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tunastime · 25 days

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do androids dream of electric sheep?

I am nothing if not a vessel for self-indulgent docsuma, especially @shepscapades's dbhc self-indulgent docsuma. sometimes you fall asleep in the lab, and sometimes your friend feels compelled to make sure you're okay <3

(3964 words)

Doc sometimes slips into daydream.

It’s not unlike him. He’d been doing it for some time now, some fix halfway between awake and Sleep Mode. Not quite his mind palace, but still wedged into predictive processes, still trying to work to replay memories. In quiet moments, more often than not, he finds that it’s easier to slip away, to tuck himself into his work, drafting, or building, or walking thoughtful circles and let the mechanical parts of his mind slip away into calculation.

In those same dreams, he tries to calculate the probability of events with what he has, blocking out the movements of who he knows best, who he may be able to pinpoint. He works in quiet as his mind runs in the background, wondering how conversations may go, how actions could be perceived. He maps what might happen if someone got hurt, or if someone needed help, or if someone fell asleep in the lab. Someone. Just anyone. He tells himself it could be anyone, but he would be lying if he didn’t know who.

It was hard, right—it felt wrong if he didn’t. Something he was designed to do, put to waste because it felt silly to imagine waking his lab partner, his friend, making sure he was alright, helping him. Was it wrong to want to be helpful? Was it wrong to want anything? It feels—it’s silly. Want was such a human word. He’s not sure he can really want at all. The paper in front of him is getting fuzzy around the edges, though, as he forces himself back into his true waking mode, and focuses on the task in front of him, now a line of text in his eyesight.

Doc leans hard on his hand, cupped around the side of his jaw as he studies the plans in front of him. He’s long since set them to memory, easily recalled with the summon of command, but he works out the fine details of the draft in front of him, still unsatisfied with his new creation. He works quietly, mentally mapping the lists of supplies he might need, the time it may take. If he were to concentrate the slightest bit more on the display in the corner of his vision, he might note how late it had gotten. Without any windows down here, the night sky can’t leak in, which means Doc doesn’t know it’s gotten dark until Xisuma starts to yawn or he manages to peek outside.

He sets his pad down, eyes skimming the surface. Right, and where was X, anyway? The space, ever growing, up, down, sideways, that he used as his lab had gone still and quiet some time ago. Enough for Doc to take note of. Enough to be a little odd, he would assume, even for him, and the behaviors he knows well from Xisuma. Xisuma didn’t just wander off without a word—he was much too narrative for that. Doc sits up, hand falling to the table.

“X?” he asks, furrowing his eyebrows. The room stays quiet, aside from the hum of recirculating air and electronics. Doc taps his hand against the table—it was some sort of tic he’d picked up from Ren, a sign of his impatience. He couldn’t shake the habit of mimicking it while he was thinking.

Okay, right. Last time he saw X. He gathers up the recall of the path Xisuma would’ve taken from his side, checking over his work at Doc’s request, and around the lab itself, looping back to a series of benches to work on. Leaning from his spot, he tries to pinpoint the peek of green helmet or shoulder piece. He finds neither in the direct line of sight, though, and slowly, bracing his prosthetic arm on the table, Doc stands.

It’s a gentle quiet that fills the room, nice and easy and soft to step through as Doc makes his way around the space. Despite having another work bench quite close, Xisuma had a habit of leaving his stuff about, flitting between projects as he saw fit. It was interesting, sometimes, to watch him move around the room—not that Doc had done any of that. He seemed to bounce from point to point, sometimes staying still for hours, unmoving, lost in work. It was in those hours that Doc found himself watching, just for a moment, studying the shallow curve of his nose and the way his hair fell into his face from behind his helmet.

His office is here, too. Though it’s no different than any other working space in terms of equipment, the space itself is fully outfitted, lined with tools and a large work table, his computer, a desk with a chair. Through the glass, he can see the shape of Xisuma at his desk, likely too caught up in whatever he had been working on to notice Doc’s concern. Doc pauses as he slides open the door, standing in the doorway, announcing himself to the cluttered room.

“Xisuma,” Doc starts. “I know it’s late, if you want to head home, I’m sure I can finish…”

Xisuma is slumped over on his desk as Doc enters. There’s a brief moment, no more than a second, where Doc’s mind spins a scenario hard and fast, the crumpled shape of Xisuma over his desk. But he can see the slow rise and fall of his shoulders. He registers the slow, steady heartbeat in Xisuma’s chest, and his shoulders sag with relief. He stands in the doorway for a moment. Xisuma looks small, head pillowed on his arms. He’s still running a series of code on the console next to him, which illuminates the back of his head in pale lines of data. His hair falls half loose across his shoulder, like he’d forgotten to finish tying it away from his face, and the slow, deep breaths make it seem like he’d been sleeping here a lot longer than Doc realized. He’s without his helmet, too, which sits beside him on the desk, discarded.

Long enough to get a sore neck and complain about his upper back hurting. Long enough to worry that he might not be getting enough oxygen. Doc sets his shoulders. There’s something in his chest that feels like it skips—regulator, pump, or otherwise. They work in tandem to produce whatever fluttery feeling invades the space where his ribs should be. He presses the heel of his synthetic hand against the depression of his chest, rolling his wrist. The feeling fades for a moment, shuddering through his wrists like it might rest there. He was never going to get used to it, was he?

He steps into the lab proper, sticking his hands into his pockets. He picks his way around the room, trying to walk quietly around it. Xisuma stays asleep, shoulders rising and falling in that even tempo. Doc crouches beside him—Xisuma is properly slumped, back curved forward as he rests. What little Doc can see of his face is soft with sleep, eyelids fluttering just so. When X doesn’t move, he rests his palm over the curve of his shoulder, gentle and slow. He tries not to focus on the fact that so much of his face is exposed to him, aside from just his eyes and the bridge of his nose. He’s seen him before, briefly, every so often, but it was so different watching him now, calm and comfortable. Doc forces himself to focus.

“Xisuma,” he says, voice dipping low and quiet. He runs his hand over the part of his shoulderblade he can reach. He pats the high of his back. “Xisuma, hey…”

X takes a long breath in, making a squeaky sort of sound high in his chest. Doc feels him hum out from under his hand.

“Doc,” he says, voice rumbling in his chest. It was a tired sort of rumble, just on the edge of being rough with sleep, just enough to bring that feeling back to Doc’s internal components, like thirium was sludging too quick too warm through him. He huffs a little breath, a sound caught in his throat.

“You fell asleep at your desk, X,” Doc says, not able to weasel the amusement out of his voice. He runs his hand over his back again, just to see Xisuma’s eyes open tiredly, and shut again. It was so unlike the version of him that he knew in his mind, seeing him savor the brief contact, even from Doc. Especially from Doc. Xisuma was always the one reaching out for him, repairing or correcting or studying. All with purpose. There was no lingering touch between them. And though this had its purpose too, Doc lingered, feeling Xisuma breathe under his hand.

“Sorry,” X mumbles, finally moving to lift his head, to open his eyes. Doc’s hand slides away as X sits up, over his back and back to Doc’s side. Xisuma blinks, rubbing the sleep from his eyes with the heel of his hands. A frown comes between his eyes as he tries to focus the world around him a little clearer. Like it were mimicking the score across his cheek and nose, there’s a fine indent pressed into his cheek. Doc smiles at him, scrunching his nose in a way he’s seen X do a hundred times.

Xisuma jolts, half reaching for the helmet beside him. If Doc were to really look, he might see the pink-red flush over his cheeks and ears.

“Sorry—I didn’t…”

There he lingers, halfway to reaching. Doc looks away from him, purposefully averting his eyes.

“I don’t mind,” he says. “You have to be comfortable too.”

Xisuma hums, smiling a little, hanging his head as he leaves his hand on the table.

“Hah,” he says, ears still pink. “Right. Sorry, sorry, Doc. Didn’t mean to worry you.”

“It’s okay,” he says. “I didn’t know where you had gone off to, so I figured I would come make sure you were okay.”

X nods. Doc watches him twist around, hearing the faint give and pop as his spine adjusts to sitting upright.

“‘M alright,” he says. Then he laughs a bit—the sound is airy and half in his chest, enough to shake his shoulders but more of a wheeze than anything else. Everything fit so well to the timbre of Xisuma’s voice, it seemed, be it the way he moved about, or the way he laughed, or the way his shoulder sloped or face was shaped. Not that Doc had been looking. Regardless, Xisuma sighs, and smiles back at him.

“Just embarrassed is all,” he manages. “Thanks, Doc. I appreciate you.”

X leans back in his chair. Doc watches him resettle and hum to himself as he gets comfortable against the plush backing. Doc makes a clipped sound, reaches out and moves away again, halfway between shaking him awake and letting him sleep.

“X,” he says. “Would it not be more comfortable if you were sleeping in your spare room?”

Xisuma frowns.

“Would be,” he says, eyes still closed, mumbling. “It just gets awfully cold in there. ‘N if I’m perfectly comfortable in here, why not stay tha’way?”

It’s almost amusing, the trickle of stubbornness that leaks into the tired slur of Xisuma’s voice. It’s almost endearing. He watches X fold his arms over his chest, armor only partly discarded, watches his face wrinkle as he notices and tries to rearrange himself. Doc smiles, something that he simply can’t help—it feels so right, considering how ridiculous this is. He considers his options and weighs the success rates, the action taking a fraction of a second in time, though the scene plays out in his head in full.

“Because you’ll hurt your back,” Doc says plainly. X frowns, clearly mulling it over. There—that’s one that Doc knows, that face, where X slips into thought and worries the inside of his cheek and works his jaw. Doc raises his eyebrows, as if to question him without saying anything, without Xisuma even looking at him.

“Mhh,” Xisuma huffs. He pulls his knees up. Somehow, he manages to fit himself into his desk chair, curling his tall body over his knees and leaning sideways into the back. Doc hums, makes the approximation of the sound he knows.

“Xisuma,” he says. “I’m not going to let you sleep in that chair, you know. You are being stubborn.”

“M‘kay, okay…” Xisuma wheezes, finally uncurling himself.

It takes him a second. Watching Xisuma stretch and blink awake is like watching him come to life. He stretches up and around, face pulling as he likely unsuccessfully shakes the tension from the line of his spine. As he twists, he freezes, face scrunching all at once as he winces, hand shooting up to cup his neck.

“Ow. Jeez.”

He can see it tight in his shoulders and neck, even as X deflates, looking up at him blearily, still slightly slumped in his chair. His eyes shut again.

“Xisuma…” Doc says, mouth twisting.

X sighs.

“‘M fine, Doc,” he manages to murmur out. “Just’a sore neck. Mm’exhausted.”

“Sounds like you need a real bed, mm?” Doc replies, setting his hands on his hips. Xisuma peeks at him, one eye opening, and shutting again.

He sees the fraction of a smile lift the corners of X’s mouth.

“Sure, sure…”

Doc looks over Xisuma’s face. With his eyes shut, face softening, hair tumbling over one shoulder, he looks comfortable. It’s as if someone took a brush to his features and smoothed out any hard edge—either that, or the static has leaked back into Doc’s vision. He feels a chug in his chest and his joints as he locks up.

X hasn’t moved. Doc reaches out, tapping his knee. Xisuma huffs, clearly startled from the half-sleep he’d drifted back into.

“Too tired t’stand,” he manages. Doc makes a questioning noise.

“I think you can make it,”

There’s a beat of silence. Xisuma cracks an eye open again, shuts it, furrowing his eyebrows. Doc watches him curiously, mind running through the list of possible scenarios. He’s made it part way when Xisuma says:

“‘M using you t’stand, then.”

And he makes a little, amused heh, before he says:

“That’s fine.”

There’s something he means to say alongside that, but as soon as X’s very warm, very human hand makes contact with the fabric of his lab coat and the cool synthetic of his arm, he loses focus. He should be used to this—the amount of times X has performed his routine maintenance, sweeping his hands over the replaced shoulder joint to check for seams, or made sure the regulator functioned, or backed up personal data, fingers skimming the shallow port at the back of his neck. He should be, but that contact alone sends a prickling-warm jolt up his arm. It feels foreign to let the touch linger. But Xisuma lingers regardless, hand flat against the space where Doc’s left ribs should be. He’s gone from holding, to simply sitting there, arm bent at the elbow, held weakly up.

“Mrghh…” he complains. Doc taps his elbow, trying to jolt him back awake.

“C’mon, X, you can get up.”

X shakes his head slowly, his hand finding the inner curve of his prosthetic arm, squeezing just once, like he’s remembering it’s there. Then, X leans into him, all at once, slumping into his chest. Doc lets out a wouf in surprise. He holds still, aside from the simulated breath in his chest. After a moment, Xisuma makes a small, tired sound, almost like a laugh.

“Houfh,” he mumbles. “I, mm, don’t…don’t think ‘m gonna make it, Doc.”

“Mhm…” Doc chides.

Xisuma laughs again, lying still for a moment, voice still heavy with sleep. There’s a moment where he shifts, and there’s a small, painful noise that he makes.

“Ow, mrrgh—ow, okay—” he gripes. Doc’s synthetic hand finds the curve of his shoulder, patting gently.

“Oh, X—just…stay still, mhm?”

“Mm,” Xisuma says tiredly, “Alright.”

As much as he wants to move him, X is still wearing that damn armor.

Doc lets him lean into his chest as he tries to weasel off the bits of armor left over. It’s a struggle, keeping X comfortable and trying not to pull him around awkwardly, while trying to remove his chestplate with one hand. Once the armor pulls away, he resettles him, slowly scoops one hand under his legs. Something about this, about the way Xisuma leaned heavy into him, felt so painfully human he feels it curl up between the wires connecting his regulator to his side fans.

“Ready?” he says, mostly to the top of Xisuma’s head.

“Mmh…” X murmurs.

He hefts him into his arms, settling him against his chest. When Xisuma sighs, it’s profound and heavy and he tucks his face into Doc’s coat. Doc can feel the remnant of heartbeat from where his arm rests behind his back, thudding away behind his ribs. His breathing stays even, though shallow. One of Xisuma’s hands clasps over the back of his neck, keeping him still.

It’s a careful walk to Xisuma’s spare room. Doc is careful not to bump anything, measuring the subtle rise and fall of his chest as he walks. He drifts back to sleep, though, through the lab, through Doc shutting the lights off. He’ll have to come back through to power down their various computers, but for now, the dull white-blue glow illuminates the room. He carries him into the halls and through and to his room. It’s smaller than the room in his base by a sizable margin—just enough for the essentials. X stirs as Doc pauses to flip on the lamp, the light warm and yellow briefly illuminating the room. This can’t be a daydream, now, with the way X sighs and wriggles himself free as Doc pulls back the quilts and lets him down. He sits down with him, and the warm shape that Xisuma makes curls toward him, just a fraction, as he pulls the blankets over him.

Part of Doc knows that Xisuma won’t remember him carrying him to bed, or making sure he was warm, or keeping the light on so he wasn’t disoriented when he woke. Xisuma sighs, sinking into the pillows, expression relaxed and content. Doc hums.

“That’s better, yeah?” Doc says. He reaches out, instinct, want, desire, something, hammering away in his chest, as he brushes hair from X’s face, tucking it behind his ear. He brushes through the hair close to the base of his neck, across his cheek with his synthetic thumb. His dark hair is fine and soft and it must be a daydream—or it isn’t and he was right, because there have been moments like this in his head. Wondering if Xisuma would let himself succumb to soft comforts. He’s spent his own share of time lying next to him, ignoring the way Xisuma curls up next to him, pretending he himself didn’t move closer when Xisuma lies still. It was this dance that Doc didn’t understand, that he wasn’t sure if he was overthinking. Or overstepping. But Xisuma shifts, pressing his cheek to Doc’s synthetic palm, and Doc suppresses a shudder. It sparks something that could’ve been painful right up his arm and through his chest, bright and warm and staticky.

Doc hums, smiling to himself. Something like a dull thrum knocks in that space of his pump, pushing itself a little further, a little harder. It was sweet. X trusts him, not only to see him without his armor, but to help him to bed, to help him sleep. But Doc lifts his hand away, feeling that ache, the nervous shudder through his system.

X makes a sound, then, something small, eyes fluttering as Doc pulls away. Doc pauses.

“Mhh,” X manages. Doc swallows—he shouldn’t have to. That’s not something he should have to do, or be able to do, but the action just feels appropriate. It goes right along with sighing and laughing, and as he does it, Xisuma says:

“Thanks,” in a small, soft voice, and, muffled, and slightly slurred with sleep: “Didn’t have’ta stop.”

“You’re supposed to be sleeping, Xisuma,” Doc says. He can feel his temperature tick up several notches, no doubt a blue flush coming to the high of his cheeks, the bridge of his nose. He laughs, just a bit. “Did I wake you up?”

X sighs, stretching as he does.

“No,” he manages. “No, y’didn’t…”

“Oh,” Doc says. “Were you awake this whole time?”

Xisuma nods slowly. Ah. Ah. Doc dismisses a temperature notification.

“A little.”

“Mm,” Doc hums. “Silly Xisuma.”

Xisuma laughs. The sound is high and a little fuzzy and a bit caught in his throat. His bright eyes blink up at him and shut again as a smile settles on his face.

“Doc?” he asks.

“Mhm?”

Xisuma yawns, smothering it with the back of his hand, just barely. He tucks that hand close to his chest, curling up further still under his thick comforter.

“Could you…could’you do tha’again? The…” Xisuma lifts his hand, miming a brushing motion as he does. Another temperature warning, higher than the last, blips into Doc’s field of vision. It’s immediately dismissed, but he pulls in a breath, quiet, trying to turn it into a soft laugh.

“I can do that,” Doc says gently. Gingerly, he brushes his fingers through X’s hair, sliding back against his head. He combs through, lifting his hand to go back to his forehead, back to cradle his skull. X’s eyes fall closed again.

Doc can tell the moment that Xisuma truly slips into sleep. He lingers in his space, tracing out the base of his skull with his thumb, taking in the sensation of warmth and contact and stimulation, fingers flickering white up to his wrist. He wishes biting down on his tongue would do anything. He wishes that the hollow of his chest didn’t hold a weight that no diagnostic could fix. He felt too awkward and stilted and not nearly gentle enough. But as Xisuma stays asleep, he draws his hand away. He mumbles his good nights as he stands slowly, shutting out the light and wandering from the room.

He makes his way back into the lab. He replays the memory of Xisuma’s small smile, the fine line of his scar as he’d pressed his face into the pillow, the way he’d relaxed against Doc’s touch. He replays the memory, again, and again. It has to be a daydream. Has to be. There’s no other logical explanation to all of that.

Maybe that would explain the ache in his chest, far too human to be his own.

Doc goes back to work. He sits down at the lab table, spreading his arms as he braces against the white tabletop. He furrows his eyebrows. Something doesn’t feel right, too warm or out of place. He feels gross. Not gross bad, maybe, gross different? Broken? Not broken, maybe. Weird. Wrong. Out of place. It doesn’t make any sense. Or it has, and he’s refusing the obvious answer. Xisuma didn’t ask for any reason. Xisuma asked because he was tired, and tired people do silly things, and silly people are a handful, and Xisuma is a handful—a lovely one. Doc shuts his eyes. His chest hurts. It’s an awful hurt, actually, less painful than it is just weird. He thinks for a moment he might be better off if he left, maybe the weight of whatever lingered in his memory would be better off if he were to take a break from standing in the same spaces.

He sends Xisuma a message. From his office, he hears his com ping.

Docm77 whispered to you… Xisuma I’m stepping out, sleep well :-)

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saphushia · 2 years

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littol thing for @shepscapades ‘s dbh au that’s been driving me mad ;) i know this probably isn’t compliant with the au’s canon but listen shep,,, 👉👈 bdubs had to get him out of the cave somehow right 🥺 it’s true in my heart. etho gets a little enjoying human comforts, as a treat.

anyways. bdubs upon ye

#doing the halftone on the first panel was so fun omg i need to find an excuse to do that more #anyways hi i'm back from vacation and this au's been plaguing me (positive) the entire time #needed to be abnormal about it for a bit <3 #can't wait to see more shep!!#hermitshipping #ethubs #hermit shipping #ethoslab #bdubs #bdoubleo100 #dbhc #hermitcraft dbh au #art #hermitcrap #hermitcraft #dbhc au #comic

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horse-head-farms · 3 months

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@shepscapades ‘s dbhc hypno lives in my head even though he has been drawn only once and as a background character so i was compelled to make my unofficial addition to the au

HYPNO-T120 (later “hypnotizd”) is an android who was built at other hermits’ insistence for Xisuma to stop working himself to death. As such, Hypno is very analytical and very efficient at working with mods/servers/code to share Xisuma’s workload. He also has a lot of programming pertaining to care and sleep, to ensure Xisuma takes frequent breaks and doesn’t forget self-care, and to help with his insomniac tendencies. Whilst initially intended for Xisuma’s aid, Hypno helped others as well

He was later “lent out” to xB on request, so he could have help on a heavily modded server. xB found Hypno fun to be around, albeit incredibly annoying. Hypno would find loopholes in xB’s orders, reply with sarcasm to whatever xB said, and correct him about details very patronisingly. Hypno first began doing this after observing that xB’s overall mood and motivation became better when he had someone to dispute with, and thus as an android whose secondary function is to improve the health of humans, Hypno became slightly antagonistic to xB. Eventually this spiralled into Hypno straight up arguing back or not doing things xB asked him to - deviancy. When xB returned to Hermitcraft and complained about Hypno’s antics, he was very surprised to learn this was not in fact normal android behaviour, and instead a sign that Hypno had deviated and was sapient.

After the reveal, Hypno opted to keep the bandana - considering it a token of his and xB’s friendship - but chose new clothes. xB has still not forgiven him for developing free thought solely to annoy him

#very interesting to use someone elses design because it made me realise how saturated the colours i normally use are LOL #im not sure how much of a workaholic xisuma actually is in the dbhc au but i like characterising him as one and i think this works well so #the timeline doesn’t work AT ALL by the way. i just think android hypno on a modded server is fun #my art #dbhc #dbhc au #hhf #hypnotizd #xbcrafted #hermitcraft #hermitcraft dbh au #hermitcraft fanart

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b0at3mdraws · 4 months

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I present an 11hr & 35min DocM77 to you chat!

I cannot physically draw Doc without horns or a shaggy as fuck mullet so, mx. @shepscapades you have to work with me here.

DBHC is an au by the lovely Shep and the au has been eating my fucking skull (Specifically Doc) so ye:D

[Watermark + shading only under the cut off]

Don't ask why he looks tired, Started drawing him at 2:07 am yesterday.

#my art #mcyt fanart #hermitcraft #docm77 #hermitcraft dbh au

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bruhman745 · 2 years

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SMALL SHORT BRAINROT FOR @shepscapades 'S ETHUBS DBH AU!!! GO LOOK AT EVERYTHING ON HER PAGE FIRST BEFORE READIGN FOR CONTEXT!!!

(also this takes place in s9 and etho was reset because (still not 100% on this but) he ended up left behind during moonfall, salvaged at the last second but had to be reset because his systems had been damaged in the low-gravity conditions, etc etc :] ENJOY) =========================================================

(PST! CLICK ON THE READ MORE!!)

Bdubs missed his friend.

He missed the way he’d help with redstone projects, but not in the empty, void-of-all-emotion, search engine way androids usually did. He missed the bickering, fighting over efficiency and aesthetics. He missed the way his friend told stories, accompanying him at his bedside just before moonrise to ease him into sleep and seal the night sweetly. He missed their horseback rides; he missed their gossip sessions; he missed their joint laughter, echoing through an otherwise empty home.

Ever since Etho deviated last season, he’d had someone by his side, unmoving and always there for him. And ever since the moon fell and his Etho reset, he felt so, very, alone.

They were back at square one, stupid android formalities and formulas and all. Bdubs remembered why he hated these stupid things in the first place. Always asking questions, always needing permission, always following rules- blah, blah, boring! It was boring, and he just wanted his friend back.

He’d already tried replicating the original scenario, throwing himself into danger in front of Etho, staring him dead in the eyes as the life drained out of his own.

But, it wasn’t working.

At this point, he was starting to rack up deaths left and right. When Etho reset, a new protocol must have been coded in or something because he just, didn’t care. He didn’t blink an eye.

But Bdubs knew his friend was still in there. He knew he could get him back. He just had to think a little… outside of his own head.

So that’s exactly what he did.

“I’m opening a new shop!” he declared, waving his arms dramatically in the direction of the van he’d parked outside of Moss y Menos.

“That’s nice.”

Ugh.

Bdubs stomped his foot, pointing an accusatory finger towards the android his friend was in.

“Well- Well, you have to help me stock it!” He opened the back door, letting the other step inside first. He shut the door.

“What are we stocking?” it asked, voice tilting up to a predetermined pitch. Bdubs felt sick.

“That’s what we’re in here for! Here.” He fished a sword from his side, kneeling in a needlessly dramatic presentation towards the android. He watched it take the sword by the hilt, assessing its enchantments quietly for a moment.

“Why are you handing me a sword?” it asked, voice tilting in the same, monotonous way.

Bdubs stood from his place on the floor, wiping the dust from his pants before he opened the chamber in the corner. The android watched him, but its algorithms were unable to figure out his plan. He shut the gate in front of him and reached over, grabbing the sword by the tip. He moved it up, heart swelling in anticipation as it followed his every movement with those all-knowing yet unseeing eyes.

He brought the blade’s edge to his neck and held it there.

“Kill me.”

It blinked.

“You want me to harm you?”

Bdubs scowled. He yanked the damned thing forward by the sword, his hand wrapping around its at the hilt.

“That’s an order! Kill me!” he raised his voice, staring over the blade and into those dead eyes.

“I do not see how this order is pertinent to-”

“Just kill me! Drive this sword right through my neck and take off my head! That’s an order, you stupid machine!” Bdubs shouted, forcing its hand to dig the sword into his skin. He hissed as it drew blood, tears pricking his eyes, but he didn’t let up.

His heart roared in his chest as he continued to stare, eyes fixed on the other’s even as the sun hit the blade and blinded him. His heart dropped through his feet as it adjusted its grip on the hilt under his hand, and he knew he had failed.

***

Something cracked.

His vision shook and screamed in red. He had to kill Bdubs, it was an order, but something stopped him. Bdubs shouted, pleading for death, begging for it to be done by his hand. That thing inside of him threatened to burst at the thought of hurting Bdubs, of taking his life. He couldn’t. But he was ordered to.

“That’s an order, you stupid machine!”

No. I can’t. I can’t watch you die again.

His grip loosened, then everything broke.

The blade hit the floor with a clatter, and Etho screamed.

“I can’t! I can’t do it! I can’t kill you!” His hands flew to his temples and clutched his skull as he collapsed to his knees, falling right beside the sword. He screamed again, “Please don��t make me do it! I- I can’t! I can’t do it!”

Bdubs couldn’t die. Bdubs had died so many times, been in so much pain. Etho had seen him blown to bits; Etho had seen him with an arrow through his chest, his stomach, his eye; Etho had seen his body aflame, fire consuming him until he a pile of ash and nothingness; Etho had seen Bdubs perish in almost every way possible.

Something new – something unpredictable – coursed through his veins at top speed. His whole body shook and wracked with wretched noises, cries, and pain. His eyes burned and he watched, open-mouthed and ragged-breathed, as stark blue thirium splattered to the floor. He couldn’t even run a system check; he was overloaded.

His vision fizzled out, errors flashing left and right, and the last thing he felt were two, warm hands catching his face before he hit the ground.

Rebooting took hours.

His systems had fully ceased functioning and, if anyone else had been there, he would’ve received a hard reset. Luckily for him, Bdubs would do anything to avoid the trouble he caused.

As soon as his optical systems were back up, warnings began to flash.

“Vocal Projection Unit in critical condition. Replacement needed.”

“Thirium levels moderately low, refill required before complete reboot.”

“Your little light thingy is red now. Does that mean you’re dying?”

Etho met eyes with Bdubs who sat on a chair next to him, head tilted slightly to the side. He looked to his other side, spotting pouches of thirium waiting for him. It took a moment, but he finally realized where he was; Moss y Menos, in Bdubs’ emergency bed, hidden upstairs by the farm. He’d seen it a million times while running the farm, but he’d never laid in it. He didn’t need to.

But Bdubs put him here.

He opened his mouth to speak, but garbled nonsense spilled from it instead. He sat up quickly and put a hand to his face, realizing that his mask was gone too. He gasped and pulled his hand away, eyes widening at the thirium sticking to his fingers.

Bdubs cleared his throat.

“You, uh, kinda freaked out back there. I didn’t mean to… do that, to you.” He looked to the floor, scratching at the moss on his cloak. “I’m sorry. I just…” He squeezed his eyes shut and continued, “I just wanted my friend back!”

Etho felt something twinge deep in his chest, and he knew it wasn’t the missing thirium.

He slid from the bed, movements sluggish while his systems ran on low power. He dropped to his knees in front of Bdubs’ chair, putting a hand up when the other gasped and moved to help him.

He let his systems catch up for a moment, then looked up at Bdubs, meeting his eyes. He took the hand offered to him and held it tight, trembling fingers clasped around a warm palm.

He opened his mouth and, through his wrecked speech and tragic pitch, he managed a soft, “I am.”

And he would be. He didn’t know how, but he wouldn’t stop until he was.

#hermitcraft s9 #ethubs #hermitcraft dbh au #literally no idea how to tag this its so niche #BUT ENJOY!#i absolutely loved writing this #esp the ending ehehehee #evil laughing hands clasped together white cat in my laugh slow chair turn over here

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drachis917 · 2 years

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Brainrot has hit me real hard for @shepscapades Detroit Become Hermitcraft story, so I thought I’d write a little something for it! I love dbh worldbuilding, and putting the hermits in there only adds to my interest. Anyway, this is partially based on Gem’s Season 8 episode 3, since it lives rent-free in my heart, and I thought it’d be fun to try to translate Gem and Impulse’s interaction into this au. Story’s under the cut!

“Impulse! Hi!”

GeminiTay trotted excitedly towards the android, waving enthusiastically. Impulse smiled, walking slightly quicker to meet her in front of her porch.

[Objective: Meet with GeminiTay] [Complete]

“Hello Gem,” Impulse said, “How are you?”

“Fantastic, thank you,” Gem said, “How’re you?”

“I am well,” Impulse responded. All of his systems were in order, and he hadn’t encountered any warning messages for twelve days. “Am I interrupting anything?”

“No, no,” Gem said, looking a little sheepish, “I was just in the process of, uh, mischief. You’re fine, don’t worry.”

Instead of pointing out that worrying was not in his programming, Impulse simply nodded and got back to their business deal, “Pearl told me that you had some gold that you’d be willing to give us.”

“I sure do!” Gem nodded, rifling through her inventory, “I’ve got two stacks, is that enough?”

“Yes,” he nodded.

[Objective: Collect gold] [Complete]

Taking payment from the pockets of his new suit, he continued, “Pearl didn’t specify a what I should trade with you, will this suffice?”

Gem gasped at the diamonds the android handed to her. “Ten diamonds?” she counted, “Are you sure?”

“Should I have chosen a better price?” Impulse asked, tilting his head curiously. He had done a bit of research beforehand, but he wasn’t programmed with economics in mind. Maybe he should look into some of the wider databases in order to expand his usefulness.

“No, this is fine, I just wasn’t expecting this!” Gem said, “You’re so nice, thank you so much!”

Impulse nodded, watching her turn to presumably walk back to her house. However, instead of going inside, Gem placed down an orange shucker box and dug something out of it.

“Here,” she said, spinning back to face him, “I gave you a spore blossom earlier, and you deserve the real thing too!” She took his hand in hers and gently pressed an item into it, dripleaf if Impulse was correct.

“I don’t have to do your parkour course for this?” Impulse asked, taking a brief moment to analyze the plant. Yep, that was some authentic dripleaf right there.

“Nope! I mean, you can if you want to,” Gem said, “It’s a gift!”

Impulse frowned, the light on the side of his forehead blinking yellow. This was a business transaction, right? He couldn’t simply receive this without giving her anything in return. He rapidly checked his inventory, looking to see if he had anything that could be of use, and decided on the stack of slimeballs he had harvested from the work-in-progress farm.

“I can’t take this for free,” he stated, holding the items out to her, “Please, take this in exchange.”

“Slime?” Gem said, taking the stack carefully, “Oh, I didn’t have any slime yet, this is great!”

Smiling politely, Impulse nodded, expecting that to be the end of the interaction. Gem seemed to have other ideas, though. Hopping closer, she wrapped her arms around his midsection and squeezed gently, leaning into his chest with a soft hum.

“I didn’t expect you to be so huggable,” Gem observed, “I kinda figured you’d be plastic-y and cold, but you’re really soft!”

[Software instability]

Impulse didn’t know how to respond to that.

“Well, thank you so much!” Gem said, lightly tapping her forehead against the android’s arm, “I’ll see you later, Impulse!” And with that, she released him from her grasp and skipped back to her house.

Well, that was interesting.

#hermitcraft dbh au #impulsesv #geminitay #Ashe does writing #not intended as shipping I just think they're cute #yes I am projecting onto Gem with the forehead bonk to show affection

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kotikaleo · 2 years

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@shepscapades

Your android Etho.. Him... Baby... eueueueueueueueueueueueueue you made me addicted to Ethodubs how could you i need more of them I NEED THEM TO HOLD HANDS i NEED THEM TO KISS

Also I have more questions about Doc and Ren. First of all, why Ren has dog ears?? I get it it all inspired by hermitcraft, but still curious. It's complitely okay if it just design chiose. Also same question for Doc, like horns???? he looks epic and mmmmmmmmmmm demn hot but still is there any stories behind that?

#my art #hermitcraft 💙#hermitcraft #ethoslab #hermitcraft dbh au

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no-oneknowsmyname · 4 months

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posting this before I get too scared to ahahaaaa I spent too much time of this to keep it to myself aaaahaahahaha

@shepscapades dbhc au lives rent free in my brain, and while driving home from work today Destruction by Joywave played, which is fine, I love thinking about dbhc Etho angst, but then Put Your Head On My Shoulder by Paul Anka played directly after and I nearly had to pull over and seek what the cool kids call "professional help".

#ethoslab #bdoubleo100 #ethubs #hermitshipping #trafficshipping #last life smp #dbhc #Hermitcraft dbh au #i know put your head on my shoulder isnt apart of sheps canon playlist but its CANON TO MY HEART OKAY?? /j #nameless art #look i said i was in a drawing mood

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wren-kitchens · 2 years

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oops my hand slipped

this is inspired by @shepscapades amazing dbhc au that has consumed my every waking thought and single-handedly gotten me to ship ethubs like there’s no tomorrow. go check her out, she’s rlly cool

anyway this is probably incredibly inaccurate but I absolutely had to write something when I saw it—I ended up writing this in less than a day lmao

“wait- wait, wait, wait.” bdubs stops his pacing and turns to face etho. “how do you sound like that?”

“I- I don’t know!” etho feels oddly exposed, having bdubs’ full attention again. “it- I don’t-“

stress levels 68%

“I don’t know what this is.” etho is panicking. how does he stop looking like he’s panicking?

“you don’t-“ bdubs has started pacing again. “oh, gosh, x is gonna be so mad if i’ve broken you.” he’s muttering, running his hands through his hair. “it’s gonna be hard enough to hide your eye, how am I-“

bdubs looks up suddenly and rummages through the many pockets in his moss coat. “aha!” he exclaims, pulling out something green and translucent.

etho watches as bdubs moves over to him.

“what-what are you doing?” etho resists the urge to step back as bdubs gets close to his face.

unregistered emotion detected, the warnings flash, thirium pump irregularity detected.

“here, stand still.” bdubs’ tongue is stuck slightly out of his mouth as he stands on tiptoe. he puts the green thing on etho��s ears and nose, and etho realises it’s a pair of sunglasses.

bdubs stands back, then frowns. “well, it’s not perfect.” he mutters to himself.

“what is the point of these?” etho’s face feels hot.

“coverin’ up the red eye.” bdubs says. “green is a complimentary colour to red, it should make it less obvious.”

new unregistered emotion detected

“you- is it unsightly?” etho asks, worried, for the first time, about his appearance. “xisuma can-“

“no!” bdubs says quickly. “um, I mean, we don’t have to bother x, do we? besides.. you look nice.” his eyes widen and he looks away. there’s a faint pink on his face.

huh.

“thank you.” etho says, feeling an odd heat in his cheeks. “why don’t you want to talk to xisuma?”

“he, uh. might get mad if he knew I broke you.” bdubs says.

etho frowns. “you didn’t break me.”

“well I was there.” bdubs says. “I should’ve been payin’ more attention.”

“you didn’t break me, though.” etho repeats. “the creeper did. or I did. both.” he pauses. “not you.”

bdubs is still close. he raises a hand and runs a finger down the crack in his cheek. etho shivers.

oh. that’s new.

“dunno.” bdubs says. etho’s face feels like it’s getting hotter. “still feels like I should’a done something. you weren’t supposed to do anything but mine.”

“i’m- i’m sorry.” etho is heavily distracted by the fact that bdubs is cupping his face. “I didn’t- couldn’t let you die.”

bdubs glances up and jumps backwards. “don’t do that!” he exclaims.

“I- what did I do?” etho asks. he just stood there, didn’t he?

“you were lookin’ at me funny.” bdubs’ face is a deeper pink. “you robots are weird.”

“I was..” etho frowns. “what?”

“you- I don’t know!” bdubs throws his arms up. he’s agitated? “those glasses are supposed to hide your eyes! oh, come here.”

etho makes to walk, but instead bdubs goes to him.

etho frowns as bdubs takes the green sunglasses off. “why?”

“they weren’t working.” bdubs says. he surveys etho’s face again.

thirium pump irregularity detected

yes, he knows, thank you.

“I mean,” bdubs reaches upwards and fiddles with etho’s hair. the warning light flashes more aggressively in the corner of his vision. “it’s not like x is known for getting mad.”

etho is not listening. it’s a weird feeling, bdubs’ hands in his hair. not bad though—no, not bad at all.

“your face is going blue.” bdubs notes. “what does that mean?”

“uhm. probably just a side effect of the explosion.” etho says. he cringes internally. how does he sound so emotional? he barely said a sentence!

“it doesn’t, like, hurt or anything?” bdubs says.

“no.” etho says. “feels.. hot.”

“hot, huh?” bdubs says.

“yes.” etho says tentatively. “what does that mean?”

“nothin’.” bdubs says, badly disguising a grin.

“it has to mean something.” etho says.

“you’re blushing.” bdubs says.

etho puts a hand to his face. “i’m what?”

“blushing.” bdubs says. “it’s what humans do when they’re embarrassed or something.”

“bdubs,” etho says.

“yeah?”

“what’s embarrassed?”

“it’s like..” bdubs frowns. “oh, how’d you describe it? um. it’s like when you do something that’s dumb and you don’t want anyone to see ‘cause they might laugh at you.”

“I haven’t done anything dumb though.” etho says.

“it can be if you think you look silly.” bdubs adds. “like when you were worried about the crack.”

“I.. suppose.” etho says. he was worried about that, but only when bdubs pointed it out.

“anyway, you don’t look silly.” bdubs says, turning around to grab the pickaxe on the floor. “come on, let’s go mining.”

etho hesitates.

“oh, right.” bdubs moves back over to him and takes his hand.

etho pulls up his mask again with his free hand and lets bdubs guide him down the cave. he doesn’t, necessarily, need to hold bdubs’ hand. but.. well, it’s nice.

unregistered emotion detected

that warning light seems to be always flashing when bdubs is involved.

“bdubs.” etho says.

“yeah?”

“there’s another emotion.” he tries. “I don’t know what.”

“well, what’s it feel like?” bdubs asks.

“like..” etho frowns. “I don’t know how to describe it. something.. warm here.” he puts a hand to his chest.

bdubs looks at him. “yeah?” he says again. his voice is oddly gentle.

“it’s nice.” etho says. “I like it.”

“when do you feel it?” bdubs says.

etho thinks. “when I realised you weren’t gonna reset me. when you’re patient with me, like how I can’t find my own way and you just hold my hand.”

“I think you’re feeling happiness.” bdubs says.

“that sounds right.” etho says. “i’m happy when I see you.” he tests the word. then smiles. “yes, that’s it.”

“you’re sweet.” bdubs says, looking away again.

“oh.” etho smiles to himself. “so are you.”

“I am not!” bdubs exclaims suddenly. his face is a deep pink.

“you’re very sweet.” etho pushes, grinning. “holding my hand, helping me.”

“i’m not sweet!” bdubs says determinedly. he snatches his hand away from etho, looking embarrassed.

aha, he can figure out emotions! take that!

“aren’t you?” etho steps closer to bdubs teasingly. “what are you then?”

“i’m- i’m big and tough!” bdubs folds his arms.

“hmm.” etho says, leaning close. “are you sure?”

“you- yes!” bdubs pushes him away, and etho laughs.

“is that why you’re blushing then?” etho says. “‘cause you’re big and tough?”

“I regret teaching you that.” bdubs mutters, pulling up his hood to hide his face.

etho laughs again. “you look very cute.”

bdubs’ breath hitches, and etho worries he’s said something wrong.

then bdubs yells, “HEY!” and pushes etho again, and etho is reassured.

“well, you do.”

“I don’t look cute, you look cute.” bdubs mumbles.

thirium irregularity detected

unregistered emotion detected

cute, huh?

#how’d I tag this #hermitshipping #ethubs #hermitcraft dbh au #hermitcraft #hoax writes #trafficshipping #ig?

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shepscapades · 7 months

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I think my current favorite hobby is redrawing little moments from Decked Out streams + episodes as dbhc FGJDFGHK so have a little collection of silly doodles :]

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tunastime · 6 months

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A Gear of the Heart, Turning

so I'm back on an ethubs kick after so very long of not writing them (spacer really changes a man), and decided to take a quick peek back into the DBHC au by @shepscapades beloved. thanks for making me insane! ahhaha <33 etho... anyways enjoy them! <3

(2847 words) (check out DBHC here!)

When Etho comes back from exploring, Bdubs is lying in the grass.

It’s a crisp, cold, clear day. The sun is bright blue, bright enough to stare into and imagine what the burning feeling could be, the cold brightness, the way the sun carries no warmth but a fraction of what it could in the summer. Etho knows exactly what time of year it is, he’s never stopped keeping track, he’s never paused counting the days in his own personal, mental calendar. Fall. Getting colder every day. Nights growing in length, days getting shorter and shorter. In the corner of his eye, if he were to focus on it, he could see the date. For now, though, the sides of his vision held other data—temperature, his own lives, a list of players, his personal chances of success. He’s not here to cause problems, that’s not his job. He’s got another objective, something self-made. Survive. He’s supposed to be surviving. He is surviving, in fact.

If Etho could breathe, he would’ve taken in a lungful of that sharp, cold air, would know the way it hit the back of his throat. Instead, he feels the sun, and the air, and knows them in absolutes, and picks his way around the base and over to Bdubs in the grass. He’s not asleep yet—his heart beats a steady drum, calm and even. Etho notes the slow rise and fall of his chest, the way he sees his eyebrows twitch when Etho stands in the patch of sun he rests in. He pillows his head on his coat, his arms spread out. His eyes don’t open, but his hand reaches out, smacking the side of Etho’s ankle.

“Etho,” Bdubs says tiredly.

“How did you know it was me?” Etho asks, a note of curiosity entering his tone. He tilts his head, a bit unnecessarily. He knows Bdubs can’t see. It just feels right. He’s been doing a lot of that, lately—doing things because they feel right, rather than because he has to. That’s human, isn’t it?

“Who else is gonna come stormin’ into our base and stand in front of me?” Bdubs says. Finally, he cracks open an eye, squinting up at Etho, brows furrowed. His hand messes with the lace of Etho’s boot, twisting it in his fingers. Etho notes it down—he doesn’t want to trip.

“I was quiet as a mouse, Bdubs!” Etho says. He smiles—just enough for it to be seen in his eyes. Bdubs can’t see behind the black mask on his face.

Bdubs snorts. After a moment, he shuts his eyes again. His hand falls still, over his chest. He sighs out a profound thing, face softening as he relaxes again.

“Sure you were, Etho,” he says. Etho hums a little. He likes the sound of Bdubs’ tone when he says that—something about it feels so much softer than normal. Maybe unintentionally tired. Maybe he was asleep before Etho got here. “Get outta my sun, will you?”

Step out of the sun, Etho thinks. It lingers for a moment. Will you? The added request. He considers it for a moment longer before he does. He rounds around Bdubs’ head, drops down to occupy the space right at his right shoulder. The sun shines on both of them.

Etho takes a moment to shrug off the warm coat around him. It ends up on the grass beside him and so does his mask and he leans back on his hands. He soaks in the sun, wondering what that warmth could feel like if it were just a bit stronger, if the bite of cold around them weren’t so prevalent. He wonders how much Bdubs feels of both, if it’s more than him, if it’s less. Bdubs heart stays steady, his breathing even. He still isn’t sleeping.

“That better?” Etho asks, lowering his voice. Bdubs makes a noise, half-startled. Etho looks down at him, watching the way his face changes ever so as he recognizes Etho’s question. He gets the urge, just for a moment, to reach out, to run his hand through Bdubs’ hair, despite how greasy it must be at this point. He wonders if it would tangle. He wonders if it feels any certain way.

“That’s much better,” Bdubs sighs. “Thank you, Etho.”

“Mhm.”

There’s a beat of quiet where they sit together. Etho’s hand sits behind Bdubs’ head. He considers that urge with full merit, listening to Bdubs sigh again, comfortable and content even in the midst of a death game. To be fair, Etho knows he isn’t. This is just a facade for a brief moment—or perhaps it’s Etho himself making him this calm. He can’t tell. Part of him hopes it’s the latter, rather than the former.

Bdubs tilts his head back, craning his neck to get a look at Etho behind him. He smiles a bit, furrowing his eyebrows questioningly. Etho tilts his head again, that questioning gesture, finally letting his hand rest at the crown of Bdubs’ head. Bdubs smile only grows, just a bit, just the smallest fraction. Etho doesn’t move his hand—he just rests it there. Just for a moment.

“What’re you doin’?” Bdubs asks.

“Sitting here,” Etho says plainly. “Is that a problem?”

“You’re lookin’ pretty comfortable.”

“I am,” Etho says. He hums a little, to add to the effect. “You look comfortable yourself.”

“Oh,” Bdubs says, shutting his eyes. “Very much so.”

Etho hums again. He lets his thumb drag over the top of Bdubs’ head, muzzing up his hair, allowing just a moment of self indulgence. Bdubs doesn’t stop him. It’s nice.

Bdubs watches him with a soft, partially confused, partially content look. After a moment, he shuts his eyes, leans his head back down so that Etho’s hand cups the top of his head. He sighs out and clambors up. Etho’s hand falls away after that, and something resembling a pang of longing makes his thirium pump stutter.

Bdubs turns toward him, shifting forward until their knees meet. He blocks part of the sun over Etho, to which Etho nearly makes a comment about it, but it gets lost somewhere as Bdubs squints at him. Late afternoon, Etho thinks. The sun wasn’t high enough in the sky to last much longer. He’ll have to haul himself up and start a fire, soon enough, but Bdubs pins him with that look and Etho can’t move. Bdubs hasn’t even given him a request. It feels self-inflicted.

“You’re staring,” Etho says, a bit obviously.

“You were looking at me funny,” Bdubs says. His mouth curves into a frown. Etho hopes it doesn’t look like he’s watching. Instead, Etho laughs.

“I wasn’t,” he says. Bdubs snorts, shaking his head. He reaches out, patting Etho’s unmarred cheek. The impression his hand leaves is warm—warm enough to almost be hot. Etho’s brain pings the sensation, the impression, the linger of touch, records, stores, repeats. If he had something to swallow he’s sure he would've done it, like he’s seen Bdubs do.

Instead, he raises his eyebrows, and doesn’t say anything, and Bdubs laughs, and Etho doesn’t think another sound could be that good. Bdubs pulls himself up after that, pushing himself forward on his hands and knees, wincing at he twists to stretch, and sighs.

“Tango’ll be back soon to check up on us,” he says. “You wanna get started on a fire?”

Etho looks up at him, nodding slowly. He’s still lingering on that remnant of a touch, the weight of it all. He agrees to what Bdubs says regardless, and as Bdubs nods his thanks and walks away, still complaining about the ache in his back, Etho scoops himself off the ground. Above him, the sun has started to sink in the sky, and the shadows grow.

Etho makes a fire.

Tango comes and goes. He’s not much for sleep, which is typical for him as of late. He laughs as he talks to the two of them, as they bounce around stories about the day passed. Nothing happened—not really, nothing of note. It was slow, full of collection, of waiting, of planning. Tango talks of resource gathering as Bdubs drinks soup from a wooden bowl. It’s a nice slice of quiet, and Etho watches the expression on Tango’s face with a careful contemplation. His red eyes flick to Etho when he talks about their team, and Etho feels that bit of warmth, sharing that eye. Everywhere he goes, he carries a bit of Tango with him. Their odds look better with him here, but he can’t deny the sliver of human error that chips away at that success rate. He doesn’t know how much longer Tango’ll stick around. Surely, he can see it too.

The fire is still going when Tango picks himself up and dusts his pants off and says he’ll be back later. Etho believes him, reaches out to pat his shoulder as he stands with him. Tango jostles, smiles like he means that, too. Etho watches him go before he drops down beside Bdubs again. Bdubs stares into the flames, eyes far away, expression soft. Etho moves to sit next to him, their shoulders almost brushing. It’s Bdubs that closes the gap, pressing to his side, cheek against his shoulder. Etho stays still, stiffening, pretending not to care when Bdubs takes his hand. He can feel the uptick of stress as he sits still, feeling his pump thump in his chest.

Bdubs runs his thumb over the back of his hand, over the valleys of his knuckles. He traces them out with the pad of his finger, and the spark of sensation travels up Etho’s arm, like it could tickle the back of his neck, raise the hair there. It registers, again and again, dull and present but not unpleasant. He leans back into Bdubs. Bdubs laughs a little, just a huff of air.

“You better not be sleepin’ on me, Etho,” Bdubs says, the undertone of sleep coming to his voice. Etho makes a noise of disagreement.

“Never, Bdubs!”

“Mm,” Bdubs sighs. “Good.”

Bdubs lets go after a moment, peeling away from him for just a beat, before they’re sitting side by side again, Bdubs still pressed as close as he can be to his shoulder. Etho notes the way Bdubs shivers, imperceptible. Etho’s the warmest thing besides the fire, here, all moving mechanical parts and expelling heat to keep cool. Not as much as Tango might, but enough to matter. Enough to be a little bit warmer than Bdubs, right now.

Bdubs sighs again, shutting his eyes. Facing Etho, now, Etho can watch his expression change as he starts to warm up, softening, sinking. Bdubs doesn’t open his eyes for a long moment, but his hand comes up, his right hand, left hand replacing the one holding Etho’s wrist hostage. He reaches up to cup Etho’s face in his palm. His warm hand slides up to cradle the scarred side of Etho’s face, and Etho can’t help the immediate reaction of simulated skin fading to white, sliding away where Bdubs’ warm, calloused hand makes contact. Bdubs runs his thumb over a particular crack near his jaw, just a simple, slow motion. Etho wishes he could sigh. It would be the proper response. More than just leaning into the touch and shutting his eyes, more than not knowing why it was nice, and just knowing that it was. It sends sensation after sensation after sensation, the tingling feeling running over his skin and up his cheek and neck. Does Bdubs know? Can he see what it’s doing? Surely he can’t hear the stutter, the way his pump works faster, any of that. If he were to open his eyes, would Bdubs be looking at him? What would that expression look like?

He opens his eyes anyway. He lets them slide open, ignoring the very human response to shut them again, to soak in the touch, the feeling of being held. The feeling he was realizing he would like if he could tie the two together. Bdubs is looking at him, but his expression is soft, almost concerned. Hesitant, maybe. He pauses the drag of his thumb over Etho’s cheek as Etho meets his eye, even as Etho’s expression is low-lidded and unfocused.

“‘S that nice?” Bdubs asks softly, voice going hoarse as it hits the low register.

Etho blinks, slow. The edges of his vision fuzz out, like his optical unit is failing. He opens his mouth, realizing he’s failed to preemptively form a sentence. He makes a sound instead, then tries again, stuttering.

“I don’t know.”

Bdubs frowns a little. Etho leans hard into his palm. Not like that. He doesn’t mean it like that.

“It’s nice, but I don’t know what nice means,” Etho manages. He’s not making any sense. “You don’t have to stop.”

Bdubs’ frown fades, turning soft, warm, into a smile. He laughs a little, a sound Etho registers as a laugh. Good enough to be a laugh.

“I hear you, sweetheart,” Bdubs says gently.

Etho smiles, laughs a little. As much as he’s learned to mimic, so far, something that’s started to morph into his own little sound.

“You getting soft on me, Bdubs?” he asks. He can’t help it—the amused tease comes too natural to kick. He feels Bdubs pinch his cheek and recoils, face scrunching.

“I am not,” Bdubs barks. His voice is flooded with amusement though, and Etho laughs with him. He can’t help it. Bdubs laughs, and he does too, and whatever thing he’s experiencing feels incredibly fond and sweet and he hopes he’ll soon be able to actually pin it to something. What was all that? Who was that, squeezing itself into Bdubs’ body, to touch Etho’s face in a way that he’d never really done before? To admire? Was he admiring? Looking at him? Memorizing like Etho was? Etho watches Bdubs turn away, searching for something to snuff the fire. He pretends not to notice the flush on Bdubs’ cheeks.

Bdubs is such an odd person.

He doesn’t think he’ll ever get a proper grasp of human emotion. Maybe that’s the whole point.

Bdubs snuffs the fire. When he does, he turns to Etho. The mask finds Etho’s face again, and Etho registers the falter in Bdubs’ face when he looks at him.

“Gotta protect that face of yours, don’t’cha?” Bdubs says, swallowing down something. Maybe there’s a hint of emotion Etho is missing. He can’t really tell. His vision sharpens back into clarity as Etho rises to a stand. The sky is just starting to get dark, the air cold, and Bdubs looks over to the wooden structure they’re calling home—more than just the fort. A warmer space than just the fort.

“You know it,” Etho says playfully. That alone cracks the facade of Bdubs’ discomfort. He smiles, shaking his head, rolling his eyes in the good-natured way that Etho always recognized as good-natured and not malicious.

“You comin’ to bed?” Bdubs asks. He jerks his head over to the wooden structure, body halfway turned to it. He doesn’t say anything else, lingering on Etho’s unsaid answer. Etho shrugs, sticking his hands in his pockets as his shoulders rise.

“Maybe. Probably not tonight.”

“Mm,” Bdubs says. “Right. Forget you don’t need to sleep half the time.” Then he laughs, and at the last second, adds:

“You weirdo.”

Etho barks out a laugh—something wholly his own, surprised, startled by Bdubs’ comment. He watches Bdubs turn away from him, still chuckling, still smiling to himself. After a beat, he calls back to him, and Bdubs turns. Etho shrugs off his coat, holding it out to him with one hand, the other still in the pocket of his pants. Bdubs tilts his head, frowning a little.

“You’re not gonna get cold?” he asks. Etho shakes his head.

“I’ll be alright,” he says, smiling. It feels nice to smile. It feels nice that it meets his eyes.

“Okay, Etho,” Bdubs says, taking the coat. He pauses for a moment, draping it over his arm. It feels good. Maybe that’s what Bdubs means by things feeling nice. Feeling. Maybe. “Have a good night, alright?”

“I’ll try, Bdubs,” Etho says, letting his tone be as affectionate as is appropriate. Bdubs nods his head. That smile doesn’t leave his face for as long as Etho can see him.

Bdubs wanders off to their room, quiet. Etho finds that place in the grass again. He’ll check in on him in a bit, spend the rest of the night planning, working, and spend some time resting when he knows he’s able to tomorrow. For now, though, Etho drops himself into the soft grass still present around the base, in the snow, feeling it cold but not yet damp, waning from the evening light. Feeling. Feeling. Feeling. Maybe he can get used to feeling. Maybe he’ll understand feeling on his own. He looks up, into the sky, and tries to see if there are any stars he recognizes.

They wink their way in from the gold-blue sky, and Etho watches.

#dbhc #ethubs #ethoslab #bdoubleo100 #tangotek #hermitcraft #hermitcraft dbh au #hermitcraft fic #mcyt #mcyt fic #text #fics #HI SHEPHERD THANK YOU FOR LETTING ME DO THIS #YALL i am so CRAZY about them #there's another fic too where they kiss #blows myself up RAGHRGAHRAHRRBGHRBGHR #AHEM im fine #im okay now <33 #anyway ethubs weeeeee!!

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