My Hermitcraft One Shots

First Time he Kissed a Boy (Trigger Warning)

Troubled face

Everything inside his stomach burned, his lungs filled with air but it was frozen and felt like his might actually be inhaling the icicles that hung from the houses. It hurt, but he kept walking. He couldn't figure out where he was heading, but knew that it was anywhere but home. With a shudder, he wrapped his arms tighter around himself. The dull red colored sweater was many years old, stretched out and full of holes. It was ugly and showed the black shirt between the knit holes. Once he got to the bus stop, he pulled out his wallet and grabbed a dollar, the last dollar, and waited.

Headphones on

There was a moment where the burn stopped and he almost smiled at seeing the bus drive up the street, but the number didn't match up to the stop. He pressed his back hard against the cold, metal pole and finally felt the liquid on his face. After wiping his eyes, he knew that was just tears, and after the day he had that made sense, and where he expected snot from his nose there was a dark red in it's place. Blood.

Forgetting time and place

He remembered what happened but he didn't want to think. The burn of the feeling returned to his face and he released a choked sob. "I'm sorry," he whimpered to the faceless hand that slammed into him in his memories. With another sob he slid down the pole and curled up on himself. I didn't want this. Nobody wanted this. Why did it have to be me? It burned in his throat and he shook.

All he wanted

The bus passed, not even stopping for him there. It made sense, after all. He was nothing but a short, scrawny teenager who looked all but homeless. But that bus trip would have been nice. That was the last bus that ran today, he knew by the sun setting in the corner of the sky. He shook with fear and panicked. What else was there? Go home, his mind yelled, but he couldn't do it. He couldn't just go home after everything that happened that day. More burning happened as he threw up on the ground. Now his lungs, swollen eye and throat felt the same empty burning.

Feeling stuck

He could always call for help. But who would help him. Who would help some ugly kid who looks like he lost a fight with a bus? Who would help some dumb-ass who caught feels for the Prom King? He burned as the realization came to truth and choked another sob leading to him throwing up again. Nothing but bile came up and he couldn't keep his eyes open long enough to see the head lights that were closing in on him.

Set him free

Nothing mattered anyway, he mused and then curled in on himself more, gagging and dry heaving from the ugly scene. The cars didn't stop but there were asshole kids throwing things onto the mess of man, if you could call him that. Blood, tears, vomit, grape Slurpee, a bottle filled with who-knows-what that exploded when it hit the ground and splashed back up. He was soaking. What as next? Freezing rain?

Running out of luck

And that was just what happened next. The dark sky coated in black paint and then unzipped and pour freezing hate directly onto the soaked toddler. All the words that he had ever been called rang in his mind. Faggot, fairy, worthless, homo, dumb-ass, ugly, troll, slut, they were all stupid and didn't mean a thing until they came from his mouth.

On his knees

First time he kissed a boy

When they were little, Grian and Scar were best friends. The latter actually didn't have his iconic nickname or his namesake scar before. They were not just friends, they knew from talking about their feelings that they would never fully be. Grian loved him from the first say that he moved to America and met him, though he didn't know what the feeling actually meant.