Grian Oneshots!!

Please? [Angst/Hurt/Comfort] READ TW

well this came later than expected

im so sorry it's been a really stressful three weeks i see all of your comments i promise and i love each and every one of you for taking the time to write that on MY book of all books thank you guys so much <3

so here's some angst I wrote late at night so I could try and get something out for you

TWs:
- s3lf h4rm/cvtt1ng
- blades
- breakdown/crying

again, if you s3lf h4rm, please stop and get professional help. it's not a healthy thing to do. i get that a lot of people (myself included) like writing/reading about heavy topics like this, but it's not a joke. stay safe guys <3

Quiet and erratic sobs can be heard as the blonde avian shakes on the floor of his bathroom. He holds his legs close to his body, slightly rocking back and forth.

He had been collecting some sand in a desert just half an hour ago and had encountered a few rabbits, which hadn't exactly done him any good.

Quickly standing up, Grian shakily exits the bathroom and heads to his storage room, rummaging through random chests. The avian breathes out heavily while taking out a shulker box, the contents rustling inside as he places it on the ground and unscrews the top. After placing it on the ground, the blonde carefully looks through the unorganized items before laying his eyes on an iron dagger. Impulse had gifted it to Grian at the beginning of the season, and it has a darker-metal hilt with a leather grip, and adorns smaller ruby gemstones with a bigger one right above where the blade meets the hilt. The blade itself, made out of iron, shines in the light and has a few curves carved into the edges.

Acknowledging the tears rolling down his face, his unhappiness, and the dagger in his hands, Grian rolls up his left sleeve and lifts the blade to his skin. He applies pressure for a good ten seconds, observing as blood slowly starts to bead, lining the edge of the blade. After waiting a few seconds more, Grian quickly slides the blade across his forearm, watching the blood start to seep out from the thin line.

Staring at the cut, Grian cries quietly, only the occasional sniffle breaking the silence. Pain resonates from it, and the avian knows he shouldn't like it. He shouldn't want more. But he does. And so he repositions the knife on a different spot on his forearm and slices the skin again, allowing blood to drip from the wound. Repeatedly. And each time he does, he cries harder. He broke his promise to Taurtis.

The blonde isn't sure how long he does this, or how many cuts he makes, but by the time he's done, a lot of blood rolls down his arms and a few medium-sized pools of blood lay around him on the floor.

Picking his head up, he walks back to the bathroom and runs the blade under cold water, cleaning the blood off of it. After the dagger is clean, Grian takes a washcloth and runs it under warm water, bringing it to his arms to wipe the blood off. It stings, but it's not like it affects the avian. Grabbing two more washcloths and a bottle of hydrogen peroxide, Grian returns to the storage room and leans down to wipe the blood off the floor. After it's all soaked into the washcloths, the blonde pours some hydrogen peroxide on the spots where the blood once was and wipes the floor gently, effectively removing any evidence.

Just as the avian finishes cleaning the bloodied washcloths and hangs them up to dry, he hears a knock at his front door.

"Coming!" he yells out, swiftly drying his hands and placing the dagger on a chest, making sure his sleeves are down, and jogging to his front door.

He swings it open and greets Impulse with a smile.

"Hey! Come inside!" Grian opens the door more, beckoning the imp inside.