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tai-janai · 1 month

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Reunite

Path 10: Validation

(Chapter Select)

Your head stings, even before your eyes open.

Voice of the Hero:

Sorry. I've been reaching more and more ends, quite a few have been making pairs.

"Then why does my head hurt?"

Voice of the Hero:

I mean, I'm in here. I'm kind of dying in all those worlds. It doesn't feel too great. Thought you'd be a little excited about all this.

You rub your forehead. You sigh dejectedly, then try to remember all the good you're doing.

"I am... I am. This is good, I'm happy for them."

Voice of the Hero:

And this is the last one, isn't it? Nobody else is after this.

You open your eyes to a rather reflective room. Everything is metal. It doesn't attack your eyes quite as much as the other shiny one, but it's a whole lot less welcoming. Even what you stand on seems like slabs of steel. A tilted table to the side holds the echo of the blade, blending in even more than usual.

You can tell this is the final imprisoned Being. You hope in vain that it won't be the hardest. You think about the large one with the eyes and chains. That one sucked. The stone one, the melting one, the first, nervy one.

But, you changed them. The outcome was different once you stepped in. It may be unfair on both ends, but you're working to even things out.

You feel everyone's support with you as you grab the blade's echo. As its weightlessness shifts in your grasp, you wonder if it is the last time.

You walk to the askew metal door. You are stopped before you grab the handle.

Voice of the Hero:

Hey.

Its tone is tender, and it soothes your growing worry.

Voice of the Hero:

I... I'm really proud of you. And even if - or when - this guy tears me out of your head, I'm always with you.

"And I'm glad you're there."

A happy glow warms your body as you and the Voice share a moment of serenity.

You take a deep, sure breath, and open the door.

The way down is decidedly not stairs. It seems to once have been a metal ramp, but had something carve down the middle of it. You try your best to take it slow, but everything is smooth, and any footholds are pointed and sharp. Everything smells like fire and metal.

You make it to the bottom, and you see the steely room. Right in the center of it, with the chain around its "neck," stands a bright, rangy Being.

Sharp, blood-red eyes stare at you. A pointed-toothed mouth is turned downward in a scowl. A heart beats behind a set of translucent ribs. Everything else is... a substance you can't quite understand.

Something between glass and metal, every part of it that was once skin is a jagged edge of a reflective, razor-sharp material. It looks like something that had been broken repeatedly, but continues to crash back together. Parts of this "skin" float around it in an orbit. Its fingers are very long and tapered, sharp like everything else, and stained with what you assume is blood. Beneath the beating heart is its legs, which seem joined at a single point on the ground, like it's balancing there at a pinpoint. Its head once had horns, but it is only shattered metal-glass.

Back for more?

Its voice is grating. Do you even want to fight this thing?

"More?"

It flashes its blade-like fingers and squints at you.

I had some issues with our first encounter. I'm glad you've come back so I can do it right this time.

"We've never met before, I don't want to fight."

Bloody liar.

With a disgusting screech of metal, it drags towards you, swiping with its claws. The noise is hell on your eardrums, but you dive out of the way just in time. Unfortunately, the floor is more jagged metal, and you cut your knee.

Voice of the Hero:

Shit, that was awful! Why's this one so angry??

With a crackle of bending metal, you turn and see the Being growing enraged.

Two against one!? You little demon, I'll tear you to goddamn atoms!

It extends a palm at you, and you feel the sense of something gripping you, holding you in place. You lock eyes with the Being as you are squeezed.

Voice of the Hero:

No, no! Stop- Agh!

With a sudden jerk, the constricting feeling falls, and you and the Other drop to the floor, separated once again. You hear a wicked laugh from the creature.

I'm the one in charge now, aren't I? I can finally get you back for all the bullshit you put me through.

You feel yourself convulsing, everything in you twitches and creaks. The Other at your side groans.

You grit your teeth, and your vision swims with rage.

You grab the echo once again. It had fallen when you were split. You can barely tell you have it in your grasp.

Though you ache, you rise to your feet, eyes fixated on the large creature.

"You think you're in charge? With that chain around your neck? Your heart is exposed, it wouldn't take much to get to it."

The Hero:

What?

In your mind echoes the same thought: What???

With a scraping growl, the Being charges again, swiping at you. You dodge one attack, but don't expect the second.

A shard of the metallic glass cuts into your arm.

Its the first time you've bled. Ever, even.

The Hero:

Stop! He didn't put you down here!

It slices at you again, and you deflect it with the, thankfully physical, echo.

What in the world are you on about?

It continues to clash blades with you and leave minuscule cuts along your limbs as it converses with the Other.

With a scrape, it leans away, and you catch your breath. What is this? You're fighting?

He put me here, and now he's trying to kill me. I'm just defending myself.

The Hero:

You are made of blades!!!???

Is the fight unfair? Does he have as much strength as he says?

What about your own?

You look at the echo you hold. It is nonexistent. What is deflecting the Being's attacks?

No, that's not right. It's there.

The Being lunges again, and you move beyond your own volition. You strike at its side, leaving a crack in its translucent ribs. The creature groans, a sickening sound of twisting metal.

You don't feel control over your own body. Do you have a choice? Why are you fighting?

"I want to free you."

The Being swipes at you, and you only barely evade its reach. It growls.

You're attacking me. Why won't you both just shut up!

It leans back and waves to the Other.

Better yet, why don't you try an' help me here? He wanted to lock you up too, just like he did to me!

The Hero:

I swear, he wasn't! I would know, I was in his head!

I'm sick of the lying!

With a swing of its arm, shards of its body go flying towards the other.

You shout in fear, but thankfully, it was only a warning, and the shards stick into the floor only a foot away from the Other's feet. He seems terrified, but okay.

You face the Being again. It is horrid. It has almost hurt the other part of you. You hate it.

You step forward.

This is what it's supposed to be, isn't it? You see the rage in its eyes. You want to plant your knife into its beating heart-

"NO!"

You fling the echo at the far wall, and the clang reverberates along the metal floor. The Being has flinched away from you.

You don't want to fight it, you want to save it.

Where are these conflicting thoughts coming from?

What's all this? You've given up? That's not a win!?

"I do want to free you. I do."

The Hero:

He isn't usually like this...

I don't care about being free, I want to win!

You see blades flash above you, and then they cut through you.

Not all the way, just across your front, leaving three large, disconnected streaks of red across your entire body. You don't feel it at first, the adrenaline numbing your body, but everything starts to sting.

Even if it isn't the worst, it is the most physical pain you've experienced. It is strange.

You fall to the floor, only barely able to catch yourself on wounded arms. Blood flows from everywhere. It is... so red.

Wh... Why are you so much weaker than you had been? What the hell is this?

You look at your bloody hands. It seeps through the indents of your scales. The fluid trails down your arm in lightning-shaped streaks. It hurts to bleed.

Your gaze turns up towards the creature, who scowls at you.

"I'm sorry. I didn't put you here."

Bullshit!

It screeches at you, but doesn't attack.

What is with this personality shift?? Get back up, if I'm gonna win, it's gonna be on my terms. You can't just throw in the towel once things aren't in your favor!

"You're right. But I'm sorry, I didn't mean to... attack you."

And what the hell does that mean?

You see its heart, bright crimson and pounding in its chest. Everything about the being is so dangerous, but its vital organ seems the least protected. You want to tear into it. But you want to hold it, and keep it safe.

The creature wants a fight, you have to give it to him.

No, you don't.

Your mind floods with the experiences from all of the other imprisoned Beings. You feel pulled along by a string, trying to force you to stand, but you kneel.

"Y-You must be in pain. After being trapped here so long, alone."

No shit it hurt! Get back up so I can cause you the same pain!

Your wounds bleed, but they don't hurt. You don't think that's what the Being is going for anyway.

The Hero:

Please, stop. Let us let you out of here.

Leave? Now that I've got power? Now that I... I can win!?

You combat the incessant thoughts. This creature has done nothing wrong.

With a shing of blades, razor-sharp fingers lift you by your armpits from your place on the floor. The sharpness cuts into you just enough to get a grip on you.

The win means nothing if you're not- If you aren't what I remember!

With bated breaths, you look into the creature's eyes. It is... quite a bit bigger than you. You see your blood trailing down its metallic arm.

You love this creature. You hate it. You want it dead. You want it safe. It hisses at you.

The moment I have power, you are limp and weak.

You are suddenly released, and you drop to the ground inelegantly. Your knees buckle and your head hits the metal. Its voice lowers, and starts to shake.

The moment I have anything, I...

With a heavy head, you lift yourself to look at it. It stares at its stained, sharp hands in horror.

You slowly bring yourself to your feet. Its pupils focus on you, and then follow the curved gashes across your body.

"I know you are angry. Your anger is justified. You deserve to kill me many times over."

Metal creaks as the Being closes in on itself.

Would that be enough? Would it ever mean anything?

"That's up to you."

Harsh scrapes bombard your eardrums as pieces of metal flare and swish through the air.

Are you what put me here? Why did I turn into this?

You step closer to it. Your steps are unsteady as your blood lubricates the smooth metal floor.

"I didn't put you here. I didn't make you this way."

With determination, you grab the creature's sharp, elongated fingers. You can feel their edge, but they do not cut into your flesh.

"We can change things. The pain can end. You can be free."

You can hear every thump of its heart, like a hammer to an anvil, concealed behind its veil of a ribcage. It speaks breathily. It sounds like it is far away.

I'm tired of waiting. I just want things to get better.

Pieces of it fall to the floor, clashing and shattering. You do not flinch at the jarring noise.

Why is everything different..?

The Being is weak. You are disgusted by it. You love it. You are afraid of it. You find comfort in it.

"To change in one way means it can change another."

The fingers you hold dig into you. You feel your skin give way.

Will it get better?

"It can."

You smile up at it. Your marred skin stretches.

"Isn't that incredible?"

Sparks fly as metal crushes and crumples. The horrid din rages through your mind, but it is soon joined by the familiar rustling of feathers.

You step back, releasing your hold on the Being's hand. You feel cool air where your skin was split.

Small hits of cartilage dragging against metal rise and fall. The being is shrunken down to a size like all of the others. A heavy chain clatters to the ground, and it echoes, the last of the noise.

You see a reflection of yourself, but this one is scarred and tattered. Its feathers are unkempt, its scales uneven and messy. It scratches at its skin. You exhale in relief.

The Other has rushed to your side, now that the danger is quieted.

The Cheated:

Maybe I... went a little too far.

"It's okay."

It winces and looks at your many bleeding wounds.

The Cheated:

Is it...?

With delicate hands, the Other feels your gashes. He mumbles under his breath.

The Hero:

I honestly didn't know if we could bleed, but I didn't want to actually find it out.

You place your bloody hand on the side of his face. He looks into your eyes, and you smile.

"Everything is fine. We should move on."

It steps out of your embrace, confused.

The Hero:

Move on? But, isn't this the end?

The Cheated:

The hell d'you mean, "move on"?

The Hero:

I've gotta- Well, I did, but- Um.

You look to the new one.

"There are other people we've managed to save. Would you want to meet them?"

It lights up, tattered feathers flaring with excitement.

The Cheated:

Others? Where? Why didn't you lead with that, not trying to stab me?

You blink, and remember. Your eyes dart around the room.

You feel watched.

The Hero:

Are you sure you're alright?

You nod. Your feet take you to the echo you tossed away. You grab it by the blade, so as to not get any of your blood on the hilt.

The Cheated:

And what's that for? Are you...

It quiets as you reapproach the Other. He hesitantly takes the echo from your grasp.

The Cheated:

I get to see the other people... But you don't? Even though you freed them?

You look at it, a little surprised that it pointed such a thing out, and then you grin.

"Your sense of justice is admirable."

It looks shocked in response. A wing flutters minutely. You look back at the Other.

"This is what comes next."

Your eyebrows furrow in determination. You don't want to die, but there is something that comes after. This isn't the end for you.

The new one pouts with worried discontent. You don't want to leave him.

The Other fiddles with the blade, and then comes to a decision. It mirrors your own look of determination.

You don't break your stare on the shining blade as it raises, and then...

The Other's empty fist hits your chest.

It shouts in confusion and pulls away, a spot of your blood from your other wounds is left on it. The knife is nowhere to be seen.

The Hero:

Huh? Where'd it go?

It looks around the floor around you, believing the blade fell from his hands somewhere in its arc.

The Cheated:

Did it just... Pop out of existence?

You stay frozen. You thought you were going to die. You should have died.

There is a sound. Some, undulating pulsation. Every open wound on your body gets a chill of cold air.

The Other finds your gaze again. His eyes widen in horror.

"Wait..."

Something grabs you. Your vision goes white.

#:)#stp #slay the princess #voice of the hero #stp fanart #stp fanfic #fanfic #yeeaaayy #cw blood #gross wounds and stuff #have caution

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forasecondtherewedwon · 2 months

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dear john

Fandom: Masters of the Air Pairing: Gale "Buck" Cleven/John "Bucky" Egan Rating: E Word Count: 2354

Summary: The Regensburg-Schweinfurt mission changes John. What Gale can't say aloud, he puts in the letters he writes to John in his head.

John had grown further from himself since the last plane, Gale’s plane, had touched down in Algeria. Gale had watched it: the relief that became a just-perceptible, sleepless despair. Eleven planes left, and John’s emotions shifted like the hot sand on which they’d landed. Some of the guys watched the sky for a long while. Not John. He sat and stared at the horizon, a hard look on his face as he squinted tightly against the sun.

They had all been changed by the mission, of course. The survivor count was sobering. The destination, painted as a paradise when they were in England, was no victory party. Their quiet celebration was a cup of warm water in the shade of a battered bomber. And this was enough. It seemed more than enough to be alive.

Gale sweat like the rest, was exhausted like the rest, had stripped his upper body free of clothes but had not yet resorted to shucking his pants, as many had. He wasn’t sure if it was being a major that stopped him or the anticipated horror of having to get dressed again after making himself just a smidge cooler. There was also John, who was always near. Gale wanted to seem, for John, as though he were keeping himself together.

John had taken to sitting not beside Gale but slightly ahead of him, making of them a pair of birds in migratory V-formation.

Even though it put him partly in the punishing sun, Gale laid down. The sound of the boys speaking aloud the letters they were writing home came to him as a murmur over the ground. He shut his eyes and listened as they strove to explain Africa, the sky, and even bigger things than those. The sacred place inside themselves where they kept safe the gentleness that having someone to write to made worth preserving when it was so damn hot and their bodies were weary and the promised lobster had failed to materialize.

Gale opened his eyes and peered at John. What he saw: the limp undershirt, the silver chains cutting across the sunburnt nape of his neck, the bowed bulk of his body as he slouched his elbows over his bent-up knees. He exhaled heavily through his nose.

Dear Susan,

Dear Ma,

Dear Jackie,

Dear Cassandra,

Dear John, Gale thought, pillowing his head on his arm. I do not know what it was to wait and hope that you would land, but I believe that you waited and hoped for me. Now you guard me like an animal—I am your last, your best, when too many others have gone.

You know I do not have much faith in the traditional sense. Instead, you have been the totem of my convictions. I know that you are good, and that you exist, and that is sufficient. I do not need much, unless you are offering. Thank you again for my bicycle.

Please be there when I land, always, always. I need to feel that I am pointing the plane towards some sort of home.

John shifted and his dog tags clinked together as he looked back at Gale over his shoulder.

—

The party made Gale aware how different he was from the rest of the men, with respect to John. And, man, there was so much he did assess that way: with respect to John. He’d assumed that John was universally irresistible. Gale himself couldn’t claim a personality prone to hero-worship or puppy-dog devotion, and yet the choice to be with John or not to be wasn’t a choice he thought he’d ever take seriously. Surely everyone felt the same. John was loyal, lovably wayward, endlessly entertaining.

After he’d taken things, admittedly, a few steps beyond what was either appropriate or sane by calling Colonel Harding “flak-happy,” Gale’d expected the boys to rally ’round. There would be those who didn’t understand, Gale had thought, believing they’d witnessed some sort of nervy prank, but most would see, as Gale did, that John needed something. Needing something—there, then—meant needing each other. There was little else.

But the boys had scattered, leaving Gale to make the suggestion of a weekend leave from the base. When John invited him along to London, Gale had another terrible realization: it was the first time he wanted to get away from, not with, his best friend. He wanted to help him, yes, but the on-edge, provocative John who stood beside him at the bar was not a John who would lift the latch on the gate of his emotions to permit Gale entry. He saw John’s weekend unfolding, and it was destructive if he accompanied him. An audience would only hurt John, Gale thought.

He felt cowardly as he escaped as Meatball’s dance partner, but he was afraid that John might insist about London, that he might hear him plead. He was afraid that John hadn’t meant it, merely extending the invitation so Gale’s initial suggestion seemed to have always been intended as a plan for two, not Gale telling him he needed a break because his attitude was growing dangerous. Perhaps for himself most of all.

Dear John, Gale thought, when he’d crossed the dance floor, released Meatball, and watched John skulk from the hall. Let me tell you here that I miss you, where you cannot interrupt. A stranger has been coming and going from your body. I do not know if he is trespassing through a window, swinging in the wind of what you probably think is a private storm, or you are greeting him at the front door and he is only a stranger to me.

Do not be hurt by my refusal to go to London. Remember that you are also making the choice to go when you know I will stay here, watching our men, guiding them. It will be strange to greet them without hearing “Major” twice in short succession.

I will think of you often while you are absent. This is true already, when you have only just left the room. Come back and dance with me. At least ask me, and smile when I say no.

Gale stepped out into the quiet dark, leaving all sound behind him. He remembered the last night of revelry cut short by the bombing of Norwich. He thought of Curt and felt a tension in his chest. He walked on.

John hadn’t gone far; he was barely away from the mess hall, kicking his feet through the dampening grass. Gale could tell John knew he was there, but there was nothing more for them to say to one another that night. That was sometimes how it was.

—

Gale guessed the woman had meant something to John because he wouldn’t share her name. The boys got out of him that she’d been beautiful (though Gale doubted John would have said any different, picked anybody different), and had kept John company in his hotel rather than seeking shelter when bombs had begun to fall on London. They teased John about protecting her. He got a sly smile on his face then, and when he told them this woman coulda taken care of herself, they all ooooohed with gusto. She sounded like quite a woman. Blonde, John’d said. Real good-lookin’. There was a mirror in their quarters that Gale avoided that day. He knew what he’d see in his reflection.

There had been another mission, called off at the last minute. The boys had been in the planes and everything, waiting to taxi, when the order came down. Bad timing. Somebody was a little gun-shy after everything’d gone to hell the last time. Gale knew they weren’t special; there just weren’t that many of them left.

John had missed the whole thing. He’d come back feeling superior, having not been left out of an opportunity for valour and having intimately enjoyed the heated touch of another human being within the previous 36 hours. The latter was enough to make him a man of singular admiration on the base. When he would only surrender so much after the boys begged for details, things went back to how they’d been. Gale felt the memory of the woman hanging between John and himself, but not as an obstacle, only as a card drawn and then shuffled back into the deck of John’s experience. Gale watched John tuck her away, and he reached out—with conversation, with brief anecdotes of the base over the weekend—feeling the same softened edges of the deck that were always there. John threw an arm around Gale’s shoulders during breakfast, made some little joke, leaned forward to catch the grin Gale tried to hide in his cup of coffee.

Dear John, Gale thought, as they strolled over to the sleeping quarters. There was a book John wanted to show him, something he’d bought in London. You are not a new man after your leave. I did not want you to be.

When we were alone, you told me more about the bombing. What had gone on as the bombs fell you kept in your hints for the boys. To me, you spoke of what happened after. I see it as you described it: cars on the wrong side of the road, red telephone booths, and drifting conversations in the British accents that are still a novelty to us, surrounded mostly by our own countrymen and -women. I see the body of the child lifted from the rubble of what had been a home, and I hear the woman—the mother, you presumed, and so do I—screaming in the street.

So, John. A leave bracketed by the arms of one woman and the screams of another. We cannot shed the war. Not when it is under our skin, not when the enemy makes an uninvited appearance on our weekend holidays. I held you in my mind every minute that you were not here. Take that any way you will.

Gale couldn’t tell if the book had been only an excuse to get away from the others, but he turned it over intently, watched by John, who had his hands perched on his hips. He started talking about the bookstore, stuff in heaps, impossible to find anything. Gale passed the book back and ran a finger along his top lip.

“How was it really?” he asked, because John spoke in moments and vignettes, failing to give an impression of the leave as a whole.

“I was wishin’ you were there,” John said, shrugging and heading for the door. Gale followed.

“And when you were with your Polish widow?” he asked John’s back.

“Like I said.” John paused before the threshold. “I was wishin’ you were there.”

He turned. His eyes burned into Gale’s, but they were also wet.

Although Gale cleared his throat, his voice came out gruff: “I’m here now.”

“Yeah,” John agreed, nodding. “Yeah, you are.”

Gale saw his jaw clench and reached out, yanking the length of John’s tie from between the buttons of his shirt.

When they kissed, hard and standing just to the right of the doorway, Gale thought how much there was that couldn’t be put in a letter. He felt John’s tongue thick in his mouth, almost gagging him, and gripped the back of John’s head to pull him in deeper. They wouldn’t let each other breathe, and then John’s hand was closed in a fist around Gale’s belt. Be reckless here, with me, Gale urged him in his mind. He dug his blunt nails into John’s scalp.

He allowed John to push his back against the wall. There was little room between them, but enough—after Gale unbuckled the belt and John unbuttoned the pants, their hands working over and under one another’s—for John to sink his hand down the front of Gale’s shorts. With John’s intense stare on him, Gale turned his head to watch the door. In the corner of his eye, he could see John’s lips parting, silently mirroring Gale’s low groans.

John pumped him roughly, then unexpectedly slowed, adjusting his fingers. Gale panted and shuddered. He took hold of John’s tie again and drew him in. Turning to face him meant leaving the door unguarded, but he did it, he did it so they could be so close that he felt the feather of John’s eyelashes on his cheek after they kissed and John hung his head, watching the shifting bulge that was his hand wringing pleasure from Gale.

Gale slid his own hand down John’s body. He caressed the buttons John had fastened when he’d dressed that morning, the neat tuck of his shirt into his pants. He settled his hand lower, on John’s inner thigh, and John grunted. He was as hard as Gale was and Gale wasn’t touching him. Gale felt John’s hot, impatient breath against his temple. He tipped his mouth to John’s throat, let his lips skim.

“Dear John,” he sighed across thin skin.

His hand dragged up and clutched John’s cock through his pants. He’d never heard John like this before. He wanted those sounds inside him, so he kissed John’s mouth again, urging him to spill it all into him. The sounds, the broken, two-part thing his name became in John’s mouth when he wrapped an arm around John’s waist and forced their hips together. It was sloppy and crude, John’s hand trapped in the middle. They ground into one another, John’s body pinning Gale’s to the wall from thighs to shoulders. The friction was harsh. Panting, John bit Gale’s cheekbone, and Gale came. Shorts damp, cock too sensitive, still Gale held John tighter as he kept thrusting against him, rubbing at him, finally finishing with a choked gasp Gale figured would make it difficult for him to get to sleep tonight. Most nights, for a long while.

It hadn’t been more than five minutes. It might not’ve been two.

“I sent you a postcard from London, by the way,” John muttered.

Gale grabbed John’s tie, threaded it back into his shirt.

“Oh yeah? How’s it start?”

#my writing #Masters of the Air #MotA #MotA fic #Gale 'Buck' Cleven #John 'Bucky' Egan #Gale x John #Buck x Bucky

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mistress-ofmagic · 1 year

Text

Around the Realms in 80 days- Chapter 18

Pairing: Reader x Loki

Story summary: You have fallen through a portal during the convergence into Asgard and come face to face with Thor, and his brother Loki. With no way to return, you must travel with the two men and their hoard of asgardian soldiers to get back home. Things get from bad to worse when you have to share a tent with the god of mischief himself.

Notes: Oh hi there! Welcome to another chapter (this Is pretty good timing for me, two chapters in a month? Who says I don't feed you! This was a fun chapter to write, I did a lil bit of breaking the 4th wall here lol! I know a lot of you hated Latte to begin with because she was a lil nervy and didn’t always stick up for herself (Im only going off on what I would be like guys lmao some of us are very soft and not at all brave or heroic) and I know she’s a bit of a reluctant hero or an anti-hero, she'd much rather be chilling somewhere with her coffee than faced with this shit!

Anyway, enjoy!

Read this story on a03!

find all parts to this story on Tumblr here

Jesus Christ…” You muttered under your breath as you stormed off, leaving Stark Towers behind you.

“Uh…Latte?”

You span round to face Oliver, who was having to do a fast pace walk to catch up with you.

“What?” You asked rather sharper than you intended.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry, that’s so embarrassing. It’s been…”

“Stressful morning?” Oliver grinned good-naturedly.

You sighed. “Kind of.”

“I can’t imagine. Where do you want to go?”

“Honestly I don’t know the city at all.” You forced a smile, trying to forget L-O-K-I and enjoy the rest of your day.

“Where would you recommend?”

Oliver smiled again. He was a smiley person, you noticed. Unlike he-who-shall-not-be-named who usually looked unimpressed at best, especially when you were around. He looked cute again today; it felt strange seeing him without his lab coat on, as if he was missing something somehow. He was wearing jeans and a graphic tee-shirt, his brown hair tousled again as if he constantly runs his hands through it, and his hazel eyes seemed to light up when he smiled. His face was open and sincere, again unlike Loki who was closed and harsh. Maybe there was something to be said of their life experiences though; while you didn’t know much about Oliver and his life, you doubted he had ever tried to take over an entire planet and been defeated and imprisoned.

Still…suppose you can never be too careful. Enough tinder dates had taught you that.

You realised you had been staring at him and hadn’t listened at all to his response.

“Sorry, what did you say?” You asked sheepishly.

He laughed, “I suggested we could go to the museum of modern art? Or if you would prefer to just see some sights we could go to times square…?”

“Museum sounds good. Sorry, I’m a little distracted.”

He chucked as you started heading off in the direction of the museum together. The day continued to be pleasant enough and you actually began to enjoy your stroll despite the way the morning had gone.

Oliver broke the cordial silence.

“So then, I guess the number one question…how did you get landed with the task of being Loki’s…companion?”

“Companion?” You screwed your face up.

Oliver laughed, “well, whatever you’d call your relationship.”

“I try not to call it anything.” You muttered under your breath.

You begin to explain the situation to Oliver, and the rollercoaster that was yours and Loki’s so called “relationship”.

Oliver gave a low whistle after you finally finished regaling him with your sorry tale of woe.

“Man…that’s heavy.”

“Horrible isn’t it.” You sighed glumly.

“I can’t believe you got kidnapped!”

“Kidnapped, bullied by trolls, meeting Loki, it’s been the worst of times.”

He laughed and you scowled at him.

“It’s not funny, my life is a Shakespearen tragedy.”

“No no, of course not, I’m sorry. Is meeting Loki really as bad as being attacked by trolls?”

“Far, far worse.”

For some reason, Oliver seemed to think you were joking and laughed.

But…you do seem to find yourself in some scrapes don’t you.”

“Scrapes find me, I am merely a passive entity to which disaster finds.”

“I find that a little difficult to believe, given that by the sounds of it you basically begged to stay here.” Olivers eyes twinkled with good-hearted mirth.

“That’s…that’s beside the point.”

“Of course, of course. You know…I’m not so sure though.”

“About what?”

“If I didn’t know any better, and despite all your complaining, I’d say you rather enjoy traveling around with Loki.”

You spluttered, “What? What are you trying to say?”

“Loki this, Loki that. I’m just saying, for someone who hates him so, you do enjoy talking about him.”

You stared at him, horrified. An awful though suddenly appeared…over the past few weeks had you managed to pass the Bechdel test?

“That’s not…” The words got stuck in your throat.

Maybe Oliver could tell how nauseated you were because he said gently,

“I’m joking Latte. It sounds like you’ve been through hell and back. You’ve been so brave I’m not sure many people could do what you have done.”

You blushed and stuttered for a different reason.

“I’m sure that’s not true. Besides I didn’t really have a choice. Sink or swim I guess. I was pretty cowardly to begin with, I let Loki scare the shit out of me. I’m not…a brave person, I’m not particularly tough.”

“I would disagree, the story you just told me would suggest otherwise. Jesus knows I couldn’t have done half the things you did, I would have laid in the corner and cried.”

You snorted.

“Arguably, that’s pretty much what I’ve been doing.”

“You’re the hero, you have to go through some sort of journey.” Oliver winked at you.

“Oh please, I’m definitely the anti-hero, the people at home watching the inevitable film of my life will be screaming at the tv I’m sure.”

“Well, anti-hero or not, I’d watch that movie.”

You really wanted to make a snide comment about that making Loki the villain in this particular story, but you kept your mouth shut given that Oliver seemed to think you were infatuated with the Asgardian God. Definitely not true, by the way.

“Sure, ‘my life as the worlds worst avenger’ coming to cinemas soon.”

“I think I’d prefer ‘How to train your fire demon.’” Oliver joined in.

“Or, ‘Asgardian Psycho.” You snorted, thinking back to Loki.

“What about ‘An Earthling in Asgard?”

You grinned, “it’s good, but a little on the nose, plus I’m not just in Asgard anymore, I’m quite the realm traveler.”

“Fine then, how about ‘Around the Realms in 80 days.”

You laughed, “That’s not bad, you never know with the rate things are going I might end up doing just that.”

“How are you feeling about your upcoming trip?”

You sighed, a little wave of anxiety settling into your stomach.

“Pretty nervous. I’m not sure who I think I’m kidding being here in the first place, and now apparently I’m traveling to a dangerous realm of fire and brimstone, where I’ll probably get myself killed no doubt.” You paused,

“Sorry, I don’t mean to offload! It can’t be much worse than the current state of things anyway.”

“Please, don’t feel bad!”

“Maybe some modern art will cheer me up. Hey, actually, how did you find out my stupid nickname?” You asked, realising he had been calling you your misnomer.

Oliver laughed sheepishly,

“Well, I heard Thor call you that when he was talking to Stark yesterday.”

“Oh god, what did he say?”

“Only good things!” Oliver hurried to reassure you. “Just discussing your amazing performance with the demon in the cell.”

“Hm, I don’t believe you but for the sake of my self-esteem I won’t press further.”

After a short walk, you made it to the museum and followed Oliver inside. You insisted on paying for your own ticket, of course.

You had just about settled into an enjoyable afternoon, wandering around the exhibits when your phone starting beeping. You ignored it at first and then your phone started ringing.

You stared at it and blinked twice as Loki’s named popped up on your phone. It had also been him texting you apparently. The message flashed on your screen.

Loki: There’s an emergency

“Is everything okay? You look ill.” Oliver asked.

“This can’t be good.” You sighed. “Let me take this.”

You walked over to the entrance of the exhibit as to not disturb everyone there.

“Loki?”

“Hello little mortal, enjoying yourself on your, what do the young midgardians call it, A date?” Loki spoke lazily.

“Its not a date!” You hissed loudly into the phone, raising some eyebrows around you.

“It’s not a date.” You repeated again quietly as you turned your back.

“I think the lady doth protest too much.”

“Seriously what is wrong with you?”

“Not much, what’s up with you?”

You could basically feel Loki’s irritating grin through the phone.

“God you give me whiplash. What do you want Loki I’m busy.”

“Not too busy to pick up the phone I see.” You could hear a smug tone to his voice.

“I only picked it up because you said it was an emergency.”

“What emergency could I possibly need your help with.”

“Okay, goodbye Loki.”

“Wait, actually there is an emergency.”

You sighed and rubbed your forehead. Man, this god was going to turn you grey.

“What?” You snapped. You were in no doubt there was no emergency and Loki was ringing you to just mess with you.

There was a pause on the phone. You considered hanging up before he finally continued,

“Stark has arranged for a movie night tonight and we all have to attend.” In his defence Loki sounded very glum, as if something horrible had truly happened.

“That’s not an emergency Loki. Now excuse me while I go back to my not date.”

“Where are you?” He asked.

Your eyes narrowed suspiciously, and you looked around you, scared incase he popped up from behind a statue or something.

“Were in the museum of modern art. Why?”

“No need to sound so distrustful.” Loki sounded amused, “I had no idea you were such a connoisseur of fine art, you never struck me as the type.”

You bristled at his insinuation that you were not sophisticated enough to enjoy art.

“I actually love going to museums. Just because I don’t walk around acting like I’m the dogs bollocks doesn’t mean I’m not cultured.”

“Do you have to use such crass language when we speak?”

“Do we have to speak at all?” You retorted back, still scanning the room slightly just incase he showed up.

“I visited your planet with Odin and Thor when I was a child and we visited a place called Rome, they had a great number of many museums.”

“Oh? Was this when Julius Caesar was still in power?”

Loki ignored your comment,

“Of course, not as many as we have on Asgard. Since you are so interested in museums I can visit together the next time we visit.” He spoke lightly.

You paused, was Loki asking you out? And not just because he had to because of the whole babysitting thing?

“Uh, yeah. I guess I didn’t think that I would go back though, to Asgard. Odin wasn’t mighty pleased I was there in the first place.”

“Odin is not usually mighty pleased about anything, especially if I’m involved.” He kept his voice light and humorous, but there was something deeper underneath.

The admission came as a surprise, you weren’t that used to Loki speaking about his feelings (kind of) so easily and you were stumped for a response.

“Well New York has plenty of museums too.” You offered, unsure of what else to say.

“Indeed.”

The phone went quiet again. It really was unsettling how quickly the two of you seemed to go from arguing to tolerating each other, and even more unsettling, the occasional moments of companionship with a hint of friendship.

Not that you were sure he would put you in that category with the way he had recently snapped at you; when you’d tried to enquire about his parenthood and just before you came on this not date. Although he had also magicked your up a new wardrobe and seemed to get very upset when he thought you were dying so that had to count for something, right?

Come to think of it, you never actually really addressed the whole “friendship” thing after that long talk the other night on the balcony, where Loki had finally stopped acting like a dick for long enough as to apologise for his actions and have a serious conversation about where you stood with him. He had really opened up then, about how he felt about getting close to mortals. You supposed you couldn’t really be too shocked then, when he seemed to distance himself from you a little the last few days.

The hot and cold act was not enjoyable but was almost understandable if you saw things from his perspective. You just had to be careful not to get burnt or frozen in the process.

Not that anyone wants to look at things from Lokis perspective for too long, they’d get a migraine.

Look at you being all mature and shit!

You thought back to those nights of sharing a tent with Loki, it felt so long ago now despite not being long ago at all. You had been so scared of him then, so unsure of how he would react next.

Now? Well he was still a mystery and could still be a complete arse, but perhaps he was opening up to you, slowly. You needed to be patient but only to an extent right, he was obviously a complex guy; not that that gave him a right of passage to be a knob.

“What are you up to then now?” You asked.

To your surprise, Loki played along.

“Well now you’re gone I get to enjoy some peace and quiet for once, reading my books.”

You almost hit back with “so that’s why you called me then, is it?” But stopped yourself. You realised then that Loki was bored. That’s why he’d been so annoyed that you had spent the afternoon with Oliver. Probably.

I mean, aside from you and Thor, it’s not like he had a lot of friends from what you had seen. Another thing the two of you actually had in common. You didn’t have a lot of friends here either.

You bit down on your nails, an old habit you had whenever you felt anxious about something.

“Stop that dreadful noise or I shall put the phone down.”

Only paying half attention, you stepped back into someone and banged your side pretty hard.

“Ow, dickhead.” You muttered as they shot you a dirty look and walked off.

“What? What’s happening?” Loki barked.

“Oh nothing, just this asshole walking into me.”

“Was it that Midgardian boy?”

“What midgardian boy?” You asked absent-mindedly. “Oh shit, Oliver.” You suddenly remembered your not-date probably wondering what the hell you were doing.

“Anyway, I should get back to…I’ll see you later.”

“yes.” Loki said stiffly “I’d hate to keep you from your beau.”

“Nobody says beau anymore by the way. S’later.”

“Goodbye mortal.”

You hung up your phone and quickly went to rejoin Oliver.

“Hey, sorry I took so long.”

“Everything okay?”

“Literally fine, he just wanted to complain about Tonys movie night or something.”

“Look at you, movie nights with the Avengers!”

“I know, I’m going up in the world. Careful what you say to me now, I’ve got the force of Earths defenders on my side.”

Oliver chuckled and held his hands up.

“I see that. Remind me not to get on the wrong side of you.”

You turned back to the photography exhibit, wondering what it would actually be like to visit a museum with Loki one day.

***

You wandered back into the towers later that evening. After the museum, you had gone for a few drinks with Oliver and, as it was, you were feeling rather tipsy.

Actually, this was the second time you had been tipsy in the last few days, you reminded yourself, better not make it a habit.

Still, Oliver was cute, right?

Not rip-my-clothes-off-and-take-me cute, but cute all the same.

He was very sweet and funny too and although you maybe saw him as friend-material at the moment, that didn’t mean something couldn’t happen in the future. Plus it was nice to have a friend that wasn’t a hundred year plus old god.

You could get used to the city living, although there was a part of you that missed the Asgardian country side too.

The atrium into Stark Towers took your breath away, you felt far too unsophisticated to be staying there. It was not the sort of place you’d ever particularly imagined yourself but you were going to enjoy your time for as long as you had. Grinning, probably overly familiarly in your slightly drunken state, at the security and receptionists on the ground floor you made your way over to the lift, preparing to stand there for all of eternity due to the many floors. You decided to turn your phone back on to check for any messages you missed after turning your phone off earlier to save battery.

Two missed calls and a few texts from Loki?

Loki: When are you retuning mortal it is nearly dark?

Loki: Mortal?

Loki: Answer my calls right this instance or there will be consequences.

Loki: Loki, Prince of Asgard.

You snorted and replied.

You: Why did you text me your own name, weirdo. What’s up?

And for the fun of it, you sent him a little gif of the “wazup” scene in Scary Movie.

Making your way up the many floors in Starks state of the art lift, you waited for Loki to reply.

Loki: How dare you not answer me when I asked you to. Clearly, you needed reminding of who I am. Secondly, what, in all of the nine realms is that?

You: Firstly, I’m not just at your beck and call Loki, I was a bit busy. Secondly, It’s a gif. It’s just like a moving picture that you send to be funny.

Loki: Busy? With that midgardian boy? Disgusting. I didn’t find the moving picture particularly amusing. Please don’t send me one again.

You: Get your mind out of the gutter.

You were hit with a sudden inspiration. You quickly searched for the gif you wanted and found it. Who knew there were so many Loki gifs. The particular one you were after was Loki shouting “kneel” to the ground in Stuttgart during his last soiree to Earth.

Loki: ?

Loki: It is imperative that you tell me how you acquired this.

You laughed out loud to yourself, as you put your phone away wishing you could see Loki’s face as you had send that gif.

You figured, given the time, that Stark would have already started the film night, so you headed towards the most likely lounge areas on the penultimate floor. Your guess was right, and you could see through the glass doors the Avengers sat around watching what you were pretty sure was Kill Bill.

The sight made you giggle, and you remembered you needed to try very hard at not being a little bit drunk. You were pretty sure the Avengers all thought you were slightly strange to begin with, you needed to change their mind.

You shushed yourself aloud, and prepared to enter quietly and normally. Quietly and normally. Quietly and normally.

You pushed the door slightly and entered. So far so good, no one had particularly noticed you entering. Quiet and normal. Excellent. You scanned the room, looking for an empty seat. Your long distance eye sight wasn’t great as it is thanks to years of starting at screens and it was pretty dark, but you thought there was one free near Thor so you headed over silently.

That was, until, someone very rudely had put a pouff right in your way and you tripped up, slamming your knees into the side of a sofa.

“Shit” You yelled, rather loudly.

All the Avengers in the room turned and started at you.

“Nice of you to join us Wonderland, please come in.” Stark said, dryly.

You grinned wildly, deciding it best not to say anything, and took the closest seat.

“Mortal.” A low voice spoke to your left.

“Oh for gods sake” You muttered and glared at Loki for the audacity of sitting where you were now forced to sit.

Loki seemed amused by this reaction and smirked at you irritatingly. You glared even harder and then faced the TV.

“You’re back very late.” Loki spoke softly next to you, with a note of contention in his voice.

You decided to ignore him, and tried to focus on the film. You’d never actually seen Kill Bill all the way through and coming in half way was pretty confusing. Loki tried again.

“I hope you haven’t been fraternising with your mortal boy?”

“Stop accusing me of fraternising every three seconds, and it’s none of your business even if I was." You huffed out of the corner of your mouth, as to not disturb the rest of them.

Loki looked annoyingly happy that you had risen to the bait.

“I’m going to get popcorn.” You mumbled, and stood up to head towards the back of the room where the snacks and were.

You stood up too quickly and had to grab the sofa and a blink a couple of times until the black dots stopped floating in front of you. You suppressed the need to giggle and made your way over to the back, being very careful to watch where you placed your feet.

The lights were on towards the back and you squinted to get used to the light change. You hummed about the snack bar; Stark, or more likely someone who worked for him, had thought of literally every snack you might need to watch a film.

Pick and Mix, chocolate, popcorn, and plenty of treats you’d never even seen before.

“What are these?” A voice spoke behind you.

You jumped in the air, very nearly spilling the popcorn you had picked up.

“Jesus Loki.”

You looked around to see if anyone had noticed, but you were pretty far back and out of ear shot around this area.

“Can you not?”

“Not what? He asked, with a fake innocence.

“Not…do whatever you’re doing now.”

“I’m merely standing here.”

“And here I was thinking you had better things to do than stand and talk to Midgardians.” You repeated his words from earlier back at him.

Loki rolled his eyes at you.

“You surely know how to hold a grudge.”

“I surely do bitch.”

He didn’t find this very funny and shot you a displeased look.

“You are drunk again.”

You tutted and made double sure no one was listening.

“I’m not drunk Low-key.” You elongated his name as you helped yourself to some more sweets “I am a little tipsy maybe. Also you make it sound like all I do is constantly drink.”

“Well you have been drunk twice in barely as many days.”

“That was your brothers fault remember?”

He let out a long suffering sigh, as if he didn’t particularly want to remember.

“What are you eating?” He crinkled his nose up as you scuffed another gobful of popcorn.

“Popcorn.” You said, with your mouth half full.

“Are mortals taught any table manners at all?” He asked, disapprovingly.

“Do you not have popcorn on Asgard.”

He looked down at the spread of snacks.

“No.” He said carefully.

“Well what do you eat for sweets then?”

“I suppose we have nuts and grapes.”

“Some nuts and grapes? Christ no wonder you’re so highly strung.”

You gathered a plate up for him with selection of all the amazing confectionary Earth had to offer. “Here, try these.”

You stared at him in excitement as he ate a handful of Haribos.

“Well?”

“Hm. I’m not sure I enjoy this texture.”

“Try this next!” You very nearly shoved some popcorn into his mouth in your excitement and then realised that would probably get you killed, which would have been messy in Starks fancy lounge; so you just pointed to it instead.

Watching Loki try new things was surprisingly very entertaining to you. It was unusual to see Loki look so unsure of himself, as normally he swanned around cocky as anything.

You sighed, thinking back once again to the other night on the balcony. Loki was very good at brushing over any moments of vulnerability, even though he occasionally showed it in moments like this.

With his slightly furrowed forehead and quizzical expression as he tried earthly sweets was the epitome of vulnerable.

Loki made eye contact with you while you stared at him and swallowed his sweets down.

“Why are you looking at me like that mortal?” He asked, suspiciously.

“Nothing.” You smiled to yourself

“Now you are smiling like a loon. I hope you are not loosing your mind over that boy. We have a mission to complete, or have you forgotten?” He frowned at you, disgruntled.

“How could I forget the fact I’m heading to a burning wasteland soon.” You said sadly, thinking of your up and coming trip which, at best, ends in your death.

“There is no reason to be nervous. You have proved yourself rather difficult to maim.” Loki stated, deliberately.

“Physically maybe but I’m going to need a hell of a lot of therapy when this is over.” You muttered. “Suppose I should enjoy this last moment of calm before the storm.”

“What storm?” Loki asked cautiously.

“It’s just a figure of speech.”

“Hm.” Loki made a non committal humming noise.

“Let’s go finish off the film, I need the escapism.”

You sat back down together and tried to refocus on the film. You mind kept wandering however and you remained restless.

Were things between you and Loki changing? How many Loki gifs could you send of himself before he murdered you in your sleep?

And, most importantly, what fresh hell awaited you in the realm of fire?

A/N: Who enjoyed my fourth wall break (kinda?) haha! Also keep tuned folks for some more plot (finally) after a couple of plot-less chapters!

Taglist:

@creationsbyme @kikster606 @slytherinintj13 @th0rswh0res @huntress-artemiss @jannieka394 @stefffrs @misswimberly @thedistractedagglomeration @yoongissidebitchh @purplekitten30 @mischief2sarawr @johnmurphys-sass

@lonadane @imalovernotahater @lokisgoodgirl @laliceee @dlwrish @paetonnn

#loki #loki odinson #loki of asgard #loki x you #loki x y/n #loki x reader #loki x reader insert #loki smut #loki fanfic #tom hiddleston #loki laufyson #loki (marvel)#loki series

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buck-yyyy · 4 months

Note

re the goldfinch ramblings

context for the description of hands question, I think I read one fic where the author just consistently mentioned "boris's pianist hands" and imprinted on that thought since I had a vague recollection of theo describing boris in a similar fashion and TURNS OUT he does describe him as a pianist

"His skin was weather-beaten but his clothes fell well, his features were sharp and nervy, cavalry hero by way of concert pianist;"

but not his hands (which in novel are more mentioned for what they do "He reached across with cupped hand and slapped me gently on the cheek.")

I also do think it would've been so good if he had described boris's hands...

and regarding the music yes!!!! it IS one of his mother's favourite bands, with the specific song boris humming being one of her favourites from the group as well, which just drives me a little bit insane?? it's interesting that there is that connection, especially with how theos so adamant in connecting pippa as the one thing he still has from before the accident of losing his mother and yet he meets boris after the accident and a boris who does share similarities like singing the same songs.

and ooo it's okay if music analysis isn't your thing but hopefully you don't mind me rambling on and on about it 😭😭 and also I would say the first couple of times I read the book I never paid too much attention to the music but I found a playlist with all the songs referenced and it ADDED to the subtle context of things so I shall ramble more !!

but what you said about the classical music and pippa IS def an interesting thought especially since theo does actually try to listen to the music she's likes "Over and over I played her favorite Arvo Pärt, as a way of being with her" but he never actually states that he likes the music, and more often than not he's not really listening to classical music for himself. like theodore decker PLS who is he fooling !!!! and I also think this can parallel with how when boris and kotku happen theo spends his time listening to "Dear Prudence from the White Album (which Boris adored)" but he never states whether he likes this piece of music either, but he has sung it with boris on a different occasion before he runs away and within this instance of his moping alone his entire monologue is about missing boris

and this is my last music thing for now (this one makes me want to scream) but when boris and theo are flying seperately to go and get the painting back the background music in the airport plays "love… love will keep us together… think of me babe whenever…" which is definitely an interesting choice for sure

okie I've rambled for like way too long there but hopefully there's something interesting in here for you!!! I just think there's just SO much to talk about when it comes to this book like oh god....yeah and ty for the luck back ofc :D

anon i am so sorry that this has been sitting in my inbox for two months T-T i've been trying to procure the right words to respond to it but to be entirely honest i've got NOTHING, your analysis stands so well on its own that there's nothing i can possibly add :=

#the goldfinch #theo decker #theodore decker #boris pavlikovsky #asks!!!

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sparklygraves · 1 year

Quote

He'd grown up to be good-looking. Even at his gawkiest and most pinched, he'd had a likeable shrewdness about him, lively eyes and a quick intelligence, but he'd lost that half-starved rawness and everything else had come together in the right way. His skin was weather-beaten but his clothes fell well, his features were sharp and nervy, cavalry hero by way of concert pianist; and his tiny gray snaggleteeth-- I saw-- had been replaced by a standard-issue row of all-American whites.

Donna Tartt, The Goldfinch (page 532)

#boreo #theo ogling boris for the first time in 8 yrs ahhh #tgf book #the goldfinch #tgf #boris pavlikovsky #theo decker

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ggonghui · 4 months

Text

hi-hi, i'm EG (or eggy, whichever) and i was here a few months back with a muse i was really stoked about and had a lot of plans for, but life kind of prevented me from investing as much time into her (and rp, in general lol) as i would've liked! but, fortunately, the new year is basically a free hack for more downtime, so here i am again, with a plate that is significantly less full :3 i have every intention of bringing #her back, but i figured i'd start off easy this time with a veteran idol who can forge more temporal connections and work my way back to a rookie, and then, eventually, a staff member! so, without further ado, this is gong huiseok! extremely-reluctant-morally-ambiguous-nepo-baby and idol-actor. to know him is to.....know him. below the cut is a "brief" rundown of him as a person, pretty soon i'll have some pages linked that are mostly self-indulgent but definitely help paint a more comprehensive picture for his celebrity profile and his history in the industry, as well as his familial background. do-too-much gene, chronic world builder disease, etc. etc. but this should be a good huiseok starter pack while i'm work-week lazy!

personage

—— welcome to infinite entertainment! it's GONG HUISEOK, who is the MAIN VOCALIST of INDIGO. i’ve heard whispers that the 25 year old is pretty INTROSPECTIVE but lowkey PRIDEFUL. also, doesn’t he remind you of LEE MINHO (LEE KNOW)?

— gryffindor as a person, it’s not a secret that huiseok is someone with strong bravado and determination, but he’s also someone who likes to play the hero and challenge the status quo - maybe not always for all the right reasons, but who said that gryffindors were always the good guys? he’s daring, nervy, charismatic and every bit the puffed up jock type underneath all his pretty boy persona. reckless and impulsive, he has a tendency to get himself into tricky situations, but never falters in his confidence that he’ll make it out on the other side - no matter who he has to take down on the way up. he’s independent and guarded in all the ways the world has taught him to be, but has a not-so-easily-hidden naïveté that betrays the untouchable image he’s created for himself in his personal life and his perspective of the world. — daemon: cavitave in the world of daemonologie, huiseok tests out as a cavitave. according to the science itself, people with this classification are natural showoffs. like others of his kind, huiseok thrives in the spotlight and has a particular affinity for garnering admiration. while his gryffindor sensibilities cover the bases for his compassion and that pesky desire to help others (whether the reasons for that are entirely pure of heart or not), his daemon is a reminder that regardless of his surface-level charms, as a person, huiseok is dynamic in his perspectives and motives, but is generally pretty consistent with regards to his core values. or lack thereof. — infp-a (assertive mediator) introversion, intuition, feeling, perception. despite his larger than life perception of him and his appreciation of attention, huiseok is quite introverted and values his alone time a lot. he prefers close, smaller friend groups to massive ones (admirers excluded, obviously! but, really, only from a distance, thank you) and his strength in this regard speaks to how quickly he had to grow up while still somehow never really growing and his fluctuating ability to see the “bigger picture” in most situations. he sees things through to the absolute end, almost to a fault, and takes things a little too personally. he’s emotional but reticent, expressive but subdued. in all matters outside of music and performance, he’s not quite as detail oriented as he probably should be and more often than not lets his impulses guide him. his idealism could be his downfall but the other elements of his mbti suggest that a big enough fall could knock some sense into him. — type 8: the challenger the powerful, dominating type: self-confident, decisive, willful, and confrontational. despite the way he presents himself, huiseok is deceptively fragile, but outwardly very strong-willed and -minded. he’s the kind of person to speak his mind, even if it means stepping on a few toes, when it goes against his own beliefs and well-being. he has a strong desire to be self-reliant and to prove his strength as an individual after spending so much of his life being perpetually taken care of and wilting under his father’s shadow, and has a hard time coming to terms with the fact that sometimes being vulnerable is okay.

bare-bones bio TW DEATH

huiseok looks just like his father. even if he didn’t already think so himself, more and more as he gets older, he hears it often enough that it must be true. he thinks maybe it’s their way of comforting him, but it’s been years and his dad lives on in his mirror; in the pictures that cover their family home; in the comments that people leave under everything he does, good or bad. he lives. and sometimes, when huiseok has a particularly rough day, when the people around him go out of their way to make him feel like he’s as good as wearing his father’s skin, he kind-of hates him for it and then hates himself for hating him for it. all of the best things that huiseok has wouldn’t even /be/ his, if it weren’t for the industry “in” he’d had by virtue of his parentage. he’s gong hanwook and choi sunhui’s only son, the sole carrier-on of his father’s legacy, and that means something. it means everything, actually. he starts young, a fresh face on a children’s show, a child in the presence of adults who make all the decisions for him. he’s cute and he’s charming, and obedient in the way that all introverted little kids tend to be. he takes direction like a champ and they decide, before the velcros are even off his shoes, that he’ll be a star. he is his father’s son. mercifully, they give him his youth, and it’s of his own volition that he comes back into the industry, first through acting and then, finally, through music. becoming a member of indigo feels like the first thing that he ever really does on his own. with acting, he’s a name and a face, but as a member of a group…okay, he’s still a face, but he has his merit, too; his voice, his dancing, his words. that much feels true. for a while, at least — and, for years, it is. he does “music” and takes on acting roles when time allows to appease the tiny voice in his head that still, always, wants to make his father proud. his father dies in an “accident” in late 2019 during the early unfolding of a scandal. huiseok does not take it well and neither do his father’s fans. he feels suffocated. people are a lot more forgiving than he deserves when he lashes out about it. there’s headlines about him partying, getting belligerently drunk and causing scenes that are only ever documented through hearsay, the year after it happens and people respond with pity. he’s a boy without his father, afterall. he’s 22 and that ship has long sailed, but he lets them think that they understand what things were like between them. it’s complicated and, more than that, none of their business. maybe it’s guilt, a sense of obligation (the persistence of millions of middle-aged women who want to relive their glory days,) or just time that leads huiseok back onto the screen. he couldn’t tell you for sure himself, but his big return to acting following the passing of his father is a major role on a drama. the comments are about what he expects him to be, but he learns to tune out the part of his brain that aches with the comparisons and copes with the money he rakes in from brand deals, more roles, growing publicity, higher demand; the lucrativity of a pretty face - his father’s face. it makes his mother happy. (he is his father’s son.)

THE FATHER (and MOTHER!)

his father, Gong Hanwook, is a household name, an actor who rose to fame in the early 90s, first through a popular drama and then eventually for his visuals and multiple roles in deeply culturally impactful movies and media. there was a point in time where he was more or less the equivalent of a brad pitt, a tom cruise or a leonardo dicaprio in hollywood and, to this day, he's always a part of the "great actors of south korea" conversation. his wife, huiseok's mother, Choi Sunhui is a retired supermodel who rose to prominence around the same time as his father with a career more comprable to a devon aoki or a kate moss in terms of iconography. her star has faded some, but she's still someone that young women look up to for visual inspiration and it's fairly often that pictures of her modeling, and even off-duty, in the late 90s early 00s go viral. huiseok was always closer with his mother than he was his father and that really only worsened as he got older, tossed into the spotlight, and people began to compare the two of them visually. his father's passing unearthed a lot of really complicated emotions about this and coming to terms with those emotions has been one of his more complex points of development

tldr A lister parents, daddy issues

random anecdotes

he trained for six months, haters speculate that it's because the company was eager to push him after news of him signing with them dropped to capitalize on his name, but fans argue that he was just that talented upon arrival — the truth lies somewhere in the middle.

every now and then, a cover he did of grind on me by pretty ricky when he was like 17 makes its rounds through the fandom. people argue about it being spread because he was a minor and the subject matter is objectively super suggestive but others say it's funny, so it's something people fight about for forty days and forty nights whenever a new gongdoongie unearths the clip again lol

despite his focus these days being on his acting and honoring his father's legacy (and self-promo tbr...), he posts cover (dance and vocal) videos to the group's official youtube channel every now and then. he's also, in the last year or so, opened up a youtube channel of his own, but it's heavily curated and a lot more focused in Gong Huiseok the brand and legacy than it is on gong huiseok, the guy

plots

huiseok went out on a limb during their relationship and said the quiet part out loud, while muse, either unprepared for the seriousness of a love confession, hung up on another lover or not ready to say it at all, left him hanging. it’s not easy to be the first one to say the l-bomb, and after taking a chance on their relationship, only for muse not to say it back, huiseok ended things, ego bruised, but head held high. years on, wounds healed and seeing each other being an inevitability considering how small their world is, huiseok is willing to pursue a friendship. forreal this time. it’s just that… old habits are so hard to break, aren’t they?

in their rookie days, reckless and, quite frankly, cynical, huiseok and this muse went out on the town and made quite an event of things. so much of an event that pictures leaked onto forums and started quite the conversation. the only problem is that, in all of the commotion, muse wound up being the only one to take the heat. things were never quite the same after that. it’s been ages and huiseok wishes they could just move on, but that’s really easy for him to say.

something about this muse breathes life into huiseok's drearier days, they’re a breath of fresh air at the end of a particularly rough work schedule, and a warm reprieve from the coldness of the industry. it’s impractical to see each other all the time, but huiseok makes it a point to see them as often as possible. with no siblings and his mother constantly on the go, it feels nice to have someone that feels as good as blood in his corner and he hopes that, in some way, he makes them feel that way, too.

huiseok and this muse have been hooking up pretty regularly, both content to keep things mainly transactional while they blow off steam but the more time they spend together, the more they find they have in common. and what’s worse, they’ve started working together now, too.

huiseok and this muse are industry rivals, filling a close enough niche in the market that it causes constant comparisons between the two of them. fortunately, (or unfortunately, depending on who you ask,) the rivalry translates into a beef that’s withstood both the test of time and petty match-ups during variety show specials. they pretend to get along to keep things from flying into a media shitstorm, but if they were anything but celebrities, it would probably be on-sight.

huiseok overheard a conversation in the waiting room of a music show that put a bad taste in his mouth. now, he looks at this muse with something half-way between disdain and confusion. for muse’s part, they don’t have the slightest clue what could have caused this animosity and have taken to believing that the rumors of huiseok being cold and difficult to approach behind the scenes are true. on both ends, this is all a terrible misunderstanding, but it’s hard to clear up when neither of them has a clue in the world what the other’s problem even is.

someone who initially hated huiseok for being the kid who got put into the lineup through connections, not merit, but has come to understand him a lot better due to their forced proximity over the years - he’s still kind of a brat who got into the group with an unfair advantage, but he’s more than proved himself a capable and valuable member of the team (more than likely an indigo member but i’m open to exploring other idols having some initial wariness about his relatively easier path to debut)

someone who saw huiseok through his spiral in 2019 following his father’s passing; they offered him a reliable shoulder to cry on, someone to come to when everything felt like too much, a genuine friendship, and usually cleaned him up after his benders. huiseok loves and respects this person, and has spent the years since paying all of their love back

they’ve done a special stage together (award show, music show, any of the gayos)

they’ve appeared on variety shows together

they’ve bonded over often staying late in the company building

they initially only knew of each other but grew surprisingly close over the course of the tour

a mutual friend of theirs has set them up on a blind date once or twice to varied success

they think that huiseok is someone up his own ass who doesn’t respect his seniors after a misunderstanding made it seem like he ignored them altogether in passing

they’re a fan of one or both of huiseok’s parents (his late father was an actor and his mother is a retired model) and huiseok feels awkward about it

#infinite:intro #/ i'll come back at some point and tweak the way some of this is written bc i kind of hate it ! but it's up !#/ i'll also do messages tomorrow im so gd tired dude omg

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