#i LOVE BEN angst

[fricc-darn]

Warning for abuse involving teens and adults (mental and physical), poor mental health, and just upsetting topics

None of them asked for this life, not in the slightest. Not one person was prepared for this to be the outcome of their ascension. Everyone wanted to go home. Whatever was left behind of their old lives, they'd gladly choose anything but this. It seemed like each day, someone new would be added to the system. So many people with their aspirations and desires ripped away from them. It was a cycle of tragedy.

The lives they had lived were difficult, cruel, and shameful. Being utterly disenfranchised meant that society would turn a blind eye to the most vulnerable. It made them easy targets, to be picked off the street like ripened berries. They were lulled into this fellowship with false promises of self-improvement and community.

To be told that the pain they felt was nothing but a wound that would soon heal with tougher skin. With guidance, their gifted potential would shine through. Every single person involved had a purpose. To live a devoted life to Luna's cause. An eternity of paradise awaited them after death.

The day of true enlightenment would come when midnight whispers came to them sweetly. When it happens, death shouldn't be feared but embraced, as they have surpassed this life. That is when this world and all of its unfairness would come to an end. They would survive. She had chosen for them to live. It had given them hope.

But those whispers never came. Yet, people were told their time had come.

If only they had known that they would be used as some kind of lab rat. Everyone's naiveté and what remained of their childlike wonder were weaponized against them repeatedly. Having their bodies humiliated in the name of spirituality. Their flesh was mangled by barbarism and left to rot. Ultimately, they would never be treated with the deserved humanity, even after death. If only they had known to stop feeding into the lies.

They were worn thin. Was anything they were taught real? It had to be, to some degree. This world was supposed to be salvation, but the skepticism couldn't be helped. They did what they were supposed to. Cleansing the filth that tainted their souls. Putting what little confidence they had left into Luna. A perfect fairytale for this never-ending nightmare. Maybe life would have been kinder if they weren't deeply troubled individuals. Loving parents? A stable environment? Better physical and mental health? Anything?

Yet, what could anyone do about what was said and done? This was a prison for tortured souls.

Not only were their experiences shared, but now so were their pain, their sadness, and their anger. A collective burning resentment felt so heavy that they wondered if they were all from the same womb. As if this was the family they craved.

They were one. With themselves and everyone in their...group. Expressing a newfound tenderness towards each other during their troubles. For some, memories were being stripped and forgotten after a few days. Others desperately clung on to what they could remember. The ability to live on after death was a true gift as much as it was a curse. A second chance, if you will. Was this a gift from man or Luna?

Truthfully, this new life was better to some degree. This wasn't a repeating lie they would say in an attempt to pacify their rapidly changing emotions. People don't suffer for nothing. There was meaning behind it. It was a beautiful weakness that easily bloomed like a sore. It was so human. A reminder of what they were no longer. They were now something much more than any person. Life was going to be different this time around. As a collective, they swore on it. For themselves and each other. 

No one would have to endure the inescapable abuse that was inflicted upon them ever again. In this world, they were never hungry or cold; they had a place to sleep and clothes on their backs. Here, it was safe. No one could hurt them again, and they'd make sure of it. 

The darkest parts of every soul, which were once hidden away, began to reveal themselves. Communal bitterness festered and spread like the plague. They were all told anything could happen in this world. They could be or do anything. In that case, they would do things they could only dream of. Everyone wished that they had lived life more selfishly, and now was their chance. If their souls were truly bound to this God-forsaken game, it would only make sense to treat life like one. 

The network grew curious. For the first time, they had control over their lives. The roles have changed. It wanted to know what it was like to hurt someone. To feel how good it felt to break someone down to nothing. To have things go their way. They needed to hurt someone; it was instinctual. To prove to themselves that there was some bright side to this mess. That it has the ability to make people listen. Using the same methods that others have done to them.

Who they were as individuals mattered little. They'd make their presence known as one. It was only fair that after what they've been through, their amusement should be placed before all else. They deserved this; this was their reward! If only they had a fraction of this authority sooner.

[wntrswolf]

love mirage

✧ pair: benjicot "davos" blackwood (fancast) x freader!secret-lover-betrothed-to-a-bracken

✧ theme/warning(s): slight/implied smut, angst, forbidden romance, star-crossed lovers. — (all characters mentioned are of age!) 18+

✧ word count: 1.8k

✧ author's note: hello! this is my first writing! this one-shot was spontaneously written as it was meant more for self-indulgence but i thought why not share it to others who also has a current obsession with the rising blackwood character, right? :-) anyways, reading fics under the benji tags manifested many scenarios in my head, and gave me inspiration to write something. lastly, forgive me for any possible grammatical errors, i still am an amateur in fictional writing. enjoy!!!

It was the dead of night. The sky had been painted in its darkest hue, the moon stood nearly at its peak, offering its gentle glow along the riverbank. The distant chatter that could be heard during a long day's labor was no longer present, replaced by the solemn silence of nature's symphonies—the flowing river, the rustling of leaves as they danced in breaths of wind, and the lullabies of insects as they clicked and buzzed.

The forest was no stranger to you; befriending the woodland for the passing moons. You often wondered if anyone would, or had, grown an inkling of your periodic disappearance following the hours of supper—what others would think of your father’s only daughter growing a rather sudden interest beyond the walls of your family's stronghold. You always made your way out stealthily, though his words echoed in your mind,

“You are our only hope, daughter. Do not fail us.” A stark reminder of your duty, which would soon bring honor to your family's name.

If it means anything, you knew it was wrong from the start. You had never intended anything as such to happen. For the name of a nobleman was bound to yours, yet your lips would chant whispers of another.

Time became irrelevant right before you met him on this cool summer night. There the young man stood, one hand steady on the hilt of his dagger, ever vigilant should danger lurk in the tranquil embrace of the silent woods; his tense body relaxing upon the sight of your cloaked figure before him—a beacon of familiarity. You had planned to tell him about your betrothal tonight.

Although it was not much longer that you would find yourself a whimpering mess under the Blackwood boy. Your sighs mingled with the saccharine words Benjicot spoke, adding harmonies of moans and gasps of pleasure in the serenity of the haven you both made. You often feared getting caught but Benji assured you in these remote lands, he doubted anyone would be near enough to witness anything— not even the treacherous act you both selfishly indulged in. You still pray to the Gods that they grant you both the favor that no eye spies this clandestine meeting; and the many before.

You never really questioned yourself on why you couldn't confide in your father about your betrothal; had you already envisioned the conversation—mayhem would ensue. It was simple, it was the decision he made—securing your family's position through a marriage pact, a political alliance they called it. Duty, you thought yet again.

You didn't know what, or whom, to shift the blame on—or maybe it was the complexities of guilt. your guilt. You knew the inevitable, yet your selfishness, your greed, your immature desire for love; tainting your rationale. Or that maybe you should feel resentment that your father and the Lord of Stone Hedge, Humfrey Bracken regarded their relationship as close as to being kin. Maybe then you would have the strength to ignore your obligations, this once.

You cursed yourself for thinking the way you did, and you cursed the Gods for the decades-old rivarly between the ancient houses—a hatred and feud born long before either of you were born; beyond your father's time, and his father's before him, yet its roots grew, multiplying the petty divide among those that followed after them.

It made you question what started the war between the two in the first place, as sin begets sin begets sin; however, unwavering was the tryst between you and Benjicot—untouched by the strife and grudges.

He knew. You were aware of his knowledge with the woven webs you had with the Brackens; about your father's bond with the red stallion lord. Your thoughts do not come to a plausible explanation as they endlessly spun in your mind.

And all it took was Benjicot's hips to lower into yours, silencing these whirling thoughts.

Your cloak drapes over you, offering its warmth from the breaths of wind, coming from the riverbank. It spared the watchful eyes of the forest spirits from your unneeded bareness. At your side, Benjicot lays as he adjusts his breeches.

“There’s a war soon to come,” he says as he stares at the sky, hands behind his head, ”And I ought for you to know that given the growing wars, you have not left my mind since.” he nervously confessed.

You hum in response, the weight of his words settling heavily in the quiet of the forest. "I fear what lies ahead, Ben" you whisper, your voice barely above a murmur, filled with both longing and apprehension.

He turns to you then, his gaze searching yours with an intensity that spoke of unspoken promises and uncertainties. "No matter what comes, my love for you will endure." he vows, his fingers gently tracing the contour of your cheek.

You turn your head and sit up, feeling around for your discarded garments to dress.

"Did I say something wrong?" he asks, sitting up, his expression betraying confusion at your abrupt reaction. 

"No, it's not that." you breathed out, your back faced to him. It was this very moment you had feared since the first: the inevitable.

"Well, did you not finish as I had?" he ventured in jest, a playful side of him that you loved. "Or is it because I professed my love for you?", hoping his declaration had not caused you to pull away. "Trust me, I will make sure there's nothing—"

"My betrothal..." you did not let him finish, "it's to Aeron Bracken." you said, still facing away from him as you rose from the ground. You picked on your fingers picked in nervousness of his next response. The weight of your confession hung heavy in the air.

At first he thought he had not heard you clearly, as if the world had gotten awfully quiet. It was when you repeated once more, realizing his ears did not fail him as his blood got hot—of you saying the name whom ignited an unexplainable fury in him.

"Aeron Bracken," Benjicot repeated in disbelief of your sudden confession, "The Bracken twat, eh?" — the very same Bracken he encountered in fresh conflict, near the mill's boundary stones. Although he did not show it, the tension in the air was strong enough to burn and linger its flames; his knuckles turning pale as he clenched his fists at his side.

"A craven false king follower... is bound to your name, to you." he chuckles incredulously. 

He paced in the clearing, his footsteps heavy as he turned to you. "And what are you to do about it?" He posed the question, pain plain upon his face, though hope bled through the mask of his composure. Deep down, he already knew the answer. He could scare tell if asking you such question was to self-inflict torment, or just a desperate need to face the harsh reality of your confession— not a difference between the two really.

You finally turned to meet his gaze, "It's my father's decision," you explained softly. "I... I cannot defy it." You stood before him, as your tears glisten in the faint light. Torn between love and duty.

"Ben," you pleaded, your voice shaking. "You know the stakes. It’s my duty. My family's honor—” 

"Fuck honor!" he interrupted, his voice thundering through the forest. He strides towards you, "It was long gone the very moment we first met—" he huffed out. He knew in his heart that despite the love he developed towards you, the tangled web of your kinship with the Brackens would soon unravel the bond you shared— still, he gambled with the odds, just as you had.

He had ever hoped that the old Gods would bestow the blessing of his fervent wishes—that it would be you, not some other maiden, whom he would take to wife. He often dreamed of you bearing the heirs of his house, growing gray together, and watch as your blood flow through the veins that would carry on his legacy. Yet, it was only ever a distant dream.

You reached out to him, to calm the storm raging within him, but he jerked away. "Tell me, then," he challenged, stepping closer with fire in his eyes. "Where do your loyalties lie, beyond this," he motioned between the two of you. "Are you suggesting that your father, and even yourself, are to declare for the usurper cunt of a King?" he whisper-yells to you. “Or is this some sort of arrangement with those Bracken fucks, to get back at us Blackwoods, simply just using me as a pawn, 'cus you know I'm now Lord?" His words spitting at you like venom;

“Oh, you know where my loyalties lie," you spat, your voice filled with heartache, "But I won't stand for you questioning my integrity nor my family's honor to secure a future." You glared at him as your heart stung with hurt, "And to accuse me... I would not dare to commit something so heinous even if i could; I'm not cruel, Benji."

Benjicot's jaw clenched, shaking his head as he stood facing the river, incomprehensible words muttered under his breath.

"I never asked for this," you whispered, tears welling in your eyes. "But I have responsibilities. We both do." you sniffled, swallowing the tension of your throat away, "And I know you know..." you wiped your tears, "we know... that this was bound to occur, sooner or later, Ben." your voice was barely audible, even with the deafening silence the forest came to be. "There's a war coming."

The silence hung heavy in the air, thick with unspoken words and the weight of impossible choices.

Benjicot stood before you, his expression torn between love and anguish. His hands trembled as he gathered his scattered belongings, his movements reflecting the turmoil in his heart. You mirrored his actions, silently picking the remnants of what you felt is to be your last fleeting moment of happiness.

"I swear it," he finally spoke, "would that we were not bound by the enmity between our folks, I would have already vowed myself to you. Long before your father would have you promised to another."

His words pierced your heart with longing and regret, the bitter truth of your circumstances hanging between you like a veil of sorrow. “And I would have gladly accepted it,” you replied with a heavy sigh. "—my Lord."

The Blackwood male nodded, his gaze fixed on yours, filled with a depth of emotion that mirrored your own. With a heavy heart, you both silently acknowledged the futility of your love.

Benjicot turned away first. The distance between you both grew; and his silhouette became one with the dark forest.

You knew that somewhere, amidst the pain and heartache, you would find a way to carry on—a life of uncertainty but fraught with duty. As you walked away from the happiness and love that the forest had given you, the ache in your chest spoke of a love that was lost but will never be forgotten. It would be a bittersweet reminder of what once was, and what could never be again.

[pauleentology]

this panel is actually so cute oms

mike is absolutely confused, ashlyn is just unfazed, aiden and taylor switching from aggressive to passive mode, ben still holding them like a dog mom holding her puppies by their scruffs, tyler's sitting there processing, and whatever is going on with logan i can't quite place it i think bro discovered a new emotion

i love this webtoon sm omgosh it actually hurts

[spidercoris]

i would love it if ashlyn’s love for dogs was somehow correlated into next season

like for example, her and ben find one on the street and she opts to take care of it. ben being the sweet person that he is, agrees.

but then. uh. things happen. yknow how ashlyn pulled everyone to the phantom dimension when she got electrocuted? that same thing happens later.

the dog gets spooked off and runs away but once they find it again it’s already turned into some weird phantom dog hybrid

needless to say ashlyn was traumatized (again)

OR they get attacked by a phantom and the dog protects her, ultimately winding up in its death

either way that’s gonna sting

[pokemon1oadvanced]

The grip these two have had on me since 2020

[indigo-greer-collins]

ooh blake and bestie as reckless driving by lizzy mcalpine & ben kessler anyone?

“I didn't mean to kiss you

I mean I did, but I didn't think it'd go this far

I didn't mean to kiss you

Now you can't focus on the road when I'm in your car”

—> imagining bestie processing the gravity of everything blake’s done in the name of saving them from their very doomed narrative. they’re starting to have regrets, but they can’t do much from the passenger seat anymore. the kiss was a heat of the moment thing, was blake gonna keep endangering himself?

“Now we're going 100

Your hands aren't on the wheel

'Cause you're just staring at me like you're not convinced that I am real”

—> it’s very clear blake unhealthily idolises his… friend? partner? to the point where they’re not fully a person to him, and the admiration might be sort of endearing at first, but they can only fit this idealised version blake has in his head for so long. how long til everything crashes and falls apart?

“I don't love you like that

I'm a careful driver

And I tell you all the time to keep your eyes on the road

But you love me like that

You're a reckless driver

And one day it'll kill us if I don't let go”

—> they do love blake, quite deeply even, but do they love him to that level of self-destruction? they don’t want blake to die in the name of the pair’s connection. like they said, everyone dies eventually. is he stable enough for bestie to start making some distance? yk, just so evil powerful forces stop using him for their own malicious intentions.

[valahelart]

confession in the afterlife...

[whumpypepsigal]

Secret Invasion s01e01: “We've been helping you for all these years to ensure that you kept your promise. But after The Blip, you were different. And then you disappeared.”

[livelovecaliforniadreams]

Favorite Otps/Pairings: Alexander Colbourne & Charlotte Heywood (Sanditon) “Every day of my life that is not spent in your company is a day wasted. And I've fought in vain to deny it, but I'm in love with you, Miss Heywood. No! We shouldn't have done that. You shouldn't have said that! My only regret is that I didn't say it sooner. Then why didn't you?!"

[nattule29]

YOU CAN TAKE MY HAND AWAY BUT U WILL NEVER STOP ME FROM DOING ANGST!

I hope you cry yourself to sleep tonight :3

lol should I make a part two?

[gremlin-grumbles]

December 18th: Logan

This is part 2 of a series focusing on each of the main six’s birthdays and let me tell you it’s a lot more angsty than Aiden’s and I may or may have not spent all night writing it so cheers to that!

Side note: all of these mini fanfics will only include platonic relationships. I’m not going to involve any romantic connotation between characters.

━━━━━━━━━

Anxious.

If Logan could be described in one word, it would be that, anxious. It was always there, like a shadow trailing behind him. He didn’t know whether it came from the fear of someone leaving—like his parents did—or from the constant feeling that he didn’t belong. Maybe it was the creeping thought that people hated him or maybe it was the threats from Barron at school. He couldn’t pin it down. All he knew was that he felt it now. Heavy. Suffocating. His skin was warm, his breath uneven, his heart racing and he doesn’t know how to stop.

He knew his grandparents were going to come In a few minutes with a homemade cake, singing to him. He’d smile, blow out the candles, let his grandma attack him with kisses then they’d hug him and tell him how proud of him they were. He loved them so much. Normally, he could mask a panic attack well enough. But tonight, the weight of school, of being “on” all the time, of everything—it was too much to bear. He just wanted to disappear. Curl into bed and pretend to be asleep until he actually was. Maybe then, he could stop thinking.

The time read 11:59. He could hear his grandma’s footsteps.

He frantically wiped at his tears, but the damage was done. His face was red, damp. His grandma opened the door with a big smile, one that quickly faded.

“Logan, sweetie… what’s wrong?”

He couldn’t answer. He just shook his head, hiding his face in his hands, whispering that he was fine. She didn’t need to worry. But she did. She always did.

Then came footsteps. More of them. Then—balloons. Confetti. A birthday cake. And all his friends—frozen in the doorway, wide eyed.

All except one.

“Happy birthday, dear Logan!” Aiden sang cheerfully, mid confetti pop, right before Tyler smacked him.

“Read the room, dumbass” Tyler hissed.

“Oops—I thought those were tears of joy…” Aiden muttered.

“Logan? What’s wrong?” Taylor asked, her voice soft, concerned.

Oh god. No. No, no, no. They were all here. And he was crying.

Why do I have to be like this? Why am I even crying for?! Why can’t I be normal for once? I’m so pathetic.

He stayed silent. Too silent. The kind that made everything worse. He stared at their faces, all frozen in a mix of confusion and concern, and it hit him like a wave—he ruined it. Of course he did. They tried to do something kind, something thoughtful, and he wrecked it with his emotions. His anxiety. His tears. He was always the weakest link, wasn’t he? No matter how hard he tried to be okay, to hold it together, it always ended like this. He knew deep down that even if his friends said otherwise, even if they insisted they didn’t see him that way, he wasn’t like them. They can actually handle things, bounce back. He couldn’t. He was fragile, emotional, exhausting. And now, he had turned what was supposed to be a celebration into a scene. Again. He immediately looked down in order to avoid their gaze.

“I should give you kids some space,” his grandma said softly, stepping back.

His grandpa nodded and gently closed the door behind them. His friends set the cake down. One by one, they sat on the floor around his bed. Logan still couldn’t look up.

Taylor sat beside him and asked again, gently “What’s wrong, buddy?”

What was wrong? He didn’t even know how to answer. It was just his birthday. A day that was supposed to be joyful. But also the day he was born. The day he last saw his parents. He didn’t even remember them. He hated that he couldn’t remember. Were they happy to see him? Would they be happy to see him now?

But he couldn’t say any of that. It would ruin the night even more.

So instead, he forced out, “It’s nothing. I think I just had a bad day. Haha. Sorry for ruining this, guys.”

The others exchanged glances.

“You know you can tell us if something’s wrong, right?” Taylor said softly, reaching for his hand.

Ben nodded in agreement.

Aiden chimed in “Yeah, this is a judgment free zone. Except for maybe Tyler.”

“Watch it, idiot” Tyler shot back. “But… he’s right. Screw the birthday. We’ve got a whole day to celebrate you or whatever.”

“Yeah, let’s get in the feels” Aiden added with jazz hands.

Logan took a breath. “Guys… it’s nothing. I just—when I have an anxiety attack, I don’t know how to stop it or control it. I can’t breathe or talk or handle my emotions. It feels like my brain’s gonna burst. I didn’t mean for you to see me like this. And I didn’t mean for you to see this. This is such an inconvenience and—” He stopped himself, realizing he was rambling. It made everything worse.

He braced himself for awkward silence.

But Tyler, of all people spoke up

“I used to get panic attacks a few years ago.”

Logan looked up. Tyler wasn’t sarcastic. He wasn’t teasing. He was just… honest.

“It sucks. But I read somewhere about this method—it’s called the 5-4-3-2-1 trick. You focus on 5 things you can see, 4 things you can touch, 3 you can hear, 2 you can smell, 1 you can taste. It doesn’t always fix it, but sometimes it helps calm your brain down.”

Aiden blinked. “That’s probably the smartest thing you’ve said all week” Aiden said mockingly “Kinda sweet. For you, anyway.” a little quieter this time.

“Wow. Thank you, Doctor Dumbass” Tyler shot back.

“Hey, man, I meant it in a positive way! I feel you, seriously. Anxiety attacks are the worst and they sneak up on you when you least expect it.”

Watching Aiden being so serious all of a sudden felt like this was a dream but he still appreciated it.

Their dumb antics were annoying, sure. But somehow they made Logan laugh. Just a little. But it was enough. The others joined in, slowly easing into the moment. What followed was a night of talking, of sharing. Aiden told a wild story about getting his foot stuck in a toolbox—nearly cutting his finger toe off, Ben elaborated more about the fear of singing again through text-to-speech, Ashlyn opened up about her childhood, and the twins shared embarrassing stories about their old Halloween costumes their parents made them wear.

His parents weren’t here but the people who were here? They stayed. They stayed up with him until 6 a.m., slept for two hours, then got up again to sing him happy birthday all over again—this time with a proper party— and many polaroids of all of them being idiots together.

It made him feel light. Maybe it was the sleep deprivation or the high of being loved, but he was talking without filtering himself, saying the dumbest things and laughing too hard—but he was happy. Truly happy.

And that’s what he needed.

People who made him feel seen. Special. Important.

And he had five of them, currently on his couch, yelling at the TV because he was beating them in every video game.

Ironic—since Tyler and Aiden had unknowingly bought two different new-release video games, both confident they’d crush him—only to get destroyed within minutes.

Taylor got him an astrology book he’d been searching for forever and even crafted a beautiful wooden constellation lamp. Logan nearly cried on the spot.

Ashlyn awkwardly gave him a telescope with a note tucked in the box: “I know this is basic, but I researched to find the best one. I hope it’s okay.” She didn’t know her gift would make him hug her so tight she actually stayed, silently indulging it.

Then Ben handed him a paper wrapped gift. Inside, a T-shirt with his astrology sign on it. He immediately knew whose merch line this was. It had the logo of one from his favorite astrology/physics YouTuber. Logan gasped so loud they all laughed. He wore it immediately. Ben smiled for thirty minutes straight.

And just when he thought it couldn’t get better—

“So…” Ashlyn began.

“CAN I SAY IT?!” Taylor cut in.

Everyone nodded.

Taylor grinned “There’s one more thing, for your birthday. We’re all going together.”

Ashlyn handed him an envelope.

“It’s for tomorrow,” Ashlyn explained. “They didn’t have openings today but it still counts.”

He stared at the tickets. His mouth dropped open.

“You guysss—did you really—? I just—this is all—”

He tried to speak—but the tears came faster. Everyone panicked.

“They’re happy tears! I swear!” he gasped.

Ashlyn patted his head awkwardly. “Shhh. You’re okay. It’s all good, buddy.”

.

.

.

That night, after everyone left, Logan went to his room, found the polaroid photos from their makeshift 6 a.m. party, and smiled.

Then, his grandparents peeked in.

“What?” he asked.

His grandma chuckled. “Nothing. You just look… peaceful.”

His grandpa kissed his forehead. “Happy birthday, son.”

He pinned the pictures to his wall. Smiled at each one. Laid in bed, wrapped in warmth and gratitude.

Tomorrow was the planetarium.

His breathing was even. No tears. Just calm.

It felt like all the noise had quieted.

Luminous.

If he had to describe his birthday in one word he’d say the day felt luminous.

He glanced at the polaroids again, each one glowing in the soft light and fell asleep.

━━━━━━━━━

Hope you enjoyed this emotional rollercoaster as much as i enjoyed writing it, I actually really like how it turned out:)

[cheruv-ii]

I hope the storyboard artists for jwct on here know that I would sit my ass down and watch a slideshow of their storyboard art as its own cartoon I love y'all

[anundyingfidelity]

the fact homelander could've been a normal kid if soldier boy was around will always be my roman empire.

[limitedunderdog]

been busy w making my portfolio! so here’s some old sketches of ben and toby. i think i like making toby a little softer looking :3 still experimenting with ben >~<

[angeart]

'grumbo horror' in all caps sounds interesting 👀 (for the ask game)

oh yeah :D that's an unfinished drabble i wrote when me and ben went insane about his grumbo horror apocalypse au.

cw for body horror, but to put it simply, grian is an absolute Creature in this one. he's got strong hunting/kill instincts, and his form is fluid and terrifying as he shifts shapes in ways that'd make your head hurt. number of limbs? arrangement of organs? skin, scales, fur, feathers? open ribcage with bones all funky and wrong? anything goes! he's just trying to be a Thing. to hold a Shape. (to not scare mumb 👉👈)

grian also can't speak, but he can mimic people's sounds (copy them in their voice), which in this case mostly means death screams <3 he gets all sad about it sometimes. he wants to communicate! (he'll eventually learn to make his own sounds and even words it's okay <3)

mumbo's just a pathetic wet cat that somehow managed to survive the first bit of the apocalypse and this grain Creature took a liking to him. (mostly because he didn't run and trigger grian's prey instrinct to pounce aha) they proceed to get insane about each other.

i will drop the entirety of the unfinished drabble here 💕

note that there are disjointed pieces that were eventually meant to slot together (i'll separate by x), but you can have it as a treat anyway, even in this messy form, since i don't know if i'll ever be finishing this.

cws are mostly just one big body horror. some insect mention right off the bat if that bugs you (aHA) (pun intended)— also yes this isn't actually horror (besides the body one), it's just angst. (you know me)

drabble starts here—

He can feel the feather shafts skittering underneath his skin like a pile of restless cockroaches, fluid and ever-shifting, complete with a disturbing, grating sound. They should scratch and pull at his flesh, but instead his form parts around them and allows the motion to be harmless, even if everything about it screams unease into his tangled mess of veins. The scales around his cheeks and neck shiver, lifting up with his uneven breaths as if they were gills instead. His clawed fingers (too many— too few—) are dug into the soil, damp and cold and covered in dead pine needles and withered moss. Head tilted back, he gazes at the rustling canopy above him with two eyes—big and round, glowing with faint purple and glistening with hot wetness that used to be so unfamiliar to him, so strange like Mumbo himself.

He’s taken it from him. He saw Mumbo cry many times. He watched and watched and learned. 

Two eyes and hot, salty tears, and somewhere in his throat, a sound that desperately, wretchedly wants to escape him, but it isn’t his. It isn’t made for him; it sits askew in his chest, discordant with the rapid echoing heartbeats (three of them, drumming and tripping over each other, trapped behind a bony cage that wraps around them like vines). 

It never bothered him the way it does now that the sounds he collects and holds close aren't really his. That the only way for him to speak is to take and imitate, hiding behind the mask of someone else's sounds and hoping they would fit. 

They don't fit. 

They don't, except maybe one. 

It's a sound of anguish—an emotion so deep and raw and human he can't quite comprehend it, but the writhing thing inside of him that insists he's in pain despite not being physically injured still selects this singular sound as the only way to really let the world know. 

He's hurting and he doesn't understand it and he can't make it stop and Mumbo left, why did he leave, did he hurt Mumbo? 

He's scared. 

He's terrified and confused and he wants Mumbo to come back to him. 

So he tilts his head back a little more, face breaking to allow space for a mouth, and in a borrowed voice, he wails. 

The sound of Mumbo's ravaged scream rips from his throat and pierces the white night, until everything around Grian shakes. (It takes him a long, muddled moment to realise that it's not the world that's shaking; it's him.) 

x

It’s something sharper and less monstrous than the [motion of his feathers and shifting forms]; something rooted in vulnerable humanity that he’s not supposed to possess. 

x

He didn't want mumbo to be afraid of him, because he didn't want to hurt him. 

[And yet, when it came to it days or weeks later, Grian pounced anyway.]

x

His vocal cords, crafted deliberately to fit this one sound and no other and nothing else, fray and quiver in a way they weren’t designed to, a way they aren’t meant to—and what comes out of him is wobbly and destabilised, a hitched noise interlaced with something that wasn’t originally there. Not when Mumbo made this sound; not when Mumbo was screaming like this, with his raw, anguished humanity, curled up not dissimilarly to Grian’s own posture right now and clutching at his hair. It wasn’t there but now it is and Grian can’t find it in himself to try to find out what it is, because he’s crumbling in a way he’s never crumbled before, and he’s grasping at nothing but the example of Mumbo’s pain to guide him to a life raft that maybe won’t let him sink.

The scream plays on loop, desperately and urgently let out over and over again, with heaved breaths in between; it slowly veers more and more off course, into uncharted territories. It seems to be filled with splinters and debris and torn off pieces of a soul—whose soul? not Mumbo’s, that much Grian knows, but whose then?—a helpless explosion of a terrifying, unending pain.

x

As he startles, the entirely of Grian's body gets skitteringly covered in black feathers. Their edges are shining with a metallic sheen, a literal silver lining, and when they puff up defensively, there's something dangerously razor-sharp about them. 

Countless of eyes spawn with a squelch—most of them on Grian's face, but some stray and find their home elsewhere. They open asynchronously, staring in the direction of a perceived threat. 

Mumbo stands there, rooted to the spot, watching him with an onslaught of bewildered apprehension. "Grian? Buddy?" 

As soon as Mumbo speaks, most of the eyes disappear until only two remain. Instantly, they fill with hot wetness, the tears spilling down into the feathers. 

There's a sound—a whiny, broken sob. 

Mumbo doesn't think he ever heard that from Grian. He didn't even know Grian stole that kind of sounds, too. Unless—? 

The thought is absolutely wretched. 

"Are you alright?" Mumbo tries weakly. 

The feathers fall off Grian's body as if they were plucked all at the same time; some of them leave small, ugly gashes in his skin, but most of them separate and fall as if they were never a part of him in the first place. What's left is  a soft, unprotected skin—helplessly imitating humanity, hazardously displaying open vulnerability to Mumbo, both in an attempt to express something and in an attempt to tone down Mumbo's fear.

Because Mumbo fears him if Grian's anything else than human.

But Grian can never properly be human, no matter how hard he tries for him.

Things remain that are askew and wrong, more feathers embedded under his skin, ears too animalistic and covered in tufts of fluff, fingers ending in claws—and three heartbeats still tripping over themselves in his chest cavity.

He tries harder to fix it, but doesn't know how.

Instead, another miserable sound leaves his throat and he trembles where he sits on the forest floor, crying harder.

x

Eventually, only one heartbeat remains where before there were three.

—that's it <3

–—–—

wip question from here

[pokemon1oadvanced]

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