#ben angst

[sillvin]

Very edgy and vent, but at least it looks interesting

Do not harm yourself! Seek professional help if you feel like this please

[hozaloza]

You think Ben doesn't really like his dad that much

Like, William seems like the type of parent to...not yell, but raise his voice when his kids do something wrong

or rather, raise his voice with the older child and be gentle with the younger.

*Do I look like him music intensifies*

[pauleenotomy]

more ben clark angst

edit: tw i am so SORRY i just realized i forgot to put a tw for descriptive pain

He stared at his reflection in the mirror, into his own eyes, into his own soul, that he believed had long withered and went. Where was he? He couldn't find him— he couldn't find the innocent, pure, 12 year old boy. He stared and stared, growing more and more desperate, tightening his grip on the bathroom sink. Where was he?

He stared and stared, and stared, and in those eyes— his very own eyes, he saw a monster. A raging beast, who'd punch someone just to punch someone. Who'd fight and win and show no sign of sympathy. An unapologetic, cruel monster. The embodiment of violence. No— he didn't use to be this violent.

A tear had found its way down his face, and for a moment, he saw hope. Vulnerability. He tried and forced himself not to wipe it off, to not be ashamed of it, that it was good.

"Humans cry, and I'm human." he thought, trying to convince himself. He wanted to believe it, and he did, until the tear reached his lips, and he got to taste it. It was bitter. Bitter, and cold. That was his last straw, all his hope faded away just like that.

He looked away from his eyes, and at his neck. It was bruised, and it ached. He avoided blinking in that moment, or his mind would wander back to the incident. He could still feel Shane's firm grip on his throat, morbidly vivid. The first wave of panic washing over him as his breath was stolen from him. How each breath grew more shallow and desperate than the last— but there was no air. Just a devastating, crushing force squeezing his windpipe. How he could feel his pulse thundering in his ears, unrelenting and desperate. He could almost still feel the sharp, hot pain shredding the small tissues in his drying throat, and it hurt more than words— yes, right. His broken, shattered words. His voice that was once described as "angelic" was now strained and raspy, to the point everytime he spoke he was just a second away from being silenced completely.

His desperate eyes hardened, to a hateful look of disgust. He hated this, he hated how he let himself become the thing he swore to destroy. His greatest enemy wasn't Shane anymore— not his bullies, not the gangs he was in a war against— no, it was himself. He was the villain in his own life, after Shane killed his voice, he died with it. Now all that was left was his body, still tethered to the ground. He, however, was long gone.

All that was left of him was his body, his giant figure that everybody feared. A deadly weapon, as others would call him. Not the little boy that he is, no. He was seen as a dangerous giant all his life. He denied it though— and showed everyone his contradicting personality, but where was that now? It was gone. What really stung him the most though was that by all this, he was just proving them right. He gave them a reason to fear him after trying all his life to prove otherwise.

He wanted to stop, he really did. He wanted to just go back to the way it was, to the way he was. Before they changed him. Or worse, before he changed himself.

But he couldn't. There was no turning back now, there was nothing he could do to turn back the past, even if he'd do anything, anything to be able to sing again, to be able to speak again, to be able to hear his own voice without breaking down completely.

So he walked out the bathroom, cracking his knuckles, heading out and back into the streets. He didn't want to do this, but at that point, it was the only thing he knew how to do. He went and picked another fight— then another, and another.

And in the end, he'd still find himself back in the bathroom, looking at his reflection, begging for change. Desperate. But it was impossible, and he'd always end back up on the streets fighting one after the next.

The door shut, and he was back in front of the mirror. Again, and again, and again.

He wasn't a monster. He wasn't a deadly giant. He wasn't a weapon. No.

No.

He was twelve.

[kalcium-yippee]

Ben Angst go brrr

~

When he woke up he was nowhere. 

Or somewhere? Had to be somewhere.

Everything was confusing; he felt dizzy, like his brain was going to leak out of his ears at any second. He had to center himself, just for a moment. The drained walls of the facility pierced into his skull; he couldn’t see right. His breathing couldn’t keep up with his body, but he managed to set himself straight, if just for a moment. ‘Where am I?! Where the hell am I?!’ Ben’s thoughts continued to race with the same words over and over and over and over. He gripped the sheets of the bed below him, ‘am I back in the hospital?’ Ben felt sick to the pit of his stomach. ‘I can’t be back there. I can’t be back. I can’t be back…’ Logically, Ben knew that he wasn’t back in the hospital, last he remembered, he was back at the school. At the school. At the…school. He was drugged. Some men plowed in and drugged him; they got Logan and Taylor, and then all memories since then faded away. ‘I didn’t do anything... I was out immediately... Why did it happen?... I should have done something. What if I- I could have… I- maybe, if…but..’ He couldn’t get his thoughts straight; the moment of clarity delved into rage.

‘I’m not an angry person anymore, I’m not an angry person anymore, I’m not an angry person anymore, I’m not an angry person anymore, I’m not an angry person anymore, I’m not an angry person anymore, I’m not an angry person anymore, I’m not an angry person, I’m not an angry person, I’m not an angry person, I’m not an angry person, I’m not angry I’m not angry I’m not angry I’m not angry I’m not angry I’m not ANGRY.’ His fist hit smack against the tiled wall. Nothing happened. His knuckles hurt. Nothing happened. Something needs to happen. 

A sense of what felt like acid bubbling in his stomach started creeping its way up his throat. His thoughts were everywhere but where they needed to be. He immediately stood up and kicked his bare foot into the bed frame. Nothing Happened. His foot hurt. Nothing happened. ‘Something needs to happen’. He was swiftly blind with rage. The shaking feeling in his fist wouldn’t cease. He looked around and stomped towards the wood table, keeping tears back.. ‘I can’t do this, I need to sit down.’ he tried to remind himself but it was hopeless. He grabbed the table and threw it. He didn’t know in what direction. He just heard it hit the wall and a rush shivered up his spine. He reached for anything in his blurred view. Anything at all. He didn't even know what he was grabbing; he was just throwing and throwing. Ripping out dresser drawers, tearing up a sheet, kicking pillows. He grabbed the frame of the bed and lifted it. He tried to scream but nothing happened. 

It seems he forgot how. 

He slammed his head into the still held up bed frame, ‘why am I still like this.’ A tear worked down his face, he hastily wiped it off with one arm and with all the strength he could muster, he flipped the entire bed over, the icing on his disaster of a cake. “why” He barely said in a whisper. The sound of his own twisted, disgusting voice sent him a step back, he practically fell to his knees, he saw his reflection in the tiled floor and just started punching the ground. ‘whywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhy’ his thoughts kept repeating over and over again. Why did he have to be bullied? Why did he have to be beat? Why did he have to say goodbye to his passion? Why did he have to get stuck fighting Phantoms every night? Why did he get taken out? Why did he not manage to fight back? Why was he here? Why…..’why am I angry’.

He looked at his reflection on the floor. There was a bit of blood on his knuckles and dripping over his miserable reflection. Ben stood up and took a few steps back. He looked at the masterpiece the monster inside him made. The shaking feeling in his fist was gone. He sighed. Back against the wall, he slid down to the floor and sat in guilt and shame. ‘why’.

~

Absolute yap fest, hope you enjoyed😭🙏

[silvermoonshipping-is-love]

Silver: Treat others like how you wish to be treated.

Ben: Killed. Without hesitation.

Silver:

Silver: Ben no-

[sad-space-monkey-boi]

Where The Lonely Make The Lonely Feel Less Lonely

Yall, Im writing angst for someone other than Luther for once! It's a miracle!

Title from broken hearts club by gnash

Relationship: Ben & Luther

Summery: When Ben punched the drugs out of Klaus' mouth, it was the first time he had touched someone in 13 years. It's kinda funny when you think about it, made him sound like some troubled high-schooler. First time touching someone in a long time, and it was a punch to the face.

13 years without touch will leave you f ucked.

When Ben punched the drugs out of Klaus' mouth, it was the first time he had touched someone in 13 years. It's kinda funny when you think about it, made him sound like some troubled high-schooler. First time touching someone in a long time, and it was a punch to the face.

13 years without touch will leave you f ucked.

After the apocalypse threat, Klaus worked to try and keep him corporeal for as long as possible, and now he could do it without even thinking about it. His siblings took full advantage of that fact, dragging him into whatever highjinks they've gotten into.

Except Luther.

After everything, Ben's oldest brother hid himself away, only coming down for meals, or when Allison or Klaus drag him down for family outings. Even then, he never spoke to any of them.

One weekend, Ben decided that enough is enough. While he trudged up the stairs, he tried to imagine what Luther does when in his self-induced isolation. Does he read? Maybe he writes those poems he spotted when he found the packages his brother sent back. He hadn't read any of them, but it was interesting.

But when he opened Luther's door, his brother was lying on his bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. Ben snuck up next to him and clapped above his face. The other man jumped up, arms landing in a defensive stance.

"Oh! You scared me!" He said, lowering his arms slightly.

"What were you doing?" Ben asked with a raised eyebrow.

Luther shrugged then layed back down on his bed. Ben took that opportunity to clamber onto his chest, putting his head on his brother's collar-bone. Luther froze up underneath him, before wrapping his beefy arms around his youngest brother's back. He almost let go when he heard Ben start sniffling.

"Whats wrong, what did I do?"

Ben let out a wet laugh. "Nothing, just... I missed you. I mean, I came to see you all the time, whenever Klaus was stable enough to leave for 5 minutes, but I was dead! You couldn't see me, and you couldn't hear me. It was hard, I was there when you were on that mission, and in the infirmary and I- I couldn't- I could have..." he stopped, crying into Luther's chest.

Luther tightened his grip slightly, moving his hand to the back of his head.

"Hey, it's ok. Even if you were able to, Dad never would have let you help. It's you couldn't have, and I don't blame you. I could never blame you."

"It's terrible." Ben mumbled after the tears subsided. Luther looked down at his brother, curious. "What is?"

"Being dead. I couldn't do anything. You going to the moon, when Diego got into the police acadamy, when Allison had Claire, Vanya's performances, I missed it all! I was there, but I wasn't. All I could do was make futile attempts to get Klaus sober."

"Well, you didn't miss much on the moon, and Diego got kicked out, we get to meet Claire next week, and Vanya has a performance tomorrow night. I guess all we can do I make up for lost time."

Ben looked up at his brother. All we can do.

"Yeah, all we can do."

[sillvin]

Nightmares

[kalcium-yippee]

Me when I have to write the things I say I'll write