Hermitcraft oneshots

.•⦁ I Fear Failure More Than Death ⦁•.

Alternative title: Cutting for relief
Genre?: angst
Notes/prompt/idea: idk
Ship: none
TW: SH, panic attack(?) thoughts of death and sewerslide, atychiphobia  (fear of failure (i think)
(tell me if I missed any?)

High school au

@Hermit-of-Fanic Cat Grian Will ben the next update :) thought I might get it done for today but I have like a thousand tests 😭

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•Third person following Grian POV•

Grian hadn't taken up cutting because he wanted to die, but because he was so stressed he couldn't remember the last time he felt relaxed. This is what he told himself every time he cut, but he didn't know if the argument held any truth anymore.

School had really taken over his life, with homework and tests all stacking up to make one big pile of work to stress about. It weighed on his shoulders, giving him no relief from the tension.

He cut to forget the work that was due, and it helped. When he slid the razor over his skin, the stress all disappeared from his mind. In that moment all his brain could think of was the pain that came from the cuts. But he welcomed the feeling, with tears streaming down his checks, happy that for that one moment the stress was gone.

But the moment never stayed long enough to really get to enjoy it, and he cut more and more, deeper and deeper.
One for the upcoming math test, two for the French test because he even dared to think he was ready for it, three for the English test because he didn't review what he was supposed to learn, and four for the homework he just couldn't seem to get done, and an extra few he didn't dare count for the thought he deserved all that he had.

He wanted to keep going, but he forced himself to stop. He had gym tomorrow and covering the cuts he already had was going to be hard enough. If the others found out they would make him stop, but he didn't want to stop. It felt too good.

He sat on the floor for a little, soaking up all the pain signals his nerves sent his brain, while sitting in a pile of his own blood.

He sighed when all the school work came back to the front of his mind as he started bandaging his arms and legs. He felt dizzy from blood loss, but he pushed himself to finish taking care of the cuts.

He had a test for math upcoming Monday, and he didn't feel nearly smart enough to get a passing grade. Last time he had done a test with this material, he had flunked, hard. He cried about it because the first grade of the whole school year and it was going to be hard to get his math grade up again after such a rough beginning.

He feared failure more then death at this point.

He was so scared he would loose his friends if he didn't get high enough grades to go to the next year. He couldn't imagine having to sit with all new people, who knew he had failed and that was why he was pushed back a class.

But what if his friends didn't even care if he stayed in the same class? What if they weren't his friends at all?

He started doubting. Doubting his friends would care if he were alive, doubting he would make it through the school year, and doubting he would even make it to his next birthday.

He stopped in this tracks, realizing he might be right, and he stared at his disheveled form that stared back in the mirror. The face that looked back at him was not him, only a person that resembled himself. There was no way he looked like that.
This person was pale and had bags under their eyes. Grian didn't look like that.

But when he touched his face, the reflection followed his move. He felt the wetness of the streaks tears left on him, he felt the uneven skin of his face, he felt the scratches he had at his hairline from the tearing at his hair.

He finally figured that it was indeed him and that he looked a mess.

But Grian couldn't care less. His friends probably wouldn't want to hang out with him anyway. He canceled plans too many times because of homework and tests. He was a stick in the mud, and no one wanted anything to do with him.

The tears started up again as his mind told him lie after lie, convincing him his friends all secretly hated him, that he was too stupid to even pass a simple math test, that his fear of failure was an irrational fear, the list went on and on.

He leaned against the cupboard, his crying getting louder and louder every minute.

He couldn't get his mind to shut up. All of the thoughts stormed his brain, making him unable to register anything but the pain of the words.

Failure
Failure
Failure
Failure
Failure
You're such a failure
You're such a failure
You're such a failure
You're such a failure
You're such a failure
I'm such a failure
I'm such a failure
I'm such a failure
I'm such a failure
I'm such a failure
I'm a failure
I'm a failure
I'm a failure
I'm a failure
I'm a failur-

Abruptly a hand grabbed his, scaring the poor, panic-stricken boy out of his wits.

He fought and clawed and scratched and bit but the person didn't back down. They held his hands to their chest, keeping them from scratching his arms.

Still the boy wailed on. He was stuck and he couldn't move. He couldn't hurt himself anymore to get the thoughts to go away. He hurt all over but he couldn't admit it.

Suddenly a second pair of hands aided the first pair in the struggle to keep his hands still while yet another pair of hands pulled him to their chest.

He kept up the fight and refused to give in. He got one hand free and he struck one of his attackers, earning him a howl of pain and surprise.

He didn't dare stop the fight that he was clearly about to gain the upper hand in, as he scratched at another figure. His hearing was muffled and his vision was blurry with tears.

He fought as if his life depended on it, his brain in fight of flight mode. But his lack of self care caught up to him soon enough, and his brain began to get fuzzier than it already was. The battle was over before it had really begun.

The blood loss had kicked in and he couldn't keep his eyes open anymore, there wasn't a possibility he could win the fight against three persons in his weak state, and he accepted it.

A figure hugged him from behind and started humming the tune of a lullaby his mother sung him when he was little, and his eyes began to get droopy.

He couldn't open them any longer to see the person holding him, but his last wish to the universe before falling into the world of slumber was that he would never wake up again.

Maybe death was better than this hard life, with so much stress. Maybe death was better than failure.