Hermitcraft Oneshots

No more what ifs

Songfic of 'No more what ifs' from persona 5 royal. Sub zero chill. I really recomend listenibg to it while reading, adds a vibe.

Tw: cheating, mentions of sex

Not proofread, we die like kings
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People come and they go

Doc collapsed into a heap on the bar, barely holding back tears as he waited for the bartender to notice him.

His prothesis laid dumbly on the table before him, he had messed with the settings, his emotions were running too high to risk leaving it on normal, afraid he'd hit someone or break it.

Out of reflex, he went to twirl the wedding band on his fleshy ring finger, before he realized.

He had thrown it across the room in a daze of anger, but now that dust was beginning to settle, he could see the jagged hills that had risen from the earth just to spite him.

Oh, Bdubs, why'd you have to do it?

"Whats your pleasure?" Doc was drowned out of his thoughts by the bartender, an average height ginger with a British accent.

When Doc glanced up, he wasn't surprised at what he saw. Her expression was one of calm, a sort of natural grace in every flutter of her muddy-red lashes. There was something blank about her expression, however, a sort of emptiness that was a hairs-breath away from artificial.

Some people may stay with you though

Doc waved his organic hand dismissively, "whatever's strongest," he murmured as he felt his mechanical fingers tighten and curl without his input.

He had to wait less than a minute for a mixture to be put in front of him, something in a big glass with a shit ton of ice cubes and a slice of lime.

His organic hand was shaking far too much to hold his drink, but just enough so he was still able to adjust the settings on his artificial arm. A few tweaks later and his arm was but a shovel for his drinks, pouring down the hatch alcohol by the gallon.

I am all alone tonight and I kept on.. Asking myself questions

The bartender, concerned, picked up small talk with her patron, words like winds on a late fall day, refreshing, cooling, and grounding. They anchored Doc to reality.

Here. Now. He was here. Now. At a bar. Drunk. Spilling his life story to the bartender. An attractive woman in his age range.

"He.. fucking.. cheat- we ar- were married.." a single, fat tear rolled down the fleshy side of his face. It had been swelling on his lashes for quite some time now, the potent mix of alcohol, anger, and sorrow twisting his intestines to knots, squeezing tears out of his body.

"An- and I just.. don't.. know.. he cheated on me.. with my best.. fr.. and.." before Doc could finish speaking, his prosthetic malfunctioned, its grip tightening to a fist- shattering the glass it held before Doc could stop it.

He nearly fell off his bar stool, "shit! So- sorry, fuck- um- god, uh- pass me some paper towels I.. I can.."

Even after the glass had been cleaned up, he apologized profusely.