#rebellwrites

[rebellconquerer]

So I've been trying to get back into writing (not particularly successfully) but you know, it's like a muscle. Gotta keep doing your reps. So here, have some MinSung pebbles.

*******************

This isn't a problem Jisung expected to have, and certainly not in this, the year of our Lord 2024.

He's lived with Minho before, and yeah, sure it's been a few years, but time really has worked to make him a better, more even-keeled version of himself, less prone to wild emotional swings and flights of fancy. It has smoothed his sharp edges, sanded them down until they couldn't hurt anyone, most especially himself. He knows himself now, and this really shouldn't be an issue.

It hadn't even been a discussion, really. When they had all gone away on the first Real Vacation of their careers, scattered to the corners of the globe without the constant drumbeat of 7 other hearts on their sleeves, it had been with the vague instructions to think about their future. Their future together, their future in music, and whether that future lay with their company.

They all knew it was an exercise in futilty because Chan wasn't leaving JYP and they weren't leaving Chan, so when their fearless leader had returned from the land down under, he had started having little chats with each of them.

‘Taking their temperature’ is what he called it. Really, it was them unionizing. Deciding on their demands for collective bargaining so the process could start before the summer of stages with the new album and all the other things that were coming down the pipeline.

It hadn't been a shock that some of them had wanted to continue living together, but it had been shocking that all of them did, and so it was Chan's idea to push for more space.

He doesn't even think anyone actually asked if he and Minho would be moving in together. Chan and Minho had just done that telepathic communication thing they have going on where they shared a ‘significant look’ before Minho shrugged and the decision was settled trusting that, like in everything else, he and Jisung would be on the same page. And don't get him wrong, they were. They really really were.

Jisung wouldn't have dreamed of asking anyone else, no matter how much he loves his twin or needs to irritate Hyunjin once a day else the withdrawal starts setting in. Not after too many years of too many nights spent too far away from his self-proclaimed soulmate. Honestly, what else could he have done?

Still, he didn't expect this.

“Morning Sungie,” Minho mutters, voice gruffer than his usual register as he stumbles out of his room. It's just late enough to qualify as morning, long shadows curling around the apartment, draping Minho in the half-light Jisung is so fond of.

Minho has been an early riser the entire time Jisung has known him, insisting on meeting the day at a time no sane person would agree to, and today it's no different. He shuffles towards the kitchen as the threadbare muscle T he's been wearing to sleep rides up above the dip of his hip when he stretches, back arched in a mouthwatering arc, his movements lazy and self satisfied like a house cat. Jisung can't seem to look away.

“Morning, hyung,” Jisung mumbles back, traitorous eyes committing every shift of Minho’s bed warmed skin to memory.

See this is the problem. A problem he doesn't know how to manage because he didn't know to expect it. A problem he can't really talk to anyone about because how does he explain that he just can't stop looking.

And boy is he not starved for opportunity.

He logically knows he's surrounded by good looking men. On top of the fact that they're kpop idols who are primped, prodded and waxed to the kdrama ideal, their little 8 some includes hyunjin, who’s pretty enough on his worst days to have the straightest of straight men question their beliefs and Chan-hyung’s allergy to all fabric inside his home means they spend a lot of time reminding each other that if they stare at him.in.public the way they do at home the questions about their sexuality will go from questions to answers just like that.

But he'd gotten used to all of that well before the first camera started rolling on their survival show, at least that's what he'd told himself about why he initially couldn't stop staring slack-jawed at their newest recruit.

That Minho had been smart and funny and so fucking weird had only made the stupid crush Jisung developed that much worse and not a day goes by without him hoping against hope that all recordings of those first days, when all he could do was follow Minho around like a love sick puppy, will spontaneously combust. That Lino didn't notice his obvious heart eyes probably says more about how much stress he was under than Jisung’s ability to hide anything, but still.

There was a time and a place. And Jisung has been very, very certain that both those things were firmly in the past.

“Why are you up this early? You're never up- Han Jisung! Are you still up from last night?!” Minho's morning brain has clearly caught up which means Jisung needs to get his eyes in order.

He pulls his attention away from that exposed strip of skin and gives Minho his best shit eating grin, half chewed cereal and all. It's worth it for the look of absolute disgust Minho gives him. That'll distract him from wondering where Jisung's eyes were.

“Aish! It's like you were raised by barn animals,”

Jisung shrugs, slurping the last of the milk from his bowl.

“We do call Channie-hyung kangaroo,” he replies through his full mouth.

Minho rolls his eyes. “Don't blame Chan-hyung for raising you. He'd have done a much better job,” Minho grumbles, turning back to where he had started the involved process of making himself a cup of tea.

Jisung finds himself captured again, staring at the broad planes of Minho's back and the precise motions of his hands as they set the kettle to boil and gather up his fancy loose-leaf tea. He's seen those hands gentle enough to comfort Felix on the days his back pain gets the best of him, yet strong enough to manhandle Chan into bed when his stubbornness wins out. He's seen them in plaster, broken from an awkward fall, and covered in jewels, gracefully slicing through the air. But he hasn't been this distracted by them since he was 19 years old. Certainly hasn't wanted them in him this badly since then.

The thought accosts him out of nowhere, and suddenly he can't ignore that that's what the looking and staring means:

That he wants.

[rebellconquerer]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Over a year after starting this thing I finally came back and finished it. The unfinished was haunting me!

So here it is. The longest thing I've ever written, my very own fever dream.

[rebellconquerer]

More fic snippets from my head: Porsche vs Korn? Love to see it!

"Khun Korn, Khun Porsche is here." Chaiya announces. Korn looks up and smiles at Porsche, fatherly and pleased. It makes Porsche's skin crawl.

He walks in past Chaiya who stands quietly in the corner, takes a deep breath and then seems to just stop. Blending into the background. Hmm. He makes a much better bodyguard than Porsche ever did.

Porsche slips open the button on his suit jacket as he approaches Korn who is sitting in his usual place on the roof terrace, a chess board set up in front of him.

"Take a seat," he gestures to the opposing chair. Porsche eyes the seat, then the game before sitting gracefully, back straight, his body communicating displeasure.

"You summoned me, Khun Korn?" He says, the words slithering through his mouth smooth like a serpent in the brush.

"Now, none of that, Porsche, we're practically family. Call me Uncle." Korn replies, the same smile twinkling in his eyes.

Porsche nods but doesn't answer.

"Do you play?" He asks gesturing to the board. Porsche glances down, careful disinterest colouring his features.

"I never had much opportunity to play games in my childhood, though coincidentally books on the subject keep appearing at random intervals in my office," Porsche replies cooly. Korn's smile goes slick.

"How curious. Fancy a game?"

"I'd rather not waste your time with an unworthy opponent."

"You sell yourself short, Porsche," Korn starts, moving a white pawn and then making a corresponding move of a black one. Playing against himself. There is an irony in that that Porsche doesn't even have to look for.

"But that is a problem many seem to have with you, isn't it?" Korn asks. Porsche's eyebrows go up, his face asking the question that he refuses to speak.

Korn shrugs. "I heard you dealt with the issue with the Chanthara's very well. Very creatively even."

Porsche feels his jaw clench and fights to keep the glare off his face. "I did what was asked of me,"

"Nonsense. Your insight into the matter was unparalleled. The solution you came to was… unique."

Korn glances up at him, like he's taking stock of whether his praises are landing. Porsche paints a smile on his face and hopes the expression doesn't seem too forced. He's never been the best at hiding his thoughts, a problem that is rearing its head more and more often these days. He's working on it.

"Creativity serves you well in our line of business. It's something to be nurtured. I don't think Kinn or Vegas could have done what you did."

"Well it helps to have been that poor and desperate. It makes you familiar with what it feels like to break." Porsche replies. His tone must miss the full deference that Korn prefers as he gets a sharp look for his trouble. The look coils a dark pleasure deep inside him. Korn likes to pretend he is the benevolent benefactor in Porsche's life. Like he isn't the main reason for Porsche's suffering. Porsche isn't so forgetful.

"Still, good work deserves a reward. There are certain profitable but troublesome clients that may benefit from your deft hand." Korn replies and Porsche feels his breath freeze in him, that 6th sense that is supremely helpful when he's in a fight tickles down the back of his neck. It feels like prey realizing they've been scented by a predator. Any client Korn would describe as troublesome would be above the minor family. They would be Kinn's to deal with.

"With all due respect, Khun Korn, I think Kinn has a handle on his side of the business. He has after all been doing this much longer than I have." Porsche says carefully.

Korn hums, eyes examining the chess board in front of him. His game has been progressing without Porsche paying attention. A black bishop takes a white knight. There is a small collection of black pieces at the side of the game. White is clearly winning.

"There is no shame in needing help. Do you think Kinn would mind? Why should he, he has been helping you a lot over the last few weeks, has he not?" Korn replies quietly, attention remaining focussed on his board.

Porsche flicks his eyes between Korn and the board, trying to read something from his placid expression. Kinn values his standing in the eyes of this useless spider, he would hate to have Porsche instructed to help him against his will. He's a proud creature and if Porsche knows that, Korn definitely does, so this is either a test for Porsche or an intentional dig at Kinn.

Porsche isn't sure he cares about passing Korn's tests and won't stand for the latter. His response is easy.

"Kinn is nothing if not a problem solver. If he sees utility in any skill of mine all he has to do is ask and it's at his disposal. He knows that already. If he needs me, he has me."

Korn's eyes flash, apparently that wasn't the response he was expecting. He eyes Porsche up and down, expression cooling. It's like he's revised Porsche's IQ up a couple points.

"And that pleases you? Being leashed and collared like that. Existing at his beck and call?" There is derision coloring Korn's voice now, disgust dressed as politeness drips from his teeth as he says the words 'leashed and collared' and with it Porsche finally gets his play.

Porsche isn't dumb enough to think that this whole set up, him as the head of the minor family with Kinn leading the main family, isn't exactly what Korn wanted. He just doesn't know why? Still, if this is all he thinks it takes to get him to turn on Kinn, a few well placed compliments, a promise of power and a dig at his masculinity, well he has another thing coming.

Porsche glances at the board in front of them, pursing his lips in thought. "The last year has been one of the most volatile in my life and I've made a lot of mistakes. I'm a slow learner, I admit, but I do learn." He replies softly, eyes meeting Korn. "Everything works better when Kinn and I trust each other. It has been hard won, I will do nothing to threaten it."

Korn's expression stiffens. He doesn't seem to like when his pieces think for themselves. It emboldens Porsche. He allows his posture to slacken, letting the sexuality that garnered him tips at Hum bar from men and women equally soften his movements.

"As for being collared, as long as it's Kinn holding the leash I'm happy to be brought to heel."

He ignores the small cough from Chaiya at his words, smiling slowly at an irritated Korn from below his lashes. He glances down at the chess board, he's not good at the game, but he has been reading. He moves the white queen, threatening the black king.

"Check."

He holds Korn's gaze. He's going to pay for this, he knows, but he can't bring himself to care. With that Porsche excuses himself. Korn doesn't stop him.

[rebellconquerer]

Random KinnPorsche drabble.

Porsche isn't sure what his face is doing as he watches the smug asshole laugh at his own joke. He can imagine Kinn's voice in his head, telling him to let it go, telling him to have his men carry out any punishment he deems fit, telling him it's not the Theerapanyakul way to get on the level of his subordinates.

But Kinn isn't here, Porsche isn't a fucking Theerapanyakul and he is fucking tired of this shit.

Porsche leans back in his chair, letting his muscles uncoil, feeling himself go loose and limber.

"It really bothers you doesn't it?" He asks mildly.

Rav looks up at him, the smile he's wearing dipping from mean to self satisfied.

"Excuse me, Khun Porsche? I'm not sure I know what you mean,"

Porsche doesn't let his expression change from vague interest as he swirls the dregs of his drink, taking one final sip.

"No? You aren't tired of being forced to bow and scrape to me? You aren't pissed that some outsider usurped the throne from Vegas and that it wasn't you?" Porsche replies mildly.

Rav's expression freezes before it drops into a sneer. The guards around them have gone deathly still, the entire world narrowing down to just them, just their words. 

"See, I'm not sure where this idea comes from that I don't speak English, but I do. Decently well even. And I've been listening to you call me a bedwarmer, a nice ass that belongs on his back and, my personal favourite, a worthless whore, for too fucking long."

Rav's expression goes sour for a moment, his dark eyes squinting as his face scrunches in displeasure. He recovers quickly though, relaxing bit by bit and leaning back in his own chair as he comes to term with the new lay of the land.

"Well, this is shocking but I'm not sure this level of… deception is outside of what I'd expect from you." 

Porsche rolls his eyes, making his mind up. Fuck Kinn and fuck propriety. He's going to kick this guy's ass.

"You know, our distribution is too tied together to untangle right now," Porsche starts, staring at his glass as he drops it back onto the serving tray, "and I mean I could kill you-," he pauses as Rav's guards tense, hands reaching for poorly hidden weapons. Porsche's guards go for their weapons in turn but he quiets them with a flick of the wrist. "-but your mother would likely take that poorly. So tell you what, why don't we settle this like men?"

Porsche stands leisurely, stripping his jacket off and hanging it over the back of his chair.

"Like men?" Rav asks, eyeing Porsche warily, and he nods. 

"Like men. You want the ring, right? You want the power?" Porsche says leaning over the table and locking eyes with Rav, "So come and take it,"

He turns and strolls onto the grass in the silence that lingers after he speaks, making it about halfway to the middle of the field before he turns back, arms spread.

Rav eyes him suspiciously. "Come out there so you can say I attacked you on your home territory and get your guards to gun me down?" He sneers.

Porsche nods thoughtfully. "You're right. Of course, you're right," Porsche laughs. "Guards, guns down. No one is to interfere, else they answer to me," Porsche twists, making eye contact with his men who are flanking the plaza. Most of them listen, though they don't look too happy about it, and their guns are returned to holsters or placed on tables. There are a few, either those previously on Kinn's detail or his most loyal, like Tong, that don't obey. Porsche frowns. "Don't make me repeat myself," he says, looking straight at Tong. The gun wobbles for a moment before he drops his arm, jaw set and eyes pissed. Porsche grins, turning back to Rav and raising a single eyebrow.

Rav stands, face clouded but he doesn't move any closer.

"Kinn would never let that stand," he grumbles doubtfully. "Korn would never let that stand. I can't just take the ring from you and the minor family business is mine,"

Porsche shrugs. "Seems to me that this business is survival of the fittest… the power passed to me with the ring, it seems sensible that if you show I'm not fit by taking it you'd have a better position to bargain from,"

Rav's face seems to clear a little and he sways towards Porsche but still doesn't take the bait. Porsche sighs.

"Ok, ok, you need me to tilt the board in your favor? Don't think you're man enough on your own?" Porsche taunts. He removes the ring from his finger, holding it up to ensure that Rav sees exactly what he's doing, and walks to the midpoint between them, dropping the ring in the damp grass before backing up. 

"There. You don't even have to fight to get it off of me, just have to reach it before I do. What do you say?"

Porsche tilts his head, pasting his most condescending smile onto his face, the one he knows gets under people's skin and makes them want to hurt him.

It works like a charm. 

[rebellconquerer]

New Chapter Update!

The last formal chapter of my fic Worthy of Love and Loyalty just dropped. All that's left now is an epilogue!

Snippet for your attention!

"You took a bullet for me," Porsche's mouth says without any input from his brain. Kinn just sighs, staring back at him.

"Seems that way, yeah," he replies easily and Porsche giggles, the sound slightly hysterical.

"Why?" He asks and Kinn's gaze goes soft before he looks away.

"You know why," he whispers and Porsche smiles.

"'Cause you like me here?"

"'Cause I like you here," Kinn replies tiredly and Porsche feels like he's drowning under the weight of the feeling that swells up inside of him until it's leaking through every crack in his weary armour.

He throws himself at Kinn, pressing his lips aggressively against Kinn's, dry and cracked as they are, and doesn't breathe until he feels Kinn respond under him, grasping at the back of his neck like it's a lifeline. It feels right is the only thought that makes any sense in his head.

[rebellconquerer]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Chapters: 4/10 Fandom: Avatar: The Last Airbender Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Katara/Zuko (Avatar) Characters: Katara (Avatar), Zuko (Avatar), Sokka (Avatar), Toph Beifong, Suki (Avatar), Iroh (Avatar) Additional Tags: Not Canon Compliant, Politics, Assassination Attempt(s), Slow Burn, Eventual Romance, Zuko is an Awkward Turtleduck, but he is trying, BAMF Suki, BAMF Katara, Post-Canon, Assassination Plot(s) Summary:

"I won't lie to you and say this place is safe. Nowhere is safe for us. But to make sure we are all risking equally, I'm going to start. You all will follow or you will not be allowed to leave." His voice doesn't lose that sturdy but pleasant quality, even as he threatens them, making eye contact with each to show how serious he is.

The pause seems to drag out for an eternity, the only sound the rapid-fire beat of her heart rushing in her ears. The firestarter attaches the waterskin back to his belt before he seems to stare straight at her.

"I am here to kill the Firelord." .......

Five years since the passing of Sozin's Comet finds Zuko struggling to come into his own as the Firelord while trying to figure out what to do with the Fire Nation colonies, a politically complex problem that may or may not have something to do with the uptick in his assassination attempts. Mix in team avatar, an increasing new awareness of Katara and you have all the elements of a rocking good time.

[rebellconquerer]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Chapters: 1/10 Fandom: KinnPorsche: The Series (TV) Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Porsche Pachara Kittisawat/Kinn Anakinn Theerapanyakun Characters: Porsche Pachara Kittisawat, Arm (KinnPorsche: The Series), Pete Phongsakorn Saengtham, Porchay Pichaya Kittisawat, Kim Khimhant Theerapanyakun, Khun Tankhun Theerapanyakun, Vegas Kornwit Theerapanyakun, Korn Theerapanyakun Additional Tags: Porsche Pachara Kittisawat & Pete Phongsakorn Saengtham Friendship, Alternate Universe, BAMF Porsche, BAMF Kinn, I see your mafia, and raise you SPY!AU, Angst, Enemies to Lovers Summary:

The SpyxHandler AU you didn’t know you wanted.

Things aren’t going great for Porsche. He has too many jobs that don’t put enough food on the table for him and Porchay, but at least they’re together. What happens when Porsche gets recruited to the Theerapanyakul agency by the founder’s asshole son and blackmailed into joining in?

Why sparks fly of course. In all meanings of the word.

[rebellconquerer]

I swear guys, I'm building out this world. It's more likely than not now to end up as a real fic.

"That's the thing about GHB, you know, sometimes the memories stay gone… sometimes they don't " Porsche forces himself to smile at Vegas. The smile he's been working on, the one he didn't have before there was regularly a 'Khun' in front of his name.

Vegas looks mildly shocked for a moment before his expression slides back into calculated boredom.

"What am I supposed to be? Afraid of that information? What're you going to do?" He sneers. "Set Kinn on me? What's left to take."

Porsche glances out the window, let's the familiar sight of Bangkok's night time skyline calm him.

"You know the thing about Pete is, his loyalty is unmatched." He shifts his gaze back to Vegas. "He'll forgive all manner of slights and injuries against himself, but that loyalty? That loyalty to his friends? Now that's a thing of beauty." He doesn't have to state the threat. He sees it land in Vegas's eyes.

"You think Pete would draw a line there? Do you have any idea the things he's seen me do? The things I've done to him? I don't think his affections are that fickle."

"But you aren't sure."

Vegas glares at him, eyes hateful and promising vengeance. Porsche feels a shiver run through him. He isn't afraid of Vegas necessarily, but he has appropriate respect for the feral danger he represents. Kinn would be pissed if he knew he was here. He'd be even more pissed if Vegas killed him here. He takes a steadying breath and brings the conversation back to his initial point.

"Come on, Vegas," Porsche hisses. "He killed your father,"

"I hated the old bastard,-"

"-and if you wanted him dead, you'd have done it yourself. Don't you want revenge? Don't you want to see Korn brought to his knees?" Porsche pushes.

Vegas scoffs. "So Kinn can take his place as the head of the clan?"

"Better the devil you know."

Vegas doesn't respond and Porsche forces himself not to hold his breath. Ignores the sticky feeling of sweat beading along his neck to slide slickly down his back.

Vegas tilts his head, expression turning cruel and haughty.

"We all underestimated you, didn't we?" Vegas mutters. "Tell me, is his dick so good it's worth you selling your soul?"

Porsche curls his fingers deep into his own palm, letting the pain ground him. If he loses it with Vegas now he won't get this chance again.

"Well...Pete's seems to have been good enough for you to find yours,"

That startles a laugh out of Vegas, the sound dusty and unused. He eyes Porsche again, gaze going serious. The quiet grows wider, turning cloying as Porsche forces himself to keep eye contact. Vegas is like a shark, any hint of weakness and he won't have time to react to the feeding frenzy.

The smile, when Vegas gives it, is slow and cold and utterly terrifying.

"Ok, Porsche. Where do we start?"

***********************

Porsche watches Vegas drive away, the car getting smaller and smaller as it disappears into the distance. Kinn would have him take down the license plate, even though it's definitely a fake. He would say you never know what information you get from what people do or do not let slide. Sometimes even the way people hide themselves gives something away.

But none of this will work without a little trust. Porsche doesn't trust Vegas in the least, but he trusts Pete to deliver when he needs him to.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" A voice that shouldn't be there says from the dark.

Porsche sighs. The muscles around his back and his neck are tight and aching with the stress of dealing with Vegas. He hangs his head, enjoying the pull as he ranges his neck.

"Not in the least." Porsche mutters turning to look at Kim.

"But do you have a better one?"