#and he laughs at Vegas to taunt him

[atlabeth]

weight of the world

series masterlist

pairing: luke castellan x daughter of poseidon!reader

summary: percy returns to camp after a successful quest. luke battles his guilt.

a/n: a lot of you guys seemed to like the percy pov and the pure angst of luke doing all this stuff to his first love's brother percy jackson instead of just percy jackson and first and foremost i would like to say you're all crazy but i also agree. so here you go. title from the jon bellion song

wc: 5.6k

warning(s): reader is dead (i feel like i have to tag this every time lmao). angst made angstier with fluffy flashbacks. tlt betrayal scene (pit scorpion edition). everyone is so sad

When Percy returned to camp with Annabeth and Grover, they were hailed as heroes. 

It might not have felt like it on the road, isolated with just the three of them, but they’d prevented a third World War. They certainly stopped camp from getting destroyed, if what Luke told them was true about the cabins taking sides. 

Burning their burial shrouds felt even better, especially with the Ares cabin’s expert craftsmanship. Apparently it was a tradition because demigods died so frequently on quests—Percy took pride in breaking that unsettling standard. 

It turned out all he needed to come into his own was to go on a quest everyone thought would kill him and not die. 

He excelled during his sword fighting lessons—going against a god would do that for you—he’d gotten much better at using his powers—going against a god would also do that for you—and his team always dominated on the lake during races, though that might’ve just been him cheating. 

He’d even started getting used to the Poseidon cabin in all its emptiness. It still felt too lonely, but he was working on it. The first thing he did when he got back to the cabin was pin your photo on the wall—Cabin Three belonged to you as much as it did to him.

And of course, everyone wanted to hear about how Percy saved the world. He’d told the story of his quest about a hundred times since he got back, sometimes with Annabeth piping in to set the record straight, sometimes with Grover dramatically setting the scene, always with a million different questions in between about how everything went down. 

Tonight was no different in the amphitheater—a group of Athena kids wanted to hear about his fight against Ares again—but he managed to get out of giving them the excruciating play-by-play courtesy of campfire songs. Percy didn’t really mind, though—any night with a large, golden fire was a good night in his books. 

Which was kind of how he ended up giving Luke the play-by-play of his quest. Maybe it was bragging, but he hadn’t seen who he considered his first friend at camp in a while. And yeah, sue him, but he wanted to impress Luke. He was cool and nice and good at everything, and Percy wanted to prove he’d made him proud. 

“—And I thought I didn’t stand a chance, but she taunted me and told me to jump into the water if I was really Poseidon’s kid. So I did, and it worked, and somehow I lived.” Percy shook his head with a slight laugh. “It ended up all over the news. I was a nationally wanted criminal for a couple days. We also blew a bus up, and rode with a zebra and a lion to Vegas, and went to the Underworld— gods, we did so much. It was crazy, honestly.” 

Luke chuckled. “I’m sure.” 

Percy glanced over at him, his brows creasing when he saw his distant gaze. He didn’t think Luke heard a single word. “You good, man?” 

He blinked and focused back on Percy, and though he smiled it was strained. “Yeah. Sorry—spaced out for a second. You were talking about your quest?” 

Percy nodded slowly. “Yeah. The whole criminal thing.” 

His smile turned a little more genuine. “You made front page news, too. I think you became the idol of a lotta kids here.”

“Oh, god,” he said with a frown. “You guys get news here?” 

“Couple New York papers,” he nodded. “You’re camp-famous.” 

Percy huffed a laugh and shook his head. “It feels crazy. I just got here a month ago, and everything’s already changed so much.” He looked over at Luke. “What did you do after you got home from your quest?” 

“...It takes some getting used to,” he admitted with a shrug. “I mean, getting to camp after so many years on the road was rough—coming back to camp after getting this—” he tapped his scar— “didn’t help.” 

“How did you get that?” he asked. 

“You’re always trying to get the saddest stories out of me,” Luke said wryly. “You know you can read books, right?” 

“I can’t, actually,” Percy said. "Not well."

Luke laughed and shook his head, his gaze falling back to the fire. Percy took it as him moving on. 

“I— I know I’m kind of proving your point, but… I wanted to ask you if I could have a couple more pictures” Percy cleared his throat, brushing a few dark strands of hair out of his face. “Of my sister, I mean. Obviously, you have way more of a right to them than I do, but— but Cabin Three’s a little bare. I thought adding a couple current things to the old stuff she put up would be nice.” 

His throat bobbed, and it took him a second, but he nodded. “Yeah. Yeah— sure.”

“Tomorrow after breakfast?” he asked. “I’ve got some free time before I have to go down to the forge.”

Luke nodded again. “Sure. You still have that picture I gave you?”

“Of course,” he said. “I already put it up on the wall. Do you want it back?”

His smile was bittersweet as he shook his head. “Nah. Like I said, you deserve to have a piece of her with you. And I’m sure she’d say the same.”

“I asked my dad about her, y’know,” Percy said. Luke’s eyes widened a bit as he looked back at him. “I went to Olympus on my own to return Zeus’s bolt, and the two of them were there. My dad and I got some alone time, and…” he shrugged. “I already annoyed two gods that day. Figured a third wouldn’t be that crazy.”

“What did he say?” 

“That it was one of his greatest regrets,” Percy said. “And he’d never forgive himself for letting her die, and for what it did to her mom.” He glanced at Luke. “And to you.”

Luke’s chest stilled, his gaze going out of focus for a moment as a muscle worked in his jaw. He hid it well, but Percy knew. He’d spent enough time at home with his mom and step-dad, overheard enough one-sided arguments. 

“You’re braver than me,” he finally said, and he stood up. “I’m gonna turn in—it’s been a long day.”

“I’m sorry, Luke,” he said. “And Poseidon is too, for whatever it’s worth.” 

Luke didn’t look back at him as he started towards the path. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Percy.” 

-

“Are you sure you’re allowed to put lights up?” Luke asked. 

“Okay, Chiron,” you said cloyingly. “I didn’t know you were such a stickler for the rules.” 

“I’m just worried about fire safety!” he exclaimed. “The Hephaestus kids nearly burn down their cabin at least five times a week.” 

“They’re working with actual fire. These are just Christmas lights.” You glanced down at him and he handed you the next strand. “Besides, this is the safest cabin for possible fire hazards. And they look pretty—that’s all that matters.” 

Luke chuckled as you hung them up, and he took a step back as you jumped off the chair and moved it to the other side of the room. You usually hung fairy lights, but with the holidays just around the corner, you wanted to make the place more festive. You asked Luke if he wanted to hang out with you while you decorated, and he obviously accepted. He took all the time he could get with you. 

“It’s so quiet in here,” Luke said as you got back up, taking the next strand with you. “I’m not used to an empty cabin.” 

“That’s what happens when you’re not supposed to be alive,” you mused. 

“You of all people can’t say that.” He huffed a laugh and shook his head. “Do you ever get lonely in here?” 

“‘Course not,” you said. “I’ve always got you following me around.” 

“Can you blame me?” he asked. “Your company’s the best.” 

You grinned and looked back down at him, and Luke gave you the next string of lights. “Or maybe you’re just a little crazy. You’ve gotta be to spend three years on the road with me.” 

“Being around you is what’s kept me sane,” he corrected. “Especially in the Hermes cabin of chaos.” 

You got up on your toes and lifted a leg up so you could lean to reach the last hook. “Oh, come on. Your siblings are so fun to be around!” 

“Maybe in small doses,” he said wryly. “And be careful, gods—” 

You looked down at him, your grin only growing. “Are you saying you’re worried about me?” 

“Always,” he said, still watching you, “but the last thing you need is to break your leg.” 

“It’s a five foot fall, Luke,” you said, amused as you got back on even footing. You hopped back down and tilted your head. “I’ve survived much higher falls.” 

Luke frowned. “You don’t get to joke about that.” 

“I thought you were dead too,” you defended. “That means it’s fair game.” 

His chest twisted. He’d played that day over in his head thousands of times since he first lost you, wondering if he could have done something different or if he should have searched more—he stayed in those woods for a week and a half searching for you before another monster attack forced him out of the area. It was the whole reason he came up with a designated meeting area with Thalia and Annabeth if they got separated—he never wanted to lose someone again the way he lost you. 

He shook his head with a sigh. “Sometimes I still can’t believe it, y’know? 

“Thank my dad,” you said. “I would have died if I didn’t fall into water. And he’s the reason I got to camp.” 

He’s also the reason you ended up on the streets in the first place, Luke wanted to say, but he held his tongue. You’d never shared his disdain for the gods, and he didn’t want to spoil your mood with his bitterness. 

So he doesn’t. He tilted his head and focused back on you. “Do I ever tell you how thankful I am that you're still alive?”

You smiled as you pushed the chair in front of your desk. “I could always stand to hear it more.” 

“Well, I’m thankful that you’re alive,” Luke said. He could have stared at your smile forever. “Mourning you was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do.” 

“With any luck, you won’t have to do it again,” you joked. “I get it, though. Sometimes it feels like a dream. I thought I was hallucinating when you came over that hill.”  

The best and the worst day of his life—he found you again and lost Thalia in the same five-minute span. It wasn’t fair—Luke had told Thalia so many stories about you, and she was the one that brought him back from the edge your supposed death sent him to. On his worst days, Luke blamed himself for both. 

“Luke,” you said, jarring him out of his thoughts. “What do you think of the lights? Tacky, or festive, or both?” 

He blinked, then took a step back with you so you could get the full view. He nodded. “Festive, definitely. Where’d you even get them?” 

“The Big House attic,” you said. “It’s not just full of Oracles and spoils of war.” 

He chuckled. “And how did you convince Chiron to give you those?” 

You shrugged. “You know I’m persuasive.” 

Luke shook his head. “I’m jealous. No one else really gets to decorate their place like this.” 

“No siblings means full creative control,” you mused. “And Big Three dad means a big cabin all for me.” 

“And yet you still get a twin bed,” he said with a smile. “We’re all equal, really.” 

“Like you wouldn’t prefer a full.” You fluffed your pillow then set it back down. “You spend as much time in here as I do.” 

“Can you blame me?” Luke shrugged. “There’s no privacy there. We can get away with basically anything in here.” 

“And because you love me,” you said cloyingly as you rustled your hair with his hand. 

“Yeah,” he said with a smile. “I really do.” 

Your smile widened and you gestured at your box of decorations. “Wanna prove it, loverboy? Help me get the rest of this up before sword lessons.”

“Y’know, I’m leading them today,” Luke said, picking up a stack of snowflake cutouts. He was pretty sure you just took all the rejects after you were in charge of the crafts for a week. “Technically, that means we’ve got as long as we want.” 

“Oh, Luke Castellan,” you said airily, pressing a hand to your chest. “You know the way to my heart.” 

-

“Oh,” Percy said. “Wow.” 

“Yeah. And this is only one of them.” Luke set a cardboard box full of things on an empty bed and sighed. “She made this place her own while she was here.”

Percy took out a stack of baseball cards on top—Red Sox, of course, the only bad thing about you—and shuffled through them. “Everything’s a little dusty.” 

“No one really wanted to come in here after she died,” Luke said. He had a tangled mess of Christmas lights in his hands. “All this stuff stayed up for a year or two before I took it all down.” He huffed a mirthless laugh. “You’re probably the only one apart from me to be in here since she left.” 

Percy set the cards down. “Do you mind if I put some of it back up?” 

Luke glanced at him. “Why do you always ask me? This is your place.” 

“It’s not just my place,” he said. “I… I want to make sure I’m honoring her well. And I don’t wanna make it harder for you. Especially if you took it down for a reason.” 

Luke was silent for a moment as he stared at the lights. He brushed off some dust with his thumb. 

Percy felt bad for pushing the matter every time he was around Luke, but there was a tug inside of him—an innate need to know more about her, a desperation to honor her life despite never meeting her. 

“I appreciate it,” he finally said. “But go for it, man. You don’t have to get my permission.” 

Percy nodded, and he took a poster out, wedged in the side of the box. A Blondie poster, based off the huge block letters above a blonde singer stylized in pop art. It had a torn corner, and bits of tape had been folded over some parts of the edges. 

Luke chuckled. “She was a huge Blondie fan. She brought her Walkman when she ran away—I lost count of how many times we listened to Parallel Lines. Definitely put that one back up.” 

Percy nodded and set it on his bed. He looked at the lights in Luke’s hand. “Why’d she have those?” 

“She loved to light the cabin up,” he explained. “Said it made it feel more homey, and she liked to change it with the seasons. And when she enlisted the Aphrodite kids, it was like a— a HomeGoods warzone.” Luke shook his head with the most genuine smile he’d seen all day. “She really was something special.”  

Again, Percy’s heart clenched. It wasn’t fair he only got to learn about you through stories, only through the past tense. If he could get his mom back, why the hell couldn’t he get you back? Why couldn’t his dad have stepped in? 

What good was regret when you have all the power in the world to stop it? What good was being a god if you couldn’t save your family when it mattered most? 

“Y’know, I decorated this place a million times with her,” he said, and Percy was thankful for the interruption with his thoughts. “She wanted it to be a welcoming cabin, open to the whole camp if they ever got homesick.” 

“So the opposite of what it used to be,” Percy said wryly. 

“Yeah,” Luke nodded. “You two are the first Poseidon kids in a long time because of the oath—it was just here for respect. She didn’t just make it into her home, she made it into a home for anyone that needed some extra warmth.” 

Percy looked around, trying to imagine you and a younger, unscarred Luke putting all this stuff on the walls, him helping you hang Christmas lights. You sitting on a bed, maybe what he’d chosen as his bed, talking a younger camper through their fears or their homesickness. You forcing the innate coldness of Cabin Three out and replacing it with warmth of your own. 

“Did you bring any pictures?” he asked. 

Luke nodded again and took a few out of his pockets, offering them to Percy. He took the one sticking out the most and smiled a bit. 

“Very Poseidon of her,” he commented. 

“She loved the beach,” Luke said, smiling wistfully. “No matter what state we were in, she would always try to find one. We could’ve walked twenty miles that day, and the moment she stepped into the water she would be good as new. I should’ve known who her dad was a lot sooner.”

Percy’s hand lingered on the picture he’d just put up. You stood on a sandy shore with your arms spread and head tilted back, and you looked wholly in your element. 

He wondered what you would think of Montauk. 

“This was one of those times?” he asked. 

Luke nodded. “North Carolina. A year and a half in, I think. We missed the East Coast after being in the Midwest for so long, and naturally, she found a beach immediately.” His eyes softened. “She was always so happy around the water, even after she knew what it meant.”

Percy frowned. “What do you mean?”

He shrugged. “Finding out the thing you’ve always loved is the domain of the father who abandoned you is a little rough.” 

Luke always spoke with more nerve towards the gods than any other camper he knew. Funny, considering he was one of the first ones to tell him that names had power.

And he’d been acting weird since Percy got back from the quest. He thought maybe he was jealous, but Luke didn’t really seem like the jealous type—especially when he was already so cool. 

Then again, they did just come back from the brink of a possible world war. Percy should’ve been surprised more people weren’t acting weird. 

His attention drifted to the clock on the wall in the midst of his thoughts—Chiron’s last ditch effort in a camp full of time-blind kids—and his eyes widened. 

Percy muttered under his breath—Annabeth had taught him some Ancient Greek curse words on the road, and he was sure his mom would love them—and looked up at Luke. “Sorry, man. I’ve gotta go. Time really got away from me.” 

“I get it,” he nodded. “Have you gotten any better?” 

He glanced away bashfully. “Not really. But Beckendorf has the patience of a saint. Maybe someday I’ll make an actually functional sword.” 

Luke chuckled, though it was wistful. “Good luck. You mind if I stay here for a bit? I can put up some of her things.” 

“Yeah,” he nodded, “of course. Stay as long as you want.” 

Percy stopped once he got out of the door. Luke’s gaze was glued to a picture of you on the wall, his expression softer than he’d ever seen before at odds with something indistinguishable in his eyes. Again, Percy felt that all-encompassing dread, and he swallowed the lump in his throat. 

He left before it could consume him, but the haunted look in Luke’s eyes didn’t leave his head for the rest of the day. 

-

You took in a deep breath of salty air. The sea breeze blew over you as waves gently rolled into shore, and you smiled. You never felt more like yourself than when you were at the beach, and when you and Luke were constantly on the run fighting for your lives, sometimes you desperately needed to feel like yourself. 

You exhaled long and slow. It had been a particularly rough week—Luke did his best patching up your shoulder, but it would definitely scar—and this was just what you needed to wind down before you started moving again. 

You and your mom went to Cape Cod a lot when you were growing up, and though this wasn’t anywhere close to the same, it made for an alright stand-in.

The click of a polaroid camera interrupted your peace, and you opened your eyes and turned your head to see the culprit. 

“And you made fun of me for constantly taking pictures,” you said wryly. 

Luke smiled. “I made fun of you for taking up valuable space in your bag to bring your camera with you. I can’t not take pictures of you—especially when you’re so photogenic.” 

“Flatterer.” 

“Not if it’s true,” he remarked. He held out the camera to you. “Wanna get any pictures of the sea? You’ve got a better eye than me.” 

“Well, the sea’s a better subject than me,” you said. “Hold onto it.” 

He chuckled and took it back, drying out the newly printed picture. “How’re you feeling, by the way? I know it’s been a hard few days.”  

“Never better,” you said. “I needed a break from the road.”

“I get why you wanted to stop here,” he said. “It’s… calming.”

“Isn’t it?” You spread your arms out, breathing in deep once more. “I always feel better out here. More free.”

Another camera click, and your smile grew. “How do you feel?” 

“Better too, surprisingly. But that might just be because we’re walking instead of running.” You heard his footsteps and he came up next to you. You took the picture he offered and chuckled. You had your head back and your arms spread, soaking up every bit of sun and sea air you could. 

“I look like a stock photo.” 

“Does that mean I can get a job as a photographer?” he asked. “We could use some extra cash.” 

“Half of the pictures are either random parts of nature or me,” you said. “Who’d buy those?” 

“Me,” Luke said. “But I don’t think that would help with our money problems.” 

“All this flattery won’t get you anywhere,” you said. 

“It got me here,” he said. “I think it’s worked out pretty well.” 

You smiled as you looped arms with Luke, and after you gestured with your head, you started walking down the sand together. Whereas you always felt like you were blurting out the first thing that came to mind when you were around him, Luke always knew exactly what to say to make you feel better. “Do you like it here?” 

Luke nodded. “It’s nice. I get why you like the water so much.” 

“At least one beach a week going forward now that we’re on the coast again, then,” you said. “Deal?” 

“Deal,” he agreed. 

“Good,” you said with a smile. “I’ve been wanting to go back to Virginia Beach. Last time, those giant ant things ruined it for us.” 

“Gods,” Luke grumbled, and you felt him shiver. “Don’t remind me of those things. I’ll never forget what their poison smelled like—and I’ll never forgive them for ruining my favorite shirt.” 

“Don’t worry,” you said. “I’ll get you a Red Sox one someday, and it’ll become your new favorite shirt.” 

Luke shook his head. “Your Boston baseball propaganda isn’t gonna work. I was raised as a Yankee.” 

“And I’m here to undo that awful brainwashing,” you said sagely. “Next time we go through Massachusetts, I’ll have to get you one. And we can stop by Cape Cod—I think being close to the water is good for my health.” 

“And I like seeing you happy,” he mused. “So I guess it works out for both of us.” 

You laughed. “We’ll have to stop at a music store before the day ends, too. I’ve nearly worn out my Cyndi Lauper tape, and I need to get some new ones. You should pick out an album you like too.h” 

“‘Course,” he said. “I think we’ve got some extra cash saved up. And if we have to—” 

“We shouldn’t steal anything yet,” you interrupted. “I don’t wanna get the cops on our backs so soon.” 

“You say that like I would get caught,” Luke remarked. “It’s literally in my genes. I’m making my father proud, and I’m helping you. I see no reason not to do it.” 

“Cool it,” you said. “We’re not becoming Bonnie and Clyde at the ripe old age of eleven.” 

“Fine.” You couldn’t see it, but you could sense his smile. “I’ll hold off. For now.” 

That got another laugh out of you as you leaned your head against his shoulder. It felt like you’d been on the run for a week straight—this was the best break you could have asked for. Maybe the sea was good for your health, you thought. Or maybe it was just Luke. 

Either worked for you. 

-

Percy could hardly breathe as he stared down at the scorpion, slowly inching its way up his pants leg. It wasn’t every day one of your friends betrayed and tried to kill you in the woods, but this seemed like the year he started checking things off his bucket list. 

“So this was your plan all along,” he said, attention split between the pit scorpion and the traitor. “Gain my trust, send me to Tartarus, start a war for Kronos.” 

The air got colder, and Luke tilted his head. “You should be careful with names.”

“And you should do the job yourself,” he challenged. “You want to kill me? Fight me like a man.” 

“I’m not Ares,” he said tartly. “You can’t bait me.” 

“So you’re a coward too?” Red hot anger rose within him, and the words left him before he could really think about them. “Did you also lie about my sister? Got a hobby of killing Poseidon kids?”

“Zeus got her killed, Percy!” Luke yelled. There was something wild in his eyes as he gestured with his sword. “I loved her more than anything—I held her as she died, and your dad let it happen. If it weren’t for the gods, both her and Thalia would be alive!” 

Maybe it was a good thing Percy didn’t know that until now. If he knew the king of gods was responsible for his sister’s death, he would’ve gotten himself burnt to a crisp on Olympus. 

“This isn’t what my sister would have wanted,” he said. “She—”

“Don’t you dare talk about her!” His voice continued to rise. “You don’t know her— you don’t know what she would have wanted!” 

“She couldn’t have wanted this!” he exclaimed. Percy’s breath caught momentarily as the scorpion inched closer and he forced his muscles to remain as still as possible as his gaze flicked back over to Luke. “This isn’t the way to fix things, Luke. I promise.” 

He shook his head, and he could have been a son of Ares the way fire seemed to blaze in his eyes. “She died because of Zeus, Percy. She was so close to sixteen, and that meant she was a threat to his power. He sent monsters to kill her, and your dad could have saved her, but he didn’t do a damn thing about it. And y’know,” Luke huffed a laugh, cold and mirthless, “the same thing’s gonna happen to you.” 

His blood had turned to ice. “He knows the pain of losing a daughter. Why would he—” 

“Because they don’t care, Percy!” he yelled, his sword cutting through the air again. “All they care about is keeping their power and their position. Your dad would rather send you on a death quest than stop stroking his ego for one measly second. Hades sent monsters to kill Thalia, and Zeus sent monsters to kill your sister—they can’t punish each other, so they punish us, and the cycle will never stop until we make it stop.”

“And you think that this is the way to do it?” he asked desperately. “By betraying camp and all your friends? We’re in the same position as you are!” 

“And anyone that’s smart will join our cause,” Luke said. “Do you really think I’m the only one that’s upset with the gods? I’ve been here for five years—I’ve seen kids leave for the school year and never come back. I’ve seen kids die without ever being claimed. My own dad turned me away at every opportunity. Our numbers are bigger than you know, Percy.” 

“You say I don’t know my sister,” Percy said, “but I know her enough to know she wouldn’t want this. Not in her name. Not against our father.” 

“You don’t know her at all,” Luke said, voice trembling. “If she knew that Zeus killed her for nothing but paranoia over a bullshit prophecy, she would be fighting against the gods right beside me.” 

“I lost her once,” he continued, shaky but full of anger, “and then I got her back, just to lose her all over again. The gods will never know that kind of pain—if they did, they wouldn’t have let it happen in the first place.” 

The scorpion was at his knee now. Percy was running out of time, and his mind was working in overdrive on how to get more, but he found himself rendered speechless. What could he say to a boy who’d lost everything? 

Luke was the lightning thief, he’d fully intended to kill Percy with those shoes, he meant to turn the gods against each other and raise Kronos, and now he was really trying to kill him.  

And yet, he couldn’t help but feel sympathy.

Percy thought he’d lost his mother, but now she was back. He’d met his father in person. He had a sister he’d never meet, that he would never be able to fully grieve. Luke loved her and grew up with her and grieved her twice.

Percy didn’t care—anyone who his sister loved couldn’t be a bad person. Not fully.  

“Please, Luke,” he said, voice low. “I don’t know how to solve it, but this isn’t the way. You think the gods are using you? Kronos is doing the exact same thing.” 

“You’re twelve, Percy, and you’re already the chosen one,” Luke said. “Hades and Ares would have both killed you if they got their way, and it was your job to stop a war between the gods because they couldn’t see beyond their egos. How is that fair to you?”  

“There was no other choice,” Percy insisted. “If either of them backed down, they would look weak. We’re the only ones that can do quests like this.” 

“Exactly,” he said. “They start petty fights that they can’t finish and it gets taken out on us. We have to be their heroes, and we have to praise them as we die.”

Percy remembered their bus exploding. Medusa, an innocent woman favored by Poseidon and punished by Athena for it. The endless souls in the Asphodel Fields, and even more waiting in line for their chance to be judged. Luke’s quest given to him by his father permanently scarring him, Thalia Grace sacrificing herself for her friends, his sister never getting the chance to see sixteen—Percy himself being used as a pawn to enact Kronos’s plan. 

“You don’t have to be a hero,” Luke continued, almost begging at this point. “You can join our cause—you can prove you’re so much more than the prophecies want you to be. Say the word and I’ll call it off.”

Percy wasn’t exactly the pinnacle of godly respect. He tricked Hades, insulted Zeus, and actually fought Ares. But his dad loved him—or loved his mom, at least. Annabeth’s determination and Grover’s steadfastness and all the friends he’d made at camp—all innocent children like himself. He couldn’t turn his back on that. 

Percy clenched his jaw. “I will never serve Kronos.”

Pain flashed in Luke’s dark eyes, but he shut it down just as soon. “So be it.”

He slashed his sword through the air and a ripple of darkness appeared, the void bleeding into the forest. 

“I really am sorry it came to this, Percy,” Luke said quietly. “But it’ll be quick. And that’s a bigger mercy than Zeus gave your sister.”

Luke disappeared into the darkness and it vanished soon after. Percy didn’t have time to think about his words—the scorpion had reached his thigh. Sixty seconds, Luke had said, then it was over. 

Percy had about five seconds to think of a plan before it lunged at him. He batted it away with one hand and uncapped his sword with the other, cutting the scorpion in half before it could reach the ground. 

He thought he did it. Then he looked at his hand, a red welt already sweltering on his palm, oozing sticky yellow liquid. 

Percy stumbled to the creek and submerged his hand, but nothing happened. He muttered a delusional prayer to his dad, then to his mother, then to you as he stumbled his way towards camp. Nymphs emerged from their trees, and he croaked a plea for help. 

As Percy collapsed, barely caught by nymphs on either side, he swore that he saw you. Did that mean he was dying? You had kind eyes like his mother, an aura of warmth unlike the feverish heat in his body, and it made the idea of it a lot less scary. 

He wondered if he’d meet you in Elysium. 

Percy reached a leaden arm out to you, mumbling your name despite his cottonmouth, and then his vision went black. 

[pantiesandpamperssissypart2]

His daddy had given him a choice. A choice that in daddy's mind was quite fair. Wear the women's bikini bottom to the hotel pool.

OR.

Wear the diapers and male swim trunks to the hotel pool. Pink trunks of course but still, male.

So what did the sissy do? Bitch. Whine. Complain. Cry. Daddy explained that people might notice his waddle but probably wouldn't laugh at him in the diapers and they would think his bikini was just a fancy speedo. And still the sissy whined.

Daddy got fed up, threw the sissy over his lap, spanked him until sobbing tears were heaving out, then diapered him and put him in the bikini bottom.

"This is how you'll go now. Now you'll have the best of both worlds."

Daddy's cock was already hard thinking about the outdoor scene at this Vegas hotel. All the hot chicks, all the men staring as he'd be holding the fag's hand as he waddled in his Pampers and girlie bottom. The taunts, snickers and laughter would be exquisite. Hell, he might even throw the fag in the pool just so the hot lifeguard could come over and lecture them about the sissy needing swim diapers if he wanted to be in the pool.

Still, daddy knew this was partially his fault. He shouldn't have given the sissy a choice. Their brains can't handle it. And so now he'd have no choice but to be an exposed diaper-wearing faggot.

[annaofaza]

Inspired by this funny post about exactly what Knives would have done with multiple Plant babies had his plan succeeded. Warning: this fic is considerably less funny.

After everything, Wolfwood finds himself defaulted to child-minder.

This wildly amuses Zazie—who pops in and out of Eden with their swarm—and pleases Legato, who seems to think Wolfwood's bought the company line after seeing "the glory of Master Knives' power." He doesn't know if the news has gotten back to the Eye of Michael, whether the lucky few laugh behind their hands at the thought of the Punisher essentially being a babysitter, but Wolfwood doesn't give a damn what anyone thinks.

Less blood on his hands, he'd mused one night. You've always wanted me to stop killing, tongari; it only took... His tongue then crept into his throat, and he trained himself to never think of it again.

There's no denying that Knives isn't exactly happy about a human being around the "chosen," but there's no denying he didn't plan anything long-term for multiple Plant children, and Wolfwood—the faithful, compliant Punisher who made the miracle possible with his betrayal—can be entrusted, or at the very least, bent to his will. After all, his contract with the Eye may be over, but he doesn't trust Knives to trot out the old threat about the orphanage.

And when it comes down to it, the kids are better off with as little interaction with Knives—and Conrad and Elendira and Legato and the Eye—as much as possible. Maybe, Wolfwood thinks, he can spare at least one life if they’re around him enough, that they learn that all humans aren't monsters.

Despite the circumstances of their birth, he knows Vash, if he were here, would have treated them kindly, and really, it isn’t in Wolfwood to act otherwise; some kids back in Hopeland had similar terrible beginnings, and God knows it wasn't their fault.

But he takes one day at a time, playing tag in green grassy fields that are almost a pleasure to fall on, cajoling them to eat another bite of the terrible nutritious slop Conrad cooks up for them, retelling the same bedtime tales Miss Melanie used to recite to the younger ones. Even when they howl like kestrels (with Castor slicing up several packs of cigarettes), when Elendira waltzes in to pinch and prod and taunt (Orion can’t speak for days afterwards and Capella still won’t go near any humans besides Wolfwood), when he’s so tired that he can’t slip his shoes on (sometimes he barely manages to button his shirt), Wolfwood makes it work.

Add the fact that half of the Plant bunch didn't seem to have powers, and while that didn't guarantee them a short life being poked and prodded in Conrad's lab—Wolfwood had heard a hissed exchange, something about a Tesla—Knives seems more detached from them all the same, despite his initial proclamation of "Look at Vash. We thought the same of him. Leave them be, and they might turn out useful."

It had taken all of Wolfwood's strength that day not to punch him.

He tries not to think beyond that. 

The kids are growing fast, though. He fears what will happen when Knives takes an active interest in them, but does the best he can, teaching letters and numbers and colors and bits of Earth history. They all resemble Knives—light-colored hair and marble-blue eyes—yet already have a startling variety of personalities. Izar, for instance, is sharp-tempered and prone to bursts of throwing the nearest objects at walls; Ursa and Adhara cling together all the time, but Regulus and Vega prefer to be on opposite sides of the room; Perseus is an utter clown, making his siblings burst into giggles every chance he gets; and Aster... out of everyone, Aster is most like Vash: protective, kind, and tender in a world that, especially now, takes advantage of stomping anything sweet out.

One day, Wolfwood’s perched underneath a tree, watching the kids play another round of hide-and-seek and occasionally glancing down at Pollux as he devours another anthology about flowers, when Aster plops right into his lap.

He smiles. “Don’t feel like joining them, Aster?”

“No,” Aster says, and yawns widely, showing off his baby teeth.

“What’s up, kiddo? Didn’t sleep last night?”

“Sort of...” Aster looks up at him, seeming to hesitate before saying, “Do you dream, Nico?”

Nico still reminds him of Livio, but Wolfwood never has the heart to correct them. “Sometimes,” he says, hoping Aster doesn’t ask of what. “Did you have one?”

Aster wrinkles his nose. “It was different than the others.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Like...” Aster prods his cheek with his tongue, thinking. “Castor said it was stupid.”

“Let me be the judge of that. What was it?” He hopes it’s not another nightmare about bugs; Zazie showing off the worms to the kids always gives at least one of them the creeps. Aquila still can’t look at an earthworm without bursting into tears.

“I thought I saw... I saw our Father,” Aster says, “but he was different. He had these strange clothes on, with... glasses on his face? Like yours, but they were orange. And round."

Wolfwood’s heart jolts in his chest. It takes all of his control not to leap up, to keep his smile steady, to ask calmly, “And?”

“I felt... safe. Like I do around you. He was in a room like this, but with these bundles of red flowers. Geraniums, like Pollux told us about the other day.” Aster tilts his head, watching Ursa and Regulus tackle each other, shrieking with laughter, as Castor complains that no one’s paying attention to the game at all. Aster shakes his head apologetically when Capella tries to wave him over. “And this word came to me, too, in the breeze. Vash?”

Wolfwood lets out a shaky breath.

“He’s the other angel, isn’t he?” Aster asks. “The one on the windows and paintings and everything.”

Wolfwood’s throat tightens. “Yeah,” he manages.

“Our Creator,” Aster continues, plucked from the familiar spiel Knives gives them on days where he feels like the kids aren’t appreciative enough. “But he seemed sad. Why would he be, if he’s in Paradise?”

“Who told you that?” Wolfwood asks, a bit too sharply.

Wolfwood swallows and looks up, trying not to show any emotion. “I... I don’t know if I can answer that question.”

"I thought you knew him?”

Aster flinches a little, but answers, “Zazie.”

Wolfwood inwardly curses. He’s going to beat their ass. What the hell possessed Zazie to do such a thing? “I did. But it was a long time ago.”

“Can you tell me about him?”

“I...” Wolfwood trails off. He doesn’t know if he’s allowed to, but more than that, how can he? I loved your father, and I betrayed him. He wasn’t like the Knives you all hero-worship, distant and cool and powerful. He was... he would have...

He remembers the vines swallowing up Julai. The screams that lasted for days, weeks, afterwards, along with the sucking bursts of breath and blood. The strangely beautiful purple blooms, their scent that still lingers in the walls. The endless litany of a piano playing that same damn song, over and over.

The howl that burst from his lips when he saw Vash, encased in stone, lips rounded in a silent scream.

“Nico?”

He stares into Aster’s earnest face, glad that his sunglasses are hiding the moisture building underneath his eyelids. He has kind eyes. “Yeah?”

“I think he wanted to talk to me, but couldn’t. But you can, Nico. Right?”

“Have you told Kn—your Father about this?”

“No. Should I?”

Wolfwood shakes his head. “I don’t know if that’s necessary, Aster.” He doesn’t know how Knives will react, and refuses to think of more than Vash is dead. You’ve known this for years. He doesn’t dare. Hasn’t even looked in the room where Vash is as good as a statue, arms stretched by the same knives that rise from his shoulderblades like wings.

But he looks at Aster. Vash’s son. Doesn’t he deserve to know him? Doesn’t Vash deserve more than to be a story?

"I called your father tongari," he begins, closing his eyes, "because of his hair. It stuck up in spikes, like this—" he gently arranges Aster’s into pointed tufts. "He was blonde, like you, but a shade darker than your hair. And he had eyes like yours, as blue as the desert sky. His favorite treat in the whole world was freshly-baked doughnuts, sprinkled with crystals of sugar, and when he laughed, it was like the sun coming out. He was a quick shot, too, but could never hurt anyone..."  

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

tell me more about being maid of honour with best man Nathan Bateman… 👀

Warnings: Tipsiness, nudity, skinnydipping, Nathan being a flirty little shit

oh my god

this fucking guy

You've heard your friend's fiancé talk about him (and your ex, a tech-bro who practically lives in Elon Musk's jockstrap, also used to talk about him).

You don't meet him until the engagement party.

Nathan barely meets your eye until your friend tells him that you're the Maid of Honor, and then he offers, "Aw, cool. Best Man."

He shakes your hand, holds your gaze, and smiles.

"Hey if you need help, just, uh...Ask someone else."

Your friend and her fiancé laugh. Nathan grins like he'd just told the joke of the century.

You pull your hand from his in favor of going to the bar.

You'd done as he asked, leaning on the bride and groom's family and other friends to help you with the few wedding duties your friend asked your help with.

You're doing pretty damn well, too.

At least, you are until Nathan emailed the wedding party that he'd be flying everyone out to Vegas for the bachelor and bachelorette parties

He's be footing the bill for the hotel stay, too.

Fucking show off.

But when you board your flight and get seated in first class...Fuck, dude, you can't even be mad.

Look, he's kinda hot, alright?

And him leading the festivities for the weekend, lording his wealth and influence over you? Incredibly annoying.

But also kinda hot.

"You don't like me very much."

It isn't a question. Nathan just says it with matter-of-fact bluntness, eyes slightly glassy as he watches you from the other pool chair.

You turn back to the pool, pursing your lips. You're the only two left on the rooftop; the others went to bed at least half an hour ago.

You don't ask how many he's had; you know it's a few, but you don't think he's completely drunk.

"I'm the one doing all of the hard work," You sniff, "And you just swoop in like a frickin'...Guy who swoops and dazzle everybody."

"Including you?"

He's grinning as he asks, and you sigh, nodding grudgingly.

"Including me."

There's a moment of quiet between the two of you.

It's not dead-silent—not in the least. You can hear the honking of car horns on the streets below, and the shrieks and crows of partiers walking the strip. You watch the light lapping of the water against the sides of the pool.

"C'mon," You hear.

You look up to see Nathan standing. He wobbles a little before he draws his shirt off over his head.

"What?" You frown.

"You ever been skinny-dipping?"

You balk—at the question, and the wide grin on his face.

"What? No!"

"You've gotta release your inhibitions—feel the rain on your skin. Or the pool water. Whatever. C'mon," He nods you back toward the pool.

"It's the hotel's pool, Nathan," You point to the sign by the railing. "Skinny-dipping isn't allowed!"

"Do you always follow the fucking rules?"

He sounds so annoyed with you. He has no right—

"No wonder you're so boring," He adds, taking a couple more steps back.

Heat flares in your face. You shouldn't allow yourself to be taunted, or lured into a such a bad idea—

But you're already standing and trying to ignore the thrill that you feel as tug off your shirt and shove down your leggings.

Nathan grins, gaze sweeping your body as you near him, wearing your bra and underwear.

"All of it."

It's a little heavy on his tongue, bu he doesn't sound drunk—he sounds turned on.

You swallow thickly, confidence waning.

"You first," You deflect.

He chuckles and reaches down. Your eyes drop, watching him unfasten his pants, and then—

You're not prepared for the speed with which he shoves them down. Your mouth goes dry as you take in his entire body.

He kicks the shorts away with no shame before he nods to you. You reach back and find your fingers fumbling with the hooks on your bra. You'd typically be able to do this in a second, but goddamn, this man makes you nervous.

Before you can unfasten it, Nathan's front is pressed against yours, his fingers whispering against your back as he undoes the hooks. The cups hang limply around your breasts, straps sagging. You shiver, nose-to-nose with the man that's loosening you up.

His hand drifts down your side, fingers hooking in the waistline of your panties and giving them a tug.

"Those, too," He murmurs.

"Seems like you've already got a handle on them," You answer primly.

He just chuckles. Your body washes with heat as you shrug the bra off, flinging it toward where his pants were kicked. He lowers his gaze, openly oggling your chest.

When he begins to tow you back toward the pool, using the hold he has in your underwear, you follow step for step. He stills at the edge, fingers sweeping along your belly.

"I paid for this weekend, sweetheart. I'm not doing all the fuckin' work."

With that, he lets go, taking a step back and into the pool. You suck in a gasp, watching his disappear before he reappears, swiping the water from his eyes.

You hurriedly shove your panties down, kicking them away before you join him.

The water is cold, and as you bob back to the surface, you draw in a frigid gasp. It's like you've been snapped out of a waking dream.

"Oh, my—god, oh my god!" You shriek, turning and making for the steps of the pool.

Before you can get far, Nathan's arms curl around your middle, and he draws you back against him.

Your brows raise, mouth falling open as you feel his broad torso and hot, hardening cock. The feeling is so dissonant, so separate from the cool water lapping over your body.

"Already back to your fucking rules?"

It's a low, almost hypnotic murmur, coupled with a slow, teasing roll of his hips.

You hesitate before you shake your head, reaching back and pawing at Nathan's side. When he turns you, you find a darkness in his eyes.

His grin grows as he backs you up against the side of the pool, his tongue swiping along his lips.

Anyway, that's how you get caught making out with the best man and almost get the entire wedding party thrown out of the hotel.

[ai-luni]

In the Virago story when they are captured and Rorke is taunting Virago making those gross sexual innuendos– how do you imagine Hesh would react if Rorke made those comments when him, his brother, and dad are all tied up. Is Hesh a jealous boy? 🥰

Would love a drabble for this! Just wanna hear your thoughts!

Y'all are disgusting... So am I >:D I wrote a thing

Virago Reader/OC (But Elias is alive for the sake of the request shh)

Warnings: Sexual and misogynistic comments, non con suggestive touches, PTSD

This was all too familiar. It made you squirm in your seat. 

The sight in front of you. All three of the Walkers, hands tied behind their backs and passed out. No sight of Keegan or Merrick or anyone. Just a couple federation soldiers lining the corners of the room. You felt like they would pounce any second. 

The memories hitting like a ton of bricks, the overwhelming sense of deja vu. 

Your stomach twisted and clamped, enough to hurl you over and wish you were in front of a toilet. You remembered how you couldn’t walk last time, everything they did to you. Everything they did to your team in Vegas. 

You hid behind your balaclava. Desperately praying one of the three boys in front of you would wake up, any of them, oh dear lord. 

After at least 5 minutes, it felt like there was no use. You’re mind would constantly wonder if you really were this terrified in the moment or if your body was just mimicking the way it felt last time. The way it would anticipate to feel later.

A soldier entered the room alone, each step cracking off the walls like a whip. Instinctively, your body curled in on itself as much as your tied position would allow. He stood behind your chair. The looming feeling of the black uniformed figure above your head was unrelenting. 

You coached yourself to breathe. 

His hand only grazed your shoulder. And you barked. you let fucking loose. 

Your legs were kicking, it knocked Hesh’s leg. It woke him up. You didn’t even notice, the soldier now had both hands on your shoulders trying to hold you back. 

“Get yOUR FUCKING HANDS OFF OF HER!” Hesh roared making the room flinch away. Yourself included, never even realising you woke him up. 

You heard crass steps fumbling behind you but all you could feel was the cool air replacing where his hands once were. You let out a sigh, head falling forward in pure frustration. You felt safe under the eye of the Walker boys however, they always had your back. 

Hesh kept his eye on you, frantically running over you for any signs of struggle or pain. Elias’s gaze was locked on the soldier behind you, a look he’s perfected by now. It was a threat, a warning and it worked. Logan’s eyes were scanning the room, looking for any information or a way out. Always the tactical one, to no avail. 

That was until someone else entered the room, the one and only ghost killer. You should’ve guessed.

“A good ‘ol family reunion!” he laughed, a sinister sound. He clearly had another one liner waiting to leave his tongue but it got caught in his mouth when his eye caught the fourth balaclava. “Now what do we have here?”

A pattern was beginning to form as the man stood behind your chair. Within a second, his hand was to your head, pulling off your ghost balaclava. A grunt involuntarily leaving your throat as some strands of your hair were caught in his grip.

“Now ain’t that a pretty sound.” With that, he took lazy steps to position himself in front of your chair. The grip on your balaclava turned his knuckles white as he held it up to his nostrils. The room stunned, silence allowing his almost theatrical sniff to echo. 

“Vi Rah Go.” Every single time. Many times the name has been used against you to mock you, but only his accent and his reputation was enough to send a shiver down your spine. Have the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. He was now crouched in front of you, hands comfortably resting on your knees as you tried to hold yourself together. 

“Your disgusting Rorke.” Elias' voice being the only thing to steer his hands away from roaming up your thigh. His attention now placed on the man he once called friend insolently focused on the flimsy material hanging out of his back pocket. 

“I’m disgusting?” he laughed, now back to his usual pacing of the floor. Speaking in a tone as if he was never the one in the wrong. “You place a girl of that… build on your team and you’re calling me disgusting?” 

“She is a ghost. A better one than you ever were.”

“Come on now, you’re not telling you don’t let your boys have a crack at her. I know I would. The morale booster she’d be” He was back to your front, hand firmly gripping your jaw. He lifted you off the chair, your face too close to his for Hesh’s liking. He almost jumped off his chair to attack Rorke when Elias stopped him. Hesh was acting out of spite and he knew it.

“Hesh.” Elias gave in a warning tone, he had his father’s hot headedness and didn’t want him to start something they couldn’t finish. Rorke was thoroughly amused by the entire interaction.

“I was wrong, I see you have. Well done Elias.” His smile wicked and tainted, pushing you back down into your chair. He watched as you looked to Hesh for comfort, and he looked to you in concern.

“You’ll learn very quickly sweetheart, no matter how much you trust them, a Walker will always leave you to save their own ass.”

[laurenkmyers]

bare as a fresh wound (you have my heart)

what if pete gets shot at the pool side instead of vegas? fic inspired by @vegaspetesupremicy​​​​​‘s amazing artwork (x). ao3

~~~ Vegas

Vegas

“Could you please turn around to see me...?”

Vegas?

At the third mention of his name, Pete’s voice sends shivers down his spine. He says it with such conviction, open and raw- no ‘khun’, no surname. To Pete, he is just… Vegas, laid bare like a fresh wound.

It ignites something inside him, makes him miss the way Pete looks at him. He craves it now more than ever, wants nothing more than to see Pete and wash the sadness away. He wants Pete’s fire back, not a cheap reflection of surrender. 

So he turns. Slow and steady.

Pete’s tentative smile is the first thing he sees through the fog. It warms him from head to toe, defrosting the ice around his heart and his own lips turn up into a ghost of a smile. With Pete at his side, he might actually make it through this.

Sadly, reality kicks back in in the form of Pete’s head snapping in the opposite direction.

“NO!” A command to a fellow bodyguard that comes too late.

 Before Vegas can make sense of anything Pete is turning back to him, shoving him bodily out of the way and covering him with his own-

One. Two. Three. Four.

The gunshots ring through the air and Vegas flinches at each hit, watching in helpless horror as the smile fades from Pete’s beautiful face, cheeks going slack. His eyes rapidly lose focus, but not once does he look away from Vegas. Instead, his eyes flit quickly up and down as if assessing him for the slightest indication of harm. Pete’s smile returns briefly as he realises, with visible relief, that Vegas is safe before sliding gracelessly to the floor.

For a moment, Vegas is left frozen. When he moves it’s with sluggish confusion as he finds himself on his hands and knees, crawling towards Pete, who’s lying beneath him in a sickeningly dark pool of continuously growing blood.

“No no no no, Pete!” 

Vegas barely recognises his own voice as he wails, watching the way the white shirt rapidly changes colour, darkening, saturating, as it clings to Pete’s broken body. Voices blur into the background, footsteps of what he assumes are other guards gather around the scene, but he ignores them all. He reaches over with trembling fingers and helplessly rips Pete’s shirt down the middle, pressing down on one of the many holes seeping with blood that now join the array of scars already littered across Pete’s torso. A choked up sob rips its way out of his lungs. He’s already lost so much, he can’t lose Pete too.

“P-Pete, please, baby, please don’t leave me. I need you. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere,” he stumbles through words that don’t sound like words, trying to coax Pete awake.

Pete’s eyes flicker open, heavy and languid, and as if to taunt Vegas further Pete smiles up at him- that stupid, dimple-popping smile. Like the crazy fucking asshole he is he smiles through the pain. The smile that simultaneously delighted, annoyed, and excited Vegas, turns bitter in the pit of his stomach, because now it terrifies him. Pete watches him for a moment before his smile brightens even further.

“S-so beautiful in red... love you in red.” Pete slurs almost deliriously.

Pete’s thought process is so ridiculous that it takes Vegas completely by surprise. Vegas isn’t wearing red today? He releases a shocked laugh as he takes in the implications of Pete’s delirium. The crazy bastard is talking about the red blood splattered across his face. His boy really is just as crazy as he is. Currently bleeding out in Vegas’ arms and all he can think to comment on is how pretty Vegas apparently looks covered in blood. Vegas has never met anyone like him before.

“You’re a psycho.” Vegas quips, wiping away the lone tear tracking like a traitor down his cheek as he mimics Pete’s own words, once used on him, back affectionately.  

Pete giggles despite the thinly veiled insult, but when it turns into garbled choking Vegas pulls him onto his lap and further into his chest, shushing and soothing, but as he moves he thinks he hears Pete say ‘you love me anyway’ through the mess and Vegas thinks, ‘yes, I do.’

The next few moments of peace don’t last long as Pete starts to fade in front of him. Pete tries to speak again, words of comfort Vegas thinks, but he can’t hear anything other than the red, hot rage simmering in his gut, at himself, at the world, as he fails one more time, always a failure . His father’s words haunt him even in death.

His biggest failure now is the way the light dims in Pete’s eyes as he fails to save the one person other than his brother that he can say he truly loves. His fists clench painfully in the bunched up fabric of Pete’s ruined shirt.

As Pete trembles in his arms, Vegas wraps his own further around him and tucks his face into the crook of Pete’s neck, laying soft kisses along the line of his hair, whispering his love into Pete’s ear.

“It’s gonna be okay.” Pete says eventually, hoping to comfort him one final time. He says it with such conviction that Vegas almost believes him. But Vegas refuses to see a world in which Pete dying this way- cruelly so that Vegas can live- can be in any way okay. And if he can’t live in a world where Pete lives, no one can.

“No! Not if you leave me! You can’t leave me!” Vegas yells, startling Pete as he tilts his head to look at him.

Pete smiles one final time, “It’s gonna be okay.” He says before he closes his eyes, head slumping back onto Vegas’ shoulder as his entire body goes limp.

The monstrous noise that erupts from Vegas rocks them both and the rage within Vegas’s heart spreads like wildfire through his veins. Vegas closes his eyes, and for the first time since Pete fell he looks away, turning his fury to the group of people now gathered at the poolside. Vegas catalogues them all, one by one. Most of the faces watching the scene are unfamiliar to him, but some ring with familiarity. He examines each face, categorises them in his head, unimportant, not a threat, easily dismissible . But he keeps searching, eyeballing each and every one of them, until he lands on the one face he’s really searching for, the man responsible for Pete’s downfall. Vegas feels momentarily victorious as he catches his eye because the unassuming bodyguard knows, without a shadow of a doubt, that he’s caught in the last moments of his pitiful life.  

Vegas’ expression darkens further, and he delights in the fear he sees seep into the unfamiliar man’s bones as he gently lays Pete’s body safely back down to the ground without breaking his gaze. He grabs Pete’s gun, having already dropped his own, and stands with it pointed directly at the origin of his rage. But the moment he steps forward, all of the other faceless guards spring into action and lift their weapons in his direction. 

Do your worst , he thinks gleefully. 

As long as he takes that bastard down with him, he’ll gladly die right here next to Pete. It’s more than he deserves, but he’ll take it willingly.

“You…” Vegas sneers, “think you can take the man I love and live?”

The guard in question hasn’t even lifted his own weapon, frozen in Vegas’ gaze, trapped and terrified, the prey to Vegas’ predator.

Vegas takes a deliberate step forward, but as he does, the sound of a bullet whizzing through the air catches everyone’s attention. The impact of metal knocks Vegas off-kilter, as he grabs at his shoulder now blazed in agony. He’s impressed by his own resilience to the hit, and as he stands back up he feels the fury creep back in, grounding him.

Vegas lifts his uninjured arm and starts firing his gun, but sadly his aim is off, exhaustion getting the better of him. Despite his struggles he still manages to take down several armed guards on his way to the one he really wants. Getting closer and closer as each bullet hits flesh. Through sheer force of will alone, Vegas is undeterred. Even the guards themselves know he’s untouchable as they choose a more hands on tactic, gun’s forgotten. They continue their defence, but it’s more mechanical, almost as if they’ve been warned against actually killing him. It only confuses and frustrates him more. He punches and elbows and kicks his way through the gathered crowd of guards, headbutting one man who gets too close. 

Vegas is covered in so much blood he can barely see, his, their’s, Pete’s . Heavy and laden with exhaustion, his whole body starts to ache. His muscles give up on him eventually and he finds himself being dragged to the ground. The few men left standing after his rampage turn the barrel of their guns towards him in resolution- a final line of defence- but as they do a surprising voice chimes in, telling them to lower their weapons.

So surprising is the voice that Vegas blinks past the blood and sweat and turns his head up to find the source.

Tankhun Theerapanyakul, in all his black and white furred glory, stands under one of the archways with his bodyguard, Arm? (smart, good aim- could be a real threat), Vegas thinks, still cataloguing.

Arm flanks on one side of Tankhun, gun wavering in Vegas’ direction as he looks at his master with the same confusion Vegas thinks must be across his face. The adrenaline still coursing through his body doesn’t allow him to linger in said confusion for long as he blurts, “What game are you playing, cousin? Isn’t this what you wanted?” he spits maliciously, “or do you want to finish me off yourself?” Vegas thinks out loud, but quickly backtracks with a deranged laugh, “No, that’s not it. You’re too much of a fucking coward. You never did like to get those precious hands of yours dirty, did you? That’s the Minor Family’s job. My job.”

Tankhun rolls his eyes dramatically in reply. His nonchalance feeds further into Vegas’ fury as he continues, “Your poisonous family has taken everything from me. I’ve got nothing left to give, cousin. So please, spare me the theatrics and take some fucking responsibility for once in your goddamn, pitiful life.” Tankhun is about to jump in and say something, Vegas is sure of it, but he cuts him off before he can, “Taking Pete is where this ends.”

And finally, finally Vegas sees something other than nonchalance grace his cousin’s face. He sees a darkness that might even match his own, surprising Vegas again.

“Dear cousin…” He rattles off what Vegas thinks is about to be a long and arduous speech with a Jane Austen-eque air about him, “I find you insufferable. You’re a cruel, cold-hearted, son of a bitch and I do not like you, but begrudgingly you are family-” Vegas scoffs at the word family , but Tankhun carries on despite his best efforts. 

“I watched Pete very closely when he returned to me from his proclaimed extended holiday with his grandma . He thought he was so smart. Pete might be my head bodyguard, but he was always a terrible liar. He came back a changed man. He was hurt, both physically and emotionally, and for that alone I should have you strung up and beaten to death.”

Vegas tries for laughter, though it hits every nerve on its way out of his lungs so when it appears it sounds more like a sob than a laugh. Pitiful and weak, just like him. 

Despite his pity party, stubbornly, Tankhun continues, “And yet, despite everyone knowing exactly where he ended up after he exposed your pitiful plan with…” He gags around the name Tawan , “Pete chose to stay silent. Why? I saw what you did to him. But not once did he even think about implicating you. He lied to father, to Kinn, to Porsche , but most importantly- he lied to me . My most loyal bodyguard. Sacrificed his own life...for you . Tell me why!”

Vegas doesn’t have the time or the patience to explain his and Pete’s fucked up love story right now, so rather, he utilises the distraction his cousin presents to shrug off the two guards still tentatively holding him down and shoots them both in the head point blank before turning his back to his still blabbering cousin and over to the man Vegas is happy to find is still frozen in fear. But as he takes aim he’s once again interrupted by a hysterical Tankhun screaming behind him.

“WILL YOU PLEASE STOP MURDERING MY BODY GUARDS? I’M TRYING TO MAKE SENSE OF ALL OF THIS!” Tankhun flaps his arms and stomps his feet like a child mid-tantrum.

Vegas has truly lost all will to live at this point so he ignores, once more, the wailing, and takes his final aim, sending four bullets into the man’s midriff, almost an exact replica of the four bullet holes that now stain Pete’s body.

When he’s finished the job, satisfied that the man truly is dead, he turns back to Tankhun and sinks to his knees with his arms out awaiting his own inevitable end.

“I’m ready, cousin.” Vegas says in final surrender.

This isn’t exactly how he pictured his own death, but despite the less than admirable setting, Vegas is ready to die.

In his final moments he lets himself think of Macau, hopes that wherever his brother ends up, that he’s safe and cared for. The instructions to Nop, loyal from day one, were clear: should Vegas fail to return he’s to take Macau and run, as far away from Thailand as possible. The money Vegas had been stashing intermittently for years in off-shore bank accounts will keep Macau well-looked after, separated entirely from the name Theerapanyakul and all its associations.

Vegas only checks back into the real world when he hears Tankhun let out the most toe-curlingly annoying squawk, wagging an accusing finger in his direction.

“And people call me the drama queen? Get up you idiot, I’m not going to kill you. Up up up!”

But Vegas is done with Tankhun’s bullshit, and if his cousin is too much of a coward to finish him off, he’ll just have to do it himself, like everything else for this family. Readying to take his own life, Vegas turns the gun in his hands under his own chin and closes his eyes- one, two, three, four - but as the seconds tick by a garbled cough interrupts from behind.

Vegas’s eyes pop open. Tankhun’s puffy red cheeks drain of colour, white as a ghost, he raises both hands to his face and shrieks, “PETE, OH MY PETE, YOU’RE ALIVE!!”

Even that feels like a trick. A cruel trick that his cousin might have played once upon a time, but he watches as Tankhun’s face lights up, and suddenly Vegas knows it’s not a trick. Then he hears his name, but Tankhun’s mouth is no longer moving, but his name is being muttered, and it’s from the one voice Vegas could never mistake for anyone else. He whips his head around and sees a very much struggling, but still alive Pete trying to reach out to him. It prompts him into action, dropping the gun as he crawls on wobbling limbs to cup Pete’s face with both hands.

“B-baby?” He soothes, leaning down to take Pete’s bloodied lips into his mouth to kiss him with all the strength left in his trembling body. “I thought you left me...” Vegas whispers against his lips, as stray tears drip down his cheeks.

Pete’s eyes continue blinking sluggishly, “D-didn’t think you’d get rid of me that easily, did you?” Pete wipes the tears from Vegas’ eyes and smiles, dimples and all.

Maybe Vegas has something to live for after all.

 ***

 The light of the hospital is far too bright.

Pete can barely open his eyes, but when he does finally manage it, the fluorescents force them shut again. He hears a soft chuckle from beside him and his body relaxes back into the fluffy pillow behind his head as the familiarity of the voice seeps into his bones and turns him to jelly.

“Too bright, baby?” Vegas asks knowingly as he lets go of Pete’s hand to get up. The moment he no longer feels Vegas next to him, he panics, letting out a rumbling groan. Vegas must understand his apprehension because he shushes him, reaches back and strokes a thumb along his open palm and says, “I’m just gonna dim the lights, I’m not going far. I’ll be right back.”

Pete relaxes once more, and once the lights have dimmed he tries to pry his eyes open again. He successfully blinks them a few times before his focus shifts over to the blurred vision in red in front of him.

“V-vegas?” He croaks, voice sore and unused.

Vegas smiles at him and nods, “Yeah, baby, I’m here. Drink this.” He brings a straw up to Pete’s mouth and lets him take several sips of the refreshing water, soothing its way down his throat, Pete hums happily. Once Vegas is satisfied Pete has had enough he pulls back, placing the half-finished cup of water onto the bed side table before turning back to look at him with the fondest of smiles. Pete wants to imprint the image on the front of his eyelids to keep forever. He also desperately wants Vegas to kiss him.

“Vegas?”

“Yes?”

“Kiss me?”

Vegas’ answering smile burns brighter at the request, soothing away the darker edges of his face. And when Pete asks for what he wants Vegas is happy to comply. Especially now, as he leans forward to capture Pete’s lips between his. He takes it slow, tentative at first, until Pete pushes forward and bites down on Vegas’ bottom lip, relishing the groan Vegas lets slip into his mouth at the action. The thrill of being able to make Vegas react in such a way settles all the what ifs plaguing Pete’s mind as he sinks into the kiss like he was made for only this.

The kiss lingers on, getting slightly more heated as Vegas loses himself in it too. Pete tries to move further into Vegas, not caring for the wrinkled silk of Vegas’ shirt as he bunches the fabric between his fist, the desire to be closer replaces logic and precaution for want and need and more. But the moment Pete twitches in pain, Vegas pulls back, despite Pete’s whine of disapproval. Vegas breathes a soft apology and then takes his time just looking at Pete. So long, in fact, does he look, that when he finally utters words Pete isn’t sure he hears him correctly, and his face must display what he can’t say because Vegas repeats himself with a bit more confidence.

“You really scared me, you know?” Vegas phrases it like a question, but there is a hint of accusation that Pete picks up on immediately. His first thought is to jump straight to defensive, but the way Vegas is regarding him, with sad, unguarded eyes stops him in his tracks. Pete understands more than anyone what it takes for Vegas to expose himself in such a vulnerable way, and he never wants to make Vegas feel like he can’t be anything but honest with him. The phrase tattooed along his hip burns as a reminder every day of the fact. Full transparency. He’d never deny Vegas this. 

“I’m sorry for scaring you, but I’m not sorry for saving you.” Pete settles with, speaking his truth. Because he knows full well he’d do it all over again given the choice.

Vegas frowns, staring at him like he’s lost his mind. “Don’t do it again.”

Pete smiles back sweetly knowing he can’t make that promise. He tells Vegas as much, “I won’t stand by and watch you die, Vegas. You’re too important to me.”

“And you’re the most important person in my life!” Vegas proclaims with a hint of panic in his tone. He sits back down and lowers his voice, slightly embarrassed by his outburst. “Without you…I’ve got nothing left.”

Pete lets out a deep sigh, understanding, but despite that still says, “That’s not true. You’ve still got Macau.”

But Vegas is already shaking his head. “Macau is better off without me.”

“Don’t you think I should have a say in what’s best for me?” A red faced Macau says as he makes his presence known, hands firmly on his hips in a striking resemblance of Vegas’ stubbornness. 

Pete notices the deep sigh Vegas releases before he turns to look at his brother, preparing to explain his pain away. But before he gets the chance Macau has made his way across the room and is landing a soft punch to his brother's (uninjured, Pete takes note) shoulder. Vegas recoils in faux-hurt and his mouth drops open in surprise. 

“That’s for trying to send me away, asshole.”

“It was for your own good. I did it to protect you.” Vegas sounds firm to the untrained ear, but Pete knows that he and Macau are probably the only two people in the world who can tell the difference.

Macau doesn’t let up, that stubborn Theerapanyakul blood ringing true, “I don’t need you to protect me from this, Hia. Dad’s dead. Good fucking riddance.”

“Macau!” Vegas scolds, but sounds far too fond to make it sound genuine. 

Macau smirks, but his face turns serious once more before he says, “I’m not a helpless child anymore, V. Stop treating me like one. I’m a Theerapanyakul. I’m part of this world whether you like it or not. ” 

Vegas sighs in defeat. “I know that, Cau. I know I can’t protect you from it forever. But I wanted you to have a normal childhood. Away from all the Mafia bullshit. You deserve that.” 

“You already gave me that, hia.” Macau smiles fondly, reminiscing wistfully on the chance Vegas granted him, but his face quickly changes, hardening back into determination. “But now that I’m an adult I need you to stop pushing me away. Let me be part of your world. I just want to help give you the chance you never got as a kid. With dad gone you can have the life you deserve.”

Macau smiles knowingly as Vegas lets out a soft, choked off noise. He immediately moves to pull Vegas into a hug which Vegas reciprocates without hesitation, resting his head on Macau’s chest. 

Pete almost wishes he could step away and give them their moment, but he’s also selfish in his desires and bearing witness to the love the siblings have for each other warms his heart. When Macau pulls back, he has a slight shine to his eyes, betraying the depth of his emotions. Pete looks to Vegas then and sees the same thing reflected in his eyes and the warmth surrounding his heart spreads all over his body. He’s never been more thankful for Macau and the never-ending love he has for Vegas, who has had a severe lack of it in his life. 

Pete sniffles loudly, his own emotions betraying him as he inevitably breaks up the lingering sweetness. Macau turns to regard him in confusion, almost like he’d forgotten Pete’s presence. He considers him for a minute longer before blurting, “Is someone gonna tell me when the fuck this happened?” deliberately eyeing his and Vegas’ joined hands.

It’s only when Pete looks down that he realises that Vegas never let go, and has been subconsciously rubbing his thumb along his palm during the entire exchange with his brother. 

“Like, don’t get me wrong, I’m super grateful that you saved my brother from those bullets- Nop filled me in-” Macau answers before Pete can interrupt,  “-but, don’t you work for the Main Family? Last time I saw you, you were doing a terrible job of spying on us for them. Wait- did you betray the Main Family for Vegas? Are you one of us now? Can I call you P’Pete? I have so many questions.” Macau babbles on and it prompts a laugh out of both himself and Vegas, who just shrugs his shoulders in a gesture that clearly says, ‘your turn’. 

Pete steels himself, “I didn’t betray the Main Family- I quit.” 

Vegas’s head snaps back to him so quickly that Pete fears he might have given himself whiplash.

“You…what?” Vegas asks, voice confused and a little unstable.

“I quit.” Pete repeats, clear and concise, leaving no room for any confusion. And yet confusion clearly remains because Vegas is staring at him like he’s grown a second head or something.

“You…quit?” Vegas tries again, clearly struggling.

Pete is about to take pity on him when Macau once again makes his presence known, “He just said that, hia. Are you okay? Do you need to get checked for concussion or something?”

Vegas shoos Macau away after his unsuccessful attempts at checking on him. “No, Cau, I’m fine. I’m just trying to…understand. Why, Pete?”

Pete feels very exposed, both Theerapanyakul brothers are staring at him, expecting him to expose himself even further, but all he can muster is a shrug and a quiet, “you know why.”

Vegas loses his breath again, mouth slightly open as he swallows, allowing the implications of Pete’s words to wash over him. When realisation hits his brow furrows prettily and it makes Pete’s lips turn up in a smile. “You’re really gonna make me say it?” He asks jokingly. 

Without breaking eye contact Vegas says, “Macau, can you give us a minute?”

Macau scoffs, “Absolutely not. I wanna hear him say it too.”

“Cau…please?” Vegas pleads, still refusing to look away from Pete. It makes Pete’s heart skip several beats. 

“Ugh! Fine.” Pete thinks he feels Macau turn to walk away from them but as he does he throws one last line back at the two of them, “I knew it the second I walked in here and saw the way he was looking at you with those puppy dog eyes. You really are an idiot sometimes, hia.” 

Pete should feel embarrassed by that, but he can’t quite get his body to calm the fuck down enough to process anything other than the way Vegas is currently devouring him with his eyes. Saying all the things he knows he can’t say in front of his little brother. 

The moment the door slides shut Vegas is on him, tentativeness and hesitation thrown out the window as Vegas’ lips find his once more, the fire that always sizzles beneath the surface when they’re together ignites as sparks lick their way up Pete’s spine. Even the twinges of pain throbbing away on his chest don’t faze him anymore, they only add to the fuel of his pounding heart. 

Vegas draws back eventually, but he doesn’t go far, resting his head on Pete’s as he allows oxygen back into his lungs. As much as Pete wants to continue kissing him, he’s thankful for the air that rushes back into his own chest. 

“Tell me.” Vegas breathes hotly against his lips. “Tell me why you quit the Main Family, Pete.”

Pete’s heart flutters in his chest, the machine he’s currently hooked up to spikes hard, and for a split second Pete panics, wanting to fall back on old habits, giggle his way out of it, crack a joke about Kinn annoying him into quitting, tell a lie with a smile. He opens his eyes and takes one look at Vegas and he knows he won’t. Surrender never felt this sweet. He feels split open, walls crumbling, brick by brick by the fond look staring back at him. The incessant beeping of the machine fades into white noise, because nothing else matters but Vegas, and the way he makes Pete feel alive . The man Pete willingly took several bullets for, and would do again. The man who ripped him wide open, literally and figuratively, exposing all of his ugly parts, only to stitch him back together, one thread at a time. The man he loves. Body and soul. 

“Because I love you, Vegas.” Pete holds strong, “How can I be loyal to them when everything I am, is yours ?” 

Vegas grabs his face in both hands and holds him close, caressing his damp cheek with his thumb and replies, “You’re more than I deserve, but fuck, I love you too.” 

Pete is about to protest Vegas’ obvious self-deprecation when the force of Vegas’ lips slide back over his, compelling his head quiet as his body submits to total salvation.

Pete’s mind is still very much lost in Vegas’ kiss when he realises far too late that not only are Vegas’s lips no longer on his own but Macau’s head has popped back through the door and he’s cooing over at them, “Damn, you guys move fast. I was eavesdropping and assumed after you both dropped the L-bomb it was safe to come back in. Anyway, welcome to the family, my in-law.” He directs at Pete with barely concealed glee. 

The kid continues rambling away as he climbs up onto the bed behind where Vegas is still perched, snuggling close. When Pete’s brain eventually clicks back into the room he lets out a genuine giggle and tries to tuck his face away from them both shyly, but Vegas turns his head back to face him.

“No more hiding, Pete.” 

No more hiding. 

Got it. 

Vegas leans forward to kiss his dimpled cheek and Pete feels his smile grow. He thinks he might finally be ready to start living.

Whatever that means. 

Pete’s ready to find out.

[hvneybxns]

Closed starter for Stacey | LA Kings Preseason game - Vegas - 27/09 | @flirticst

if angel was glad for one thing right now, it was that pre-season games had started, two weeks and fourteen fixtures meant that he didn't have time to hurt from the fact he had just to see his wife in the stands, he was too busy iceing out the actual aches and pains that came around after a summer off to think about that and any spare moment in between was spent flying back and forth to see asher or catching up on face times when he could. tonight though? tonight had been different as he had glanced in the stands and seen her cheering on for him. the flash of something he had felt gone as quickly as it had arrived but dangerous none the less. he'd shaken it off, laughed off in the taunts in the locker room, the team in a good mood following their win and now? as he walked out of the locker room to see her mixing with the same wives and girlfriends she had known for years now he supposed he didn't even bother trying to hide the smile that formed on his face, he was too tired. "hey you."

[veliseraptor]

it's 150 words meme time. fewer options this time because I'd really really like to finish something in the near sometime.

the rules: send me up to three numbers from the list below and I'll write 150 words in the project(s) of your choice. go forth and go wild

1. Our lives together, Xue Yang said, and an awful feeling rose in him, anger and something more sour that he didn’t want to name as jealousy. He remembered that glimpse, hearing Xingchen’s laugh, Xue Yang taunting him, Xingchen’s glorious smile turned unknowing on a monstrous murderer. The boiling hatred he’d felt; the fury and the determination that he must save Xingchen from whatever dreadful fate Xue Yang had planned, and Xingchen would never need to know the nature of the beast he’d allowed into his life.

Xue Yang said our lives together and it made him think of three years about which he knew nothing. 

He realized that for all Xue Yang’s vicious words, he had never spoken in any detail of that time. There was his mention of a garden, his assertion that Xingchen had been happy, and that one brief goading allusion to a relationship that he didn’t want to acknowledge. Other than that…nothing. It would, he thought, be an easy weapon for Xue Yang to use against him, to rub Song Lan’s face in the knowledge of their – friendship, however false it had been. 

And yet there was silence there. 

That’s not yours, Xue Yang said, like memories were something he could hoard, possess, like a stolen sword or – or a piece of candy. 

Aren’t they? The thought came to him quietly. Didn’t your memories sustain you, for those years wandering, searching… (Walking Far From Home)

2. Vegas jerked his head. “Forget it. It’s fine.” 

It wasn’t, obviously it wasn’t, but Pete wanted it to be and was seriously tempted to just let it drop. It seemed like that would probably be dangerous, though. Vegas probably wouldn’t actually let it drop, just chew on it in his own head for days on end and be in a bad mood the whole time. Only he had no idea what he was supposed to say. 

He inched closer to Vegas. “It’s not your fault either,” Pete said. “You could just as easily say I should’ve been paying closer attention.”

Vegas’s jaw tightened. “You’re not–” 

“Your bodyguard, I know,” Pete said, though he had his own thoughts on that that weren’t quite the same as Vegas’s. “But I still look out for you. Same as you do for me,” he added. 

Vegas’s expression remained stubbornly unhappy. “I can’t afford to be careless,” he said tightly. “And you shouldn’t have to always be on the alert.” Pete bit his tongue before he said but that’s what I do, that’s what I’m for. Vegas wouldn’t like it even if Pete knew he was right. (Drift)

3. “Does he have any friends?” 

“A-Qing!” Xiao Xingchen said sharply. “That’s unkind. Of course he does. I’ve - well, I’ve seen them, at least. He doesn’t think we’d get along.” Xiao Xingchen had mentioned something about wanting to meet Xue Yang’s other friends and he’d laughed. Yeah, no, he’d said, like it was funny. They’d eat you alive. 

He’d also said friends is kind of a loose term, anyway, they’re all bitches. Half the time I don’t like half of them and the other half half of them don’t like me, but he didn’t think a-Qing needed to hear that part, and he wasn’t sure Xue Yang hadn’t been joking, either. 

“Or,” a-Qing said, “he doesn’t want you to know the kind of people he hangs around with when he’s not with you.”

“You always say I don’t have enough friends,” Xiao Xingchen said, “but now that I’ve found one you don’t like him. And you still haven’t said why.”

“Friends, yeah, not a whole-ass red flag of a boyfriend,” a-Qing said. (Redux)

4. Did Chan suspect him of being a traitor? If he did it was weird that he hadn’t said anything, hadn’t brought Pete in for more questioning. He was still technically off duty, not medically cleared yet, but it wasn’t like Chan to leave a potential security threat loose.

Weird to think of himself in those terms. Pete knew he was loyal, knew he was where he was supposed to be, knew he would fight and die for the main family without hesitation. Wasn’t that what he’d gone in prepared to do? He hadn’t given anything up (Vegas had never asked). There was still something deep in his core that whispered that he was a traitor, that he’d betrayed the main family, that he couldn’t trust his own loyalty.

He could’ve run and he’d chosen to go back. He’d given Vegas pieces of himself nobody else had, he’d pulled him in and smashed their mouths together, offered himself up and he was still there, or at least part of him was, still with Vegas, still Vegas’s and he had a feeling he wouldn’t get it back. Which was – which was fine, he didn’t want or need that part of himself, he was better off without it, whatever it was that had made him do what he’d done. (jiggety-jig)

5. “So what’d you want to talk to me about away from sensitive daoshi ears, Wei-qianbei?”

“A lot of things,” Wei Wuxian said. He pulled out Chenqing and started twirling it around his fingers; Xue Yang took a moment eyeing it to decide if it was a threat or just a fidgety gesture. “One thing I’m really curious about is – how the fuck did you convince Song Lan not to kill you? Xiao-shishu I know you had the advantage he didn’t know who you were until he’d already got attached.” 

Xue Yang didn’t like the sound of that. Like he was some kind of stray dog who’d wandered into Xiao Xingchen’s house. Even if it was pretty much true.

“But that couldn’t’ve been the case with Song Lan. You blinded him, killed his entire temple. Whatever you said, it must’ve been pretty persuasive.”

“I’m just irresistibly charming,” Xue Yang said. Wei Wuxian laughed, and Xue Yang grinned. “Maybe I seduced him. You don’t know.”

“You’re certainly shameless,” Wei Wuxian said. “And you don’t like answering questions.”“I don’t like answering boring questions,” Xue Yang corrected him. “If you had more interesting ones maybe I would.” (demonic cultivator team up)

6. The door opened. “Vegas?” said Pete, sounding a little anxious. Vegas pulled his gaze off Porsche.

“In here,” he said. “We’ve got company.”

Pete slunk into the room; that was the word for it even if his posture was perfect and he was smiling. His eyes moved fast back and forth between Vegas and Porsche. “I know,” he said. “I saw the car. And the guards.” Vegas could see him trying to read the situation, assessing threat levels, though Vegas wasn’t sure whose. How dangerous he was to Porsche or the other way around? 

“Hey, Pete,” Porsche said, smiling warmly. “How’re you doing?” 

“Good,” Pete said, his smile making Vegas itch. “I’m good. Uh – I didn’t know you were coming over.” (post canon vegaspete long(er) fic)

7. *Zichen,* Xingchen had said, gazing at the fire. He was sitting too close to it; he was often cold now, as though his body remembered the chill of death and couldn’t hold the warmth of life. *Can I ask you something?* 

Dread materialized in Song Lan’s stomach, but there was nothing he could deny Xingchen anymore. *Anything.* 

Xingchen took a shallow breath and held it for a few moments too long. *Xue Yang,* he said. *Do you know…where he is?* 

Song Lan hesitated. The reluctance to speak the truth returned in force. Lie, it urged. It would be a relief, surely, for Xingchen to know that he couldn’t do any more harm. It could provide some sort of closure, help him move on. But there was a nagging memory at the back of his mind that heard Xingchen’s laugh, saw him sitting side-by-side with the man Song Lan had hated more than anyone in the world. The friend he’d killed to save.

He deserves to know, he thought wearily, and so he said, *he is dead.* (Life After Death)

8. It was Pete he thought of. Everything he’d done to Pete. Every way he’d hurt him, and Pete said it was fine, Pete said he didn’t care, it didn’t matter now, but Pete didn’t know how much he mattered so he wasn’t exactly a trustworthy judge. Vegas knew how somebody else – anybody else – would see it, looking at them from the outside, and mostly he didn’t care because Pete’s opinion was the only one that mattered but if he thought about it– 

What goes around, he thought in English, and laughed a little. Him dying here wouldn’t make anything better. Might make some peoples’ lives a little easier, but it wasn’t like it would fix anything that he’d already done. But maybe it wouldn’t make anything worse, either.

Don’t you dare walk away, Vegas, Pete said. Vegas, look at me.

His eyes slipped closed again and this time he didn’t try to open them again. Pete was going to be so upset. His bodyguard friends who hated Vegas had better take care of him. Better than Vegas had. (All's Fair)

[sanddusted-wisteria]

A Builder, a Researcher, and a Rooftop, Ch. 25: Terminal Velocity

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At 1:22 and 43 seconds, Qi wondered if he should be crying.

Warning: MAJOR SPOILERS for MTAS's main story from this point in the fic onward, beginning with the mission "The Goat."

A/N: Welcome to Spoilertown. If you haven't gotten to this point in the game, I highly recommend you pause this fic and play through this act. Don't worry, you'll know where it starts and where it ends.

The back half of this fic's second act is what singlehandedly determined how I structured the plot of the overall story and what expanded my outline/idea dumps into longfic territory. And after several months and some writer's block, I'm so excited to finally be able to share it with you guys. Enjoy!

Also on AO3

------------

At 7:00, Qi woke up.

At 7:30, he finished his breakfast and brushed his teeth.

At 7:35, he was down in his lab to start the workday.

At 9:13, he finished writing the report from his last experiment on the Mobile Suit’s power capacity.

At 9:46, he decided to take a break from drawing up the diagram for the enhanced processor the builder had requested.

At 12:00, he put down the latest issue of the Vega 5 astronomy journal to break for lunch.

At 12:30, he went back downstairs and started working on the builder’s diagram again.

At 1:17, there was a knock on the door.

At 1:17 and 15 seconds, he was staring at the grim face of the sheriff.

At 1:17 and 20 seconds, Qi suddenly felt ill.

At 1:17 and 30 seconds, Qi could no longer hear what the sheriff was saying.

At 1:17 and 45 seconds, the sheriff had left.

At 1:18, Qi remembered to breathe.

At 1:19, Qi began to move again.

At 1:22, Qi was at the back of a crowd. Several people turned towards him with tears and pity in their eyes.

At 1:22 and 43 seconds, Qi wondered if he should be crying.

At 1:23, Qi realized someone was asking him something. He didn’t know what it was. He shook his head.

At 1:25, the crowd dispersed. More people came up to Qi and murmured words he couldn’t hear.

At 1:26, everyone finally left him alone.

At 1:28, Qi remembered to move.

At 1:36, Qi was back inside the Research Center.

At 1:37, Qi stared at the unfinished diagram on his desk.

At 2:00, Qi stared at the unfinished diagram on his desk.

At 2:3X, Qi stared at the unfinished diagram on his desk.

At 3:XX, Qi stared at the unfinished diagram on his desk.

At X:XX, Qi tried to eat something. He managed a whole three bites.

At X:XX, Qi climbed into bed.

At X:XX, Qi stared at the ceiling.

At X:XX, Qi stared at the ceiling.

At X:XX, Qi wondered why his body hadn’t released the neurotransmitter signals for sleep.

At X:XX, Qi got out of bed.

At X:XX, Qi opened the front door. It was cold outside.

At X:XX, Qi walked up the stairs.

At X:XX, Qi was on the roof.

At X:XX, Qi had collapsed onto a certain spot.

And there he lay. Shrouded in the shadow of the telescope. Alone.

He shivered as a frigid gust of wind rushed over him. Nothing was there to warm him.

No blankets. No tea. No food.

No builder.

Both his vision and his mind were a blur. The only thing his wavering consciousness could cling to was a single, terrible truth.

The builder was gone.

Thrown over a cliff.

A meaningless death.

Maybe it was a good thing that he forgot his glasses. At least this way, he couldn’t see the stars.

The stars…

His greatest source of awe and wonder for so many years. The builder became so entangled in that awe and wonder until they were completely inseparable from it. In Qi’s mind, he knew that the stars had existed long before any of them ever did, and would continue to exist long after everyone was gone. But in Qi’s heart, there were no stars without the builder.

A cascade of memories started pouring out from the dark recesses of Qi’s mind, taunting him with precious memories of their diligence, of their wits, of their laugh, of their touch, of their kindness, of their smile, of their warmth. Many of which were rooted in the very spot he lay.

He still remembered how their hand felt in his last night. He could still feel their last parting hug around his waist.

Deeper and deeper he drowned, as if desperately trying to recreate their presence, soothing and invigorating all at once.

But all it did was remind him of the nothingness he was left with. And the ache in his heart.

…

“Hey…”

And now he was hearing things. He swore the whisper of the wind was the sound of their voice.

“Qi, hey…”

A large blob suddenly appeared above him. Its colors looked familiar. His head shot up.

“Yeah…yeah, it’s me.”

He slowly sat up, breath shaky as he drew closer to the figure. His heart pounded faster as the features of their face came into focus.

Face, bruised and cut in a few places. Eyes, tired but still shining. Lips, curved into a sad, sweet smile.

His builder.

His wondrous, death-defying anomaly.

The tremors in his breath turned to hiccups as tears leaked from his eyes.

At 12:54 and 31 seconds, the builder was in Qi’s arms. He embraced them as tight as he could, as if his arms were the only thing keeping them from falling off that cliff again. Every possible sensation was tearing away at his heart. It was crushed, imploded, collapsed, pulverized into nothing but dust…

The builder said nothing. They simply wrapped their arms around him and buried their face into his shoulder, rubbing circles into his back as he wept.

Qi had so many questions, so many things he wanted to say to them. But all his words were swallowed into ragged sobs. So he let all of the pent-up grief and relief wash over him, desperately clinging to the builder’s warmth as he cried and cried.

He didn’t know how long they stayed like that. But his tears gradually slowed and his breathing evened out again. Slowly, they pulled away.

The builder brought a gentle hand up to his cheek and wiped away the last trail of tears. Qi closed his eyes, feeling himself lean into their touch.

“I’m sorry,” the builder whispered, their expression forlorn. “I-it’s a long story, but… I’m sorry for making you worry.”

“W-why are you sorry…?” Qi breathed. He hit himself internally for asking such an idiotic question. He shook his head. “You’re back now,” he whispered instead. “That’s all that matters.”

The builder let out a hum. It didn’t sound too sure.

“Please…” Qi took a shaky breath. “Please… Promise me that you will be safe in the future.” His tongue was barely able to form the words as all his breath threatened to leave his lungs as another sob.

Something swirled in their eyes. Their lips opened, but no words came for a moment. Despite holding his gaze, he could tell they were itching to look away.

I can’t, their eyes said.

“…I’ll try,” they whispered.

Qi gazed far into the depths of their eyes for a moment longer. Then he carefully pulled them in and pressed their lips together.

Fear. That’s what was hidden in their eyes. Something he never thought someone so strong and courageous could feel.

Their lips were chapped, but still so inviting. Every fiber of him ached to go deeper, to soothe everything that ailed them.

But they were still injured. He had no idea how they managed to drag themself up here without collapsing. He probably already upset something with how tightly he held them. He couldn’t make it worse.

So it was chaste. Brief. Just enough to scratch the surface of what they both were feeling.

He pulled away first, opening his eyes to see the builder even more uneasy. A small flash of panic shot through his stomach. That was exactly what he didn’t want.

But before he could think, he saw the builder’s face twist for the briefest instant before their hands gripped the loose collar of his shirt, and their lips crashed into his again.

They kissed him more fervently than they ever had before, causing Qi to gasp. Their tongue parted his lips, and he let them in, tasting iron and smoke and desperation. The last rational part of his brain wondered briefly if he was the one who almost died instead, before being swallowed by a quiet moan from his throat and a shudder that raced down his spine. He melted into them almost instantly. He wanted to commit every stimulation of every nerve in his body to memory, lest it be ripped away from him forever.

The builder pulled away first this time, gasping for air. Qi took one deep breath after another, trying to pull himself together.

The builder was frozen. They didn’t pull him back in. They didn’t reach for him again. They were silent except for their nervous breathing. They only gaped at Qi with shining eyes.

It looked like they were on the verge of tears.

Qi gently put his hands on their shoulders. “You need to get to the clinic.”

The builder mutely nodded.

With one arm around them, Qi carefully led them down the stairs and down the street. They plodded along slowly, Qi being careful not to trip over something he couldn’t see without his glasses.

They reached the clinic door and rang the emergency buzzer. Fang was quickly at the door, releasing a sudden bright light and the pungent smell of herbs into their faces. Judging by the sharp intake of breath, he was just as shocked to see the builder.

“Rawk! What the heck?!” squawked the bird. “It’s a ghost! OooOOOooOOH!! Spooky scary!”

“X!” Fang snapped. “What…happened…?!”

No one said anything for a moment.

“They…didn’t die,” Qi croaked.

“I…see,” Fang muttered. “Need to treat…any injuries…immediately.”

The builder shuffled forward.

“I…assume I can’t stay?” Qi said.

“No,” said Fang, a determined edge to his quiet voice. “Need to concentrate. Must make sure…nothing goes unchecked.”

“Don’t worry, sweetie,” twittered the bird in a softer voice. “Everything will be okay.”

Qi nodded slowly. “Thank you, Doctor.” He turned to leave.

“Qi, wait.”

Qi froze in his tracks. It was the builder. He turned back towards the light of the clinic, hopefully making eye contact with the blur that was them.

“…I love you.”

They sounded so small. His heart once again pulsed with ache.

“…L-love you too,” he murmured, summoning a scrap of courage despite how his tongue instinctually fought against the words. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He heard a quiet hum before Fang shut the clinic door, leaving him alone in the dark once more, with only the moon and the stars.

At 1:41, Qi started walking back to the Research Center, mind and body humming with an emotion he couldn’t identify.

------------

At 7:00, Qi woke up.

At 7:10, he finished washing up.

At 7:15, he had a quick drink of water and was out the door.

At 7:20, he reached the clinic.

Fang was tending to the builder, partially covered by a privacy screen. Qi idled by the door, hands picking at a loose thread on his pants.

“Awk! Ooh, look at the lovebird, honey! Hello! Hi! Hi!” crowed the bird as it flew from out behind the screen and alighted on a perch next to the medicine cabinet.

“Er…hello…bird,” Qi said with an awkward wave, before his head could question why he was trying to socialize with a raven.

Fang looked up at the sound of the bird’s voice. “…One moment,” he nodded to Qi.

“Hey, Qi-Qi…” came a tired mumble from behind the screen.

Fang quietly shushed them. Qi frowned. Qi-Qi…? 

Still probably dazed. Or maybe that was the medication.

He waited until Fang walked back around the screen. “How are they?” he asked in a low voice.

“Stable,” muttered Fang. “Few…fractured ribs. Couple wounds needed…stitches. No infection. Lots of…bruises and…other minor injuries.”

Qi let out a long sigh of relief. “I suppose that’s the best case scenario for almost dying…”

Fang nodded slowly. “A miracle…if anything.”

Qi didn’t believe in miracles. But it did seem like physics had taken mercy on them. “Can I—?”

“Yes.”

Qi swiftly moved over to the screen, cautiously peering behind it. The builder was sitting up in their hospital bed, a sheepish grin brightening their otherwise bruised and bandaged face.

“Aww, Qi-Qi… You came to see me so bright and early?”

They were back to their usual jovial self, it seemed. It was like a different person entirely had kissed him last night on the roof.

“Of course,” he said as he took a seat on the creaky chair beside them, finding himself a little short of breath. “Why…why wouldn’t I?”

“You skipped breakfast again, didn’t you?” Their eyes narrowed, but their grin didn’t falter.

Qi sighed. “I won’t be here forever, will I?” He gently clasped their hand as they extended it on top of the blanket. “This…takes priority over anything else.”

The builder’s face softened. “I’m joking,” they murmured. “But still…it’s sweet. Thank you.”

They fell silent. Qi idly circled his thumb over their palm, feeling all the familiar calluses.

“Sorry about last night, by the way…” the builder murmured.

“Why do you keep apologizing…?” Qi whispered. “You’ve done nothing wrong.”

They shook their head. “I got carried away. I just…” Their voice shrank to a whisper. “I…I really thought I was gonna die.”

Qi felt his heart ache. He gave their hand a squeeze, hoping that would be more comforting than anything he could say.

“I…managed to fall into a tree,” they said slowly. “Hurt like hell. Passed out for a couple minutes.”

Where did the fractured ribs come from?

Qi swatted the thought away from his mind. Be sensitive. 

“I saw the goat stepping up a climbable…ish path on the cliffside,” they continued. “Probably going back to look for more rutabaga.” They let out a mirthless chuckle.

“So you followed it?”

They nodded. “Reallll carefully. Took me hours, but I did it.”

Since when did they know how to rock climb? Without the proper equipment, no less…

Qi’s brow furrowed. “And…after all that, you didn’t rest? Why on earth did you come find me instead?”

The builder laced their fingers together, a clouded, faraway look in their eyes. “I…I had… I had to find you. I just…had to.”

If they climbed with no equipment…shouldn’t their hands be blistered?

Qi stared at their intertwined hands. “You should’ve at least waited until you got treated.”

“And leave you like that?”

“…I could have waited at least a little longer,” Qi whispered.

“…I couldn’t.”

They both fell silent. The only sounds in the room were the whir of Fang’s odd equipment, and the bird occasionally stretching his wings out. Qi felt every minute twitch of the builder’s hand against his own.

“Does everyone else…know?” Qi piped up suddenly.

The builder raised an eyebrow. “I was about to ask you that. My guess is no, since, y’know, we all just got up.”

“I’m sure Dr. Fang will…hm. No, on second thought, maybe I should make the report. If I don’t, every person in town will be barging into the Research Center today to tell me something I already know.” And he hated when people tried to tell him things he already knew.

The builder chuckled. “Oh no, what a disaster. Other people showing concern for you? Can’t have that, can we?”

“I have work to do,” Qi rolled his eyes. “It’s a distraction.”

“Well…” The builder gave his hand a squeeze with a wink. “So’s this, isn’t it?”

“Th-this is different.”

“Sure, sure.”

They stayed like that for another moment longer. Qi was out of things to say.

Their hands slowly parted as he stood up from his chair. “I should go. I have to talk to the mayor. I’m sure the rest of the town will be eager to see you once the word gets out.”

“For sure. Got a lot of explaining to do, it seems.”

Qi thought for a moment, before he bent down and pressed a gentle kiss to the top of their head.

…Why do they smell like gunpowder…?

“I’ll see you later,” Qi whispered. “Get plenty of rest.”

“Thank you,” the builder murmured. “And you…don’t overwork yourself.”

Qi gave them a small nod, before quietly turning around and heading out.

When the door to the clinic closed behind him, he turned his head up to the sky and let out a long, tired sigh.

He certainly felt lighter than yesterday…but something still creeped at the back of his mind, poisoning the joy and relief he should be feeling in full force.

Doubt.

------------

A/N: Fun(?) fact: If you've read my angst fic Empty Skies, Hazy Skyboxes (heed the tags), you might've seen a couple of background references to things in this fic, particularly in Act 1 (e.g. Qi hypothetically developing treaded wheels for the mobile suit, the builder telling old myths about the stars). Since ES,HS suddenly sprung into my head as I was starting this fic, a couple ideas for B,R,R carried over into ES,HS to establish the background of Qi and the builder's relationship.

Does that make ES,HS a "bad end AU" to this fic...? You decide. :)

(Btw, ICYMI, ES,HS now has an extension...)

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[fishy-xp]

i will never get over this scene, it’s the way vegas laughs at pete’s misery, the way he plays with his hair and chin, the way he taunts him in english, the way pete glares at him like he wants to rain hellfire upon vegas but can’t do anything, the way pete’s body may be at vegas’ mercy but his mind is still his and is still strong, unwavering and fiercely loyal, and the way vegas ends it all by callously pushing pete’s face aside like he’s now bored of his new pet

*S C R E A M S*

[hummingbird-of-light]

Whumptober 2022

No. 24 Fight, flight or freeze (blood covered hands)

~

He woke up to the sound of laughter. His head felt heavy like a stone and it was aching badly. Keenser lifted his hand to touch it but froze when he felt that his hand was damp.

His vision was blurry at first but then he recognized a strange color on his hands.

Red.

Why? Why were they red?

A disgusting smell hit his nose. It was coming from his hands. And from the main area of the outpost.

Keenser slowly got moving.

One step after another he made his way over to the room where the stench and the noises came from.

The voice laughed again.

‘SpongeBob!’

He knew that annoying voice. It belonged to the main character of a cartoon that Scotty watched on his PADD from time to time.

Keenser didn’t understand what the human found so funny about that old series but he really loved to see the Scotsman laughing at it. It seemed to cheer him up and make him forget about their icy cage called Delta Vega.

His heart was beating faster as he got closer to the main area.

From where Keenser was standing, he could see Scotty from behind. The man was sitting at a desk, obviously asleep since his body sat slumped in a heap.

The Roylan grunted so that he wouldn’t scare the human but he didn’t get a response.

Carefully he stepped over to his friend and he froze in his place when he saw something lying on the ground.

His screwdriver! What was it doing here? Next to Scotty. Stained in the same color as Keenser’s hands.

Keenser felt his body start to shake as he started to move again. He made his way over to Scotty… and what he saw nearly made him throw up.

Blood.

There was so much blood.

Scotty’s throat.

Somebody had stabbed right into it, using the screwdriver to slit the throat open.

The attack must have surprised Scott for there didn’t seem to be any signs of him trying to defend himself.

Keenser took a step backwards.

The loud ringing in his ears drowned out the voices coming from the PADD.

What had happened here? Who had invaded their outpost? Why had it killed Scotty?!

It was only a moment later that a horrifying memory crossed Keenser’s mind.

-

He was moving through the hallways, screwdriver in his hand.

He made his way to where Scotty was sitting.

He heard the man laughing at a stupid joke that cartoon character made.

He wanted him to be quiet.

So he did the only thing right. From behind he stabbed the tool right into the human’s throat and moved it to the left and to the right.

A few gargling noises… then the man shut up.

Finally. Some peace. He could continue to rest.

-

Keenser shook his head in disbelief as tears dripped from his eyes.

No… no. It wasn’t supposed to happen. Not until he was fifty at least!

Not here! Not now!

They had been warned. Every single Roylan had been warned about the time the somnambulism would start.

It hadn’t been Keenser’s time yet.

It shouldn’t have happened yet! If he’d known that it would start, he’d have locked himself in his room. He… would have protected others.

Keenser didn’t know what to do.

He couldn’t force his eyes to look away from Scotty’s lifeless body.

He just stared at it in horror, not making a single noise.

There was just one sound echoing through the hall.

The taunting laughter of a little yellow sponge.

[hurlumerlu]

... je peux en savoir plus sur le trans Peter ?

Oh ! I don't know how much this will interest you, but sure ? So trans Pete, and my tags on this post, refers to a fic I wrote about Pete Phongsakorn Saengtham - a.k.a Pete, a character from the show Kinnporsche.

(I've been somewhat obsessed with him and the way his role in the story bounces from "loyal soldier" to "best friend in a college romcom" to "goon number 3" to "silly guy" to "thriller protagonist" to "romantic lead" to "highlighter of themes and motives", wildly and not necessarily in that order.)

He ins't trans in the show, but I think his character is fun to examine through the lense of transidentity so I... actually didn't examine shit, but I did write a fic where he is a trans man. It's simply the re-writing of a scene that happens in the show, where Pete is captured and tortured by Vegas, our for now main antagonist, and his future love interest. Though the specifics change, the basis stay the same : Vegas's been hurting Pete for a while now, and though Pete isn't exactly chipper he's not fully breaking down either, so Vegas switches tactics until he finds something that could work. At which point Vegas's dad barges into the torture basement, berates his son for failing to follow orders and hits him, eliciting this interesting facial response from Pete. He then orders Vegas to clean up his mess (an expression that here means shoot Pete dead) and leave. Pete, seeing the end of the line... kinda laughs.

In my fic however, Pete doesn't just laugh - he speaks. The line is "by the way, interesting bruise you got on your face", referencing the way Vegas tried to taunt him earlier *and* the beating Pete just witnessed. And here is where we finally get to the point, because show!Pete would absolutely, 100%, not fucking say that.

Pete is a compassionate guy. Of course he can and will turn it off for work - he's a professional - but he is good at putting himself in other people's shoes. He is also not cruel (though I'm sure he could be if work demanded it) and we never see him pour salt on a wound even when he would have ample cause to do so. Crucially, Pete was also abused by his father, and this commonality is something he always uses to connect and sympathize with Vegas. But Pete is also cis. Naturally, you could write trans!Pete exactly like he is in the show. But when I was toying with the idea of Pete as a trans man, imagining him growing and rising up in a violent, hyper-masculine world, I thought "this guy's position was even worse than his show counterpart, he must at the very least have brushed off more insults, the pills he's had to swallow must have been just sliiiightly more bitter". So my Pete is a bit meaner, a bit less patient, a bit more judgemental (not that show!Pete isn't judgemental, lol. king of eye-rolls), and a bit more ready to use a weakness when he smells it. But even with all this, I still think my Pete wouldn't normally go there. Except he's had - to put it mildly - a shit day, and he wants to get it over with, so he does something out of character. He pours salt on the wound. And boy have I struggled with this single fucking line ! It wasn't in my first draft, and after that I kept adding it and putting it back in and removing it and putting it back in and just generally giving myself a full headache over it. Was it too out of character or just enough ? Well, I still don't know. I put it back at the last minute, for multiple reasons - not all pertinent on a writing level (for example, seeing a bit too many "sweet angel" characterization of the guy might have tipped the balance a bit. so did my wife saying she'd personally keep the line). I'm happy with that decision. At the same time, if I were to write a follow-up to this fic (which I am actually doing but I'm so fucking slow it will probably never see the light of day, moving on) I would probably scrap the line, because I'm pretty sure this sentence would destroy the chances of a relationship between them far more than any night of torture ever could. So, good for a short fic, not for a long one (or at least not one where they fall in love). Still : in the end, going ooc was the point, even if i'm not entirely sure about the results.

[mileapokp1677]

Three Steps to Win You (Intermission II)

Title: Three Steps to Win You

Rating: M

Pairing: Daddy Chan/Tankhun, Kinn/Porsche, Vegas/Pete

Category: M/M, AU Nerd-Jock

Summary: Accidentally, scientist Tankhun Theerapanyakul embarrassed footballer Captain Chan "Daddy" Knight in front of his coach, teammates and fans. He had to fulfill three tasks from the captain before his apology was accepted.

Intermission II 

(Tankhun POV)

Sunday Night -- the Moonlight 

"Should we give him a show?"  

Oh, wow~   

Tankhun was not gonna lie, it stung. He had been sending signals to Chan all night, but apparently this bloody gorgeous man -- but dense!!! --  still don't get it! UGH! 

Tankhun got on the stage, wore a costume that accentuated his curves, showed off his legs, and literally shook his ass, for him. And if those things weren’t enough, Tankhun shared stories about his Ma, which was super private, so he could understand more about Tankhun; pressed his body tightly against his body while dancing; looked deep into his eyes without shame, and even flirted with him by placing his head (!!!) on his shoulder. In short, he had made himself vulnerable (something he had never done before) in front of this particular man and the said man was still thinking about that damn fake date!? Fuck him!

Tankhun pressed his face deeper on the Captain's wide shoulder to hide his face. He was furious. 

But you want him, Tankhun Theerapanyakul. 

That he did, there was no use denying it. Moreover, Tankhun was desperate for his kiss. And if this was the only way for him to get what he wanted… so be it. Let’s just say, he was taking one step back to win later on. Tankhun finally cooled down a bit and breathed a little easier. 

The scientist, then, raised his pretty head to look at the Captain, put on his most indifferent face and answered casually, "Yes, I think we should do that."

For a moment Chan's eyes widened in surprise, but seconds later his face returned back to neutral. His hands, which had been on Tankhun's waist, slowly moved up to cup his face. Tankhun's heart began to race.

At first, Chan gently kissed his forehead, then his chin... his right cheek... his left cheek... his nose... before finally kissing his lips. It wasn't even a full blown kiss, it was more of a peck really, but Tankhun -- who had been kissing boys since he was sixteen -- felt his legs go weak (over a god damn peck!!!) Luckily, he was still clinging to Chan's body at that time.

For it would be so embarrassing for him if he fell then, especially when his stubborn self deliberately taunted the Captain by whispering in his ear, "Is that it? Are you sure that Kinn will buy this charade with only thi-?"

Chan's right hand quickly grabbed the back of Tankhun's head, while his left hand gripped his nape. After that, he pulled Tankhun's head toward him and kissed Tankhun once again. Harder, longer, and much… much deeper. This time, it definitely wasn't just a peck, and Tankhun truly couldn't feel his legs. 

The only reason why he didn't sit on the dance floor at that moment was because, as soon as Chan finished kissing him, he hugged Tankhun’s body so tight he couldn't breathe. But Tankhun decided that he won't break away from that embrace, not for anything. He instead tightened his hold of Chan and just enjoyed the moment. 

"How about now? Convincing enough?"

Tankhun didn't know whether he should laugh or cry after hearing Chan's question. That man really had a one track mind. But, he wasn't going to let Chan destroy this moment for him.

"It was OK," replied Tankhun as he let out a long sigh, acting as if Chan's kiss didn't rock his world just now.

"Just OK?" asked Chan with a surprised tone of voice.

O~h, someone is a bit salty, hm?

"Uh-huh."

Chan gave him a look of disbelief. 

"Should we do it one more time?" whispered Chan, with a stubborn look in his eyes. 

Now he really asked for it, and Tankhun couldn't help but take advantage of this momentum.

"Sure, why not?" said Tankhun nonchalantly, before adding cheekily, "If you believe you are capable of doing it."

“Okay, let’s do this. Are you ready?” 

Tankhun was so close to having a big laugh in front of Chan's face, but he firmly held himself back. This was not the right time. 

I will get you for this, Chan Knight. 

“Always.” 

TBC

[jemmo]

do you know what i love even more about the vegaspete scene in this ep? the fact that in this ep is when we see vegas unmasked. we’ve had all these rumblings about how awful vegas really is, how he’s evil and how he’s dangerous and how he’s gonna fuck over the main family, but we’ve never really seen it until now. and in that way, we’re like porsche and tawan, two men vegas has been playing with and two men he’s tried to ruin. porsche he played innocent with, sweet, flirted at first but when he realized that wasn’t getting through, that kinn was too protective and porsche wouldn’t fall for him like that, he still got in his mind with that whole “kill me nicely” speech last ep. and tawan, who he strung around with pretend romance and love and promises of marriage, all to manipulate him into doing his bidding, completing his plan. now porsche sees vegas as the man the rumors say he is, evil and scheming and dangerous, and tawan realizes that all he’s been told has been a lie, that the ring is just a ring, that he was just a playing piece to vegas and nothing else. and when unmasked, both porsche and tawan react how vegas wants them to, they’re horrified and broken and disgusted and angry. that’s what vegas wants, what he thrives of, getting that response out of people. he wants to be threatening and dangerous and feared. and he’s played the game with pete too, flashed small smiles, acted nice and calm, never done anything outright terrifying or threatening. so now, when pete is stripped and bound, and vegas is coming towards him with the ability and the promise to break him, when he’s unmasked, he wants that response. but he doesn’t get it. because pete smiles. he laughs, he looks the evil in its face and grins. and you see, it makes vegas mad. bc when pete is screaming and writhing in pain, vegas is smiling, his face is lit up with sadistic joy. but when pete smiles back, his face drops, gets stiff, there’s that angry tension behind that smile that says “you dare laugh at me”. it makes him angry, it makes him wanna give pete more, make him suffer more. and it plays in to pete’s hands. because pete can take it. bc more than any kind of joy or kick he gets from the pain, what will delight him more, is seeing the way he can get under vegas’ skin, and make him break just as much as he is breaking.

[radiant-reid]

omg okg omg cate. can u please write something about reid and his partner going to the casino together and him just like destroying all these old guys? and his partner is just sitting there sipping their drink and smirking. maybe it can be like their little date night and whatever winnings they make they go for a really fancy dinner after.

okay this is college spencer because can you imagine him finessing old guys who think he's a rich kid from orange county

"This is not what I expected when you suggested a study break." You tell Spencer, stopping in front of the casino.

He'd insisted you dress up, picking the nicest dress from your closet for you to put on and dragging you out of the apartment with a promise of a date instead of watching you study for the fifth night in a row.

"We can gamble here, we just can't drink." He replies ambiguously, smiling at you. He's wearing his best suit, far more expensive than anything else in his closet, and it actually makes him look a lot older.

"We?" You repeat, frowning at him. There was no chance you could play. "I'm not playing."

Spencer pouts dramatically. "You bet me that one time." He reminds you, but you narrow your eyes because you both know his raise wasn't a bluff or because he had good cards. "Okay, you can just be my arm candy then." He offers.

You giggle at him but link your arm around his, and he leads you inside with a mischievous grin.

Spencer, you discover, it's much better at poker than he's been letting on. He always dominated at college parties, but you assumed it was just because he never drank too much and always played against people who had.

Round after round, he wins, and you stay by his side like the diligent girlfriend you are.

"So, is he a smart, rich kid from Orange County or a dumb one looking to burn through Daddy's money?" An older man next to you asks, leaning in slightly too close to whisper to you when Spencer pushes all his chips in. They're worth at least $1000, although you can't tell exactly how much from the huge pile.

"Neither." You whisper back, biting your bottom lip in an attempt to make him fumble with his cards.

He raises his eyebrows, going all in as well. His poker chips are worth more than Spencer's, you can tell by the color.

"He's from Vegas." You tell him before he flips his cards over.

"Well, I've gambled all over the world. Monte Carlo, most recently." He informs you arrogantly.

Everything about him is arrogant, really, from the overly flashy watch that he's flaunting, to his monogrammed shirt with a big designer label. He definitely has money, and he definitely thinks Spencer's on a streak of beginner's luck. He seems to think it's his right to be so close to you that you can smell the top-shelf bourbon he's been drinking.

"Straight flush." The dealer announces, looking at the mystery man's cards.

You know that's good, good enough to win, and you're slightly worried Spencer's cards won't top them. "It's really going to suck taking money from your boyfriend, and it's going to suck taking his girlfriend too after this."

You let out a laugh that's much louder than appropriate, although you're more disgusted by his advances towards someone so much younger than him than you are amused. "Not going to happen." You shake your head, glancing over your shoulder as Spencer puts his cards down, but Creepy is more focused on you. "And he's not dumb, he's a genius working through his third Ph.D."

"Royal flush." The dealer announces again, and you know enough about poker to know that's unbeatable.

Creepy's mouth drops wide open, and you pull back because of the foul odor. "Maybe a trip to Monaco is in my future." You taunt, grinning as Spencer collects his poker chips, and you both make a fast exit.

He's giggling as soon as the table is out of earshot, amused by your antics. The two of you walk to cash out his chips. A collection of chips that are worth an eyewatering $9,532.

"Holy shit, you cleaned house in there." You say as Spencer folds the notes in his hand, putting the large stack in the money clip in his jacket. After he stuffs it back in his jacket, he wraps his arm around you, holding you close to him as you walk.

"I'm okay." He modestly replies. "It's only because I can count cards."

You shake your head. "It's because you're a genius."

"True." He agrees. "But I think people underestimate me since I look young."

"Hm, their loss." You joke. "What are you doing with your winnings?"

He thinks about it for a moment while you continue walking. "Dinner wherever you want and whatever you want to do after that, then I'm going to go back and double it."

"Forever?" You wonder.

Spencer shakes his head. "Just until I have enough for a really nice house across the country."

[likeastarstar]

Headcannon No. 6

Something strange was happening with Yoongi.

You noticed it when he turned 29- a gravitational shift that changed even the way he stood. Or maybe it was his shoulder surgery that made him so different.

Either way- it was a problem.

"You think you're hot shit," You taunted, jabbing Yoongi in the pec with a sharp finger.

He laughed, hand smoothing over the area over his silky black shirt. You frowned, staring at his chest for a little too long. The top two buttons were undone, exposing milky skin to your very interested eyes. When had his pecs been so....full?

See? This was the problem. Suddenly, it was like Yoongi entered a new level of sexy, hot, terrifyingly beautiful and absolutely was aware of his own perfection. It was driving you insane, which was a problem since you're not allowed to think about him that way.

You were with him constantly- he was your best friend. When did he have time to grow boobs? You inspected him closely, eyeing the tightness of his shirt around his biceps, the slimness of his waist, the thickness of his neck and the way a vein on the side bulged when he tilted his head at you the way he was now with an amused, knowing smirk on his face.

Your eyes widened when you realized he noticed how affected you were by his appearance, unable to stop yourself from internally fawning over the jet black hair flopping his eyes. The smirk on his face only grew, his eyebrows quirking up slightly, "You good?"

You blushed, nodding awkwardly, "W-Why did you bring me here?"

"Because it's our hotel room," He answered plainly, "We have to share- remember? I need you to be my alarm clock, you can't seriously expect me to wake myself up on time, can you?"

It was a bullshit excuse- so clearly fake that it made you laugh. You had nothing to do in Las Vegas besides hang out with Yoongi, watch the scammys from the hotel room, and watch the concerts from the stage wings. You liked this, getting an all expense paid trip abroad with your best friend, but still- you felt something unsettled in your chest, something that wanted...

More?

He turned on his heels, throwing his suit jacket on the bed you had shared so platonically the night before. How had you managed that? Yesterday, you didn't have a single impure thought about him. What changed in a day?

Something strange was happening with you too.

"Are you sure you didn't bring me to coddle you after tonight?" You joked, sitting on the edge of the bed and pulling a leg up, hugging it against your chest until your chin could rest upon your knee. You watched Yoongi shoot you an annoyed glance, grinning when he rolled his eyes.

"I couldn't give less of a shit about the grammys at this point," He mumbled, sitting next to you, hip almost touching yours.

"So you said during the live," You whispered, turning your head towards him. He was so close like this- you could smell the champagne on his breath and the citrusy scent of his cologne, leaning in for more of it- more of him.

More.

"So what do you give a shit about?" You teased, smiling slightly.

He grinned, shoulders shaking with a rickety laugh, "The concerts- ARMY, world peace, climate change. You."

"In that order?" You asked, snapping your eyes up to bore into his.

"Maybe a little jumbled around," He admitted, a hand resting on your knee. You shivered and leaned in closer, taking advantage of your proximity to memorize every fine line on his face, the grey hairs tucked behind his ears that weirdly enough ignited something in you and the rare shade of pink that made up his lips. "You're thinking about something."

"I'm thinking about-" You cut yourself off, a heat pooling in your belly. You said nothing, staring at his body instead.

"Fantasizing might be a better word," He offered, helping you along with an amused smile. You blanched and he sighed, thumb smoothing over your skin, "You said you watched the live? Did you see the performance?"

"Of course, I watch every time you do anything, you know that," You said quickly, "I'm very devoted."

"Oh, entirely," He agreed, humming happily like a cat purring. "What are your thoughts?"

I think I wanna fuck you.

He raised his eyebrows and you realized in a split second that you had thought aloud, slapping a hand over your mouth. He laughed, shaking his head in disbelief, "I can tell."

"What do you mean 'you can tell'? You're so cocky, geez," You scoffed, you deep seeded need to pester Yoongi as you always do temporarily distracting from your embarrassment.

"Maybe- but you think I'm hot shit, so I guess that's alright, right?" He smirked, leaning impossibly close to you, "I said I care about you, friends give friends what they want. You wanna fuck me? Sure, I'll let you."

Could it really be that easy?

"Come on," He dared, puffy bottom lip brushing against yours in a way that made you brain white out. "You know you want more, don't you? Do it- touch me like you know you want to. Fuck me like you fantasize."

Your eyes snapped up to his, breathing labored and stuttering, spinning completely all out of control just because of the way he was looking at you,

Should you do it?