greetings from sunny boy !

───── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───── stepping stones that bloody your feet. sirens holding flowers of teeth, they call your name from ivory streets but heaven isn't quite what it seems ───── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ─────

[brutalperception]

BRUTALPERCEPTION! ───── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───── independent single muse blog penned by bambi. introspective exploration of the relationship between trauma, suffering, and art. trigger warnings: mature themes, abuse, mental health crises, sa/csa (no details just mentioned)

est: 11/11/25, make a wish. sideblog to @prcperdose

made this so my insane brain worms about ben don’t become the only thing on the mumu blog.

connected by the invisible string of fate to @sickrots & @makemearobot & @loudbarks

bio. art. aesthetic. musing. face. abt. rules.

[brutalperception]

divas bens threads will now be housed on the diva blog because i am LAZY

[vibecops]

what the fuck

[loudbarks-arch]

i don't think you're too much. the words hit her in a place she wasn't guarding, and for a second frankie just stands there, with her chest tight, like she doesn't know what to do with something that isn't a jab. the anger doesn't disappear, but it loosens; it stops clawing for the next punchline. they watch the shake in his hands around the can, how he keeps drinking like caffeine can stitch him back together, and it clicks in that quiet, unpleasant way: he's not posturing because he's cruel, he's posturing because he's barely holding it together, and they recognize that too — the instinct to turn sharp before anyone can get close enough to see you're not okay. frankie exhales slowly, and her shoulders drop a fraction. "okay," they say, softer, still careful not to make a big thing of it. "i hear you." a beat, her jaw working as she forces herself to say the part that tastes like swallowing pride. "and… i'm sorry about the kiss." they don't dress it up as a joke; they don't pretend it was some grand statement. "that was me losing my temper and grabbing for control in the worst way. you didn't ask for that." even if i enjoyed it, she thought as her gaze was steady on his."i'm not trying to draw blood either. i just—" they shake their head once, a small, frustrated motion. "i'll back off."

[brutalperception]

he is always observant. or at least, he's usually observant. lately, he's been feeling so outside of himself that he's not sure he's noticed anything. they freeze, and brown eyes cast up from the can in his hands. he notices the way her shoulders ease, the look of recognition on their face. he doesn't want to be recognized. their shoulders drop, and he notices the way she's holding something in the tension. maybe space for him, maybe understanding. he doesn't know what it is, he just knows he feels grateful for it. she apologizes, and he doesn't know how to hold brief huff of laughter. "really ??" the grin that ghosts across his face looks like a version of ben that existed at the beginning of this tour, before he went weeks without meaningful sleep, one that was fun and spiteful at the same time. "you think i can't take you in a fight, short stack ??" the grin is brief, well intentioned even. "it's fine." he doesn't say that he appreciates the offer of apology, that the boundaries he's set for his body are forged in something dark and traumatic. they say they're not trying to draw blood, and he lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding. "i–" he doesn't know what he wants to say. NO ONE HAS EVER GIVEN ME THE SPACE TO NEED ANYTHING feels fucked up. "i–" he repeats, his voice cracks just at the edge. "– thanks."

[brutalperception]

@makemearobot sent: archer & ben: it is so funny to me that archer was faded as fuck and just STARED at ben until ben said something, but all that was going on in archer's head was "ogmsdfkjsgsdkfjh." and then he googled him when he went home and freaked out about him to keaton LOL. then they started talking and got to know each other and archer was like, wow, ben is so nice? and he doesn't make me feel like an idiot - and he's so talented and sweet and funny and i think i have a crush on him im going to die actually. obviously now hes so in love with him he feels stupid and he feels so so safe with ben and thats his favorite person ever (note they are one of my fav ships ever ty for coming to my ted talk)

no because i love them SO bad. like ben was just staring into his beer trying to not REGRET the nice thing he was doing by going to this wedding and taking photos. he was staring into the void fr trying to be tethered by pbr. and when archer started talking it kind of made his brain short circuit. he's so nice, he's so FUNNY, he wants to be around a fuckin downer like me ?? i think the first night archer let him pick him up probably did him in if we're being honest. to feel useful, without feeling used was something ben didn't know he needed until he had it. now they're engaged and in love and they have a DOG and ben truly did not know this was an option for him like ... ever. he is grateful every day for whateever he did to convince archer to stick around, and he has never felt so fuckin cared for in his life. muah love them so much. (no fr same !!!!!!)

[loudbarks-arch]

frankie swallows hard when the gentleness slips out with her name. because it's there and then it's gone, like he's ashamed he let them hear it at all. the anger in her doesn't vanish, but it tilts; it turns into that old, familiar sting she tries not to carry around, the one that says you only ever get the truth when you force it. "okay," they say, quieter, and they back up. two steps, hands lifted in a small, wordless show that she heard him. for a second their gaze drops, and when it comes back up it's steadier, just… tired at the edges. "i'm not trying to take anything from you," she adds, her voice low. "i'm just… really used to people deciding i'm too much before they ever tell me where the line is." a beat; the words catch, and they don't soften them into a joke. "so when you say 'back up' after you've already snapped, it feels less like a boundary and more like a door in my face." she exhales, controlled, her eyes still on him. "you said it now. i'm listening. i'll give you the space... i just don't want to spend another tour learning i have to earn basic decency by bleeding first."

[brutalperception]

ben hates the gentleness. he hates that he feels the need to be kind about anything. his mind is fractured. he knows it is. because there's no reason he should be angry about any gentleness, but that doesn't stop the way it sparks and pulls him apart. he hates this. he wants to scream. but they step back, hands up. he notices the exhaustion. of course he does. a shuddering breath, gaze catches on hers. i'm not trying to take anything from you. he believes her when she says it. is that part of the problem ?? a beat, a soft glance, he hates this. "i don't think you're too much." he mumbles, and his voice betrays him. he hadn't considered how his behavior landed for them. he didn't have the bandwidth. he's still just trying to survive, still just trying to keep his head above water. there's nothing left to consider how he's impacting anyone else, so if his brain could stop that would be helpful. "just–" a rough sigh, "i'm not trying to draw blood, okay ??" hands shake, another sip of red bull. "if i'm being a dick like – i might be stupid about it but i will back off." this feels dumb. "i'm not trying to piss anyone off." he hates this so badly. "i'm just tired."

[makemearobot]

Archer froze when the words hit him. For half a second he didn’t move, like the sound of Ben’s voice – sharps, cracking, angry – pinned him in place. The studio is a wreck around them – canvases torn, wood splintered across the floor. Archer’s chest tightened when he took it in, but his eyes kept drifting back to Ben. They always went back to Ben.  The first instinct was to go to him, to close the space, to wrap his arms around him. That’s what Archer did. That’s who he is, but Ben said go away. Archer swallowed hard and took half a step back. “Okay,” he mumbled. His hands lifted slightly, helpless, before they dropped back to his sides. “I hear you.” But – he didn’t leave. He just moved a little further away, giving him space without turning his back on him – like if he looked away, something worse might happen.  His eyes flicked to the splintered wood, before settling back on Ben. “Hey,” Archer said after a beat. “Um. I’m not gonna crowd you, I promise.” He sighed. “I’m not going anywhere though.” He lowered himself slowly to the floor a few feet away, sitting among the torn canvas like it didn’t matter. Like the mess didn’t matter. Like the only thing that did is the man across from him. “You don’t have to talk,” he added. “You don’t have to explain anything. You can be pissed at me if you want. That’s… that’s fine.” His voice cracked on the last word, but he pushed through it. “I just… want you here with me.” A beat. “Sorry. I’ll stop talking now.”

[brutalperception]

someday, he'll feel bad. when he gets himself back together, he'll feel awful about snapping. but right now, he doesn't have anything to hold on to. he's barely tethered between the past and the present. he doesn't know where the lines are anymore. when did it all go blurry and wrong?? where does his memory end and his present begin ??

he is usually so so careful about the way that he spoke to archer. not tonight. not this time. because he can't remember how to be the version of himself that can care for archer. he doesn't remember how to be the version of himself that archer knows. instead all he has is anger sparking at the edges of his finger tips, and the way it's all wrong.

archer says he's not leaving – says he's not going to crowd either. ben doesn't know how to name what that means to him. instead, he buries his face in his arms, like a cage he still hasn't found a way out of, despite the door being open. his body hurts. his head hurts. everything hurts. he says he won't leave either, and ben wishes he would. he's EMBARRASSED. he wants to rip himself apart, flesh bleeding between bared teeth. it all hurts so badly he doesn't know what to do.

archer tells him he doesn't have to talk – that he can be mad and ben hates the way anger boils on under his skin. please, let this end. it feels so unfair to find someone like him. someone so indescribably good, and yet so focused on ben's chaos. it feels unfair. wrong. like he's committed some kind of crime.

"don't apologize." he mumbles, he still hasn't looked up. he can't stomach the disappointment he expects waiting in archer's eyes. "just –" he mumbles, "i don't– i can't.–" it all loses shape. "i can't BE BETTER right now. so if you need better, you need to go."

[dovecrys]

Ben's always kind of been an enigma to Parker, but that doesn't stop him from being anything less than relentless. Parker is wildly dishonest with himself when it comes to Ben. There's something that sits beneath the surface, but Parker is adament on it is nothing short of reverence. "Little bit of a diva," he shrugs. Parker kind of enjoys the fact that he finds solace beneath Ben's skin, even if it is abundantly clear that Ben might reach over and suffocate him. Parker laughs at the thought, which comes off as laughing at nothing in particular. His gaze settles upon Ben, quiet and analytical. He's searching for the answers in the way that Ben can't seem to sit comfortably. "Liar," Parker quips, a smirk coiling at the edges of his lips. "You're a shitty liar, Ben. When are you going to realize that?"

[brutalperception]

ben doesn't know what parker sees in him, and he likes to pretend he doesn't care. he does, he's a liar. he doesn't have the energy to do anything about it anyways. "i am not a diva." he replies, brown eyes rolling. he hates this shit. his knees pull up towards his chest, like crumbling into a smaller shape will make him feel better. it doesn't. he's still just trying to figure out what the fuck is wrong with him – why he never seems to get better. it's fine. he's FINE. he swears. a tired roll of his eyes, another sip of red bull. "i'm fine." he repeats, is he convincing himself or parker. "i'll crash eventually." he doesn't think about what that means. doesn't acknowledge the difference between sleeping and going until he collapses in bed. it's fine. he's fine. he hates that the commentary sets his teeth on edge, hates that concern makes him feel sick. but ben is a lot like a skittish animal, and if anyone presses too close he'll bite.

[brutalperception]

closed for @makemearobot !

ben is exhausted in a way he can't name anymore. he's so tired of everything. he's tired of talking. archer keeps asking what's wrong. he doesn't have an answer. he doesn't know if he ever has an answer anymore. is it going to be a studio night ?? every night has been for the past week. when was the last time he got any real sleep ?? days ago, he had taken too many of his sleeping pills, in hopes to drown it all out. he slept on the floor. please let it all just calm down. he hats this. honey, are you coming to bed ?? his voice had been soft. and he hated it. hated being handled. hated that archer was being too gentle with him. why won't it stop?? the heels of his hands press into his eyes, like if he shoves hard enough, he can finally relax. he's so tired. not in a sleepless way, although that keeps thrumming through his veins too. in a bone deep exhaustion kind of way. the kind that set in as a teenager, that never quite went away. "just –" it comes out as a whimper. he's so fucking miserable. every memory sits under his skin, heat of the blade used to run hot and familiar. he burns for something harsh to pull him back down to earth. old scars under tattoos, memory older than coping. "fuck –" his voice cracks, it all breaks in his head. "just fucking GO AWAY!!" it's harsh, angry and loud in a way he hasn't been in years. fuck – he just needs some relief. he just needs it to stop. PLEASE LET IT STOP !! his hands have never wholly gripped sanity. every painting around him is painted over or ripped. the wreckage of stretched canvas and broken wood surrounds him. h'e so fucking tired. please let this end. perhaps this was why ben sought out escape in the only way he knew how. with his blood spilling on tile, pooling in the grout and promising eternity to rest. god he's so tired. please, let him rest.

[loudbarks-arch]

frankie feels the snap coming like a stormfront; it should make her flare right back, and part of her does (her pride bristles, her temper wants to swing) but then she sees his hands on the counter, the white knuckles, how he's stuck there like he's fighting himself as much as he's fighting her, and it hits a little too close. because they know that feeling: the urge to bite first so no one can get their teeth in you, how being seen can feel like a threat instead of relief. she swallows, her jaw tight, and when she speaks it's still edged, just… less explosive. "i'm not a fuckin' expert," they say lowly, holding his stare without charging him. "and i'm not trying to tell you how to deal with anything." a beat, breath measured. "i'm tellin' you what it looks like from over here. because when you're cornered, you swing, and i get that. i do. i recognize it." her mouth twists, almost bitter at herself. "i've spent my whole life acting like i don't care because caring makes people think they can take more." they shake their head once. "so, no, i don't know your reasons. but i know the shape of it. and i'm not trying to fix you, ben. i'm trying not to end up bleeding all over the place just because you won't say 'back up' like a normal person."

[brutalperception]

ben is trying. he really is. succeeding, however, is beyond him. of course it is. he's never been good at any of this. not really. his grip gets impossibly tighter, like if he grips that counter tight enough, he'll be able to stop fucking losing himself in the tension and the anger and the discomfort. he hates this shit so badly. it feels unfair that she's so capable of seeing straight fucking through him. "if you don't like the view from where you're standing," a beat, thick with frustration, passes between them. he's behaving like a skittish animal and he knows it. "fucking MOVE." tattooed hand cards through his hair, "nobody's making you look." he hates how much it sucks– hates how uncomfortable he feels constantly. it's all going to crumble under his white knuckle grip, and he can tell. being SEEN has always felt more like a threat than a reprieve. they mention that caring makes people take more, and he hates how honest it feels. how true to his emotions it feels. he hates fucking talking about this. about anything. "i'm not trying to take shit from you, frankie." it comes out too gentle for his own taste, like the ghost of vulnerability he doesn't let out anymore. but then his gaze narrows all over again. like he's slipping back into anger because it's the only way he knows how to protect himself. "fuckin' fine. i'm saying it. back up."

[makemearobot]

The kiss pulls a soft whine out of him, and Archer feels completely drunk on Ben, dizzy with it, not quite sure what to do with all the heat in his chest. The first time they’d tried anything like this had driven him half out of his mind – in the best way. Completely unraveled, completely rebuilt, and he loved it because Ben always knew how to take him apart and put him back together again. Ben was safe. And Archer had asked for this one thing because – fuck it – he liked being told what to do. If Ben told him to sit, to stay, to beg, whatever the fuck he wanted, he would. Without hesitation. The low growl in Ben’s voice sends a shiver through him, and he nods quickly. “Yeah – good. It’s… yeah.” He lets out a breath, a little breathless. “I like it.” His voice falters the moment good boy lands somewhere deep in his stomach. Archer’s gaze drops for a brief second before hazel eyes lift again, locking with brown. “Not gonna make it,” he agrees quietly, his fingertips pressing so hard into his palms that faint crescents form there. “Mhm,” Arch nods again. He loves him so bad.

[brutalperception]

the whine sinks into his skin. he's buzzing. the first thing that they had done like this had been softer. gentler somehow. but in the time since then, ben had found his stride. walked the line between harshness and gentleness. softness and strong grip. he notices the way that archer shivers, and it pulls heat through him. he loves archer, and he loves when archer is like this. if they could do this all the time, he fucking would. because that sweet little smile on archer's face, the way his gaze darkens with want, all of it is enough to drive him crazy. tattooed hands wrap around archer's, and pull his fingers from pressing into his palms. "baby," his voice edged with intent, "you need me to take care of you." it's a statement, not a question. and then he's pulling archer into another hungry kiss. when he pulls away, he nods towards their bedroom. "come." so maybe this whole commands thing is getting him going in a way he didn't expect it to.

[loudbarks-arch]

frankie goes still at the fuck off. it's not that they're shocked, just… hit, in that way that makes their jaw clamp before the hurt can show up on their face. for half a second she wants to fling something back just to win the moment, because anger is easier than admitting she hates being talked to like she's disposable; hates even more that she keeps caring what he thinks. "yeah," they say, their voice tight, "god forbid you be uncomfortable: welcome to the club. but don't act like i'm 'reading into' anything when you're snapping at me like i'm your enemy." a beat; her fingers curl at her sides, fighting the urge to reach for him again just to prove she can. "you didn't call me stupid, but you just keep treating me like i'm crazy for noticing you're miserable, and i'm done letting you spin it like i'm doing this for fun." they step back, but their stare doesn't soften. "i don't want anything from you, ben. i wanted you to stop being a dick and own what you're feeling for five fuckin' seconds. but clearly that's too much, so fine. you get your space, asshole."

[brutalperception]

paying attention to him makes him feel insane. and frankie's gaze is hard. they're LOOKING. he's so fucking uncomfortable it makes him want to scream. and she might think he's acting like they're disposable, but the thought hasn't even crossed his mind. because he doesn't think any of this is disposable, that's the problem. that every interaction feels like it's sliding a blade under his skin, and the only person who has to deal with the scars in their wake is HIM. fuck. this is stupid. he HATES THIS. "i didn't do SHIT to you." he replies, and now he's fucking pissed. now he's starting to snap. "you wanna see me snap, keep fucking talking." because if they're being honest, which ben has yet to want to do, he's got a mean streak a mile long. and he does try to keep it on lockdown. he does try to keep it from impacting the people in his fucking living quarters. "because you don't know shit about what i'm feeling or why so stop acting like a fucking expert." he's rolling his eyes, and turning on his heel. he wants to stalk away, but something in the way that they look at him keeps him rooted there. hands reach out to the shitty little counter top, knuckles blanching. and then he's turning around, and his voice is dripping with venom. "where do you get off telling me how i'm supposed to deal with my fuckin' feelings anyways. you think you're such a goddamn expert??"

[makemearobot]

It was his birthday! So what if he had told Ben that all he wanted to think about was him? How’s focusing going? It wasn’t – Arch barely meandered through the work day, and while he was coherent enough to take care of Iggy and Pocky, he barely had enough sense to do anything else. Hands pull him closer, and he’s already blushing. He’s fucking melting actually, staring at Ben with complete and utter devotion. Archer nods, swallowing hard. “Y-yeah, okay.” Was it pathetic, how easily his resolve crumbled under the touch of firm hands? Honestly, he wasn’t sure he cared. It was his birthday, and he loved his fucking fiancé – sue him. “Don’t have to think,” he mumbled, heart racing.

[brutalperception]

he loves archer !! it's archer's birthday !! so of course when archer asked for something, ben was happy to provide. especially something like this. the devotion is palpable, it's delicious in a way ben doesn't begin to know how to name. he notices the way archer melts under the contact, and he pulls archer into a kiss equal parts harsh and adoring. exactly the way archer wants, as far as he can tell. "tell me how you're feelin' baby." his voice is low and primal, but it's a question of consent as much as it is a moment to drive archer insane. he needs archer to know he's still paying attention, even if archer has asked him to drive him insane. archer repeats that he doesn't have to think, and ben nods. "good boy." a beat, he's actually kind of insane he thinks, that this complete vacancy, absent of anything but him, stirs some kind of need he's never entirely known how to name. "oh baby, you're never gonna make it through dinner like this." his voice is all faux pity and innocence. "you need somethin,' huh."

[brutalperception]

closed starter for @makemearobot !

the first thing he did when he came home was take pocky out. well, to be fair, it was actually kiss archer and wish him a happy birthday. but THE FIRST TASK was taking pocky out. because it was archer's birthday, and ben has fucking plans. so he takes the dog out, and upon his return, the first thing he does is call to his favorite person who should have just finished his work day. hands meet hips, and he pulls archer close. he has so much to give in a way he often doesn't allow himself. tattooed hands lift, grasping at the line of archer's jaw. "baby," a beat, as murmurs against his lips, "i don't want you thinking all night." a beat, "i have a reservation and an outfit picked for you and everything. no thinkin' allowed." lips press into archer's cheek, and his hand gets tighter. "i've got some ideas about how to keep you fuckin' occupied too, baby."

[lonely-gfd-cutie]

You’re a good boy (Good)

You’re my good boy (Better)

Asking me Who’s my good boy? and making me answer (Sooooo fucking good)

[dovecrys]

Parker feels bad, like there's something more he could be doing to help Ben out when he's clearly struggling. He's satiated by the fact that his act of kindness extends through a peace offering through a red bull. Yeah, it's kind of always been about the small things for Parker. Parker finds his spot back on the couch, his interest back in his book. He doesn't look back up at Ben when he speaks, but his question evokes laughter. "Yeah, you're being a fuckin' diva," Parker says, matter-of-factly. As if anyone with a functional set of eyes could clock it. Parker's patting, absentmindedly, at the space next to him. "Sit down and regain your sanity. You're too god damn tall to be standing over me like that." Ben's always buzzed with this innately nervous energy, like he'd only ever find peace if he crawled out of his skin. "What's your deal anyway?" Parker asks, finally bringing his eyes to meet Ben. "You haven't slept in days." A beat. "Yeah, I noticed. Everybody has."

[brutalperception]

ben doesn't need kindness from parker. he doesn't need kindness from anyone. he needs isolation. alone time. quiet. shit he's NEVER going to get on this fucking bus. god, he's going to go insane. he's going to lose it and go postal. he feels the discomfort sparking at the edge of his fingertips, like his skin is too tight and he needs to reach out and set something alight just so that the pressure disappears. he's not sure it ever will. it all breaks like the waves, and he's never been much more than a broken bit of glass being smoothed by the tide. all sharp edges smoothed by the passage of time, white hot anger and determination being broken down by the consistent memories. "i am not a fuckin' diva." okay, he wouldn't know if he seemed like one. parker offers him a seat, and he takes it. he doesn't really want to, but he also isn't in the business on passing up on kindness where he can get it. too bad he's about to shove all that out the fucking window if he's not careful. he is trying his best. he wants to crawl out of his fucking skin. it's too tight, and holds too many memories. yeah i've noticed. everyone has. "fuck you guys, i'm fine." NOT TRUE, BENJAMIN.

[loudbarks-arch]

her stomach twists at the smirk. because it works, because it's the kind of practiced charm that turns a messy moment into a joke he can control. frankie hates that they react anyway; hates that part of them wants to rise to it, bite back, and keep him looking at them even if he's doing it like this. "don't," she says flatly. "don't act like you did me a favor." a beat, their jaw tight. "you kissed me back because you wanted to. not because i asked nicely." he tosses patience might be a good look on you at her like it's advice instead of a jab, and she feels heat flare in her face again, because she has been patient, with a lot of people, in a lot of ways, and it's never gotten her anything except used up. "y'know what my habit is?" they take a step closer. "not letting men stand in front of me and rewrite reality while they're drinking a fuckin' redbull like they're bored." her hand lifts, not to touch him this time, just to punctuate every word. "you're not uninterested. you're hiding. there's a difference." their gaze trails over him — bags under his eyes, the tension he’s pretending isn’t there — and it hits them: he's not playing cool because he's invincible; he's playing cool because he's fraying. that doesn't make it okay. but it does make it make sense, and she hates that it softens her for even a second. "so here," they say, "you want to go back to sulking? go. but quit with the nicknames and the smug shit like i'm stupid for noticing you're miserable." a beat, eyes locked on his. "and don't tell me to have patience when you're the one throwing sparks and then acting shocked there's smoke."

[brutalperception]

ben absolutely needs to control things. control himself. control the way people talk to him. be left alone. he's not really sure why he's still doing this somedays. a life of solitude sounds so appealing he could scream about how badly he wants it. he could lose himself in the need for alone time if he's not careful. which he clearly hasn't been, signing on for a run this long. he's exhausted. "never said i didn't." he replies, with a shrug like it doesn't matter. meanwhile, ben's also the type to shrink back from physical contact. if he wasn't so tired, maybe he would've thought faster on his feet, pulled back before she could get too close. but now he's here, trying to keep himself from falling apart. "reality." he chuckles, "reality is not whatever shit you're reading in to the way that i'm acting." a roll of brown eyes. "i'm not rewriting shit, and i'm not standing here because i'm bored. you asked a question, i answered. fucking simple." but then she fucking CATCHES HIM OUT, and he can't remember the last time he's been clocked so hard without his permission. eyes narrow, frustration burns, it's too much. he is fucking miserable. "god forbid a man be un fucking comfortable." a sip of red bull. "i didn't say shit." his blood boils beneath the surface, discomfort as natural as breathing. "and i definitely didn't call you STUPID." he hates this shit, "so are you on my ass for FUN or because you want something??" spoken like someone who has had too much taken. "either way, fuck off."