Hermitcraft Oneshots and Requests

Familiar.

Sorry for the lack of updates. I've been incredibly, incredibly busy, and we've been promised tests nonstop until March :')

Requested by One_Pan_Band on discord

I apologise for keeping you waiting for so long. Hope you enjoy this.

TW; trauma
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Word Count: 2030
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Grian held his newly coloured sweatshirt up to the sky, letting the sunshine bleed through the small gaps in the fibre. He hadn't had a second thought when he had begun to do this; a hermit challenge was a hermit challenge, and he needed to do it. However, there was something unsettling to him about the blue sweatshirt that he had in his grip. Something that didn't sit well with him. He wondered what it was.

Perhaps it was simply that it wasn't his signature red. Perhaps the new colour was throwing him off. After all, blue just wasn't his colour. It was-

He huffed softly and shoved the shirt onto himself, struggling momentarily to pull the sleeves through his arms. The ordeal was short. He made sure that it didn't last any longer than it needed to. Hints of a memory he had long forgotten began to return to his mind, yet he shook away his thoughts. This was a dare. Nothing more, and nothing less. The thick fabric clung to his skin like nettles to cloth, and he felt as though he were losing the air to breathe.

'It's fine…', he reaffirmed with himself. 'I'll be just fine…'

He wasn't fine. Far from it. He gripped his chest, desperately trying to soothe his racing heart. His eyes widened, staring blankly at the dark oak floorboards of his mansion, his mind drifting far, far away from where he was. Memories from another world, another time, took its place instead.

This wasn't what he had wanted.

This was never what he had wanted.

But since when did he have control over his very own life? Since when had he found the sheer audacity to have his own free thoughts? Since when had he been allowed to discard the colour blue?

Since when?

Grian gasped loudly and fell to his knees, sputtering and choking for air as tears pricked the corners of his eyes. "I'm fine…" he told himself, voice barely above a broken whisper. "I-I'm perfect…"

He knew that he wasn't. No one was perfect. And he was far from it. However, he needed to be. The sweater stuck to his skin, unwilling to let go just like the memories that he had promised to leave behind. Still, he had to do this for his friends. For his best friend.

For Taurtis.

Grian shook his head, over, and over, and over again, embracing the nauseating feeling and throwing the thought away. He yelled, loud and audibly as he tried desperately to clear his mind. Taurtis was a name that no longer existed. To him, it was dead. His memories were, too. It was the only way that he could ever hope to move on.

"Dead"

He reminded himself.

"Taurtis is dead! Sam is dead! Everyone, everyone from that horrid place is dead"

He covered his ears, and cowered away from his own deafening thoughts. Soft murmurs of villagers and the faint clicks of working machinery filled the room. Grian opted to focus on them instead. He didn't want to focus on the past that he had long left behind. It was a part of him that would forever cloud his future, no matter how hard he tried to suppress it. He would never truly get away from the harrowing fragments of his mind.