#did you mean that at all?

[tumsa]

thrown into your tide

you know that "kitten i'll be completely honest, daddy is a fucking mess" meme? that's me, i have been a fucking mess for the past three days, and apparently, when i am a mess, i take it out on my blorbos.

have some ken/big stuff

summary: He wonders how it would feel to look at Big and not feel like his heart was slowly carved hollow, one glance at a time. warnings: canon-typical stuff, pining, feeling untethered inspired by @aikinn tags, specifically this one: #the Ken who loves Big who loves Kinn line of unrequited pain and suffering is something that can be so personal (and @snarkspawn‘s lovely art accordingly)

- - -

Sometimes Ken misses the time when Big hated him, looked at him with sharp annoyance, a slight snarl on his lips, and rolled his eyes when Ken spoke. He misses looking at Big and thinking: I want to punch you, you fucker. Feeling furious was much easier than feeling invisible. Feeling not enough, never enough.

He wonders how it would feel to look at Big and not feel like his heart was slowly carved hollow, one glance at a time. How would it feel not to hear Big laughing and have the barbed wire wrapped around his insides tighten. Ken knows he is a sore loser, never mastered the art of being okay with not being first, and so it eats at him; the void in him grows and grows, and it hungers, and it wants, and Ken doesn't know how to soothe it. 

"Do you ever wish," he asks, rubbing a bite mark he left on Big's shoulder gently, as if he could erase it with his fingertips, "that you felt differently?"

"No," Big says, and if there was a light on, Ken thinks he could see the small, gentle smile on Big's face that nobody outside of their room ever sees. "I am happy just to be near him, to protect him."

Ken hums. He wishes it was enough for him.

- - -

It begins with Chan yelling at both of them for breaking the sacred rules of peace, "no fights between bodyguards", and being childish. It's Ken's second week on the job, and he has finally lost it and punched Big in the face. The pained whimper that Big had made before pulling a gun and aiming it at Ken's chest had been glorious.

"I will not have this," Chan's voice is snappy and cold, as his eyes throw daggers at both Big and Ken, "this is not a playground. I am giving you one last chance to fix this."

He walks them to Big's room, opens the door and waits for them to get inside, pushing Ken when he is too slow to move. 

"You have until Monday," Chan says, closes the door and then locks it. He adds through the now-closed door: "If you break the lock, I will know. If either of you dies, I'll kill the other too."

"But-" Big protests pointlessly, then shuts his mouth and turns to face Ken, scowling. There's a red mark on his face where Ken's knuckles met his skin, and it makes Ken gleeful. 

"Nice one," Ken says because Big does not know how not to show emotions on his face, and right now, he looks like one of those small, angry dogs that old ladies put in their handbags. 

"Fucking great," Big says, kicking the door, "it's all your fault."

"No, mate, that's all you for being such a dick."

It's funny to watch Big reaching for his gun, only to realize that it's not there, that Chan didn't give it back. 

"Well," Ken says, because he doesn't actually want to die, and he can see Big eyeing a collection of knives on his wall, "give me a tour. Are we sharing a bed?" 

He winks, changing his mind because getting stabbed might be worth seeing Big all flustered. And then, because Big is no fun at all, he sits down on the sofa, turning away from Ken.

- - -

By Saturday, Ken thinks getting shot by Chan might be a relief. It's not the multiple fights they have had in the past two days (although Ken's ribs feel bruised and sore, and his split lip burns). It is boredom. Someone, probably Arm by Chan's request, has turned off their access to the internet so they cannot watch anything on the TV, and they are not allowed to have phones or computers, and Big has nothing else in his room that is even remotely entertaining, so Ken is dying. He can feel the time moving agonizingly slowly. Every minute feels like an eternity, and Ken might just kill Big so Chan can end the misery.

"Shoot me," he says, from where he is lying on the carpet and staring at the ceiling.

"I wish," Big unexpectedly replies, and his voice has no heat in it. They have not talked to each other outside of insults. 

"How did humans survive without the internet," Ken wonders, not for the first time. "What did they do all day?"

"Fuck if I know," apparently, they are talking now. 

Except Ken doesn't know what to say, they are not friends and have nothing in common. None of Chan's bodyguard lessons or videos included the "How to talk with your annoying coworker" tutorial.

"My grandparents play board games," Big breaks the silence. "Not that I have any."

Ken sighs, his eyes travelling down the shelf across him, full of Big's stuff. They stop at a bottle of whiskey.

"Or," he says, grinning, "we could get drunk."

- - -

"I love you, man," Ken is wheezing with laughter hours, days, or weeks later when they have emptied two bottles of whiskey and popped open a random champagne bottle.

Big is grinning on the sofa next to him. He's wearing a stupid "I <3 New York" shirt that makes Ken giggle even more. 

"That's it," Big finally slurs, looking pleased, "that's how I got the job."

"Fucking legend," Ken says, and he would clap Big on the shoulder if his arms cooperated a bit better. "If I were you, I'd sleep with my eyes open."

Big makes an agreeing noise. "I did, for like a year. He still might kill me."

From what Ken has heard about Khun Vegas in the two weeks he has been in the main family's house, he really might. 

"You'll die a hero," Ken says, looking at Big and bursting into laughter again. 

Big is fucking awesome.

- - -

Ken doesn't know who is more surprised that they both make it out alive by Monday morning, them or Chan. Or maybe it's that Ken is teaching Big how to do a backflip, and they are laughing when he opens the door. The eyebrow rise speaks volumes. 

Ken moves in with Big on Wednesday.

- - -

Ken doesn't know when things change again; there is no whiskey this time. He's used to having Big by his side, used to having Big's back during the missions; within a year, he has learned every Big's strength and weakness, he knows where to cover for him, where to let Big balance out Ken's shortcomings. They quickly go from "Big" and "Ken" to "Big and Ken". Chan takes them on missions together or not at all, and they quickly become Khun Kinn's favourites, trailing him every step he takes outside the mansion. Ken is used to it, even to the ugly parts of it, the parts where Big gets hurt and Ken worries, or parts where Ken gets injured and feels ashamed of not doing better.

It shifts, and it's a sudden, terrifying realization, and the implication of it creeps up Ken's spine like a poison ivy. It's the moment when Big enters their room, eyes wet, face bruised, red, angry finger marks on his cheek, right after he has told Ken he must tell Kinn about his suspicions of Tawan. It's the moment when Big swallows a sob as he slides down the wall, shaking and trying not to cry openly, and Ken thinks I will fucking kill Kinn that it hits him right in the solar plexus and takes his breath away.

"Big," Ken says, and his voice trembles; he feels a little untethered and a lot like the ground beneath him is moving, shifting, falling open.

"He," Big whispers, and the despair in his voice makes Ken sick, "he didn't believe me."

Ken wants to say something, anything, but his voice is drowning; he is drowning. I'm in love with you, he thinks, and the thought is like a match, setting his insides on fire, blazing its way into Ken's stomach, settling in his bones, burning.

"Fuck," he finally says, mumbles, desperate to regain some control.

"What if he dies?" Big asks as he starts weeping, trying to hold his sobs, pressing the back of his palm against his mouth, and Ken feels like someone is slicing his chest open.

"It will be okay," he says because he wants Big to stop crying and fix this somehow; he wants Big to smile and laugh about Ken's dumb jokes. "We will figure it out. I have your back, remember?"

Big nods and tries to smile through tears. Ken reaches an arm out, and Big takes it and lets Ken pull him up. Ken's skin burns under his touch.

- - -

The first time it happens, they are drunk again. They are celebrating a mission gone well. Big cannot stop grinning because Kinn had praised and promoted him to the head of his bodyguards. He looks so happy. Something ugly warms its way into Ken's bones, and yet he cannot stop grinning back.

Big leans and kisses him. It's soft and warm and nothing like kissing anyone Ken has kissed before. The gentle nip on Ken's bottom lip feels like salvation.

Big pulls away and gets up, then reaches for Ken's hand, still smiling. Their fingers lock together, and Ken thinks that for someone more used to holding a gun than anyone's hand, he could get used to it. 

He doesn't care that Big turns off the light, the soft and sweaty heat of his body, the tiny whimpers, squirming, twisting and writhing, all of it outweighs the way Big murmurs and pleads Kinn's name, between the shaky breaths, it almost sounds like Ken's. 

- - -

It happens again and again and again. It messes with Ken's head; he gets more irritable and sulky; something inside him wants to claw its way out, and it scares him. He looks at Kinn sometimes and forgets his job. He looks at Kinn and wonders how it would feel to tear him apart and have Kinn's blood on his hands, slimy and thick. 

He knows it would kill Big, so he stands between Kinn and a knife, between Kinn and a bullet, and between Kinn and the world trying to kill him. He smiles when Big hugs him after another well-done mission and swallows bitter bile when Big's eyes still follow Kinn. 

- - -

"He will never belong to you," Vegas whispers, tempting, "while Kinn is alive."

Ken gives in.

[adyophene]

I couldn't get the idea of Alastor holding Husk like that one ferret gif during his lament in the finale out of my head.

[shotmrmiller]

sex pollen trope where you're the one affected, having been exposed to some dense gas while on an op that felt like harsh sandpaper across your throat and lungs, and now you're a feverish mess on some ratty cot in a safe house and with only ghost as company, it's miserable, as the saying goes.

hair sticking to your sweaty skin, plastered onto your forehead and neck, every swallow feeling like you've got a mouthful of sand, your fluttering pulse wild and deafening in your ears, and the throbbing ache deep in your core, the blistering heat right below your navel— it'd only been uncomfortable in the beginning, the faint throbbing incredibly familiar, but the more you ignored it, the worse it got.

and now you're here, with arousal sticking your underwear to your pussy, unable to do anything about it because your lieutenant is seated in a corner that lets him have both you and the front door within his line of sight. a quick, discreet rub under your clothes is not an option.

someone put you out of your foggy misery.

"squirmin' like a worm on a 'ook isn't gonna help." his staring doesn't either, yet he does it anyway.

"got to make sure ya aren't dyin' on me." you want to snap that you don't think proof of life is on the darkened stain between your legs, the retort pressed behind clenched teeth but another thick wave of bestial need rolls over you and god, you're about to shove your hand into your underwear, propriety be damned—

"best you don't do tha'." why the fuck not? "you'll only get relief for a moment 'fore it comes back twofold." he says as if he's reading off the morning paper and not watching you fight tooth and nail to not fuck yourself against the pillow your head is on. (soap's offer to be friends with benefits is only looking better by the hour.)

you hastily decide that it'll be better than nothing. you'll just have to rub your pussy raw until this drug runs its course and you're telling him to piss off or don't, but you've had enough. you're stuck here with him anyway, no flight home until the morn and you're not about to spend it writhing around.

"if tha's wha' you want," ghost bites his gloves off, spitting them out onto the ground before curling his hands around your ankles and dragging you toward him. "i will help." your entire world narrows down to the feel of him touching your skin, his fingers searing as they hook into the waistband of your pants, and you almost kick him in the mouth trying to get them off faster.

"but 'm not fuckin' you." the bite of disappointment is quickly forgotten, his breath warm against your slick pussy, and after three quick glides of his tongue over your pearl, your orgasm crests, pulse after pulse of pleasure so potent it stung.

in less than a minute you're burning again, need thrumming through you and with the heady push and drag of his middle finger over your sensitive nerves, curling in you until he can fit two, three—

you're lost.

(ghost telling you that he's not doing anything else because if he's going to fuck you then you're going to remember it falls on ringing ears.)

[brainrotcharacters]

the easy grip on the knife. the leg over the seat. the hand over the other seat. the sassy "come get it" move. you know the bitch is smiling behind that mask even as he said the line.

[akanemnon]

I don't like this place. It's turning everyone edgy and sad.

FIRST - PREVIOUS - NEXT

MASTERPOST (for the full series / FAQ / reference sheets)

[ribbonentrails]

it's too dangerous to go alone take this~

[inkskinned]

"don't make it political!" .... what proportion of death and suffering must occur before politics are involved. if this isn't political, what is even the point of any politics, ever. of democracy. the words are "by the people for the people." if i am going to be left alone by my elected representatives to "figure it out" - to undergo damage, hardship, fear. what the fuck did i elect them for. what was their job. the entire point is that they handle this shit. this is why we were supposed to be electing leaders.

poverty is political. misogyny is political. gun control is political. climate change is political. how much aid a community gets is political. what the fuck are you talking about. it's been political this whole fucking time.

[egophiliac]

IT WAS ERIC AFTER ALL!!!! I'm so glad we got to meet him (before Vil snaps him away with those Infinity Gauntlets) (can't wait to see what happens when we get the matching Infinity Tiara to go with them, there will be no survivors)

(sorry to be so slow/rough lately, just got a lot of stuff on the ol' brain at the moment! alas, if only I could spend all my time drawing incredibly stupid characters I mean I do but)

[stealingpotatoes]

happy mean girls day to everyone who celebrates <3

(commission info // tip jar!)

[cozylittleartblog]

Columbo and the Knight (1984)

put me in the universe where Columbo ran through the 1980s and had a crossover episode with Knight Rider. I think they deserved it, and I am not just saying that because they're my two favorite Old Shows. @telebeast wrote a little fanfic blurb about it and I HAD to visualize it into a comic (which is also the longest comic I have finished thus far at five pages...), so writing credit goes to them.

Autism W!

[evelynpr]

Congratulations My Hero Academia for providing, possibly, the biggest and longest legit straightbaiting yet in shonen history.

Bonus points that their final chapter was released on yaoi day.

[technically-human]

Hey, don't cry. Ghost yuri, okay?

(Now that you know the girls, they need to meet the boys!)

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

At your side [End of Season 2]

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[thenearsightedmicroraptor]

Seen a lot of posts about people coming into your notifications out of nothing and liking your entire blog, but here's a shoutout to the people who do Not follow you, who appear out of nowhere, reblog One (1) post that you are Not the op of, and then you never see them again. Where did you come from girl.

[hinamie]

yeah sorry theyre tragic in this au too

jjk atla!au with @philosophiums