I’m not sure I should meet my idols ever. I can’t pay much attention to Bible mostly bc he’s shirtless half the time and makes me loose my grip on religion (yes ironic it’s still so powerful I have to spray myself with a water bottle like I’m a cat.) Both Bible and Build I would have to be like “well you see I’ve written more than 300k about you—I mean your CHARACTERS” (hopes and prays they don’t see my smut)
With Jame and Folk how could I possibly be like “oh yeah I wanted your child even though in the show neither of you are 23 yet. I just wanted you to beat Nakhun and Phatsa”
Ao3 and tumblr are the only places I’m allowed to be unhinged atm. I need it, otherwise who knows why I’d be saying. I CAN behave but I do need my unhinged space
(TW: violence/torture - including eyes, murder) - this may be edited more by the time I actually post - this is just chapter 1
Title: The Wreckage of You
Vegas was painfully wrenched from a dream about his brother by frigid water splashing his face. A sliver of ice from the bucket stung as it sliced his cheek open.
The blood trickling down his face was the least of his concerns.
“Get up,” the guard yelled. “You’ve been summoned by the king.”
The king. That whelp.
He was sitting on the throne that Vegas had earned; he was tarnishing the throne that Vegas deserved, after all he had sacrificed.
The damp straw in the dungeon cell scratched at Vegas as he shifted his weight under chains manacled to his wrists and ankles. They knew better than to unchain him, even in a cage.
Even without the chains, Vegas’s very bones would have him locked in place with how cold the dungeon was. It was winter, and he was underground, but there was little reprieve to be had in the frozen earth. He would have gladly set the straw in his cell on fire to have had a little warmth, but they left him nothing but a bucket. Vegas wasn’t even sure if he was meant to drink from it, or if it was for his waste.
He used it for waste, just to be safe, his tongue sticking dryly to the roof of his mouth in the two days he had been detained. They had given him a little moldy bread, and barely any water.
At least Macau was safe. Wasn’t he?
Vegas could see his brother’s face every time he closed his eyes, his hand reaching for Vegas as Nop dragged him inside the monastery. That had been the last time he had seen him, and he could only hope that he was still safe. Vegas had few friends left after the Battle of Thonburi.
The civil war had been brutal, raging for a couple of years, but no day had been as bloody as that one. Many had fallen, the muddy field turned crimson with the blood of the slain. Vegas had already squirreled Macau away with the monks, who promised to remain neutral, so that battle had only left the Bard King, who ascended the throne, while Vegas disappeared into the night like a coward.
He had been on the run ever since, trying to find anyone still loyal to his father.
But tongues had wagged. Someone had sold him out.
Vegas thought he might know who.
The guards unlocked his cell and crowded in like bees entering a hive to snatch Vegas up by both elbows. He was weak, from lack of water, from lack of food. He knew he was on his way to his death. In a way, he almost welcomed it. There were just a few loose ends he had still wanted tied up before he no longer could. One in particular that he dwelled on, daily.
Vegas had questions he still needed answered.
The temperature change was noticeable, even though there was still a chill in the castle corridors. Vegas was filthy. He hadn’t bathed properly in nearly a week. His rough clothes he wore to blend in more with the commoners stuck to his skin, his sweat stiffening the fabric uncomfortably.
He looked completely out of place amongst the finery that should be his, by right.
The guards led him straight to the throne room, and Vegas noticed he had not passed a single soul on the way. It was as if the castle were holding its breath, avoiding his contamination.
The throne room was warmer, thanks to the massive fires on the north and south walls. Again, there was hardly a soul present to witness Vegas’s humiliation. He would have expected to be trotted out among the people, shown off and ridiculed. Oh, look how far the lesser family has fallen.
Kinn would have done so.
But it appeared that Kim had other plans.
And there he was, the Bard King, lounging in his throne. He wore all black, as was typical of him, with a gold crown atop his head.
Beside him was the loyal right hand of the king: Porsche.
The last time Vegas had seen him, he had sliced Porsche’s face. The man glared at him, seemingly also caught in that memory. Sure enough, over an ugly scar marring his face, he wore a velvet red eye patch. His hair had gotten longer since then, the leather ties disappearing into his locks.
Other than the two of them, only one person was in the room.
He was kneeling on the ground, his wrists tied behind his back with rope.
Ken.
“You may go,” Porsche addressed the guards, taking a step forward.
The guards bowed, backing away as Vegas glanced back at them nonchalantly. The great oaken doors slammed behind them, the echo reverberating in the large, empty chamber.
Even with Vegas shackled, it was very telling that Kim felt safe enough with only Porsche as his backup. They had gotten quite close.
“See?” Ken gasped, his head hanging low. “You captured the prince because I did not lie.”
“Traitorous bastard,” Vegas seethed between his teeth.
“I see no prince,” Kim said with a drawl, waving his hand around. “Only a treasonous snake.”
Ken let out a harsh breath, bowing even lower. “Of c-course, your majesty. I did not mean to imply- There is only one true line.”
Kim narrowed his eyes, then waved a hand in Ken’s direction. He leaned over the arm of his throne, picking up a lyre that he was seldom seen without. As he plucked the strings, searching for a melody, Ken’s screams provided the unsteady percussion.
Porsche had him by the collar, his fist making contact with Ken’s face over and over.
“Please,” Ken choked out, spitting out blood and bone onto the stone floor. “I brought you Pr- I brought you Vegas. I am proving my loyalty.”
“I see no Vegas here,” Kim said, sounding nearly as deranged as his late, eldest brother. Kim set his lyre down, as gently as a babe, and stood. Slowly, pointedly, he stepped down from his dais to their level. From a nearby table, Kim selected a candle. “And soon, neither shall you.”
Porsche tipped Ken’s head back, opening his eyes wide with thumb and forefinger as Kim tilted the candlestick, pouring hot wax into Ken’s eyes. Ken screamed. Vegas did not flinch. He had done worse to men.
When Kim was done, he gave Porsche a nod. Porsche pulled out his sword and moved to stand behind Ken, yanking him by the hair to expose the column of his neck. Ken tried to blink but the wax was cooling rapidly, hardening and blocking his eyelids.
With a quick slice, Porsche cut Ken’s head nearly clean off, ending his suffering.
Kim put the candle back on the table, sighing heavily as he climbed back up to his throne to sit, crossing his legs.
Vegas waited for Porsche to ram his sword through his chest next, but Porsche only cleaned it on Ken’s shirt and returned it to the scabbard.
He glared at Vegas as he stepped a little closer. It was a silent warning.
Vegas held his hands out in a placating gesture, spreading them as wide as the manacles allowed. He could pretend not to be a threat, even if it was a lie.
“Now that that’s done,” Kim said, picking up his lyre again to strum it, “let’s discuss your fate.”
Vegas gave a grin. “I suppose the Bard King wishes me dead?”
“He’s not the only one,” Porsche growled.
“Get in line,” Vegas hissed back, all pretense of niceness gone.
“You killed Kinn,” Porsche said under his breath, taking a step closer to Vegas.
“Enough,” Kim whispered. It was enough to get Porsche to back down.
Close, indeed.
Vegas wondered if Porsche also warmed this king’s bed. He cocked his head to the side. Porsche’s younger brother was more likely, that doe-eyed, breakable boy.
“There is a line, as you said,” Kim allowed. “A long one. But there is someone who deserves to have your blood even more than Porsche. Even more than myself.”
Vegas lost control of his expression for just a moment. There was only one person they could be speaking of, but that wasn’t possible. Surely not.
“Just kill me now,” Vegas barked, taking a step toward Porsche and his sword.
To his horror, Kim smiled. Kim never smiled. Not like that.
“He will be very pleased when you arrive.”
With that, Kim clapped his hands together twice, signaling for his guards to enter. This time, a whole troupe of them came to fetch Vegas.
“I hope to never see your face again, cousin.” Kim said.
Vegas stared at the two of them until the looming doors closed on the throne room, his stomach sinking low with dread. A death from them would have been a mercy, and it seems they knew that as well.
I found this idea in my notes and I have no recollection of where I was heading with it :
Vp au- f buddies
* VegasPete are somewhat fuck buddies. Nobody from either family knows that VegasPete have been hooking up every so often.
* They don’t do it consistently because they both know if they get caught they’re both fucked big time
* So they meet up once in a while when either one of them is a little too stressed or pent up. They send each other a location and meet up or on the rare occasions they’re sent on missions together they sneak away.
* It’s during their latest meet up, after they’re done and Pete is asleep does Vegas Realize that maybe there’s more to his feeling for Pete than just a convenient fuck
* He’s staring at Pete, unable to take his eyes off him, he looks so soft and calm. He starts to reach out in order to caress his cheek but stops
* Vegas can’t do this. It’s impossible. They’re not meant to last. He can’t even be sure Pete would even actually want someone like him. Plus, feelings make you weak and Vegas isn’t weak.
* He leaves right away and vows to stop this thing he has with Pete, he can find someone else to satisfy his needs
* He ignores Pete after that. Doesn’t reply to any of his messages and the one time they had a mission together he acted as if Pete wasn’t there.
* Pete seems to understand and doesn’t bother to interact with Vegas. They’re back to the way they were before things between them started.
* A few weeks have passed since Vegas has “ended” things with Pete. He’s out at a club trying to find someone to satisfy his needs.
* He spots a guy who looks similar to Pete, and yea maybe it’s a stupid idea to go after a guy who looks like the guy you’re trying to forget but right now Vegas doesn’t care
* He does his usually thing and has the guy following him to a private room
When I started my VegasPete Trash youtube channel in November, I set myself a goal of gaining 50 followers by the end of this year.
I've been posting consistently (16 weeks on, two weeks off) since I started, and I've been having a blast. I'm hoping to be able to post even more often starting later this year.
I'm currently at 49 followers.
I know many of them are my friends, and many of them are fellow authors/people who probably found me through tumblr.
It's never been about the number. 50 was an arbitrary number, just a goal to set for myself, without the fear of failing if I didn't reach it.
For me, it's always been about this community. I love VegasPete. And I love the fanfic. I love writing. I love the fanart.
So, from the bottom of my heart, thank you to everyone who has been with me on this journey. I don't usually post personal things on this blog, but I just wanted to say thanks for this. Thank you for joining me in having fun loving VegasPete and shouting out the creative and lovely and kind people behind these incredible fics that keep them alive.
Thank you!
I plan on running this channel until I just can't anymore, but just know there's thousands of authors still left for me to cover on AO3 alone.
