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blindingdutchy · 4 years ago

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lamentation | SIX

{peter parker x fem!reader AU}

based on All the Bright Places by Jennifer Niven

SERIES MASTERLIST

word count: 3,804

warnings: fluff. lots of fluff. a sprinkle of angst but just a tiny bit.

18+!!! minors stay away!

The following morning at school you relieved to see Peter standing at your locker, appearing unscathed aside from the timid and fearful look in his eye as he watched you approach him. You knew that he was probably expecting you to shut him out again, though you were full of surprises that morning when you breathed a quiet sigh and felt all the remaining anger purge from your system entirely. In reality you had been planning to give him a piece of your mind, telling him just how much of an idiot you thought that he was for his stupid idea, but seeing him sent all those thoughts flying away in an instant.

Instead, all that you could think of was how happy you were to see that he was okay. He was tense as you opened your locker, but seemed to relax slightly when you gave him a fleeting once over and nodded to yourself in approval. Peter was standing and didn't look to be in any pain, and that was all you cared about in that moment.

Apparently Peter was full of surprises too, because the second that you closed your locker he pulled you into a bone crushing hug that quite literally knocked the wind out of you. You gasped quietly, freezing in place at the sudden contact, before you slowly melted into his grip and hugged him back. He somehow managed to squeeze you tighter at the return of the embrace.

"I'm sorry," he whispered into your hair, "I'm so, so, so sorry."

A part of you wondered if Peter even knew what exactly he was apologizing for, if he really understood just why you were upset. Did he know the sorts of things that had crossed your mind last night? Could he really fathom all the crazy emotions you had been feeling?

You didn't think he did. Really, how could he, when even you were still reeling and trying to pinpoint all the different reasons you had been so upset? There were the obvious reasons--like the horrible flashbacks to that fateful day when your sister had been tragically killed--but there were also more complex, subtle reasons that you weren't ready to admit out loud.

Things like the fact that you'd never been so enraged about anything as you had been at the thought of somebody hurting Peter Parker. Not even the animosity you felt toward the Avengers could compare to the fury you had felt while listening to him fight and be attacked by those men. It puzzled you; how could that affect you so much?

You knew why, despite your unwillingness to face the truth. You knew, deep down, that you had been so upset because the thought of Peter being hurt scared you nearly as much as you had been that day. It pained you to think of it, and that was a problem.

It was a problem because being friends with Peter, when he lived the life that he did, meant constantly living in that fear. He was a superhero, constantly putting his life on the line for all the innocent people of Queens and the world alike, and that was absolutely terrifying for you. And yet, for some reason, you couldn't bring yourself to push him away like you felt you should.

He pulled away from you slowly, though he kept his hands firmly on your shoulders, and studied your face closely as he asked, "Are you okay? Are we okay?"

Hearing Peter say the word we in reference to himself and you gave you a funny feeling, but you ignored it. "Are you okay?" you parroted, instead, raising your eyebrows challengingly.

"Yes." he stated without hesitation, "I had some bruising, but it's mostly gone now. It wasn't as bad as it sounded, I swear."

You hummed quietly, leading the way to Calculus as he finally released his iron-like grip on your arms. "And was there a reason you didn't come to my window?" you questioned further, glancing back at the boy who chewed his lower lip anxiously.

Peter didn't answer until the two of you had sat in your seats, leaning close to speak in a hushed tone that no one else could hear, "I didn't want to scare you."

The sharp remark was instantly at the tip of your tongue, wanting to spit at him that he already had, repeatedly, but you held back at the sight of his big, brown, puppy eyes blinking at you shyly. He was fiddling with his fingers apprehensively, clearly waiting for some sort of remark, and it gave you pause. This was Peter, and Peter wouldn't hurt a fly intentionally.

You had to keep reminding yourself of that. Reminding yourself that he didn't mean to scare you like he had, and that he meant well even if his intentions didn't quite land right. So, you just whispered back, "It scared me when you didn't show up, and you didn't say anything."

"I--I didn't know if you wanted me to."

Catching one of his fretting hands in your own, you gave him a serious look as you replied, "I always want you to."

The teacher called the class to attention immediately after you closed your mouth, and you turned away with burning cheeks at the star-struck look on Peter's face. Perhaps that had been too bold of a statement, but it was the truth; you did always want to hear from Peter. You always wanted to know if he was okay, even if all he had to say to you was a bland text to let you know he'd survived another night of patrol.

Now, after all the things you had heard, you hoped he'd take your words seriously and let you in like you had for him. Could you go to sleep every night without knowing for sure he had made it through the night unscathed? Easily, the answer was no. You couldn't, and you really wanted him to put your mind at ease.

After gym class, which was spent with you panting whilst running sprints with Peter pretending to be just as winded, he held your bag for you beside your locker and waited patiently for you to exchange your books. You could tell that something was on his mind from the way he shifted from foot to foot nervously, and growing tired of having to chase your bag around, you asked, "What's your deal, Pete?"

He blinked at the nickname, but after a moment finally found his voice again, "Sit with me at lunch?"

"Okay?"

"No, like, sit with Ned, MJ, and I." he reiterated, and you wrinkled your nose. "Come on, I promise they'll love you! There's really nothing to be scared of, (Y/N)."

You opened your mouth to argue, to tell him that there were in fact a million reasons for you to be scared, but he pouted his lips like a child and pleaded with you silently until you caved, "Fine, fuck, just stop making that face!"

And so, you found yourself trailing through the cafeteria awkwardly in Peter's shadow. You could feel the stares on your body even though you refused to look, the stares of all your fellow students watching the resident crazy girl make her way through the cafeteria all year. You usually sat at the table right by the doors and the garbage cans, the one place you could slip in and out without making a spectacle of yourself, but Peter's usual table was all the way in the back of the large room.

There sat Ned Leeds and Michelle Jones, both of whom were watching you curiously as you looked back at them in discomfort. You'd never known them to be mean--well, Michelle could mean in her blunt manner--but that didn't ease your nerves at all. The fear you felt wasn't because you were weary of their judgment.

You were scared of letting more people into your life. More attachments meant more for you to lose, and after all that you had lost, you were rather unwilling to put yourself out there. It was a surprise enough to yourself and probably everyone else that you'd made room in your caged heart for Peter. He was perhaps the most dangerous of all to let in, yet you had.

"Hey, (Y/N), right?" Ned greeted cheerfully, doing a weird handshake with Peter as the two of you sat down across from him and MJ. You just nodded, not trusting your voice to come out should you dare to speak. "How was the Stark Internship, dude?"

Your face pinched in puzzlement, and Peter chuckled at the way you glanced at him curiously. "She knows, Ned." he muttered, nudging your knee with his own as he pulled a smashed sandwich from his bag and unwrapped it. "It was... rough. I handled it, though."

It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that the Stark Internship was a cover story for Peter's secret identity. "She knows? You told her, already?" MJ gaped, "No offense, but I had to figure that shit out for myself."

As Ned and MJ stared at Peter incredulously, the two of you shared a look as you begged him not to say anything and he scrambled to think of any sort of a cover story. "She--she helped me one night when I got hurt pretty bad. Had to take my mask off." he finally blurted, stumbling over his words, and you noticed how his eyes squeezed shut for a moment in frustration at his lame answer.

"Why didn't you call one of us?" Ned interrogated, eyes flickering between your own and Peter's as if he were trying to pick up on any dishonesty.

MJ, blunt as always, just asked, "Is that why you started following her around like a dog?"

You had to chuckle when Peter pouted, sticking his tongue out at Michelle's remark and whining, "I did not follow her around like a dog!"

"You kind of did." you mumbled quietly. All three of them stared at you in stunned silence for a few seconds, shocked by your sudden interjection, and you busied yourself with rearranging your carrot sticks.

Peter's knee bumped yours again, and you nudged his back. He shot you a little smile, pleased with you making an effort even if it was thoughtless, and you found yourself relaxing slightly under his gaze as MJ and Ned continued to joke about how much Peter had embarrassed himself following you around. "Remember when he threw all of his shit on the ground in Calculus?" Ned sputtered through laughter.

The brown-haired boy's cheeks blazed red at the story, and you found yourself laughing along with his two friends as you remembered it. At the time it had only embarrassed you, but now as you looked back on it, you couldn't help but to find it endearing. So, you nudged his knee again and bit back the grin fighting its way onto your face as you kept your eyes on your lunch.

Suddenly, he put his hand on your knee and squeezed it softly, and your entire body seemed to burst into flames. Before you could pull away, scared of the intense feeling it gave you, a voice cut above all the rest, "Penis Parker!"

His hand was gone in an instant, but you remained hot for an entirely different reason. Flash Thompson sauntered up to the table with his typical smug smirk, calling again, "Hey, Penis Parker! Finally find a girl miserable enough to settle for you?"

Peter's face turned red and pinched into a frown, but he just muttered quietly, "Go away, Flash."

"Figures you'd go for (Y/N). The whole dead family thing, right? Does she just get you?"

You tensed, turning your head slowly to glare up at Flash with a ferocity that seemed to even make him falter, though he hid it quickly behind his usual mask. "Go the fuck away, Eugene." you hissed, but he just laughed.

Seeing that he wasn't planning on going anywhere, punctuated by the way he propped his foot up on one of the seats and sneered down at you, you quickly grabbed all of your stuff and stood up. Peter, Ned, and MJ were quick to follow, and all four of you made your way out of the cafeteria as Flash shouted, "Aw, did I hurt your feelings, Penis Parker?"

"Peter?" you called after him, trailing behind as he walked at a brisk pace. Ned and MJ disappeared around a corner, heading off in a different direction, and you were trying to catch up with the boy who seemed eager to shake you off. "Pete?"

He slowed, sighing quietly, and turned to face you with still red cheeks and eyes swimming with anger. "What?" he asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

Briefly, you felt hurt at his attitude, but you brushed it off. You knew that he was just frustrated at Flash, and you were no stranger to misplaced anger. It would have been pretty hypocritical of you to be upset with him after how long he'd put up with you lashing out at him when he just wanted to be your friend.

You walked toward him hesitantly, almost reaching out to hug him, but you thought better of it in the end. You didn't want to push things too far, too fast, and one hug was more than enough for one day. Instead, you rocked back on your heels and asked, "Walk me to class?"

Peter blinked at the question, clearly expecting you to say something else, and after a moment nodded. "Yeah, yeah, let's go." He didn't relax at all as he walked beside you through the still empty halls, though his hand kept bumping yours every now and then, and for a fleeting second outside of your classroom he squeezed your hand before dropping it and walking away.

The rest of the day, Peter was stiff and aloof. He barely talked to you during Speech class, though that didn't really matter considering Ms. Lovell actually lectured that day, but you could tell he was upset. It felt a little strange to suddenly switch roles; he was now playing the part of the closed off one, and you were left trying to figure out how to get through to him.

Making people feel better wasn't exactly your strong suit anymore. Once upon a time it had been, but since your sister's death you'd seemingly lost the ability to even make yourself better. Yet, you wanted more than anything to get him back to the smiling, happy boy he'd been earlier that day.

As the two of you packed up your things after class to go home, you watched him anxiously to see if he'd finally say something, but he didn't. So, you cleared your throat and quietly asked, "Do you want to hang out?"

He paused for a moment, staring down at his bag in silence with tensed shoulders and creased brows, before finally looking up at you and giving the tiniest smile. "Come on." was all he said, zipping his bag and waiting expectantly for you to follow him out of the classroom.

You followed him out of the building, to the subway, onto the subway, and off of it again, all without a single clue as to where you were going. It wasn't until the he lead you into an apartment building that you realized he was taking you to his house, and suddenly you were extremely nervous. "Do you live here?" you asked, immediately cringing at the stupid question.

He just laughed, "Yeah. My Aunt May is home, she'll probably offer you food, but just say no. Trust me."

For a moment you wanted to ask why, but then you remembered how he'd told you when he'd first started following you around that his Aunt May was a truly atrocious cook. Except for cherry pie, it seemed, because he'd raved to you about that over the phone for what felt like hours the other day. Nodding affirmatively, you replied, "Right, just say no."

Peter's home life was far different from your own, even before the incident. His aunt was a bright, lively young woman who was very excited to meet you, and just as much of an affectionate person as you were finding Peter to be. She'd been overjoyed to meet you, letting slip that Peter had told her lots about you, but he'd cut her off before she could ramble about the things he'd said.

Part of you wondered if he'd told her how the two of you had met, but you knew better than to think Peter would do such a thing. He wasn't the type of person to spill others' secrets. How could he, when he had such a big secret of his own?

His room was everything you had expected it to be, though. A cramped little room with bunk beds adorning Star Wars sheets, LEGOs everywhere, and a plethora of computer parts littering every possible surface. He blushed a little as you took it all in, stammering when you smirked at the sheets in amusement, but overall he seemed relieved when you didn't mention the clutter.

It was very Peter Parker. Messy, slightly chaotic, and very nerdy. You sat on the bottom bunk, which you deciphered to be his by the rumpled sheets, and watched as he awkwardly tried to sort out the mess a little. "So," you started, "why don't you stand up to Flash at school?"

He sighed, giving up on his tidying and sitting beside you. "I knew you would ask that." he joked, though the humor didn't quite meet his eyes. "It's a long story."

"I have time, Pete." you spoke softly, and a little smile twitched at his lips.

He raked a hand through his messy hair, the combed style starting to curl from a long day, and you wondered what his hair looked like with nothing done to it. "Well, I guess it all goes back to when I first got... my abilities. You know, after the bite, I kinda went crazy for a bit. I was determined to prove myself, or something--I don't know. I just showed off a lot and got myself into a lot of trouble because of it."

Peter continued when you looked at him expectantly, "My Uncle Ben was going crazy too, trying to figure out what was going on with me. We got into a lot of fights before he--before he, um, died. We got into one the night he died."

"He tried to stop me from going out because he just knew I was going to do something I shouldn't, and we just got into this huge argument. It ended with me telling him he wasn't my dad and to stop pretending he was, and I ran off." He was getting choked up, stumbling over his words and gripping his knees with his hands as tears welled up in his eyes at the memories.

Hesitantly, you put your hand on top of his, and he was quick to flip his hand over and grip yours tightly as if he were afraid you'd pull away from him. As he spoke, it was starting to sink in just how much Peter truly could understand your anguish over your sister. He could understand why you blamed yourself, because he too had blamed himself, and your heart broke at the thought of Peter ever being in a position like the one you'd been in that night.

Had he ever tried to do what you had planned to do? Your own eyes burned at the thought, and you squeezed his hand back just as tightly. "He came looking for me, and happened to interrupt a robbery. Uncle Ben, he--he was a really good guy. He couldn't just let the guy get away. So, he uh, he tried to stop him... and the guy stabbed him."

"I'd seen the robbery before that, but I'd been so angry I just kept walking. I could have stopped it before Uncle Ben ever showed up, but I didn't, and he got stabbed because of it." Peter coughed to stop himself from really crying, "The last thing he said to me was that with great power comes great responsibility, and I just can't let him down."

You almost wished that you hadn't asked, because it hurt to see him in so much pain, but you felt good knowing that Peter really did understand you. You felt closer to him, and a little part of you felt a little less distaste for superheroes in that moment too. Did they all know such tragedy? Did they all suffer such pain, too?

Peter looked at you, blinking away tears as his voice steadied, "So, that's why I don't use Spiderman unless I have to. I didn't stand up for myself before, so I shouldn't now. I didn't play sports before, so I shouldn't now. It wouldn't be fair, and it wouldn't be right. I have this gift, and it's my responsibility to use it for good. I can deal with Flash's stupid taunting--I was so upset today because of what he said about you."

The fluttering was back, stronger than ever, and you couldn't shove it aside no matter how hard you tried. The moment was too serious--too heartfelt. It was too close.

Doing what you did best, you created a little more distance to keep your heart safe. You weren't ready to admit that maybe you liked Peter in a not-so-friendly sort of way. You weren't ready to let him into that last little bit of your heart.

So, you joked, "Well, he was right about one thing--I do get you." To your relief, he laughed, though he didn't let go of your hand. You didn't want him to, either.

"Seriously, though, you don't have to worry about me. Flash doesn't bother me, not really anyways." Peter continued, and the pair of you smiled at each other like a couple of love-struck fools for a long moment. Peter, unlike you, wasn't so keen on or capable of hiding his feelings. It was written all over his face for you to see that he liked you, and even if it made you feel good it still made you squirm with discomfort.

You were just thankful that he hadn't tried to take things further, though the subtle touches were probably his timid way of doing just that. The touches you could handle. It was what came after--the truly taking things to that next level part--that scared you. If you told him how you thought you were feeling, and he told you the same, then that just made the possibility of losing him that much worse.

SERIES TAGLIST {ask to be added}:

@msmimimerton @zendayasfwb @sweet-symphony

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sonxflight-a2 · 5 years ago

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☯ Gemstone Headcanons ║ @kathexismania ☯

Agate: What or who will your muse protect with their life?

Given the fact he’s incredibly self-sacrificing, it can be pretty much anyone (that also can explain why he chose such a spectrum of professions in Modern AU rather than follow the path of his passed father in politics). But his beloved ones and family, either by blood or found one, will obviously be in the first place. This is one of the few matters he considers himself to be selfish about, as he knows he would rather take damage/die in order to save and thus nonetheless hurt them, but be certain they’ll remain alive.

Amazonite: How do they go about comforting or calming down others? Are they good at it?

Jack/Ryou’s way of comforting/calming down is mostly non-verbal, for he considers the words can do more harm than good when it comes to such matters, yet it doesn’t mean he won’t be able to give advice/reassurance once he sees the other is in need or straight out asks for it (his modesty will always demand him to firstly listen and then talk). His acute empathy serves to be a great assistance in it + nurtured wisdom allows him to say the right things, so he can be mostly good at it both in general and when it comes to the people, close to him.

Amethyst: Do they have a good intuition? If so, do they typically heed it or not?

Definitely so, and he’ll always make sure to heed to it rather than doubt it, as his sixth sense appears to be right about the most of matters, especially when it comes to the possible dangers (about which he can be both grateful and jaded with). Still, it doesn’t mean he can’t be an unheeding dumbass at times yet is luckily prone to make the right conclusions from life’s harsh lessons, no matter the verse.

Apatite: Do they find it easy to communicate with new people, or do they avoid it as much as possible?

Despite Jack/Ryou having an undeniable introvert nature, it doesn’t exactly hard for him but certainly can be very wearisome, especially when he needs to make an effort to maintain his calmness if he feels it's tested (one of the reasons he initially couldn’t stand Hanzo’s impulsive nature in Modern AU as it totally drained him out, till they knew each other better and he grew somewhat adapted to it).

Aquamarine: How insightful are they?

His insightfulness will be related to the way he perceives his intuition + its strength will depend on how well he recognizes the situation or person (for example, when he hid the fake swords all over the desert, thus outwitting Aku while allegedly getting caught into his trap), even though he will nevertheless appear to grow more insightful as he/his mind will age.

Aventurine: Are they the opportunistic sort, or do they typically let chances slip by?

It would all depend on circumstances tbh, as one time Jack/Ryou can be resolute to take the immediate risk and at other will be prone to develop a solid plan, due to possible inability to solve the problem head-on. His both adaptive and steadfast character allows to explore either of such ways.

Blue Topaz: Are they the courageous sort? Do they find they can overcome obstacles in their way with relative ease?

Yes and no. He’s an obviously courageous, at times straight out bold type when it comes to the obstacles (both in actions and words; his pokerfaced ‘I fear no man’ he threw at Scotsman once he claimed him to be a coward + ‘Come get me’ catchphrase is more than enough to be a proof), but is more than aware his path is far from an effortless (he’s just not that kind of the man who’ll look for easy ways, which is both his blessing and the curse tbh).

Cat’s Eye: What sorts of things soothe them when they’re worked up?

Besides the quiet peaceful environment and tea? Anything he can get his hands to be busy with, without him being actually mindful about what he does due to having sufficient skill and motoric memory (for example, he tends to weave to soothe his mind / at times play electric koto in Modern AU once stressed) + quality time with his beloved one if he appears to have such (either sexual or not) as their presence is already enough to somehow soothe him.

Chalcedony: How do they consider their allies in regards to themself? Do they reach out to them, or do they typically keep to themself?

Most definitely keep to themself, not because of his pride but due to his protectiveness and unwillingness to burden/bother them with his own problems/distress (make them feel his pain if you’ll add his empathy here). Although, Jack/Ryou won’t deny the help once persuaded enough / knows the situation and believes it won’t go out from the control once he’ll accept it.

Citrine: How open are they to new ideas or cultures?

He’s very traditional while being rather open-minded as he treasures his culture and nonetheless respects the other ones he was lucky to be introduced to during the years of his training / his family’s journeys across the world in Modern AU when he was young. Moreover, his curiosity towards them allowed him to gain a sufficient amount of knowledge not only in foreign languages (which he canonically knows over 5, including Greek, Russian, Mongolian and English) but about different traditions and customs in general (which played a significant role during his time as PSIA agent in Modern AU).

Diamond: Do they find themselves getting sick often or do they have a relatively strong immune system?

Absolutely has a strong immune system, while having a rather hard time once he will get sick. He’s either a feverish mess (which is very seldom but still present, especially in verses where his partial divinity is able to act up) or as healthy as a bull, there’s no in-between.

Diopside: Are they a creative person in any way? How so?

He’s musically-inclined regardless of the verse, both in vocal aspect (which demands me to provide an example of how I imagine his full singing voice to possibly sound like) and in relation to the musical instruments (koto & bamboo flute for main verse / electric koto & piano for Modern AU). He’s not a very good artist, however - most of his drawing skills are related to draftsmanship and calligraphy since the prior purpose of his training was to get a decent warrior, able to repel the demon and get back his homeland by oneself.

Emerald: Do they suffer from any sort of mental illness?

Obviously PTSD in relation to 5th season, Post-Aku, Modern and Akira verses + there are definitely some signs of masked depression in Modern AU.

Fluorite: Are they able to concentrate easily no matter where they are or do they need a quiet space with little distracts?

He’s very quick-witted and able to think on his feet, but still needs to get a better focus in some situations, thus enough quietness and detachment. His need for undistracted concentration will mostly relate to the circumstances when he needs to approach and overcome the obstacle/problem that seems to be completely new for him to solve (for example, when he sought the way to reach enchanted well, without being pierced by arrows of guarding it blind archers).

Garnet: What are they most passionate about and who are they most devoted to?

His goal/work/purpose and the ones he’s close with (family, friends, beloved ones, etc.). He’s very dedicated and loyal to either no matter the verse, and, even though his choice between them may appear to be obscure at first, he still tends to favor people over the ambition (there are so many times he sacrificed the chance to go back in time in order to help someone else, g d i b o i).

Iolite: Are they financially responsible or do they tend to blow their money as soon as they have it?

Despite his family being the high-class individuals, Jack/Ryou isn’t attached to wealth yet not exactly a wasteful type either - that one kind of people who tend to live a rather modest yet at the same time quite an elegant life once circumstances allow it, even though he can manifest some of ‘rich people quirks’ in Modern AU (an example is him having his own special sort of jasmine tea which is cannot be obtained in ordinary supermarkets).

Jade: What are their opinions on luck? Do they believe in it?

He most likely believes it to be one whimsical force and relies on his strengths rather than the fortune intervention, even tho there were definitely the moments he considers to be nothing but its pure manifestation.

Jasper: What do they typically do to relax?

Same that he does in order to soothe oneself + meditation and cooking also seems to relax him once he has a necessary amount of time for either.

Kyanite: What is their temper like?

I often compare him to the ocean, as Jack/Ryou appears to be very patient and not so easy to irate, yet his temper can be incredibly devastating once he’s not able to contain a tsunami which is his repressed emotions, specifically his anger. In general, he’s an epitome of Bruce Lee’s quote about the nature of water ’...Now, water can flow or it can crash’, with addition it can also terribly burn you once boiled (aka he can endure a lot of bs, yet still has his limits and is wise to be mindful).

Lapis Lazuli: How aware are they of others and of their surroundings?

His awareness of the environment is mainly high, both in relation to his empathy and nonetheless acute senses. Jack/Ryou is exactly that kind of person who appears to be very seclusive and quiet, yet sees and hears everything and thus isn’t prone to be caught off-guard (while he also might be paradoxically oblivious when it comes to the other’s evident romantic interest in him lol).

Moonstone: What inspires them? Why?

His mentor and parental figures, either blood parent(s) (especially his father, who he considers to be his role model both in his main verse and Modern AU) or the one(s) he has in particular verse. Even though Jack/Ryou knows he’s his own person, he nevertheless looks up to them and tends to reminisce given by them life lessons once he’s in need of guidance/advice.

Onyx: How do they handle hostility from others, whether verbally or physically?

While he can tolerate verbal hostility more than well (thanks to the Scotsman), he tends to grow disgruntled and taciturn if he has to witness such behavior for too long (not to mention he’ll put the person at their place once it will overcome the limits of his patience) + when it comes to physical hostility, his combat skills are more than enough to cease such treatment. However, he won’t tolerate either of such once it witnessed in relation to his family/beloved ones and is prone to get protective of them no matter the situation (just imagine Ryou hearing as someone talks unfair shiet about Hanzo and straight out roasting them back while being completely unperturbed at the outside, he can and will do such no matter of verse).

Opal: Are they the emotional sort?

Not exactly. Jack/Ryou is obviously not an emotionless automaton (I would even say quite far from such if consider how actually gentle and soft he is), but tends to be very watchful towards his already restained feelings once he’s not comfortable/well-known with the environment, especially in the verses where he appears to be older than the age he found himself in the future (aka 25 years old). Once appearing in the company of the person he completely trusts to, however, there can be seen much more vibrant variety coming from him, even though he still doesn’t like to show his sorrow/anger openly.

Peridot: Are they open to new growth and change in any way, or are they resistant to it?

Certainly open. If he wasn’t able to grow and change in some of his aspects, he would never make this far in the future (for example, his temper was much more impulsive at the start of the series, but he grew to be patient the longer his journey went) and eventually defend Aku, same goes for all of his other verses.

Prehnite: Do they find it easy to recall their dreams or do they hardly remember them?

Dreams or nightmares are easy for him to remember once he has them. Jack/Ryou’s mind and memory are more than vibrant enough for him to have quite vivid visions and he can recall them pretty accurately if the other will ask about it, even tho he tends not to focus on.

Rose Quartz: Do they typically hold grudges? Are they the type to compromise as best they can during a conflict?

It really depends on the relationships Jack/Ryou has with the person and how heavy their fault towards him is. Some light misdeeds he can forgive without the actual confrontation and any grudges; others, heavier ones, may distant him away or even force him to cease any companionship he has with that person. If Jack considers the other his family/beloved one, however, he will always try to find out the actual reason for their misbehavior and at the end forgive them and/or make a compromise, no matter how hard and long it will require for his forgiveness to come (if it will be possible for Jack/Ryou to do this, of course; there are some things he can’t fully forgive even to people, dear for him).

Ruby: Do they typically keep their heart on their sleeve?

Only with his most close and trusted circle as Jack/Ryou knows he may not be afraid to seem vulnerable among them (even though ingrained reticence still can force him to be quite defensive, especially in Modern AU).

Rutile Quartz: Do they have a habit of looking for the source of a problem? Are they the type to attempt to solve it if they’re able, or do they try to avoid it?

He does seek the root of a problem and is persistent to try and solve it, especially when it comes to the important matters of people he treasures, yet nevertheless neglects his own troubles and is prone to avoid them if they’re not so significant.

Sapphire: What makes them happiest? Is there a reason why?

The stable and content wellbeing of his loved ones + the fact he knows he has an actual home where he’s waited and welcomed are sufficient to bring him serenity and peace in any verse, even when it lasts for a rather short while. He strives to reach at least some semblance of stability/be reassured he’ll reach it at one point, for it helps him to maintain the balance and is certain to turn either very restless or numb once there’s none of such reliance in his life (the sword and its significance, as well as its loss e.g.).

Smoky Quartz: How is their physical endurance? Are they the active sort of person or not?

His endurance is high no matter the verse + he’s clearly active sort of person and can’t stay completely immobile for too long, even when he needs his time in peace and quiet (except for the period when he’s asleep, of course, but even this is not so passive due to the fact he’s a fairly light sleeper).

Spinel: Are they a worry-wort or are they carefree?

Oh, definitely a worry-wort due to a number of reasons regardless of the verse, let him try and maintain enviable composure / appear to be unperturbed.

Tanzanite: Do they heal quickly or do bruises and cuts tend to heal slowly?

His regeneration is evidently much more accelerated than it for ordinary human no matter of the verse, even if there are still scars that remain after both relatively deep injuries and shallow cuts (the most evident and agonizingly gained one is located at the right side of his lower abdomen, which he sewed up himself both in 5th season’s verse and in Modern AU).

Tiger’s Eye: Are they self-confident or wracked with doubt?

Oddly enough or not, diffidence is his tragic flaw. The bitter truth is, even tho Jack/Ryou always tries to aid/emotionally support people close to him, he doesn’t actually believe in himself very much (just look what his conscience produced in 5th season y e e s h) and is full of self-doubts despite him often claiming otherwise. That’s also one of many reasons he priors the others before him (’I believe in myself... because they believe in me’).

Topaz: Are they the type to cheer on others or do they prefer to be center stage?

He actually prefers to play an encouraging/supportive role, but still can accept the leading position and is able to handle it pretty well once necessary, thanks to his responsible solemn character (after all, he’s the prince/heir of the noble clan and had been raised as such).

Tourmaline: Are they the understanding sort or do they have trouble connecting with others?

He’s both, in a way that Jack/Ryou can be incredibly socially awkward (mostly relates to his main verse due to the differences in eras and his solitary tendencies) yet is surprisingly good when it comes to the understanding of others (his politeness and caution can also help when he needs to approach someone).

Turquoise: Do they strive for success or do they typically prefer to go with the flow?

Obviously strives for success in his own ‘watery’ way, cos again ‘water can flow or it can crash’ aka ‘if I can’t destroy the obstacle, I’ll find the other path or mean’ (same goes for his relationships; if he cannot make his beloved one change some of the aspects he’s somehow bothered with, then he’ll eventually accept them rather than remain stubborn and thus harmful).

Zircon: How wise are they?

Jack/Ryou is fairly wise, however, his wisdom manifests itself at its most high point in his Post-Aku verses (where he nevertheless has a sage mind despite remaining in the youthful body), while in Modern AU he claims to lack the necessary amount of such (tho I believe he’ll be prone to gain it over time as he will lean more towards his flexibility rather than obstinacy).

#✧ 𝕗𝕖𝕝𝕝𝕠𝕨 𝕕𝕚𝕤𝕔𝕚𝕡𝕝𝕖 ✧ ║ ooc #kathexismania #answer #✧ 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕤𝕠 𝕚 𝕛𝕠𝕦𝕣𝕟𝕖𝕪 𝕠𝕟 ✧ ║ headcanons #{{ O O F AND Y E E T BUT THERE U GO }}#long post //

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joytoasheshq · 5 years ago

Photo

below is my sample application for robert baratheon-lannister. apps won’t be posted with acceptances. this is an example to give you an idea of what i’m looking for in apps, but there is not an exception that applicants write each part in the same style or of the same length as me; i’m self-aware enough to know this sample is a lot! hope this is helpful and enjoy!!

OOC.

name: roman

age: 26

pronouns: they/them

timezone: est

triggers: {omitted}

in the game of thrones you win or you die, would you be open to your character dying?: he’s gotta die for things to get better, kill this motherfucker, but only once he’s served his purpose and i’ve had some fun with him

anything else: i smell like beef

IN CHARACTER.

full name: Robert Steffan Baratheon-Lannister

gender + pronouns: cis man + he/him

age & dob: 35 years old, July 25, 1983

faceclaim: Oliver Jackson-Cohen

personality:

Those who’ve known Robert his whole life will tell you what he was like in his youth with something of a wistful smile. That he’s always been CHARISMATIC, a natural people person, who somehow attracts loyalty from anyone who gives him the chance. Maybe it’s a little different now, a little less charming, and a little more entitled, but it’s a charisma that still exists, one that he still turns on when he wants something or needs to get something done. One a lot of the people of Westeros are still charmed by, if not the elite.

There’s PASSION to everything he does, every little choice full of so much intensity that at times it’s overwhelming. Everything he does, he does fully, whether it’s good or bad. There’s no such thing as middle ground in his world, he cares deeply, or he doesn’t care at all. And that comes with the BOLDNESS. In a way, it always felt like he had to be bold, had to make choices strongly and quickly, without fear. After all, he was barely nineteen when his father died, leaving him with not only a business to look after, but also a family.

More often than not, though, he’s RASH about what he does, not giving anything much thought, but letting explosive emotions rule action, without considering consequences. STUBBORN and NARROW-SIGHTED, unwilling to consider any other option once he’s made his mind up. He willfully blinds himself to the problems around him, because he doesn’t think there’s any point in trying to change things if it’s not going to work, in his mind.

There’s an unwillingness to acknowledge mistakes, or accept consequences when the choices do lead to bad outcomes. It leads to a lot of anger, and that’s something he’s never dealt with properly. In his mind, it’s much easier to deal with pretty much any problem with a PHYSICAL solution; it’s something he is very good at, but rarely is the appropriate response to a problem, especially now that the fighting’s been done for so many years.

headcanons:

storm’s end & the eyrie (cw death)

Family has always been about a name in Westeros, a person’s whole identity inexplicably wrapped up in something they can’t even control. It’s fucked up, at least to him. It’s fucked up, but he’s aware, even if most people think he’s too much of an idiot to be, how caught up in it he is, too.

Appearance is everything, after all, and even if he hasn’t managed to keep up his own public appearance, he cares about the name, even if the people he considers his family don’t share a surname with him.

He loves his brothers, of course. That is something he will always argue, no matter what it seems to the outside world, no matter what it seems to either of them. But he’s never been able to bring himself to feel truly connected to either of them. Stannis is too different at his very core, almost as if they didn’t share a father at all, for how utterly unlike both of them he was. And Renly, well, he was already a teenager when his youngest brother was born, and he ended up more like an amusing plaything than a brother before their parents’ deaths. After, he was a burden, passed off to be raised by close family friends instead of looked after by his own brother. Robert already found someone who actually felt like what a brother should be in a way Stannis never quite had, and Renly couldn’t by then, after all.

So he loves his family, yes. But his family hasn’t been anyone with solely Baratheon at the end of their name in quite the way it should be for a long, long time.

He was so caught up in it all, so caught up in his own life, that he hadn’t considered the idea that things could change.

It was all going fantastically after all. They lived lavishly, and his parents were good, genuinely good. His mother and father and their partners ran the business, Stag Realty Group, ran the real estate market of Westeros. They’d made sure he was set up with a good future, one that he chose, and that started with finding a mentor in his mother’s close friend, Jon Arryn. And that’s where he found the people he would come to consider his family, that’s where he met Ned.

The thing is, it actually wasn’t going fantastically, but he didn’t notice until it was too late to try to help. His father didn’t have quite as much time, as years passed by, to devote to his children, Aerys asking more and more of him as he deteriorated himself. Not as much time, either, for the love they’d all built. More strain, less openness, Robert didn’t even realize he’d been making up for it by spending more and more time at the Eyrie with the ones who still had time for him.

And then the family he’d let himself forget was gone, a storm breaking it completely. A shipwreck with his parents and their partners on it, returning from a business trip on Aerys’s behalf across the Narrow Sea. And he watched, he stood there with Stannis on the docks, there to greet them after a few weeks away, and instead saw them all die. Somehow, it was harder to look at Stannis than to look at the wreckage together, to identify the bodies together, to go through belongings, to go through wills together.

It’s hard to look in the eye of someone who looks like the death of your childhood, after all.

It’s hard to look at someone who thinks the same of you.

the trident (cw violence, blood, murder)

The thing is, it wasn’t self-defense. Maybe for a moment, at the beginning, when he’d tried to ask him why he’d done it all, when they stood there, the riots raging on the other side of the river, looking at each other. He couldn’t help but remember how they had played together, laughed together, way back when as kids, when names meant nothing, and something as silly as love couldn’t get in the way of things.

Love.

That was only a moment, though, because Rhaegar smiled. Had said so simply, voice somehow clear over the din of the riots...

You don’t understand love, cousin. If you did, we wouldn’t be standing here, you would’ve let her go a long time ago.

No. No part of what he did to Rhaegar could be considered what the court ruled it, not before those words, and certainly not after. When he went to the Trident to meet him, he knew exactly what he was going to do, one way or another. The words just sent him over the edge, forcing him to take action sooner. But he had already decided.

Why else would he have had the brass knuckles gripped in his pocket?

Dozens of witnesses, and yet not one of them was able to say for sure how it had started, although most swore it was Rhaegar. He still wonders how many of them Jon had bribed with power or safety, how many of them were threatened to lie under oath to guarantee he’d walk free. How many of the jurors were gifted generously afterward for their verdicts with Lannister money. And yet he doesn’t ask, even though he knows he could easily find out. Because he knows it was him who began it. He had to do something about that smile, had to prove him wrong by fighting for the love he seemed to think he didn’t understand.

It was lucky that his cousin had had the same plan. Lucky, oddly enough, that he’d pulled the knife so soon, had caught him just under the collar bone with the blade, before he’d pulled his decorated fist from his pocket. That was enough to put it on him.

Robert Baratheon would’ve died instead, Jon had insisted, if he hadn’t defended himself from Rhaegar Targaryen’s vicious attack.

He hardly remembers most of it, just the smell of copper, his own grunts of pain mixed with Rhaegar’s, the sear of the blade cutting any part of him he could find as they struggled. And the blood, he remembers the blood blooming from broken skin as he kept hitting, over and over again, long after he should’ve stopped.

He’d never admit to anyone now just how convinced he was that he would end up locked away for the rest of his life. He’d never admit how much sleep he’s lost thinking of what he did, or worse, not regretting it at all. Would never admit how he still hears those words now, and wonders what they meant.

How selfish, that after everything, that was the only time he truly felt fear. Not even when he heard that Lyanna had been kidnapped, not when he had helped in the fighting, not when he stared down the cousin he used to love. No, dying would’ve been easy; he’s so intimate with death already.

Living is much worse.

And now he’s not so sure that he hasn’t been punished anyway, even though he walked free. He thinks maybe the power is his real punishment in the end. What is the realm, anyway, when what he had been fighting for was his love, his humanity?

There was a gun, he’d had a gun somewhere, and he learned during the trial that Rhagaer did, too. And yet, neither of them had used them.

No, it wasn’t self-defense. It was something much more personal.

king’s landing

He changed his middle name when he changed his last name. It was a two-for-one deal, after all; since he already had to change his last name, then why not do another while he was already at the courthouse signing the paperwork? It was a whim, but it felt right, and that’s really all it’s ever taken to get him to do something, an urge and some confidence.

He always hated his middle name, anyway, first because it sounded stupid, and then later because it attached him to the Targaryens. Aegon, after his great-grandfather. Who throws Aegon on their kid, even smashed between two semi-normal names? No, he shed the weight of a name like that as soon as he had the chance, having always conveniently left out his middle name even before the betrayal that led to the rebellion. He used to tell people his parents just forgot to choose one. That was easier.

He’d rather just be a Baratheon, anyway.

So that’s what he chose. Steffan was his late father’s name, and it only felt right to pay tribute to him. He was a good man, a good leader, the sort of person Robert always hoped he could be. Maybe he thought somewhere in the back of his mind that taking his name might make that easier. But it didn’t work.

Because he’s a fucking Lannister, too, apparently.

Here he is, with the stupid fucking hyphenated surname on every official document he has to sign. Hell, it still looks like a third grader learning cursive for the first time is writing the Lannister part, tacked onto the signature he’d already perfected. The issue of the last name still makes him roll his eyes to this day. Even knowing her well, he’d foolishly assumed Cersei would take his surname. But he should’ve known, because hasn’t he done things equally as wicked as every other Lannister in history?

“Why should I have to be the one to take on your identity? We’re getting married, it’s not some life changing thing.”

“I’d disagree with that, but fine, I’ll bite. It’s not fair to lose your name. Hyphenate it.”

“You hyphenate it, if it’s such a throwaway thing.”

“As much as I like you, sometimes you really just make me want to punch myself in the face, did you know that? I’ll hyphenate, if you hyphenate, too. Fair’s fair.”

“Alright then, Lannister-Baratheon it is.”

“No, no, no, how the fuck do you think it’ll look to the realm if I’m Robert Lannister suddenly? Besides, it sounds better alphabetically. Baratheon comes first.”

“No, it doesn’t, Lannister does.”

Silence.

“There’s no law saying we have to match, and if there is, well, I can get rid of it...”

blacktyde (cw alcohol, drugs)

It’s not something he ever planned on becoming, somehow who relies on escapism to get through one fucking day, one fucking night, but here he is.

It’s not like he ever imagined his life as any of this, anyway. And that’s the problem, it’s always been the problem. He never wanted to rule, not really, all he wanted was to bring her home safely, to be together, to have a life. But he couldn’t even do that right, and now that life is gone for good, just like Lyanna.

Before, it was always just something those around him laughed at, or rolled their eyes at. It was a joke, the way he never tried to reel in any of his appetites. When he was younger, it was something amusing, to see how he literally charmed the pants off of anyone he wanted so easily, and never hung around much longer than that, it was impressive the way he could drink anyone under the table, it was cool how he never backed down from a fight, and always won.

Boys will be boys, that’s what they say.

No, boys will be men who have no fucking clue how to cope with any hint of emotion; who have to keep drinking, and fighting, and fucking to even try to deal with reality when things don’t go their way.

Now it’s just depressing. But he can’t stop, doesn’t know how, or maybe worse, is too afraid to confront any of what happened to stop.

There’s been too much loss, and he’s tried too hard to fill in the gaps that can never be filled. So that’s what he keeps doing, because what the fuck else is there? It’s easier to be halfway to drunk at any given moment to keep the thoughts hazy, easier to find a pair or two of random arms to keep him warm in the hard moments than to let himself risk a heartbreak, easier to get to sleep if he’s sent off with a sip of the evening than to wake up thinking he’s smelling the copper of his blood mixed with his cousin’s.

It was nice, for a while. He knows, even if they all think he’s too fucking stupid to realize. He knows that they’re all tired of the act, knows that they see through it. For a while, it was excusable. Maybe even further than that, the city was glad to have a Protector so human, one who was as unafraid of standing against injustice, as he was to show his vices. But that ended years ago. He knows they whisper about how incompetent he is.

The funny thing is, though, that they think he doesn’t agree. Because he does, truly. He knows he’s been a horrible Protector, maybe as bad as Aerys, in a different way. He knows, but somehow he can’t bring himself to do much about it.

It’s always been easier to ignore a problem, after all, until it’s taken care of, or it consumes him whole.

INTERVIEW

ii. what’s your morning routine?

“Morning routine? Is this a personal interest piece you’re writing?” he laughs, shaking his head as he runs through the truth, crafting a lie.

Wake up late hungover from shade of the evening, coffee with whiskey (mostly the latter), scalding shower to try to feel less dirty, another drink, listen to messages, ignore messages, swipe through Tinder, swipe through Grindr, lie on bed for half an hour thinking of every mistake you’ve made, get up, get dressed, look in the mirror, hate yourself, wait for someone to tell you what to do.

“It’s like anyone else’s. Alarm wakes me up, I’ll go through messages before I even make it out of the bedroom. Sometimes I’ll go for a run if I manage to wake up early enough. Stop on the way back and get Cersei her venti iced almond milk cappuccino with cold foam, extra shot of espresso, and three pumps of hazelnut. Or whatever. Drink half of it myself before I can make it to the Red Keep,” a wave of his hand brushes that one off. People like that sort of thing, a little humanity thrown into it. Not that that matters anymore, not that the whole city doesn’t know how horribly human he is.

“Usually, though, I’ll go through the news with some coffee, then take a nice hot shower, wake myself up. Breakfast with the family, sometimes Jon comes up early and goes through the day, then I get ready and head to work. Work being downstairs, but you know, nice to forget that sometimes. Simple.”

vii. have you ever lost someone you loved?

“What a cruel question. Who hasn’t in this damn city? To death, to circumstances, to life. If there’s one common thread in my life, it’s that. Loss. But I’m not special in that. Any of us who lived through the riots share that. I think that’s why it hasn’t gotten to that point again, in over a decade, no matter how much we all disagree. It’s not me, that’s stopping it––I’m not an idiot, no matter what the people think––it’s knowing how it feels to lose what you love. We can’t bear the thought of doing it again.”

ix. who was your last text to, and what did it say?

“You know I probably can’t tell you, right? Like, it was probably something important. There’s a council meeting tomorrow,” he says raising an eyebrow, but shifting to pull his phone out of his back pocket.

“Are you saying you run Westeros through text messages?”

He stops where he was, looks up as his thumbprint unlocks it with an amused smile, before looking back down as he goes on.

“Are you saying you wouldn’t if you had the option? What year do you think this is? Texting is faster than emailing, I’m not going to get on a fuckin’ conference call with them, and gods know I don’t want to see their faces every day,” he laughs, a hint of something bitter to the words.

Scrolling, scrolling, scrolling, thumb finally stops. He goes on before the reporter can question it. “It was to Ned. I said: ‘knock, knock, motherfucker, I’m outside with a dozen boston creme donuts with your name written on them, and yes, I do need something in return.’”

A long pause.

“Are you saying you were bribing Eddard Stark?”

EXTRAS (OPTIONAL):

pinterest board!

character tag!

old playlist! (yes, it is exclusively fall out boy songs because bobby b is a walking emo song)

likes: Being surrounded by people, expensive clothes, Ned Stark, being shirtless, drinking, an intricate skincare routine, Cersei’s voice, using his Alexa for anything at all, beautiful people, being praised, making fun of Littlefinger to anyone, too-sweet coffee, sleeping in, skin-on-skin contact, a well-placed punch, a life of luxury, fucking with Stannis, Davos’s onion rings, shade of the evening, candles that smell like men (you know the ones), bubble baths with other people

dislikes: Targaryens, wearing suits, aging, responsibility, council meetings, the cold, storms especially on the coast, monogamy, sailing, the smell of blood, the justice system, board rooms, listening to Tywin, being alone, being sober, the Narrow Sea, having to be serious, thinking critically about his actions, dealing with the Martells, having every action judged, sharing a bathroom with Cersei, conversely having to go downstairs to take a shower when she’s taking too long

random hcs:

He still has the brass knuckles he killed Rhaegar with. He knows he shouldn’t, knows that if the public found out, it would look even worse for him than it already does, and yet. After the trial was over, after the council had chosen him to lead, he used that power to get that piece of evidence back, even if it is an illegal weapon. He hasn’t used them since, but it’s a comfort, knowing he has them. It’s a small thing, to have a tangible reminder that he got the revenge he needed, even if it was too late.

In all honesty, Robert doesn’t really have many true friends. He has plenty of acquaintances, plenty of people who try their best to act the part, to get something from him. But there’s only one person he really considers his friend and trusts wholly, and that’s Ned Stark.

His favorite drink at Hightower is their version of Pink Drink, and you’d be hard pressed to get him to have a coffee when that’s an option.

His favorite alcoholic drink is any. Literally just whatever’s closest.

Even though after his parents’ deaths he was put in charge of Stag Realty Group and Storm’s End, it was never going to be his business. He was more interested in what he learned from Jon Arryn, ended up with a degree in law instead, using it for his political motivations. He wanted to be loved. Instead, he put his parents’ close family friends, the Penroses, in charge of the real estate group on his behalf until Renly is old enough to take over, and he worked his way into politics, taking over his father’s empty council seat a few years later. He didn’t even bother to offer Storm’s End to Stannis.

His passion for law and politics has long since cooled into indifference, though, now that he’s seen how royally fucked the whole system is, and knows it doesn’t matter, anyway, that the people with enough money can do what they want, run the city from their high horses, and that the people’s love doesn’t mean anything in the grand scheme of things.

The only person he has ever been in love with is Lyanna Stark. He loved her for years and years and years, and did everything he could to win her love, too, which was easy, because of how well they fit together. They gave each other the adventure and excitement they needed, and he looked forward to every moment spent with her, every moment apart like a small eternity. She made him want to be better, because she deserved someone who was good. And it feels a whole lot like the good parts of him died with her, like she was the only thing keeping him from becoming what he is now.

Well, maybe he’s a little in love with Ned, and maybe he always will be, but that’s neither here nor there, since Ned’s happily married having built what Robert considers the greatest family in the world, and he knows he isn’t interested in being married to two people at once. (He knows, because he asked.)

Cersei does mean the world to him, even if not in the way a spouse necessarily should. He respects her deeply, and at this point feels more comfortable with her than without. The thing about her is that not for a minute did she ever expect anything else from him, but exactly what he was. Even from that first night spent together, in which they both hesitated to leave, a change of events in which they both stayed and slept next to each other, there was never any illusion. She’s the only one who’s ever been able to handle how he is, and he feels that he could say the same vice versa. He’s not in love with her, but maybe he loves her, in his own strange way, without realizing it.

Thanks in part to the unconventional family situation he was raised it, Robert finds it nearly impossible to even fathom monogamy. To him, it’s not cheating, because he knows Cersei knows, even if it’s not always him who tells her. Even if he were married to someone he was in love with, he would still crave the openness of polyamory. And it’s easier now, too, to indulge in his desires with whoever he wants, because it keeps him from getting too close to any one person, and the potential of losing love again.

As such, he’s bisexual as fuck, and would never let something as silly as gender keep him from having fun with someone. Are you attractive and consenting? Then you’re Robert’s type.

#lsrp #lsrpg #got rp #asoiaf rp #mature rp #sample app

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strikecommanding · 6 years ago

Text

Lucy

a 5k piece commissioned by an anonymous user, featuring gabe loving on their OC lucy :-) i’ve updated my commission information, which now accommodates OC requests for anyone interested!

---

A stabbing pain that lit a fire all across her shoulder blades jarred Lucy into consciousness. Her fried nerves needed a moment to wake themselves back up and hit her with an abrupt, unpleasant sensation, causing her to writhe and scream for whoever was nearby. She could hardly make heads or tails of her surroundings while in the throes of such agony, but the sight of her bed hinted that she was currently in some sort of hospital room.

The pain in her shoulder blades spiked up in intensity, causing her to thrash around a bit more violently. IV drips and various other machinery hooked up to her fell to the ground with a crash so loud that it rivaled her own pained screams. If she had to put words to the excruciating sensation, she would think her rib cage was snapping out of place to try and break free through her skin. Lucy searched frantically through her memories to pin a cause to this phenomenon, and her last conscious memory pointed to a serum introduced to her veins by the Talon scientists who kidnapped her in the first place.

By the time all sorts of people rushed in to observe her, Lucy felt just about ready to curl up and die. Her body, however, couldn’t decide what to do with itself. Lying on her back and applying pressure to the site of trauma exacerbated the pain, but so did turning over and exposing it to the air. She continued to flail helplessly until a number of hands turned her on her stomach and strapped her down.

Lucy urged herself to fight through the pain and turn her agony into coherent sentences. “What’s happening?! What the fuck did you do to me?!”

“Subject’s belligerent,” said a faceless, uncaring voice overhead. “Hit her with a shot of morphine. ...Maybe up the dosage to keep her body still and her mouth shut.”

A latex-gloved hand wielding a needle hovered close to her, and she did what she could to avoid it. However, she was powerless to her restraints and the pain in her shoulder blades, leaving her no choice but to accept the injection. Its effect were near instantaneous, as she could feel her eyelids getting heavier with every harsh breath she took. She wondered if it was really the morphine that was knocking her out, or if the agony had simply become too much for her to bear.

---

“She’s stable, sir, but the outcome isn’t what we intended,” said an impassive, uncaring voice. “We’ve achieved advanced mobility, but with those wings, stealth is simply an impossibility…”

Upon hearing the word ‘stable’ in reference to her, Lucy could have laughed. After all of the scientists’ experiments and the pain they put her through, she didn’t feel stable in any capacity. The least of which was physically, as her muscles and bones ached under the strain of foreign growths in the form of wings.

Apparently finding it unnecessary to keep their lab specimen updated on changes to her own body, the Talon scientists neglected to tell Lucy what exactly happened the night she blacked out. Once she woke up, she had to eavesdrop on some nearby nurses just to learn that she’d been out cold for nearly a week. She had yet to hear anyone speak about the peculiar, peach-colored wings that suddenly sprouted from her back, and this was the first time she’d heard anyone speak so candidly about them.

Lucy stood before a council of criminals who hid their faces in the shadows. The brightest light source in the room shone directly above her head, and it was the closest simulation she’d had to sunlight ever since she first found herself a prisoner of Talon. She had to squint just to see ahead of her, but when she found dozens of pairs of eyes staring back, scrutinizing her and trying to decide her fate right then and there, she found more comfort in simply staring at the floor.

A long silence filled the room until someone spoke up, this time directly addressing Lucy rather than talking around her. “How do you feel?”

It felt like ages since someone last asked her that, and Lucy thought of a myriad of colorful answers to that particular question. Her bones were brittle and her muscles weak, all because of an unnatural pair of wings that constantly sapped the energy out of her natural body. It was as if they, too, could tell they weren’t meant to be a part of her, as the human body simply wasn’t meant to maintain such appendages. She wanted to tell them all of these things, but this was the first time in weeks that anyone had directly spoken to her and asked for her honest words. She couldn’t resist the impulse to tilt her head back and spit out a scathing answer, “I feel like you bastards ruined me, and you don’t even know how to fix your mistake.”

The tension in the room was palpable after her bold remark, but she didn’t take it back or apologize. Instead, she maintained eye contact with the man who kept himself concealed in the shadows. She tried to make out his features and got as far as a creased forehead and tightly pursed lips before both suddenly relaxed, revealing to her a slimy smile that made her sick. “Silly girl,” he said, deliberately slow so she would hang on to each and every word. “You’re Talon’s greatest mistake, and you’re foolish to think we’d want to ‘fix’ you.”

Lucy’s eyes widened and her wry smugness dropped at the implication that she would be stuck like this for the rest of her life. It hadn’t occurred to her that they would leave her as is, neither fixing her nor killing her out of mercy, and instead leaving her to live as an abomination who suffered constant pain. Her hands curled into fists and her nostrils flared. The thought angered her as much as it scared her, but she could hardly get a word out before the man spoke up again, this time to a nearby lackey.

“We’ll observe her, see if she can take to her wings,” he said, and Lucy felt herself slip back into a sort of helplessness where everyone only ever talked about her and not to her. “We can still use her.”

---

Lucy’s unwillingness to adjust to her wings hardly put a damper on her overall recovery. Her body no longer felt like her own, as if that strange serum had reprogrammed it to follow the twisted will of her captors. The process during which her wings burst from her skin and grew out to their full span had been the most painful experience of Lucy’s life, yet she recovered relatively quickly. Just under a month was all the time her body needed to recuperate and begin recognizing those wings as merely another set of appendages.

It took some time, mainly because she was so resistant to learn in a process not unlike learning to walk all over again, but she was able to start flying. The scientists overseeing her recovery and adjustment period only ever let her practice on indoor training grounds, never allowing her too far out of sight. She couldn’t yet be trusted not to simply fly away.

Even if she were free to fly outdoors, Lucy often mused, there weren’t many places she could go. By this point in her life, all she knew was Talon, and even though they mistreated her, they kept her alive. She detested them, but she relied on them for more than she cared to admit to. For this reason, she toned down the rebellion and tried to make herself useful when Talon offered her an ultimatum: either live and work for Talon as a sniper, or die.

Though neither option was particularly appealing, one was obviously better than the other. She yearned for freedom from Talon, but not to the point of seeing death as a better way out. Begrudgingly, she accepted her role as Talon’s newest sniper under the pseudonym Siren.

It was a shaky start, but Lucy ended up being a huge asset to them. Her precision and aim were superb, and her advanced mobility afforded to her by her wings allowed for easy getaways if ever the situation called for it. This was definitely a common occurrence when they first began sending her on missions, ones that typically seemed too risky or challenging for someone on her own. Lucy had a feeling that her higher-ups didn’t intend for her to come back from those particular missions, and it might have been spite alone that fueled her and encouraged her not only to return alive, but to report back with stellar results. Whether they were testing her skill or simply trying to get rid of her, she never asked. Instead, she internalized everything and took it out on herself.

There was no personal fulfillment to be had in being a terrorist organization’s favorite toy. She had to kill to survive, but she had to wonder what the point in surviving was when every day was just like the last: do your job, keep your mouth shut, and maybe you’ll be treated decently. When she was still a fiery adolescent who had a penchant for talking back in any situation, she learned the hard way that Talon wouldn’t hesitate to resort to violence, even against a child. Over the course of the ten years they kept her, Lucy somehow came to stop blaming Talon as much for her situation and began blaming herself instead.

Her biggest gripe with herself was her wings, for varying reasons. For one, she resented them for working efficiently enough to serve Talon’s interests, effectively trapping her as their lapdog. Long beyond the habit of biting the hand that first fed her, she instead berated her own body for taking so well to their experimental serum. She detested these wings not only for the grim future they’d secured for her, but also because they made her look and feel like a monster. Ordinarily, wings carried with them beautiful and cherubic connotations, or imagery of free-flying birds who could travel the world as they pleased. Lucy’s current lifestyle as a weapon felt neither angelic nor free; she felt like a freak who needed to be fixed, and since Talon refused to do so, she took matters into her own hands.

Around the halfway mark of her captivity, when she was just shy of 20, she resorted to some destructive means to undo Talon’s work. The wings were the source of all her suffering, she’d reasoned, so she tried to get rid of them with nothing but a pair of old scissors that one scientist was too careless to notice she’d had. It had been a painful process that Lucy couldn’t finish before blacking out from the pain, and by the time she woke up, she found her wings patched up and healing extraordinarily quickly, thanks to the regenerative effect of the original serum she’d taken all those years ago. She was a monster who could kill anything but herself, and that realization made her feel helpless.

Now, however, those feelings and memories had to be stowed away. No longer the unstable wreck she’d been when the role of sniper was first bestowed upon her, Lucy had been on enough missions and taken enough abuse to realize that her only job was to get from one day to the next. Meaning and personal fulfillment didn’t matter so long as she was alive, and she could only ensure that by completing her current mission.

Talon shipped her off to a quaint little city known as Rialto, where she was ordered to take out a prominent member of the UN. It was an ambitious mission, but to Lucy, it was just one more thing to get through to prove her worth for another day.

Her target was out to dinner with a number of bodyguards to go around. In order to avoid their sightlines, Lucy was forced to set up shop a bit further than she would have liked, but it was nothing she hadn’t dealt with before. It was during situations like these that she swapped out her usual bullets for non-lethal ones, whose sole purpose was gathering intel. When fired, they highlighted a wide radius for just a moment, just long enough for her to take the shot, so long as she was quick about it.

However, these bullets still left behind casings just like their regular counterparts, and even the most incompetent bodyguard wouldn’t be so daft as to excuse a bullet casing within a foot of a member of the UN. Lucy had to take the shot before it was noticed.

Unfortunately, even from her perch located so far back from the target, she was the one who was noticed. Just as she swooped into the air and lined up to take the shot, a gun fired behind her and jarred her focus. She heard it before she felt it, only realizing after a moment that she’d been shot. The pain was so sudden and intense that she couldn’t even think to scream, nor could she get a good look at her wound or assailant before plummeting directly into the canal below.

The water was cold and bracing, especially when her fresh wound was submerged in it. Already unsteady from having been shot, Lucy could hardly stay afloat with her now-heavy wings weighing her down and urging her into the depths. She could feel herself sinking faster the more she struggled, so she took in as much air as she could before going under completely. The injury to her wing was nothing compared to the helplessness and hysteria she felt as she fell further into the depths with no signs of help nearby.

Just when she thought she couldn’t hold her breath for much longer, something else abruptly joined her in the water. Someone else, she realized upon further inspection, had jumped in after her and pulled her into their arms. Lucy didn’t know their identity or their intentions, but she was quick to cling to them anyway. She didn’t want to die, and it seemed this person didn’t want her to either.

The moment her head was above the water, she gasped for some much needed air. Her rescuer, too, was out of breath, if their heaving chest was any indication. But, as Lucy pressed her palms against their sturdy chest and felt their racing heart, she concluded it must have been more from the adrenaline of going after her than merely from having been in the water. Lucy looked up fully and stared into the chocolate brown eyes of her rescuer.

A man with dark skin and unruly facial hair looked back at her, his expression impassive and unreadbale. He carried her in his arms like she was nothing, taking great care not to press against her wound. Lucy’s eyes dropped to the shotguns holstered to his sides and she realized he was likely the one who’d shot at her.

“I’ve got questions,” he said gruffly, carrying her towards a dropship. “So you’d better not die on me.”

---

By now, Lucy was used to waking up in a hospital bed after sustaining injuries. This time was different, however, in that she found herself somewhere other than Talon headquarters. A quick glance down at the edge of her blanket revealed a particular logo, that of Overwatch, which she only knew as her employers’ number one enemy. Looking over her shoulder, she noted some bandages wrapped around the base of her wing where she’d been shot. Likely a mere formality, since her cells were surely doing a quick and efficient job at putting her back together already.

“You’re awake,” said the pleasant, lightly accented voice of a cheery blonde woman who abruptly entered the room, startling Lucy. She seemed to notice Lucy’s agitation, as she maintained a distance and lowered her voice. “How are you feeling? Are you experiencing any pain at all?”

The woman was far too talkative for Lucy’s liking after having just woken up, so she simply didn’t answer. Lucy sank defensively into her sheets while eyeing this woman with distrust. The tension that filled the air was not lost on this woman, as she simply kept to herself while bustling around the room. They both looked up when a third party joined them.

The same man Lucy had seen the night before walked into the room, and she could see his imposing physique fully now that he was under good lighting. He practically towered over the blonde woman as he approached her, and Lucy’s eyes dropped to a conspicuous manila folder clutched in his left hand. “How’s she doing, Angela?”

The woman known as Angela briefly glanced at Lucy before turning away and answering the question. “She seems stable, but I haven’t had a chance to take a look at her injury yet…”

“In that case, how about you let me take over for a sec?” he suggested, patting her gently on the shoulder as he ushered her towards the door. When she looked back at him, he raised the folder to her eye level and waved it. “She and I need to talk.”

Angela wore a bit of a warning stare as she moved to exit. “Don’t stress out my patient, Gabriel.”

He waved dismissively before pulling up a chair beside Lucy’s bed. She treated him to the same distrustful stare she’d given Angela, only breaking it to look down at the papers he pulled out of his folder. He read off of them in a neutral tone, “Siren, Talon’s secret weapon responsible for a number of assassinations over the past several years. Signature mark is bullets that emit a high enough frequency to completely shred whatever they come into contact with. That’s you, isn’t it?”

Conditioned not to talk back by years of abuse, Lucy just stared at the blanket in front of her. The only thing she really wanted to say was, “My name is Lucy.”

Gabriel maintained his unflinching gaze as he put all the papers away and shut the folder. He set it aside on the bed by her leg, and she inched away from it just the slightest bit. “You’ve been on our radar for a while. You were sloppy last night, and that’s why you got caught.”

Lucy knew that better than anyone else, so she didn’t need to be told. Instead of expressing that, she just wrung the edge of her blanket in her fists.

When she didn’t answer, Gabriel filled the silence for her. His once uncaring and impassive expression dissipated into something a bit more gentle, almost tired. “Look. We’ve had eyes on you long enough to figure out exactly how Talon got their hands on you, and everything they did. It isn’t right, what they did to you. ...Ordinarily, I’d arrest you, but Blackwatch doesn’t operate under quite the same set of rules that Overwatch does. I’ve got a proposition for you.”

Lucy looked up, astonished only by one thing he’d said. She’d never heard anyone express contempt for Talon’s sordid activities, specifically the things they’d done to her. That Gabriel looked back at her with a softer expression than what he’d had on upon first walking in only encouraged her to want to listen to him, along with inspiring a strange, fluttering feeling deep inside her chest. She cautiously kept her mouth shut, but she communicated to him with an attentive gaze that she wanted him to continue.

He leaned in, speaking in a hushed tone like he was worried someone would pick up on their conversation. “You’ve been with Talon long enough to know the ins and outs of their organization. You’ve got more intel than I can possibly imagine. Plus, they won’t expect to find one of their own against them. What I’m saying is… Blackwatch could only benefit from having you around.”

This situation wasn’t unique to her. Lucy experienced the same thing when Talon first modified her, except the alternative to joining them was to die by their hand. In this case, it was likely she would simply get arrested and that would be that. Alive, but not free, the same way her life had been for the past ten years. The situation wasn’t unique, but the outcomes being offered to her were. If she were to work for Blackwatch, she had a feeling her life could only change for the better.

Gabriel took her silence as her being in need of a little more convincing, so he went on to add, “Don’t worry about your record. I’ll take care of everything,” he assured her, and then he wore a roguish smile that brought back that odd fluttering in her chest. “I’ll take care of you.”

The idea of choosing something for herself was so foreign to Lucy that she almost couldn’t respond right away. Finally, when she gained a firm hold of herself, she nodded with confidence. “I want to join you.”

---

When Gabriel said he would take care of Lucy, he meant it. He oversaw everything from her discharge from the medbay to her adjustment period as Blackwatch’s newest agent. Blackwatch, Lucy learned, was still finding its footing as a sister organization to the all-encompassing Overwatch. As things were now, she and Gabriel were the only official members.

Consequently, they were able to acquaint themselves a bit better by going out on missions, and Lucy learned that he was actually a pretty friendly and easygoing guy despite how intimidating he looked. He was the first person to treat her like an equal, like a person, rather than the weapon Talon wanted her to be. It was for this reason that she couldn’t help but grow attached to Gabriel, and she was glad to see that he appeared to be fond of her in turn. At least, that was how she felt most of the time, but the few months they shared together wasn’t enough time to rid her entirely of the demons that festered in her mind for the past ten years.

Thanks to Talon, Lucy had her fair share of insecurities, but it was because of her environment that she never had the means to deal with them in a healthy way. Now that she had the freedom to express herself, she didn’t know where to start. So she never quite dealt with her issues, instead electing to bottle everything up.

It all came to a head one evening when she and Gabriel returned from a mission. Everything had gone fine except for a few rogue decisions on Gabriel’s part, which resulted in him getting a bit more banged up than he would have liked. Though he definitely took the brunt of the damage, he insisted that they both go and get checked out by Angela.

Despite how long she’d been with Blackwatch, Lucy never could bring herself to get along with the kindly doctor. At its core, this issue was rooted in insecurity. She still remembered the first time Angela donned her wings to go to battle, and how the sight had made the eyes of passersby shine. She was undeniably beautiful, the perfect image of an angel. But, whenever she grew tired of them, she could just take off her wings and still be adored. Lucy didn’t have that luxury. Her wings were on her for good, and they only ever made her feel like a monster.

She never expressed these feelings to anyone, however, which led to her silently stewing in the corner while Angela patched up Gabriel’s wounds. Gabriel, too, had the tendency to look at Angela with stars in his eyes, and watching the two of them interact inspired within Lucy a pain she didn’t know how to treat. She carried the burden without telling a soul, but doing so for too long made her liable to blow up. When she sensed her agitation rising to a point she would no longer be able to control, she stood abruptly and headed to her room, ignoring Gabriel as he called after her.

Lucy didn’t have much time alone before Gabriel went after her, entering the room unannounced. From her spot curled up in bed, she glared at him and murmured, “Go away.”

“Not before you talk to me,” he retorted, shutting the door behind him and moving closer to her. “What’s bothering you so much that you had to storm out like that?”

“Nothing for you to worry about,” she insisted. She tried to turn over in an attempt to cut off the conversation, but he was quicker than her. Bracing her arms and holding her still, he forced her to look at him.

“It is when you’re on the verge of tears like that,” he muttered, and his grip loosened just enough for Lucy to reclaim her limbs and swipe at her inexplicably damp cheeks. She sighed in frustration and rubbed harshly at her eyes while Gabriel took a seat on the edge of the bed. His voice took on a softer tone, the one that made her weak in the knees. “What’s bothering you, Lucia?”

Hearing him call her by her full name both made her heart skip a beat and informed her that he wouldn’t be leaving any time soon. At least, not until he heard everything she had to say. Lucy stared at her hands folded in her lap and started slowly, trying to articulate what had been on her mind for weeks now. “When I see you and Angela together like that, I just… I don’t know… it makes me feel horrible. The way you look at her is so… sweet… and it kills me to know you’d never look at me like that, not when I’m such a freak.”

Gabriel didn’t answer right away, likely soaking in her words and thinking of the best way to reply. She peeked up shyly and flinched at the abrupt contact of his hand against her cheek, only settling when she felt how gentle his touch was. The rough pad of his thumb wiped away any remaining tears, and she closed her eyes when he spoke to her, smooth and slow. “You’re not a freak. After all this time, you’re still the only one who thinks of yourself that way. As for Angela and I… we’re just friends. We’ve been working together for a while so we’re close, but we’re just friends.”

While she did feel comforted by his affirmation that his relationship with Angela was strictly platonic, Lucy felt silly for having to ask him for it. It made her feel like a child. Perhaps he could sense that she was still not fully settled, as he moved in close enough for their legs to touch. She looked up into his eyes only to have her face flush upon seeing the intensity of his stare.

“You’re always right next to me, Lucy, but you never see the way I look at you,” he remarked, letting out a soft exhale not unlike a curt laugh. When he gently placed his hand on top of hers, she didn’t move away. Instead, she tried to still her rapidly beating heart when he looked back up at her and went on, “And when you look at yourself, you never see what I see either.”

“Gabe…?” she breathed, a mere whimper in comparison to the rumble his voice had been when he made that heartfelt confession. She held her breath when the distance between her lips and his slowly began to close, his hand gently pulling her in for a sweet kiss. Unsure how to react right away, she simply sat still and let him hold her. He touched her with a sort of warmth she’d never experienced before in her life, and she wanted more of it, quickly. Her clumsy hands moved to reciprocate by wrapping around his neck and pulling his body closer to hers.

Gabriel followed her unspoken directions with ease, practically purring against her lips. The feeling of that rumble deep inside his chest as he pressed it against hers made Lucy tremble. Soon enough, she was curled up in his lap, cooing and whimpering as his teeth nipped playfully at the soft skin of her neck. His hands glided up and down her sides to feel her, all of her, before he decided that her clothes were too inconvenient a barrier.

Lucy sat back and allowed him to undress her. He moved gently, especially as he removed the fabric around her wings, and she could see the way his eyes lit up with adoration as he looked them over. She’d never seen him wear a loving expression like that, and the idea that he apparently looked at her like that all the time filled her with a mix of pride and love that she didn’t know she could feel.

Bare before Gabriel’s hungry eyes, Lucy flushed and crawled back into his lap. Her waist fit perfectly between his large hands, which held her firmly as he ground her down against the bulge in his pants. The sensation came so suddenly that she couldn’t help but yelp, at which he questioned, “You okay?”

She nodded frantically, almost whining when the delicious friction stopped. “Keep touching me.”

He responded with a smug smile, gently pulling her off of him and positioning her on all fours. She was self-conscious about having her wings on full display for him, but the thought left her mind instantly when his index finger dragged along her spine, making her shiver. His knuckles brushed gently against her soft, peach-colored feathers, and he leaned down to whisper in her ear, “Are you ready?”

Lucy bit down hard on her bottom lip upon feeling his arousal stroke against her sopping wet pussy. To know that he wanted her just as badly as she wanted him was reassuring, and she showed her enthusiasm by grinding against him the slightest bit. “Please, fuck me.”

That was all the encouragement Gabriel needed to line up the tip against her entrance and bury himself inside her in one go. Every nerve in Lucy’s body responded to his touch, even the ones in her wings as they expanded briefly before settling. She melted into the feeling of his palms against the swell of her ass, holding her in place as his movements became harsher. It wasn’t so much painful as it was purely passionate, allowing Lucy to feel all the tension that had built up between them over the past few months finally come to a head. All this time, when she thought about how much she liked Gabriel, she never once realized that the feeling was mutual.

She no longer had the time to view things in hindsight when one of his hands crept between her legs, idly stroking at her swollen clit. At that, she jolted and tightened around his cock, causing him to let out a deep, rumbling groan right beside her ear. In an effort to chase after the pleasure he offered her, Lucy bucked desperately against his hand. He got the hint and picked up the pace, simultaneously thrusting harder so that they could finish at the same time. Lucy’s toes curled and her wings expanded, every inch of her body tingling as Gabriel helped her over the edge of release.

Not long after, he pulled out with a groan and finished on her lower back. They both needed a moment to catch their breath, but he was the first to get up. He briefly disappeared into the bathroom to grab a towel and clean her up before settling in bed next to her. Lucy clung to him almost immediately, wrapping her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist. Gabriel smiled fondly as his knuckles stroked along the base of her spine, and he murmured, “Do you get that I like you yet, or do I have to spell it out?”

Lucy laughed in the form of a soft, breathless exhale as she settled against his chest. “I get it, but it’d be nice to hear you say it anyway.”

He leaned down to kiss her forehead in a way that made her truly feel loved, something she’d never experienced before. “I like you, Lucy.”

She smiled and allowed her eyes to flutter shut. “I like you too.”

#mine #commission #oc commission #gabriel reyes x oc #kidnapping #violence mention #abuse mention #self harm #consensual #what an odd bunch of tags #it's fluffy with gabe i swear

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groovy-hottub-llama · 8 years ago

Text

Giftette

A little drabble KS, as a thank you for the writing advice @itslulu42

Shamisen subterfuge. KS. Two parts together. It’s shorter than my usual little numbers :D Slightly mature, Sakura can be quite the temptress when she’s of a mind for it.

The fact that she had the gaul to infiltrate a highly confidential meeting between the five Kage and their Daimyo and their respective personal councillors was something that he really should have felt angered by.

Instead, he settled down and decided to be thoroughly impressed that she'd achieved such a feat despite being up close and personal in a room of the finest ninja of their age.

Still, he'd never expected her to be able to play a shamisen like that. The way she handled the instrument was exceptional. Her choice to be a musician rather than a dancer put her in a prime position to be present, but not the focus of the audiences attention on the Geisha's performance.

The two women who were dancing were extremely skilled. The Daimyo of Fire country and the Daimyo of Sand were both drunk and laughing, clapping away to the rhythm of the music as the dancers flew through their steps with a precision that reminded him of perfectly executed Taijutsu. Gaara remained steadfastly disinterested in the whole affair.

Kakashi had resigned himself to the boredom of politics the moment that the Fifth had smothered him with the Hokage's hat and disappeared in a puff of smoke into the nearest gambling den.

He supposed it could have been worse. Earth country boasted the most elegant and skilled Geisha in the land, and their abilities were a sight to behold. They were framed well in the simple yet stately room that was not too large as to make him feel exposed, but not too crowded either, relieving him of feeling constrained. It was well balanced and spoke of the depth of thought that had gone into its beautiful set up.

He avoided the sake cup that had been clumsily refilled by his neighbour and took a tea cup in hand. The dancers were a sufficient enough distraction for him to dip his mask and sip the tea directly, rather than have to sieve it through his mask, as he usually ended up doing at these meetings.

Nonchalantly he glanced down the table and was pleased to note that he wasn't the only one not exactly enjoying himself; Mei looked ready to strangle her Daimyo, who was a little too attentive to the flowing movements of the dancers. The Water Daimyo wasn't the only one of his station who was ogling the young women and Kakashi had to fight the urge to pinch the man next to him who kept elbowing him and pointing at the woman playing the shamisen and urging him to offer his opinion on her more 'feminine' qualities.

Kakashi wouldn't have made such an observation anyway, regardless of whether he was in earshot of the woman or not. It was just not done. Chapter 17 of Icha Icha: Violence made it very clear that a woman preferred to appraised of her finer qualities directly, and disliked talk behind her back.

He wasn't mad, and he certainly wasn't going to risk her ire because some fool of a man didn't know how offer his compliments to the fairer sex without remembering his manners. Granted, he'd certainly enjoy the entertainment more, should the Geisha start flicking kunai as prettily as they did their fans. He smiled to himself, that would certainly liven things up for him. He thought of Sakura, and wondered just how far her training had brought her, especially if she'd managed to pass as a geisha.

"Oi, Hatake!" Touno, Daimyo of Lightning Country, elbowed him again and made a crude hourglass mime with his hands. "The seated girl, don't you think she'd be a better dancer than those two? Hidden qualities my man! Just the thing for you ninja types!"

He certainly wasn't anyone’s man, and for the sake of politics was glad that his mask concealed the sneer of disgust that emerged upon hearing the Daimyo's implications. Still, if he objected that much to this blatant objectification, then he really couldn't sit comfortably on his high horse without saying something could he?

"Touno-sama, the geisha are only performers-"

The man gaped at him in disbelief and spread his arms out in a grand gesture, at what, Kakashi was unsure, but it seemed that he was hoping to better illustrate his point with pointless body language.

"-how can you be such a prude Hatake? I know you're as much a fan of the late Jiraiya-sama's work as I am."

Kakashi cringed. A fan he might be, but a cad he was not.

"I may be a fan, Touno-sama, but there are lines that mustn't be crossed. These women only provide entertainment in the form of music and dance. They're artists." He stressed the last statement, hoping to appeal to whatever sense of decency the man might have hiding somewhere…anywhere.

"Don't be daft man, they're Geisha! Geisha are up for anything."

"Sir. They are not." Kakashi insisted.

"Come on man! I'll show you how if you're too shy!" With that bold declaration Touno rose from his seat and made to head straight for a dancer. Kakashi made brief eye-contact with the bouncer who was concealed in a corner by the door and there was a silent moment of agreement between the two.

Kakashi discreetly swiped the Daimyo's foot out from under him as he took his first step and he fell sideways face first into lap of the Mizukage, who was horribly disappointed at the discovery of a very unwelcome man invading her personal space.

Mei shot Kakashi a truly scalding look of distaste before giggling daintily and extracting Touno from her person in as polite a fashion as she could to avoid causing offence. The bouncer nodded slightly and resumed his watch over the room. Touno gathered himself up and made his way back to his seat. He turned and made light of his fall by smiling widely.

"I may not have scored a Geisha, but did you get load of Mei-chan? Not bad, not bad at all old boy!" He clapped Kakashi on the shoulder and he made a show of rocking from the blows. Touno obviously enjoyed the implication of his strength, however false they might have been, for he brandished a bottle of sake in Kakashi's direction in lieu of apology.

Only a few more hours...

___________________

It was indeed hours before the meeting was over, and he'd retired gratefully to his quarters feeling as though he'd only achieved a fraction of what he was supposed to have. He was never much of a social man, nor a political one, but he tried his best even when others weren't so willing. He recalled a time when he used to prolong missions, but it was never out of a desire to shun his work.

He sat at his desk and looked over the stack of scrolls and papers there when there came a discreet knock at his door. He waved over Eel, who nodded and went to the door and opened it. He then closed it abruptly and returned to his Kage.

"A Geisha, Rokudaime-sama."

"Which one, Eel?" He asked as he leafed through the notes of the meeting.

The porcelain mask merely peered at him in silence before Kakashi turned around and fixed him with a bored glare.

"The shamisen player, Rokudaime-sama."

Kakashi paused. The shamisen player? Sakura must have something important to say.

"Lose yourself for an hour, Eel, let her in." He said as he pulled the papers towards him and dumped them into a scroll which he sealed with a stroke of ink. He added it to the pile and looked towards the door, assuming his outwardly bored appearance again.

The Anbu guard rose and stalked over to the door, irritation minutely visible in his movements. Kakashi grinned at the poorly contained disapproval from his personal guard and, thinking better of appearing disinterested, stood up to meet his visitor.

She swept in gracefully, and Eel slid out silently, closing the door behind himself. He watched as she approached quickly, raising an eyebrow when she placed both her hands upon his chest.

"To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?" He spoke quietly. She really was quite stunning, even if he did find the hair a little ridiculous. It looked almost painful, even if it was artfully arranged with careful precision.

"Hokage-sama." Her voice had been altered slightly. He recalled the strain on his own vocal cords to do such a thing and resolved to keep the conversation short.

"The Lightning Daimyo took offence to your unwillingness to…'participate' in the festivities today. He's on his way to ah, amend this slight with one of the Geisha."

Her voice was velvet when it should have been silk. It was distracting. The only redemption in her disguise were that the figure within the kimono was definitely Sakura's and her eyes, outlined in a thick kohl, remained a soothing coral green.

The hurried taps from Eel confirmed her words. A staccato of morse warnings told him of the approach of the Lightning Daimyo.

He frowned.

"Thanks for the warning, but you'd best get going. I'll sort this out."

"I can help." She smiled wickedly at him and he froze as she slid her hands up his chest and neck, where they continued until she was cupping his face. She leaned in, locking her eyes with his as she dragged down his mask without breaking contact.

His hands flew up to catch her wrists, but then remembered that he would smudge the pale paint that adorned her skin if he touched her. She smiled against his lips. He pulled back a little at the feeling of her breath so intimately on his skin.

"Take out my hair pins."

He frowned at the command and felt exposed without his mask, but did as she requested and watched in wonderment as the sculpted art of her hair fell like water to pool over her neck and shoulders.

Kakashi couldn't quite help the rush of breath that left him at the sight. She took a hand from his cheek and tugged at the collar of her kimono, revealing one of her shoulders. The layers of fabric served to make her look far too delicate, almost fragile but the intensity of her gaze spoke otherwise.

Distracted, he barely had time to register the door flying open before she buried her free hand into his hair and closed the fractional distance between them, kissing him fervently. Kakashi felt it would have been rude not to respond in kind and, realising her ruse, embraced her.

"Hatake! I've come to remove some of that starch-oh! Oh! Terribly sorry! I'll be- I'll be-off! I'll leave you to it! Haha!" Touno clapped joyfully and turned about, taking the Geisha accompanying him by the arm and leading her back out.

"Terribly sorry to disturb your 'entertainment' Hatake." He laughed at the doorway, well satisfied with what he thought was his own influence. "Pleased to see you agreed to those 'dance lessons' my man!"

The door closed with a clack as it slid into place on its runners.

Sakura withdrew reluctantly and braced herself against him. She smiled at him and he smirked when he noticed her smudged lipstick.

"Thank you for helping me avoid a breakdown in political relations." He murmured. She nodded, smile somewhat wonky now, due to the splash of red that had spread from it's original canvas.

He released her as she tugged his mask back into place. With a few adjustments her kimono was once again presentable. She pulled a compact mirror from her sleeve and made a noise of irritation as she fixed her make-up.

Kakashi realised he was staring and busied himself with keeping an eye on the door. The click of her compact signalled that she was done and he turned his attention back to her.

If she was flushed he couldn't ascertain, the white of her makeup hid such tells from him. He hid his disappointment. For all intents and purposes Sakura appeared completely professional. Something about that impressed him. He liked it best when others took pride in their work. She reached into her other sleeve and pulled out a small scroll and held it out to him. He took it and looked at her for confirmation.

"Observations of todays meeting, Rokudaime-sama." She bowed and then made to leave but thought better of it, remembering that her hair was still in disarray.

He held out a hand, inviting her to sit with him at his table while he read through her notes and blinked in surprise as she slid in her hair pins and her hair, seemingly by itself, slid up and back into place.

"Chakra-infused hair pins." She said, by way of explanation and turned to watch the lanterns flicker in the square beyond the window. He nodded and made a valiant effort to focus on her report rather than the curve of her neck, or the green of her eyes as she looked out of the window.

Another series of taps sounded from the door. Eel was giving the all clear.

"I'll leave you to it then." She rose and made for the door, pausing as she opened it. "You are most welcome, Hokage-Sama." She gave him a small wave as she left.

"Indeed I am." He whispered to himself as the door closed behind her.

#Kakasaku #Sakukaka #Daimyo's are ridiculous #itslulu42

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