Older!Ben Drowned X Reader
Most people wouldn’t think Creepypastas had a life to live, since almost all of them are…..dead. That they would pertain themselves only to the underbelly of the world, hiding constantly in the shadows till a poor soul got too close. That they wouldn’t progress or partake in things that usually humans would. That they have no sense of humor. Those twits are way off.
“Who wants a Pepsi?!” I shouted, heaving the cooler out onto the patio, Brvr behind me with the stack of ordered pizza boxes. Instantly, we were swarmed by other pastas, elbows jabbing and laughing shouts exchanged. Thankfully my pikachu buddy was able to rescue me, getting us out of the hordes reaches before blood was spilt.
“Whew, thanks Brrr.” I rubbed my shoulder, which nearly got torn out of its socket. “They’re more dangerous to pizza then humans.”
“They can be. The trick is to be fast on your feet for
- Reading someone's mind? - You asked in his mind. He shook his head a little, surprised by you and he smirked a bit.
- Says the one who just did the same. - He answered, as you took a bite of a strawberry from your desert. - You are acting different lately, love.
- Love? Did I just got an promotion? I'm flattered, Charlie. - You said looking at him with a mischievous smile on forming on your lips. - What does it mean, 'you're acting different'? Be specific, darling. -
she says she thinks i wear my heart well,
and i tell her it's only because i don't wear it at all
sometimes i think my veins are breaking because they get so thin and purple
and sometimes they are blue as the sky we live under,
bulging beneath the unbroken skin of my wrists like they are straining to touch
the oxygen that writhes above them, so close to contact but
never able to truly meet.
we stay together, not through thick,
only through thin
my friend confessed her sexuality to us
maybe three months back,
but i still can't seem to find my own "label"
and it is sad because i want to be able to label myself in a
world where we are shamed by our names
i live in a city where the people care so little for each other
that each passing day i am painfully reminded
of how much i can hate
and not enough of how much i can love
my mother once told me
she wished she had a curvier body (while looking at mine),
but i'm only rounded edges because i hold fat that i
cannot turn to muscle;
i am weak because i am weak,
my heart is full of self pity and selfishness.
i stand in the hot shower, not wanting to
move at all because i sense no point in acting. i
stare at the fogged up glass and the condensation
dripping down the crying mirror, fat droplets, sad and heavy like i am.
lethargy dominates the bathroom, paces about the shower,
presses me against the wall and licks my bare skin with his dusk tongue.
i feel ten types of happiness, while rooted to the tile.
simealtanously, i am colored in twenty hues
of anguish, only because i deny movement (i refuse myself,
i am my own stray animal).
i am monochromatic, and weak,
and insanely, impossibly euphoric all at once:
this what heroin does to people.
i believe (it gets us killed, belief) i have a high pain tolerance,
but do i dare test that hypoth