This keeps getting worse, so many fandoms that don't have enough for their own containment zone. Gravity Falls, Kippo Nimora, DND, WOF, ect... Main twilightprincess45
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grace, who has been alone for five minutes: oh my god. an alien! im not alone anymore! i hope he wants to be friends :)
rocky, coming up on 50 years of solitude, imprinting on grace in ways baby ducklings can only dream of: if you leave me to sleep where i can't watch your heart beat i am blowing up this tunnel with us both in it
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Do you think Ryland ever visited one of Colt's sets once or twice, and each time every five minutes he'd get mistaken for his brother to an almost comical degree?
It became less comical for Colt the one time the stunt crew were rushing and grabbed (a very flustered) Ryland and tried to hook him onto a rig, thinking it was Colt.
The way he ran up screaming, "DAN THAT'S NOT ME, THATβS RYLAND! DO NOT DROP MY BROTHER OFF A 40-FOOT BUILDING PLEASE!"
Jody and Ryland still laugh about it. Colt still gets anxiety thinking about it
Jody got Ryland a nametag that read "Not Colt Seavers" after that
Hereβs the first of what I have labeled in my Google Docs as βimma make him kill himselfβ aka me torturing Colt Seavers.
This one is inspired by my art from a bit ago (you can find here) where Colt canβt handle the smell of gasoline anymore.
Warnings: aftermath of torture (ofc), dissociation, past murder attempts, past suicide attempt, some slight self harming as a means for emotional regulation, and some internalized problems with being disabled.
ββββ
Colt couldnβt get out of the car.
He parked right, turned off the engine, opened the door, but could not step out of the car. His feet just wouldnβt move past twisting in his seat to jump down. His hand was on the interior door still, ready to use it as a crutch to hoist himself out. But he just sat there.
His wrists itch. Something smelled awful. There was a buzzing in his ear that sounded a lot like someone calling his name.
βColt?β
He turns his head and sees Jody, sitting in the passenger seat. Of course, he knew that.
βYeah, whatβs up?β He clears his throat and pulls his hand back. He scratches at his wrists, suddenly uncomfortable with the hoodie sleeves touching them.
His fingers brush against aging scars and he clenches his jaw.
βAre you going to get some gas?β Jody asks.
Colt blinks and heβs looking at her again. He mustβve spaced out for a second. He swallows, feeling sick. The smell in the air catches in his throat. He pushes up his sleeves a little, but they just slide back down.
βActually, do you mind getting it for me? My, uh, back kinda hurts right now. I donβt really feel like standing there waiting.β
He was lying. They talked about his lying. He wasnβt supposed to be hiding things from her anymore. That was the whole deal when they got back together. No more big secrets. If either one of them were feeling insecure or hurt by something, they need to communicate it. Colt especially. She was very stern about that.
But if he could disguise one hurt with another, maybe she wonβt question it. Then when they get home, he could make up some excuse for feeling gross, maybe not showering yesterday, escape to the bathroom, and have a panic attack. In private. She wonβt have to know.
Jody would know. Sheβd at least know something was up. She was too smart and sweet to him. Sheβd know in an instant.
He swallows again. The faint bitter taste in his mouth is really going to make him vomit.
βOkay,β Jody says. She looks at him oddly. She clearly already knows something is up, but isnβt saying anything. βIβm going to get something from the shop too while Iβm up. Did you want anything?β
βWater.β He replies far too quickly. βUh, yeah. A water would be nice.β
Jody nods, still not saying anything. She does smile at him, however, and presses a kiss to two fingers to tap against his cheekbone. That gets a small smirk from him, and a flush.
She leaves him there, the door shutting behind her. Colt feels he should shut his door too. Maybe that would help with the smell of the place.
But suddenly with Jody gone, walking around to insert her card and grab the pump, he finds it hard to get his body to move. That causes a stab of fear in his chest, stomach plummeting to the ground.
He shuts his eyes tightly. Stupid choice of words, his dumb internal monologue.
βWhat was that?β
Curse his inability to stop talking to himself too, while heβs at it.
βNothing, nothing.β He waves Jody off. βJust talking to myself. Back just hurts.β
βDo you need your pillsββ
βTheyβre at home,β he interrupts her, stopping her from finishing. βLetβs just get going. Iβll be fine.β
βOkayβ¦β Jody sounds off. She definitely knows it's more than just his back bothering him. He just hopes she doesnβt ask. βIβll be right over there. Itβll be done by the time Iβm back, so justβ¦sit tight, okay?β
He gives her a thumbs up and smiles a little when he hears her scoff. Once heβs sure she walked away, he drops.
Colt folds in on himself. He leans across his lap, arms crossed with his elbows firmly planted on his knees. His leg starts bouncing, jostling him slightly, but it doesnβt stop him from hiding his face in the crook of his arm. His fists clench, unconsciously rubbing one of his wrists against his knee. He could feel the pulse point pumping at jack rabbit speeds against the scars.
It was that smell. The overtly strong smell of gasoline. It was suffocating. It wasβit was just bringing him back to that night.
He was so afraid that night. The torture was one thing. It hurt, but it was familiar. It was pain he knew well. He can take a punch, a kick, head in the water, taser to the neck, anything. It hurts, it always hurts, but he can take it. He was trained to take it.
Colt wasnβt trained to watch two men get dragged off a boat and shot dead in front of him. He wasnβt trained to hear that Tom Ryder had tried killing him before, and almost succeeded the first time. He wasnβt trained to handle real gasoline getting thrown into real wounds, stinging and soaking through his clothes. Getting in his mouth and his eyes.
He had been shot at, thrown around, pretty much everything you could think of, all that night. It was just something about the gasoline that had his head spinning.
No one really knew this because why would they? Why would they care? But Colt almost died twice from his fall. The first time was when his back had snapped, almost paralyzing him. The excruciating pain, the days in the hospital, the painful weeks of recovery that turned into months, and then years of just more pain. Pain that was never going to go away. The fall itself almost killed him. It very nearly did.
The second time the fall almost killed him is when he was having a horrible pain day and couldnβt see himself coming back from it. He knew there wasnβt a future without it.
So he took too many pain pills and had to get his stomach pumped.
Tom Ryder almost killed him three times. Once with the fall, once by gasoline, and once by his own stupid decisions. Not including all the shooting, drugging, beating, throwing, drowning, burningβ
Coltβs breathing hitches. The bouncing intensifies. He can hear the sloshing of the gas pump as it fills up his tank.
What heβs trying to say with all this is that heβs been through a lot. Heβs almost died a million times at this point. He doesnβt know why a little gasoline is freaking him out this much. Heβs had worse.
But maybe it wasnβt just the gasoline. Maybe itβs everything. Itβs been months now. The movie had officially finished reshoots with their new star, editing it all that needs to be done now. They were both back home in LA, Colt spending more time at Jodyβs apartment than his own. They were going on dates regularly, staying up all night talking, shedding tears as they spoke about what to do now. They were starting over, for real this time. No more lies, no more hiding.
Yet Colt was still hiding. He hasnβt told Jody everything about those few days. He knew he should, but his mouth would go dry and his heart would pound, and he wouldnβt be able to get the words out.
Maybe everything just came crashing down on him with just one whiff of a less-than-secure gas station pump.
He should get up, get his head out of his arms. Jody would be back any second and he canβt have her seeing him like this. Heβs tired of worrying her. It hurts more than anything else to see her eyes searching him and speaking to him in that concerned tone.
Still, he knows he canβt move. He canβt muster anything more than too fast bouncing of his leg.
He swears he can still taste it burning down his throat. He threw up so much after. He barely made it out of the water after the boat crash before he was doubling over and vomiting everything he had unwillingly ingested. There was only a moment for him to worry about the blood he had spit up before he had to move.
Thereβs a click and a jolt where the pump automatically cuts off. It makes him flinch.
Colt feels a hand land on his shoulder and he jumps, quickly sitting up and shoving his hands in between his knees, pressing his wrists together.
He sees Jody and smiles, laughing a little breathlessly.
She doesnβt look as pleased to see him. βColt, whatβs wrong? Youβreβyouβre shaking.β
βJody, um,β his voice is tight and itβs painful to get out. He swallows, but that makes him gag at the phantom taste in his mouth. He ignores it. βHey! Howβs it going?β
βColt,β Jodyβs voice turns dangerously serious. She says her next words firmly and without any wiggle room. βWhat is wrong?β
He breathes a little heavier. His wrists hurt. He quickly pulls them from where he was pinning them together between his legs. Instead, his hands rub up and down his thighs. He doesnβt look at Jody. Picking a dried oil spill on the ground to his left, he stares at that instead.
βMmβ¦β he hums shortly. It comes out cracked and broken. Then he shakes his head. Thatβs all he could do.
The guilt suddenly hits him now. He shouldβve told her everything. He should have told her about the burning alive thing. Maybe then they wouldnβt be in this mess. Or maybe she would know what to do without him having to talk about it. He doesnβt want to talk about it.
βColtβColt, would you look at me, please?β Jody calls for his attention and heβs vaguely aware that sheβs been talking to him for a minute now. He doesnβt know how he forgot.
He does look at her, but he doesnβt feel like heβs really seeing her. Everything is fuzzy in his head. Thereβs a film over his eyes that makes everything blurry and doubled. He has to force himself to focus on her, but it doesnβt last long.
βCan you talk to me?β She asks.
βI justββ Colt breaks off with a grunt. He shifts in his seat, the thumping of his boot against the edge of the carβs frame was distracting his words, but not enough to distract from theβ βIt just really smells. Like a lot. Like gasoline.β
βLike gasoline?β Jody repeats. He could imagine her in his head, raising perfectly tweezed eyebrows at him. He would be able to see that right in front of him if he could just focus. βWell, we are at a gas station. That would do it.β
βThatβll do it!β Colt mimics her and suddenly it hurts to keep breathing it in.
His inhale cuts short. He squeezes his eyes shut and rubs his shaking legs over and over again, reminding himself that heβs perfectly capable of moving them. The scars on his wrists burn from the friction. Shit, he was making this worse.
βWell itβs all done,β Jody says and thereβs something weird in her voice. βWe can head home now.β
Colt perks up a little at that. He forces on a smile. βYeah, yeah. That sounds perfect.β
βCan you drive?β
βWhat?β
βCan you drive like this, Colt?β
βLike what?β
Jody doesnβt say anything, but he could tell by the tense silence that she is not impressed with him. Heβs sure if his eyes werenβt closed, heβd see it too.
Why were his eyes still closed?
He opens them, but for some reason that just makes him face the dried spots of gas staining the ground. He wasnβt looking at Jody, he was looking at his dirty, torn up jeans and the indents on his wrists. They burn against his sleeves. They arenβt zip tied together anymore, but it feels just the same.
He growls and pushes up his sleeves all the way to his elbows. He had more scars from doing reckless crap. Even more from those few days. Yet, the only ones that bug him now are the rubbed raw indents on his wrists.
Colt only gets a second to scratch at them before much smaller and softer hands interrupt him.
βNo, no, donβt hurt yourself!β Jody scolds him, easily pulling his hand from his wrist without any fight. βYou could justβhere, get out.β
Colt frowns. He still canβt really focus on her. βWhat?β
βOut of the car,β she orders. βOut! Iβm driving us back to your apartment. Clearly, something is wrong.β
Heβs pulled carefully out of the car. He refuses to admit it out loud, but he always liked it when Jody would manhandle him around. It made him feel breakable and precious, two things he never was. Except, of course, when he is fragile like thisβlegs wobbling and almost kneeling over as soon as his feet hit the groundβitβs the worst feeling in the world.
He feels that urge to push Jody away, straighten up, force himself to stop shaking. Smile, give her a thumbs up, move on. Like nothing ever happened.
Sheβs gentle with him as she leads him over the front to the other side of his truck, and opens the passenger door for him. Her touch is firm as she guides him to take a step up and into the seat. Both her hands leave him for a mere second, coming back quickly to touch his trembling knee and reaching up to soothe his cheek.
Colt melts right there. He doesnβt know why he fights it. He wants to be treated gently like this by her.
βI love you,β he tells her, and it hasnβt been nearly long enough in their new relationship for him to be saying this to her, especially when he hasnβt been respecting her like she deserves. Heβs been hiding this from her, he has no right to say this now. βI do. I really do love you.β
Jody smiles at him and itβs the first thing he sees again, past the scars and the stains that cover him. She steps up onto the frame of the truck and leans in to give him a kiss. One that he returns just as softly and overflowing with passion.
She pulls away, but still with a smile. βI love you too. Donβt think this will get you out of the conversation, though. Once you are feeling better, we are talking about this. Everything.β
Colt thinks about each attempt on his life, all those that were pathetic, reckless, and stupid. He thinks about pain pills and scars on his wrists and the taste of gasoline.
He doesnβt want Jody to be privy to that part of him, but he knows she should be anyway. He nods and sighs.
βEverything.β He agrees.
He holds his hands carefully in his lap as Jody heads back around to the driverβs side. She pulls herself in and works on adjusting the seat. She asks for the keys, inserts them, and starts the car, ready to head back home.
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Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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14 year old me possessed me and suddenly I can draw Markiplier recognizably
Anywho body sheet for Simon. Basically just base what he looked like before the movie and most of the time during it, and then him in a universe where he survived and healed from all the boiling and mutating ickiness.