#horrorbled

death   tastes   of   iron   and   ash   ,          less  a  memory  than  a  heavy  sensation ,  burdening  mind  with  tangled  thoughts  of   distorted  images  and  muffled  sounds .  there  never  is  a  light  or  maybe  some  of  us  are  simply  not  meant  to  see  it          there  is  only  darkness .   cold  and  empty .  he  feared  it ,  loathed  it  but  simultaneously  felt  nothing  at  all . EMPTINESS .  it  happened  unexpectedly ,  too  sudden  to  realise ,  fingers  growing  numb  and  hands  going  limb .  the  hold  ( left  +  right )  tightening  in  desperation ,   pulling  and  pulling .  there  was  a  cacophony  of  sounds ,  he  recalls .  somewhere ,  above  the  water  he  was  drowning  in .  lungs  filling  and  filling  as  oxygen  escaped .  sounds  of  familiarity         voices .  his  family’s  voices .  calling .   calling  someone .   calling  him .   F I V E !  

he  can’t  remember  them :   anxious  and  fearful ,  shaking  him  with  panicked  demands  to  open  his  eyes  in  hope  of  him  snapping  at  the  immediate  physical  contact .  gone ,   gone ,   gone !   oh ,  how  ironic  to  think  of  him  as   too  young  to  die .  the  urge  to  laugh  bubbles  up  in  his  chest ,  rises  up  his  throat  like  bile          twisting  and  turning  within   aching  stomach   as  skull  continues  to  pound  relentlessly ,  even  hours  after  hours  of  returning  to  a  time  and  place  long  forgotten .  they  will  never  let  it  go ,  but  can  he   blame  them ?   he ,  who  buried  them  as  a  young  boy ,  sobbing  until  body  collapsed          has  he  any  right  to  judge  them  for  the   stern  tone   in  concerned  statement ?

❛        it   was   our   only   option  .  .  .        ❜          pained  grimace  follows  slowly  spoken  words  as  tongue  licks  over  still   bloodied  petals  ;  bruised  skin  around  dull  irises  swollen  and  pulsating  hot .   what  an  ugly  sight .  but  ben         oh ,  ben !  how  much  he’s  missed  him !  stands  with  clouded  expression ,  worry  coated  gaze   where  a  smile  should  rest  instead .   you’re  alive  again ,  aren’t  you  happy ?  aren’t  you  glad ?  i  brought  you  back  i  brought  you  back  i  brought  you  back .    ❛     we  had  nothing  left  to  lose  and  i  wasn’t  just  going  to  let  this  whole  damn  world  burn  down  without  doing   something  at  least .     ❜     

HE’S  ALWAYS  TRIED  AND  ALWAYS  FAILED ,        this  time ,  though ,  this  time  he  finally  got  it  right .  it  doesn’t  matter   how  close   he  got  to  death .  feverish  skin  and  shaky  hands   but  a small  side-effect  to  otherwise   great  success .     ❛    c’mon ,  ben …  almost  dead  is  not  that  bad .   ❜     and  he  breathes  out  shakily  with  a  smile  of  his  own ,  crooked  and  feeble  but  genuine  nonetheless .      ❛      i          god ,  i  fucking   missed  you .    ❜

            fingertips       brushing along his skin     ,     his jaw     ,      down to his throat.          soothing and comforting    warmth.          where he laid in a      COLD     ACHED     SWEAT.          fighting his urge to  scream  as he could almost feel the binds shake his core.           MEMORIES OVERFLOWING     wracking his brain and terrifying him in his sleep.            [     or lack of.    ].            there was a sudden gasp of air     ,     choking as he reached up to come into contact with     . . .     warmth.           a subtle light     ,     depended by the    horrors    of childhood much like him.          his fingertips grazed across cheeks as his vision blurred in    &     out before he quickly sat up panicking   ,    before returning to reality.          BEN'S ROOM      ,      he fell back into the cold crisp sheets.          head resting back on his lovers lap before his lids fell heavy.

                                you’re not alone    .

NIGHTMARES.           no     ,    flashbacks.           banging against a cold cell wall and begging to be saved.         slowly giving up and slipping into the       madness      of his    father     creators sin.          but he was   safe   now.         lifting his other hand to rip away the black leather that covered the     BARCODE.          still scarred from him attempting to burn it off     ,     & yet still there.          mocking him    ,    reminding him of who    [   what   ]   he was.         but the gentle voice and soothing coo had azure gaze lift back up to the other.          corners of his lips pulling in a brightened smile as canines even seemed to gleam.         extending his hand upward to brush the pad of his thumb against cheek.         funny how they were both broken.          two shattered    &     yet together they managed to mend into a beautiful masterpiece.

his head still throbbed    ,    ached.         slowly sitting up as his neck rolled to crack at the joints.          exhaustion.         but that came with it's perks.           nap time with Ben being the major.          he pushed himself to rest his back against the wall the bed seemed to cling to.         rubbing the sleep from his eyes before yawning.         turning his attention back to the other.           ❛    you should have woken me up    . . .   ❜          although he expected the answer to be the same if Ben had uttered those words.         [    you needed the sleep.    ].         he stretched arms above his head in attempt to wake up fast    ,    only to fall back to rest his head on lap again.         lazy.         ————    no just hungry for affection.          skin touch.          the sound of a heartbeat that wasn't his own.

                                              too good to be true

a    beat    .     ❝    how    about    a    movie    instead    ?    ❞

Around two minutes after Diego drops them off at the bus stop, Klaus decides he’s had enough of Ben’s silent treatment. It’s a frankly childish way to approach the situation, if you ask him, which conveniently makes it much easier for Klaus to see himself as the victim in this scenario. After all, he never asked to be stuck with the ghost of his brother who, by the way, has a massive stick up his ass. You’d think by now Ben would be used to Klaus’ behaviour but no, apparently he’s still going to be a bitch about it. This isn’t even the first time he’s overdosed like that which, if Klaus actually thought about it, is actually the problem. That requires a level of introspection and self-preservation that Klaus isn’t capable of right now however. Instead he absently kicks an empty can down the street, hands in the pockets of his long coat, there’s a bag of pills in there for later, and fiddling with it is comforting.

FLASH  OF  BLUES  AND  WHITES ,           a  hole  in  space  for  the  mere moment  of  a  blink          short  enough  to  miss  it ,  but  long  enough  for  him  to   SUDDENLY  APPEAR   in  the  middle  of  the  room .  not  his  bedroom ,  he  realises  with  defeat ,  but  the  library .  usual  neat  appearance  slightly  dishevelled ,  hands  tugging  on  clothes  to   regain  composure ,   though  fingertips  feel  numb   ( numb  numb  numb )   against  the  fabric .  such  worn  out  look  on  too  young  features ,  now  focused  greens  landing  on  the  only  other  person  around .      ❛    hey .    ❜       pauses ,  trembling  hands  shoved  into  pockets  of  his  shorts .       ❛    mind  if  i  stay  here  for  a  bit ?    ❜

❛❛    what ,    this  ?    ❜❜     his attention span is, and had always been . . . something.    he could make out ben’s voice in the back of his mind ,    though it takes him a second to focus both his hearing and his eyes to really come back to the plane of reality.    pupils an abyss ,    so dark ,    almost losing every shade of green one could appreciate if he were sober.    ❛❛    oh ,    i did a pregnancy test.    ❜❜    he holds the stick in his hand ,    completely nonchalant ,    for a second before throwing it away.                   (  @horrorbled​​    said:   💬  )

luther doesn’t spend any time thinking about what his life could have been like,  had reginald never taken them in.  he doesn’t let himself, but because reginald has always kept him so close,  given him no other option but to believe that right here is where they are DESTINED to be.  those thoughts aren’t organic,  they don’t come on their own  —-  it’s the ideas that reginald has engrained in his mind,  making him believe and to never doubt him.  so he doesn’t;   they all belong here.  they belong together.  they’re destined to save the world,  just as their father has told them   —-   so that’s what luther’s life is supposed to be like.  there was never any other option for him.  

and the thought of ben or any of them no longer being with them is too difficult for luther to imagine  —-  so much so that he can’t continue to look ben in the eye,  head immediately tilting down to fixate on the threads of his uniform socks.  they don’t talk about him anymore  —-  five  —-  it’s not that they don’t want to,  it’s just that they don’t know HOW,  luther especially.  he may be good at protecting his siblings,  but when it comes to actually comforting them,  it always feels like he falters  ( he never knows what the right thing to say is,  nor the right way to help them feel better  ——  it doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to,  he just doesn’t know what’s best for THEM.  )   they can’t lose anyone else  —-  and maybe he wouldn’t know what this place would be like if one of them hadn’t been here,  but he still can’t help but to think that they wouldn’t be COMPLETE,  that it would always feel like the team is just missing something  .  .  .    just as they have since five went missing.

❛      but  why  ?  why  do  i  have  to  live  ?      ❜      it’s the way his face contorts like a pleading child, asking for one more bedtime story, fighting the urge to go to sleep. as if he didn’t know what dying truly meant   . . .  but he knew. death followed him around constantly, and even when he tried oh so hard to keep it at a distance, it rarely ever worked.

whatever substance was running through his system, it was starting to wear off. sobriety pushing forward, painfully awaking his senses, one by one — all of them. there had to be something he could put in him that would delay this horrible state of being alive.

he closes his eyes, he’s in the deep blue ocean, floating away, letting the tide carry him — except, he isn’t really, and they come by one, the faces, the spirits. all of them asking something of him, getting closer and closer. he knows they can’t really touch him, yet there’s still the littlest bit of fear tugging at his sleeve as their hands reach for him, pull him under water. his eyes open abruptly and he’s shaking, if anyone saw him, it’ll be nothing more than that junkie-like shivers, just every cell of his body craving for more. wouldn’t that be great? he thinks. to be just another lost addict, living only with the ghost of his past poor decision, instead of . . . actual ghosts who never seemed to shut up.