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fbfh · 6 months ago

Text

curiosity is a wonderful thing - ch. 9

wc: 3.2k

genre: slow burn, little angst, childhood best friends to lovers

pairing: slow burn bff!ben x fem daughter of alice!reader, previously audrey x ben, mal x ben???? apparently????

warnings: emotional damage!!! unusual behavior from ben, reader has a lil mini breakdown, reader is a just a tad autistic coded and has kind of a meltdown??? could also be read as emotional distress so interpret how you will

summary: ben gets weird during a tourney game and your gut is telling you something you probably shouldn't ignore.

song recs: twisted - aviva, cradles - sub urban, rabbit heart - florance and the machine, heads will roll - yeah yeah yeahs

a/n: YOOOOOOOOO IT'S GETTIN JUICYYYYYY. also our cat I mentioned in the an of chapter 8 has settled in well. he's so talkitive lol. I LOVE YOU GUYS I HOPE YOU'RE ENJOYING HAPPY PRIIIIIDEEEEEEE~~~~~ BEEEEE WHO YOU AARRRREEEE FOR YOUR PRIIIIIIIIIIIDDDDDDEEEEEEEE

tags @yesv01@magcon7280 @hopefullhearts @thatawkwardlittlefangirl @sunshineangel-reads @dustyinkpages @inejsknifes @tulipmagnoliaisme @ev3ningrain SORRY IF I MISSED ANYONE YELL AT ME IN THE NOTES AND ILL ADD YOU LOL

You take in a big lungful of the crisp, springtime fresh Auradon air as you crawl out of your rabbit hole and back into Overland. Roots and twigs and grass stick to your skirts, but you don’t mind much. You check your pocket watch in a panic, and scurry to the tourney match. You’re merely a pebble’s throw away, so you reach the bleachers quite quickly. Late, granted, but not too late. Not horribly, irreversibly, all-endingly late. You climb up to your usual spot in the bleachers, only a few seats away from the isle kids. Well, Mal and Evie, really, since Jay and Carlos are out on the field. You try to wave at the girls, but they seem much too preoccupied with the game to notice. You understand their fascination, tourney matches are simply addictive.

You yourself hadn’t been one for sports - aside from the occasional caucus race - that is, until Ben joined the tourney team last year. He must have spent every spare moment leading up to his first match trying to explain the rules to you with no luck, but the moment the referee blew her whistle, you were enamored watching him play. And it’s simply been that way ever since. No matter what it is, you know it will be a fantastical time if Ben’s the one playing. This seems especially true today.

Ben tears up the field like an absolute animal - no pun intended - and within minutes has scored yet another goal for Auradon. The Fighting Knights are pulling out all the stops, and through even your unwavering faith in Ben’s athleticism, it’s starting to look like a close call. You pull out a teacup from your bag, the china cool under your fingertips. It’s adorned with a white catchfly and chestnut print, but you don’t pay much attention to it.

Your eyes are locked on Ben as he races down the field, and you pour the spout of your tea pot shaped bag into the cup. Warm, perfectly brewed rooibos and nettle tea trickles from its spout. You shake it absentmindedly a few times, and some lemon slices and lavender sprigs fall in, floating atop the beverage. You take a sip of the warm, perfectly seasoned herbal tea, nearly choking on it as Jay drags Carlos across the field. You watch with bated breath as they move strategically, setting up Ben to score the perfect winning goal. The ball flies straight into the net, and you jump up, cheering and applauding, not even noticing the rooibos and nettle tea stain on your skirt. The crowd roars right along with you, applauding and cheering deafeningly while the announcer congratulates Auradon Prep on their win. Before he can even finish speaking, Ben grabs the mic from him.

You stop dead in your tracks, brow furrowed.

That’s not like him.

Not at all.

“Excuse me, excuse me!” Ben pants, still out of breath as he tries to get the crowd’s focus. “Can I have your attention please?”

The stands quiet as he speaks.

“There’s- uh, there’s something I’d like to say!”

What in the Knave’s good name is he doing? Your mind races, trying to remember if he’d said anything about something like this. Were there any speeches, any announcements, anything like that he was going to make after the game? You can’t remember him mentioning anything like that. Besides, he always runs his speeches by you first to make sure it comes across the way he intends it too. Even something as small as an opening statement or homework presentation, he always gets your feedback first. You watch the way his eyes dart around, the way he hesitates as he tries to figure out what he’s saying. Your stomach drops. He’s improvising this. This whole situation feels surreal. Most peculiar, and most definitely unlike him.

After another moment of floundering, he finally addresses the crowd.

“Give me an M!”

The crowd complies, shouting out the letter and mirroring the shape he’s making with his arms.

“Give me an A!”

“A!”

While the crowd complies yet again, throwing their arms over their heads in an A shape, your eyes fly over to Audrey. You’re afraid you know where this is going, even though it makes positively less sense than the most twisting turning riddles you’ve ever encountered in Wonderland. Your horrified, bewildered expression is the opposite of her hopeful one, and you realize you’re thinking the same thing. Your stomach sinks in a sick, twisting feeling. Your mind races in a dreamlike panic.

He can’t seriously be asking Audrey to marry him, could he?

There’s no way. There’s simply no chance that the Ben you’ve known for longer than you’ve been brewing tea would do something so… impulsive. Everything about Ben is calculated. Well thought through. Ben agonizes over each and every decision, he lies awake at night paralyzed by the potential consequences of each action, each choice not being thought all the way through and analyzed from every possible angle. If proposing to Audrey was even a thought in his mind, he would have told you about it.

There’s simply no other way. There’s no possibility this was even an option in his mind. Just last week when you had quietly implied that maybe he should consider ending their relationship, his silence spoke louder than any words could have. You had seen that. You saw it in his eyes. There’s no way he could be changing his mind that quickly, and not consulting you - or someone about it? You know you would have gotten wind if he even implied he was toying with the notion. Ben does not flip-flop. So what is… this?

“Give me an L!”

Audrey’s face drops. Yours floods with relief.

He’s not proposing.

“C’mon, I can’t hear you!” Ben calls out into the mic, hyping up the crowd. They yell Mal’s name again at Ben’s encouragement. You think you see where he’s going with this. It makes sense - Jay and Carlos each got a big starring moment during the tourney game. Now, Ben is giving a shout out to Mal and Evie so they can share in the glory, and won’t feel left out. It’s a brilliant idea, you realize, but you still can’t figure out why he didn’t plan something like this ahead. Did he realize last minute that Mal and Evie might feel excluded? It’s possible. And right now, it’s the most rational explanation you have for this unusual behavior. Before you can feel too relieved, he leans into the mic. You wait for him to instruct the crowd to give him an E, beginning to spell Evie’s name, and-

“I love you, Mal!”

Your stomach drops. You freeze again, brow furrowed more than before. The world around you spins as you stand in the crowd, disoriented. He says it like a deathbed confession, the words tearing from his throat. Through your confused stupor, you can hear the sincerity, the yearning in his voice.

What?

You don’t even think to look over at Audrey, but you’re sure as anything her expression is exactly the same as yours - completely and totally shell shocked. Probably moreso, you think, she is his girlfriend after all. But is she? Anymore, that is. You can’t imagine she would want to be after a display like that, after Ben publicly-

Ben…

Ben.

His gaze flicks over to you for a split second, not even long enough for you to silently ask him what the hell is going on. But it’s just long enough for you to see a flash of something. A look in his eye. Fear. Confusion. Everything you’re feeling for him right now. His attention is ripped forcefully back to Mal. Whatever was there, you can’t see it now.

“Give me a beat!” Ben demands overzealously to the band. They start playing something for him, something loud and fast. Ben begins singing Mal’s praises. Literally. You’re still frozen, sick with a cold, confused feeling that makes the world around you feel like a strange dream. Unreal. You begin to question if you are dreaming. Through your dazed state - which you only later realize has begun to be accompanied by hot tears blurring your vision - you could swear you saw Mal and Evie share some sort of look, whisper knowingly. They giggle. Mal pulls a zip top bag of cookies out of her jacket pocket and they both start giggling. Laughing.

A noise catches your scattered attention and you notice Ben has launched himself into the stands, crowd surfing to get all the way over to Mal. He climbs down, grabbing her waist and pulling her close. It’s so intense, so passionate, so unlike him to do something like that in public. You start to gasp, but you can’t. The stands are so loud, each noise feels like a gunshot deafening you. Your lungs feel like they’re being squeezed from the bottom up like paint tubes, gripped by an artist desperate for the last drops of cadmium yellow deep.

His hand rests firmly on the small of her back.

Just like it does on yours.

Something sickening twists through you, contaminating your heart and sapping away at your strength. Audrey’s voice cuts through, piercing and shrill as she announces to Ben that Chad is her boyfriend now. You see them kiss in your peripheral vision, eyes still locked on the way Ben’s hand sits on Mal’s back. He doesn’t seem to notice Audrey either, or at the very least, he doesn’t acknowledge her. Normally you’d giggle privately at how much that would irritate her, but nothing so frivolous crosses your mind just then.

“I love you, Mal!” Ben exclaims into the microphone. “Did I mention that?”

He leans closer, aching for her, needing her. But she puts her hands on his chest, trying to keep more distance between them.

“Mal,” he begs, panting as his breath fans across her face, his cheeks flushed. He grips her tighter, leaning closer until he’s practically dipping her. The crowd watches, shocked at the sight of Prince Ben - who is known for his diplomatic reserve and continuous composure - acting so bold in public. “Will you go to coronation with me?”

“Yes!” Mal’s response comes a little too easily.

You stare off into space in his general direction, choked with disbelief. You feel so frightened and confused and unwelcome. It’s a cold, isolated feeling of strangeness you’ve been running from since you could walk. You knew what people said about Wonderlandians, what they whispered behind your back when they thought you couldn’t hear. It was always Ben who made that feeling go away. He had seen the change in you, too. The more time you spent together since you were littles, the more he included you and sent disapproving princely looks to anyone who dared to tease you or make you feel like you’re not a part of Auradon, the more it started to work. He saw you relax, saw you believe him when he said he was happy to see you. He saw the shame and paranoia from accepting the fact that everyone around you was teasing you behind your back, spreading lies and rumors fade away.

Ben watched you grow into yourself the moment he showed you that you were safe to do so. Now, after ten years, that horrible feeling is back and Ben is gone. You turn, rushing out of the bleachers, hopping down to solid ground and turning underneath the stands. You’ve barely stopped before the world caves in around you, and the familiar scent of earth and night and the good kind of confusion envelop your senses, like a hug from your mother.

You fall down the rabbit hole, and you weep. Shamelessly, loudly, uncontrolled. Your tears fly off into the air above you as you fall, no longer afraid of prying eyes. You cry and cry, losing your sense of time and space as you fall deeper and deeper away from the world that never seems to lose amusement in stinging you when you least expect it. You take in a breath, but before you can let it out as another aching sob, you’re plunged underwater.

Your eyes flare open in the deep waves around you, the black void of a sky above. You kick yourself up to the surface, gasping as you tread the current carrying you downstream. The water splashes around you, getting into your mouth, and it’s salty. A stork sails by on a little wooden raft, adjusting her captain’s hat. “Well, that would do it!” She exclaims in a thick, Wonderlandian accent. “I was wondering what caused these high tides.”

She maneuvers her raft towards you and hauls you onto it, her gangly legs wobbling awkwardly as she keeps her balance. She pulls a handkerchief out of her pocket and hands it to you, her long feathers tickling your fingertips.

“Dry your eyes there, dearie, or else we’ll be having to build a new dam!”

You sputter an apology, which she dismisses goodnaturedly, and begins singing a confusing sea shanty as she navigates the waves, coming and going as you try to calm yourself. After a few minutes, a particularly large wave pushes you two over the river’s edge and sends you spinning into the forest.

“Well, there you have it.” She says, taking off her cap and dumping out water, sand, a few shells, and a very irritable codfish. She unties the strings of her raft, gathering up the large sticks used to make it into a bundle, and tucking them under her arm.

“Quite useful, you know,” She says softly, before handing you a piece of nicely shaped paper. It reads The Two Blwo’s Shipping Survise. “And if you ever need something lickety split, I do hope you’ll give me a call.”

She tilts her hat and lopes off through the woods into darkness.

You plop yourself down on the nearest thing - a large, bioluminescent blue mushroom with little purple spots that makes a sound like a big deep drum when you sit down on it. Several smaller mushrooms varying in size scatter near the base of the one you’re seated on. As you pull your foot up to get comfortable, you graze a few of the litter ones, and let out different tones and types of drums too. Normally this would fascinate you. Normally you would be taking pictures, writing about them in your journal, and trying to learn how to play a song on them - if they’re in the right sort of temperament, of course. But today you don’t even notice.

Your mind is still spiraling, sucked down into a whirlpool of the day’s events. You go over and over what happened, hoping to make sense of it, but unable to really process anything. That was so strange, Ben is acting so strange. Why is he acting like that, you wonder. Did he hit his head? Has he somehow been possessed by a very extroverted poltergeist? Why would he do that? It doesn’t make sense. It doesn’t even make nonsense. Even in Wonderland, there are still patterns, there are still rules and motivations for doing things. Even if those rules and patterns don’t make sense to anyone else, they’re still real. Wonderland is illogical and absurd, but it’s not purely random.

You rock yourself comfortingly on the bouncy mushroom, the soft noise providing an ambiance that helps you start to think again. There’s no feasible pattern or non-pattern or non-pattern pattern to Ben’s behavior. If there were one, you would be able to find it, especially if you know him as well as you do. And you do. You glance down and see some beetles marching in a line, carrying leaf umbrellas to avoid any more falling tears. You wipe them from your cheeks quickly.

“My apologies.” You say, your voice polite and fragile. The head beetle chirps, clicking his wings and tipping his hat. He ushers the others past your mushroom quickly, putting their leaf umbrellas onto an umbrella leaf bush nearby.

A few bread-and-butterflies flitter over, carrying a tray of tea and cakes. They place it before you gently, brewing you a cup of blackberry earl grey with extra honey. You thank them, and they nod, flittering off and leaving a trail of buttery breadcrumbs as their wings flap. They land nearby, listening to you mutter to yourself as the line up to form a loaf. The tea and cakes are delicious, full of jam and honey, and they steady your nerves. You take in another breath, less shaky this time, and begin to think. Not panic, really think.

“There has to be a reason,” you mumble out loud, “There simply has to be. Ben doesn’t just lose his composure like this. He’s not devoid of sensibilities and decision making. He’s worked so hard to hone his reputation as someone trustworthy, someone full of common sense and compassion, and that… being that person for Auradon is everything to him.”

You place down your tea cup firmly, brow furrowing as your confusion melts away to determination.

“Everything! He would never do something so… impulsive, and foolhardy, and- and… not like him!”

You stand up quickly, landing on your feet.

“I must get to the bottom of this.” You pause. “Or top. Either way.”

You gather your things, fix your hair, and wring out the water from your dress. Even if Ben doesn’t care about his reputation anymore, about his future, the very future of Auradon and all who reside within it, you do. Your loyalty to Ben simply cannot be broken by a day like today. You won’t let him throw away everything he’s worked towards for no reason. For any reason! If he’s just gone mad, that’s one thing to be dealt with. But there’s a good chance he’ll come back to his senses sooner or later, and you refuse to let everything to hell in a handbasket until he does.

You are going to figure this out. You’re going to do as much damage control as needed until Ben is back to you and Back to himself. And he is going to come back to himself. You’re sure of it.

Filled with tea cakes and determination, you summon a rabbit hole back to Auradon, and jump through. You flip and twist through the darkness, falling past a bookshelf that floats along with you for a moment, offering a few titles that might prove useful.

When light breaks the surface and you hear the cracking of polished stone floors, you climb through and emerge into the library. You dust the dirt off yourself and off your hands, setting down your books on a table. You begin to look around, rushing through the library and moving with purpose. You pull book after book off the shelves until you can hardly carry them to the checkout desk. Many of them will be fruitless, you’re sure, but anything is better than nothing in times like these.

“Doing some light reading, Ms. Liddell?” The librarian asks, chuckling at the imposing stack of books you’ve placed before her as she scans through them.

“There’s nothing light about it, I’m afraid.”She looks up, surprised by the unusual heaviness to your voice, the sharp, focused determination. “Thank you, madam.” You say, grabbing all your books and marching off to your dorm. You have a lot of reading to get through.

#curiosity #curiosity is a wonderful thing #ben florian #ben florian x reader #descendants #descendants x reader #daughter of alice #daughter of alice!reader #liddell!reader

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