Goldric/Huntric Oneshots!

Again (Edric/bit of Goldric)

(TW: self-harm, suicidal thoughts)

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Little bit of backstory: Edric has poor mental health. In this oneshot, Edric is around 17. Him and Hunter are dating.

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Edric currently laid in his bed, staring up at his ceiling, listening to the flurry of thoughts going through his mind. Most were berating him for not being asleep yet.

He let out a heavy sigh, looking to his scroll to check the time.

2:49am.

"Great." He huffed pulling his pillow over his face. "Another night of staying up late. Just what I needed." He complained, sarcasm clearly laced in his voice.

He allowed himself to let out a small whine before he pulled his pillow from his face. Was he mentally stable? Not really. Did he want to talk about it? No. He refused to talk about it. Even if it cost him his mental health.

He slowly sat himself up, throwing his blanket off of him as he brought his knees up to his chest, gently picking at a scab he had gotten on his knee. He sighed as he began to listen to his thoughts once again.

You're just making things more difficult.

You're going to annoy your sisters with this staying up all night shit.

What would Odalia say to you right now? She'd probably go on and on about how a Blight can't have dark circles under their eyes. She'd probably tell you that you're ruining your complexion.

Why can't you just do what you're supposed to?

Be a good kid.

You're useless.

You're the dumbest Blight in your family.

You act on impulse and get yourself hurt.

Why do you do that?

Is it because deep down, you know that everything would be easier if you were gone?

Edric groaned, grabbing his pillow and throwing it against the wall. "That's not true! Quit telling me that! -" he said to- well, no one. He was alone.

He huffed, ignoring the tears welling up in his eyes as he rose from his bed. He made his way over to his vanity, taking a seat in front of the mirror as he opened a drawer, searching for his scissors.

This was always his solution when he found himself panicking. It wasn't healthy, he knew that. But he also knew that it would stop the thoughts from flowing so quickly.

He narrowed his eyes and slammed the drawer shut, opening the other. He didn't care how loud he was being. No one would come to check up on him.

He let out a quick huff as he removed the scissors from the drawer. He slowly took in a deep breath, his gaze shifting to his reflection in the mirror. He could easily spot everything he hated about himself without his concealment stone in the moment.

He hated how his hair was a mess of curls. He hated the small amount of facial hair he had. He hated his glasses. He hated the way his face was shaped more like a baby's than a teen's.

But most of all...

He hated himself.

He took in a sharp breath as he ripped his gaze from the mirror, taking the scissors and making three slices along his left wrist. He watched as the blood began to flow from the wounds, trailing down his arm. He took some wrap and began wrapping it around his wrist before any of the blood could get onto his clothes or floor.