like his heart is going to beat right out of his chest. Arm in arm, they walk out of the room, twin smiles nearly splitting their faces. Jimmy glances over at Layla, and can’t believe just how lucky he is.
Screw falling in love, he thinks.
This is love, and he knows it for sure, now.
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taglist: @jimmys-zeppelin @salixfragilis @timetraveller4 @earthfire-75 @thatiloveyouso (let me know if you want to be added!)
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