Colby Brock whump one-shots

Self harm TW!

Tw: Self harm, depreciating view of self, negative thoughts, slight anorexia. Please take care <3

Request ~ Platonic Solby, suicidal/self-depreciating Colby who cuts himself as a means of calming down before their exploration videos. Usually no one would notice the scars that Colby covers up with leather jackets, but today it's too hot, so getting a little too comfortable in the situation, Colby lets himself wear just a t-shirt and jeans hoping no one would notice, Sam does. And tells the others about. And on the way home he prompts a conversation about it. Posted on AO3 🙃

Huge thanks to f4iryvenus for this idea and to Eja_Mayland for inadvertently giving me a boost to finish this haha x

The boy stood in front of a mirror, it was illuminated by the room's lights, casting a beautiful glare of its surface. But the boy was staring at it with a sense of disgust. A look of pure hatred. And judging from this scene you would question why. And for good reason.

You see, Colby Brock has always been insecure, worrying about his hair, clothes, weight. You name it, he's stressed over it. But isn't it natural for people to have little insecurities? People stress over their perfectly fine nose that to them is too big, their beautifully shaped lips being too small, their body being overweight when in all reality it's beautiful.

Well, it all started with that, the little things, the growing concern if something didn't look 'quite right' but where did this all go to the next extreme?

The comments. The problem with being social-media famous is the haters. The type of haters who strive to bring others down, make it their life goal, or there's those innocent haters. The subtle ones who say 'Has he gained weight?' or 'That laugh made me jump out my skin lol, it was so loud!' Both kinds contributed to Colby Brock standing in the mirror today.

The occasional comment, dm or video edit he brushed off, but sometimes they would play in his mind, the pictures engraved on the inside of his eyelids when he tried to sleep.

As Colby scrolled through TikTok, seeing men with unrealistic bodies being unrealistically happy with their unrealistically loving comments he snapped. He stormed to the mirror, where a beautiful boy stared back, but the stare turned into a glare, of hatred.

The comments flowed to his mind, each one having more impact and truth than the last. His eyes scanned over his own body, no longer able to look at it with any other emotion than anger, hatred and sadness.

His hand glided over his skin despising the feeling, but he couldn't stop, his eyes welled with tears, stupid tears. So absorbed in his own pain and wallowing in it.

Gingerly he pulled up his hoodie sleeve, looking at the skin that was different to the rest of his body, red angry lines littered the skin, marring his body. Some were deeper than others, some still had the blood clotted into orbs of blood that fascinated him. He had only started again recently. Something about holding that razor blade filled him with something, an emotion that wasn't like what he had felt. But then he pictured Sam and all his other friends and he couldn't cut.

Well, that worked for a few hours, like that night when he couldn't sleep and his mind wasn't functioning like it should, he cut. He broke his own promise he made when he last did what he was now doing. (I think I just had a stroke writing that last sentence.)

His eyes still on the figure infront of him, his hands itched to feel the blade in his hand, itched to slice it and see the mesmerising pattern of the blood seeping out the pink, narrow lines.

"Colby!" A voice from the other side of the door shouted, disrupting him from his thoughts, "Sam's making pancakes, you want some?"

He was about to say no, no he didn't deserve that. He didn't deserve to eat. Because this was bad. He knew he shouldn't cut, so why did he? He knew he was overweight so why did he eat? His stomach's protests when he opened his mouth to refuse seemed to answer for him as he quietly said yes to Elton and heard him run downstairs, feeling himself loathe more and more with each receding footstep. Before he too, had to follow suit.