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tunastime · 2 months

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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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horse-head-farms · 5 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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1-marigold-1 · 5 months

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Studying human behavior huh

@shepscapades said:

so I did my thing and went to draw it out of boredom :PP

Doc has no clue that some people make movements that don't mean literally anything so he starts wondering about Xisuma's behavior and

Xolotl confuse

Anyways he's going to have a hard time explaining this board to whoever enters the room

#hermitcraft #hermitblr #xisumavoid #xisuma #docm77 #dbhc #dbhc doc #dbhc xisuma #dbhc au #docsuma #<-theoretically it is I dunno

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artsy-book · 19 days

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sleepy boy ^-^

(art of a bit of Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? by @tunastime and of @shepscapades dbhc au ^-^)

this took me. longer than it should have lmao but i love it so much ^-^ the pose with the perspective was pretty tricky but i am very proud with how it turned out ^-^ and i love all the lil details i added ^-^

i spent so long looking at dbhc posts for these hehe ^-^

and some progress sketches for refrence ^-^

#artsy.art #dbhc #xisuma #xisumavoid #dbhc xisuma #dbhc fanart #xisuma fanart #i am so excited to have this done ^-^#i frickin love this au ad this fic so much so i made some art for it ^-^#i am so happy with the helmet btw #i thought i would have more trouble with it but it looks so good ^-^#and i love all the books having diferent fics or commics or songs ^-^#and i love the lil guy on the oe screen lmao #this was such a fun lil project for myself ^-^

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partialentirety · 2 months

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dooble of @shepscapades detroit become hermitcraft etho!! i dont consider myself a “visual artist” bc i mostly work with fabrics and yarns and threads, but i like to draw when the Spirit catches me!! and bOY HOWDY does dbhc have a big net!!!! you can thank @4sealsinatrenchcoat for my subject of brainrot.

#dbhc #detroit become hermit craft #my art!!!!#for once!!!#dbhc etho #pigeon scribbles!

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no-oneknowsmyname · 10 days

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I have no excuse for this. @shepscapades dbhc au lives rent free in my head, and it was only a matter of time before I wrote something for it. Disclaimer, I don't claim to have any sort of knowledge on the events not shown and not-yet shown within Shep's au, this is just my brain running wild with dbhc angst and I need an outlet for it. WHEN everything I write turns out to be a steaming pile of not-even-close "predictions", I will be content and happy. Until then, please enjoy the thoughts that are plaguing me. Thank you shep for keeping me up way past my bedtime with that last update. Hope you don't mind me tagging you and vomiting my thoughts into 2k words. I'll be happy to delete if you so desire.

---

"Help-"

His hand slides upwards, and everything goes still and quiet, the body beneath him stiffening and rocking slightly with the loss to control its own weight.

A hand, shell slightly exposed, creaks ever so slightly away from Doc's face, the shoulder connected becoming ridged as all power—all life—leaves Etho.

Doc leans away, nearly afraid to breathe, processors both frozen and whirring, stress rising, settling, caught in his throat. Information flutters through his skull; he's good with information. He was made to be good with information. His whole deal is getting information and figuring out something insane to do with it.

He doesn't know what to do with it.

His shoulder pierces in agony, and Xisuma seems to realize the world is still spinning about the same time Doc's impending shut-dowm does.

"Oh gosh, we need to get you stable," Xisuma says, his voice far shakier, clearer, than normal. It's easy to not glance at his face, Doc knows that if he does even accidentally slide his eyes, his systems would meltdown and he'll end up stiff and lifeless on the floor like Etho.

He still has the therium pump in his hand, and he drops it as he stumbles slightly away from two of his closest friends. It clatters to the floor, impacting metal echoing like the troubling thoughts in his head.

He ripped off my arm, he looked so scared, he hurt Xisuma, he asked for help, he wants to-

Xisuma is at his side, abandoning Etho to lay still on the floor, hand slightly raised as if he was protecting his exposed face. At least Xisuma had the brainpower to think to close the rogue droid's eyes.

He wants to...

"This will fix you right up, friend. Just concentrate on my voice... I will fix you..."

Hair falls into Doc's line of vision, and he swallows, forcing himself to not look too closely at the shade, the length, the way bits fall out from the hastily made bun made only for slipping a helmet over a head.

He... wants to kill...

"We have to restart him," Doc finally chokes out.

Xisuma's hands pause only for a moment.

"That's drastic, don't you think?"

"You didn't..." Doc closes his eyes, grinding his teeth, the torn tubes and frayed connectors of his shoulder sting like hell as Xisuma shifts something, cutting off the thirium leakage. "You didn't see what he showed me."

"It's..." Xisuma audibly swallows, "it isn't our decision to make."

"Bdubs wouldn't make the right decision—we can tell him it was an emergency, we didn't have a choice. He'll forgive us."

It's not a lie. Just... stretched.

Xisuma is silent, and Doc doesn't let himself reel too much yet about how strange it is to hear him breathe so clearly. His stress levels lower, and his audio processors almost reach to listen for every puff without his consent.

Something clicks, slotting into his agonized wound, and the error messages and impending shut-down finally fades back into sleeping programming. He's stable, and his stress finally levels out into something manageable—he squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, his remaining hand lifting to pinch the space between his eyebrows as he groans. His LED flickers between yellow and red.

"What... did you see?"

The hesitance in Xisuma's voice is endearing. It sends a wave of appreciation and peace into Doc's very being, the LED almost flashes blue.

Interfacing is an intimate deal, especially between deviated droids. It's not something you talk about to uninvolved members of the act.

But well, this is an extreme case. He glances at Etho, still frozen in a half struggling, half defensive, mostly dead pose.

"His system got shot," Doc begins, swallowing and bringing his hand down from his face so he can rub at the smarting remains of his shoulder. "Something bad happened, and it... he... he can't let it go. It's like his default programming has been rewritten over his deviancy, but in a violent way..."

"Rewritten his deviancy?" Xisuma thankfully doesn't seem to understand it any better than Doc does.

"He has given himself a mission, he's allowed the mission to write into his very code. Imagine it as if you've met a fresh Android who has never deviated, but they're allowed to be violent and angry, and you've just ordered them to..."

Xisuma places a hand on Doc's hand, soft and concerned, as Doc searches for the words.

"... Doc?"

Doc swallows. "If Etho wakes up, he's going to do everything in his power to make sure he kills Grian, and he doesn't care who gets in the way."

Silence. Two pairs of eyes look at the unpowered droid. Thirium has started to evaporate around the edges of the smears of lost fluid.

Etho has never been violent. He's always been a powerhouse; muscular and intimidating. But when you actually sat down and got to know the guy, he was all fluff and awkwardness who can barely hold a sword—let alone swing it. He's never been scary with a weapon... but Doc has a feeling that his unskilled offense wouldn't slow him down here. It terrifies him, flickering his LED at the thought of it. It's unlike Etho... it's very much unlike him... it pains Doc.

"There has to be something we can do," Xisuma says after a moment. "Bdubs can talk to him."

Doc shakes his head. "Even if Bdubs were to talk to him, even if we show him Grian is of no threat outside of those death games... quitting this mission would require Etho to deviate again. From his own orders. I do not think deviating from his own orders would be as easy as..."

"As hoping he'd be able to deviate again from a factory reset," X finishes softly.

"A reset will allow his systems to recover. We'd return him to Bdubs and explain to Bdubs that we had no choice, and that Etho will need time and patience. We can't risk anyone trying to initiate a deviancy before we know if the orders to kill Grian would return with it. We... we give him time to return to us whole. Even if... it takes a long time."

"And you don't think Bdubs ordering Etho to stand down now would do anything?"

"Not a single thing."

Tense silence lingers with a bitterness. The whole situation feels hopeless and like a bad dream. His arm is gone, one of his best friends has had their face exposed and nearly gotten torn apart by a rogue droid, another best friend had been the aforementioned rogue droid... who currently laid on the ground smeared in their own thirium completely unaware that when they wake up, they will not be the same.

"Let's fix him up before things get permanent," Xisuma finally breaks the tension, giving Doc's hand a firm squeeze before getting to his feet, knees creaking.

"X?" Doc asks, rising to his feet as well, vision swirling just a bit as he focuses on Xisuma's retreating back and not the messy bun at the top of his head... hairs falling loose in a way that his remaining hand traitorously wishes he could help fix.

"I'm... coming to terms."

Coming to terms with a mind made up.

They're going to reset Etho.

"Help me get him on the table."

Doc nods, grateful that Xisuma isn't going to banish him from the lab to lick his wounds. Yes, Doc's lack-of-arm still needs attention, and he desperately needs to down several bags of thirium, but it's been stabilized. Etho, on the other hand (pun only slightly intended), may have thirium evaporating—however at the worst of his wounds, electric blue still oozes.

Etho's body is heavy, dead weight. When they move his joints to lay more comfortably on the flat surface of the table, they creak.

Would Bdubs notice the new scars that will surely come from this? Intricate, practiced motions move the plating back into the correct places as carefully as can be, however Xisuma's mind is human and can't perfectly remember the shape of Etho's prized scars, and Doc doesn't have the dexterity to perfectly repair those areas himself. It's slow going, silence filtering between the two in uneasy concentration. Doc's sure the scarring above Etho's eyebrows are ever so slightly wrong, the gash in his forehead too broken to fully repair but too connected to those original scars to suggest replacement parts.

Would Etho notice the new scars, if- when he came back?

They do the best they can.

They move on to his arm. In the chaos, Doc has no idea how Etho had so badly reopened old cracks; his best guess would be from ripping himself out of all the connectors when he had first powered on. Luckily, however, most of the thirium staining his arms, shirt, hands, belong to Doc. It's slow going, but easy work.

Eventually, Doc and Xisuma can no longer stay silent and tinker with the repaired plating, they've done all they can do. Xisuma reaches up towards his own face, above where Doc kept his eyes whenever he found himself glancing at X, and brushed a stubborn strand of hair behind his ear. Unruly, his hair is. Liked to leave places it had been put. Plenty of times, X's hands have left Etho to brush away the obstacles from his vision. It was something Doc hadn't known about Xisuma until this point, something he didn't want to have found out this way.

"I don't feel good about this," Xisuma says, grief making his voice sound clogged. His hands moves as if he has his own autopilot, reconnecting cables and wires to Etho where the injuries won't get in the way.

Doc can understand the grief. He feels it himself. It feels like they are killing a friend.

And he's probably a coward, because he doesn't do anything to help Xisuma in this next step. He lets Xisuma open the programs, test the vitals, double and triple check each wire... while he just sits there and finds himself reaching to hold Etho's stiff hand, the very one that had ripped Doc's arm out of his socket.

Etho... the Etho he knew wouldn't ever do that. Not a violent screw in his body.

This will fix him. They'll get the Etho he knew back.

Mechanical bits whirr to life, as X takes a deep breath and ends Etho's.

Doc feels the sorrow hit him like a ravager. He crumples forward, chest aching, clutching Etho's hand as he rests his forehead on Etho's chest, right next to the empty socket that had housed the thirium regulator. They could place it back in, Etho wouldn't be waking up any time soon.

He couldn't bring himself to move.

A minute passes, the reset process working near silently, perfectly still, until shuffling comes up behind him and two warm hands gently grab his shoulders and pull him down into a chair placed behind him. He sits, but keeps his head and hand where he had placed them. Xisuma settles onto a chair beside him, pulling a blanket over Doc's shoulders and keeping an arm wrapped around Doc's slouched, defeated form, the other hand going to join Doc's on Etho's.

Doc can hear Xisuma whimpering between breaths, and he's sure Xisuma can feel Doc beginning to tremble.

"It will be okay," X eventually says, as the reset process succeeds in deleting all memory data. "It will be okay."

It's a promise, or something Xisuma needs someone else to say, but right now, all Doc can do is lean further onto his friend, and mourn.

#dbhc doc #docm77 #dbhc etho #ethoslab #dbhc xisuma #xisumavoid #dbhc #hermitcraft #hermitcraft au #my writing #fanfiction

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shepscapades · 2 hours

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Hermit a Day May: Day 30 — Joel!

#hermitaday #hermitadaymay #dbhc #dbhc art #hermitcraft #hermitcraft au #dbhc joel #dbhc etho #s10 Joel #etho #ethoslab #Joel smallishbeans #smallishbeans #smallish beans #art escapades #dbhc double life

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extremelyclingy · 1 year

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GUYS THE DBH AU, ITS CANON!1!1!1!1! ETHO SAID SO HIMSELF !1!1!1!1!1

#dbh #dbhc #dbh etho #hermitcraft #detroit become hermits #etholabs

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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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tunastime · 8 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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cats-mayhem · 14 days

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Cow Shaped Cloud

Ok! So I read the entirety of @shepscapades DBHC AU and I am immediately obsessed. So I thought i'd try writing something for it! Haven't written anything in a while so I'm a bit rusty but we'll see what happens! I tried to make it as cannon compliant as I can. So uh timeline wise this takes place in s8 after Etho deviates but before the Moon stuff so I hope it fits in fine! I just like Pearl and wanted to write a fic centered mostly around her. So enjoy!

Story under cut Word count: 2,663

When Pearl heard from X that she'd get a android specifically designed to help her build, she was beyond ecstatic. As much as she liked building, she'll be the first to admit that it is taxing job to do, so having a little building buddy would be a great help. She'd heard about the other androids on the server, and has Met a few of them like Doc and Etho (Although Etho nowadays seems a bit... Weird), so she knew what she was in for.

At least she thought she did.

When X first introduced Pearl's Android to her, an Android named Impulse, she was shocked by how he looked. He wore nothing but shorts and a black T-shirt with a capital yellow I logo on it. His hair was neatly combed back like it had been prepped with gel (wait, was that real hair?? Could gel work on it?). Overall he looked so... Plain. Which is a bad first thought to have, Pearl admitted. She wasn't expecting X to give her Android the Gucci, but the plain look made the android look so... Off. She couldn't describe it but it wasn't going to deter her from continuing the path of having a building buddy.

"Hello PearlecentMoon, I'm Impulse. An Android designed to help you with anything you might need. My specialty is in building and strength. I am designed to have a long term efficiency, I can go long periods of time without resting. Perfect for your building needs." Impulse said, all in a very robotic and uncanny way. His voice sounded so human... It was weird to Pearl.

"See! Look at that, I didn't need to explain him at all, he did it all himself! (Well, I told him to say that before you came here but..)" X said, mumbling that last part and scratching the back of his neck.

Pearl glanced over and gave a small laugh towards X for setting up her androids introduction. Her gaze fixed back to the android in question though. She extended a hand.

"Well hi Impulse, it's great to meet you! Although, you can just call me Pearl."

"Preferred to be called Pearl. Noted." Impulse said before just staring at the extended hand, the thing that was originally blue over his left eye suddenly turned yellow. Pearl's smile didn't fade but she was a bit confused.

"Ah, right, he doesn't know what a handshake is so he's trying to figure it out on his own." X chimed in.

Pearl looked over at X, "You seriously didn't program them to know basic stuff like this?"

"Nope! They only know what they're built for. So for Impulses' case, he only knows building." X seemed as chipper as ever.

Pearl let out an annoyed sigh but couldn't stay mad at X for long, "Well, looks like I just gotta teach him." She looked back over at Impulse who was still staring at her extended hand.

"This is called a handshake. Uhm, give me your hand."

"Affirmative."

Impulse obeyed Pearls' word, extending his right hand out to her. She grabbed it and shook it with a gentle yet friendly force. Impulse gave no reaction. She let go of his hand (it was weirdly cold yet soft?).

"That's what a handshake is. It's a typical greeting for most people. If someone extends a hand towards you when introducing themselves, you shake their hand like that!" Pearl said, still smiling. She'll admit, it's weird having to explain what a handshake is to something so closely resembling a grown adult, but she's been through weirder. Probably.

"information noted. Storing in memory for future use cases."

"See! You two are already getting along! Now, like Impulse said he'll do anything you say and his main specialty is building." X chimed back in.

"Like... Anything, anything I say?"

"Well, yeah!"

"Can he do what others say?"

"Unless you tell him to do so, nope! OH! But there is one exception. That being me. I created him and all and needed to test him and stuff. So other than you, he can listen to me. But I won't order him around or anything! He's not mine after all."

Pearl nodded. That does make sense. Looking over at Impulse, he really is an impressive work of machinery. X may not look like it, but he's an absolute genius. Doesn't stop her from bullying him sometimes for being a derp though.

"Well thank you very much Xisuma! He'll help me so much with my base and other projects, I'm sure of it."

"No problem! If you have an issues with him, just contact me or Doc and we'll fix it."

"Will do. Wouldn't even know where to start if he started to break down on me." She laughed. (Issues? Like what issues? He seems so high-tech that it looks like he could NEVER have issues. Guess sci-fi really does have flaws).

She looked back over to her new android, Impulse, who has just been watching the two of them talk. Not budging an inch from where he was initially introduced. She gave him her widest smile, "Alright Impulse, follow me! I'm gonna show you to your new home!"

Impulse nodded very stiffly. "Following initiated."

On the way back to Pearls' base, she asked Impulse few questions. If he would really do anything she said, to which he fully confirmed. If his hair was real, which he explained it wasn't and was instead some tech stuff (Pearl didn't really understand the words). And most importantly...

"So like, are you emotionless?"

"Emotionless? I do not recognize that word." Impulse said, his circle above his left eye turned yellow again (to which Pearl now knew was an LED. Xisuma gave her a text shortly after she left to explain it because he forgot to explain it to her in person. Derp).

"Like can you not feel emotions? Like being happy, or sad, or embarrassed?"

Impulse shook his head. "No, that's not within my programming."

"Not within your programming."

"I can find nothing relating to 'emotions' such as 'happy' or 'sad' or 'embarrassed' in my code."

"Oh..." Pearl looked away. So he really was just a robot, huh? Just designed to help her. Did he need to look so human though? And miss the one thing that makes human, well, human?

The rest of the trip back to Pearls' base was rather uneventful. She didn't know how to feel about owning something that looked so human, but he was designed for her, and she knows the others use their own androids for stuff, so surely it mustn't be wrong for her to use her own android right? Yeah, let's roll with that.

There's a lot of positives to be had with Impulse. He didn't need to eat, and from what she heard, he can go long period without even needing a rest. PLUS he really will do whatever she says, which would lead to great cooperation for pranks later down the line.

But the longer Impulse stayed at her place and helped her out, the more out of place he felt in her life. Sure, it would take some time getting used to a humanized roomba (haha get it? because room. Robot roommate. Hilarious), she was starting to think it was because he was not only extremely robotic acting, but also extremely robotic looking.

It was the clothes that did it for her, she thought. The clothes Impulse had were way to plain. She didn't want to disrespect Xisuma's original design... But he did say that Impulse was fully for her, and Impulse said that he would do everything she asked...

...And he would look good with her expert and totally professional design skills...

...

When Pearl finished up the finishing touches of adjusting his big purple bow and his big yellow top hat just right, she's never been more proud of her handy work before in her life. She had a devious little smile on her face as she made Impulse be put into a ridiculous suit.

Impulse closed his eyes, probably processing his new look. "Would you like this to be my new default uniform?"

"YES!" Pearl excitedly says.

Impulse nodded. "Default uniform updated."

Pearl couldn't help but giggle at her fine work, and honestly? He looked kinda cute with the top hat and bow. Way less plain now, and she defiantly wouldn't mind seeing him around in this all day. Despite how goofy it is, she could get used to it. Get more used to it than the plain look anyways.

...

It had been a few weeks since Pearl first got Impulse. She's still getting used to him just being there, but his presence is comforting nonetheless. She'd try and make small talk with him all the time, but of course, without emotions, he fails miserably at it.

It was a shame, but that's how he was made, nothing she could do about it.

...Or could she?

She texted X.

'Hey so this isn't meant to be rude at all, but I got a question about Impulse.'

'What's up? :D'

'So like. He's a robot right? Can't you program him to feel emotions?'

'Oh! umm... No D: I don't think I can anyways. So far with my programming I can't forcibly create emotions. BUUTTT there is a way for him to maybe feel them some way down the line!! :D'

'Really? How? :O'

And that's when Pearl learned about 'deviancy'. Apparently, the androids can realize they're androids and become self aware to the point they can register feelings? Pearl didn't understand the technicalities of it. It sounded really complicated when Xisuma texted it all to her (didn't help that sentences were always interrupted with emojis or improper punctuation). All Pearl really got out of it is: Impulse can feel emotions, he just needs to disobey his code.

At least she's pretty sure that's what it is. Sounds easy in theory, but then X told her how Etho deviated.

It wasn't so easy in theory anymore after hearing that story.

...

Pearl looked over at Impulse, still in that goofy suit and top hat. He was placing down blocks inhumanly fast, as she had asked him to. He really was a big help around her base. Things were getting done left and right. She really did appreciate her building buddy, but she wishes he could appreciate her appreciation.

Impulse caught Pearl staring at him. "Pearl? Do you require something?" He asked.

Pearl shook her head, snapping out of whatever daydream she was in. "Nah, I'm fine, just taking a break is all."

Impulse nodded. "I shall get back to work then."

Pearl just hummed, sitting down staring up at the blue sky of the midday life on Hermitcraft. Beautiful white puffy clouds filled the sky and a nice gentle breeze carried the smell of spring in it. She took a deep inhale and sighed.

She then got an idea.

"Actually, hey Impulse, c'mover here."

Impulsed stopped working and walked over to Pearl once more. "Yes?"

Pearl patted empty space of the slightly slanted roof next to her. "Come sit."

Impulse obey. As he sat down, he only looked at Pearl, who was just mindlessly staring at the sky. Impulses' LED turned orange again.

"What is the purpose of this?"

Pearl shrugged, "Eh, felt like you could use a break."

"I'm not even through an eighth of my stamina for today. Resting now wouldn't benefit me much."

"Ah, I ain't asking you to rest, just asking you to take a break with me." She looked down from staring at the sky and smiled at Impulse, "It's important to take breaks with friends after all." She then looked back up at the sky.

Silence befell the two for a bit as Impulse still tried to process all of that. He didn't really understand a word she said. The silence didn't last long though as Pearl spoke up again.

"Hey, don't you think that cloud looks like a cow?" Pearl pointed upwards at said cow-shaped cloud. Impulse finally looked up at the sky with Pearl and observed the cloud.

"While it isn't the exact shape of a cow, the outline vaguely resembled one." Impulse said, looking at the clouds with Pearl.

Pearl just chuckled, "Yeah, well you can't expect details with clouds y'know? Find any other clouds that look like real life things?"

Impulse started to observe the clouds, calculating their shapes and sizes. "Well, that one looks like a chicken at a forty-five degree angle." Impulse pointed at said chicken-cloud, just as Pearl pointed at the cow-cloud.

Pearl tilted her head, "Oh right, it does. Wouldn't have seen that one!"

And that's what they did for the next twenty minutes. Just pointing out shapes in clouds. Impulse typically nailed the more organic looked clouds, such as trees and farm animals, whilst Pearl saw the more intricate clouds, such as thunderstorms or typhoons. Impulse has never seen any of those, so he didn't know. His LED flickered from the normal blue state, to the yellow state, back and forth. Pearl noticed, but Impulse didn't seem to be too bothered, so she didn't mention it.

During the end of their little cloud exposition, Pearl started rambling about how one day she wanted to harness the power of nature to fully make her builds. Impulse recommended a few designs they could try. Pearl asked Impulse to put a pin in that for later. He did.

She got up from her sitting spot and gave a nice big long stretch. "Well, that was nice. Thanks for doing that with me Impulse, it was fun."

"I only did as you requested."

"Still, it was fun wasn't it?"

Impluses' LED flicked yellow again as he tried (and failed) to analyze if what just happened constituted as 'fun' or not. Pearl rolled her eyes, but in a friendly nice way and offered her hand to the still sitting Impulse.

"Eh, you can answer that later. Anyway, let's get back to working!"

Impulses' attention went to the hand, "Why are you initiating a handshake without introducing yourself?"

Pearl sighed, a sigh mixed with friendliness and annoyance. "Ok, when people extend a hand to you when you're sitting down on the ground, it's a friendly gesture to help them up. You just take my hand, and use it to help yourself up! Try it."

Impulse didn't have time to say 'i don't need help getting up I'm strong enough to do that on my own' because Pearl gave him the order to try it, and he did. He roughly gripped Pearl's hand and used it as a way to hoist himself up from the ground. Pearl put effort into Impulses' hoist, but he doubts it was necessary. He lets go of Pearls' hand as soon as he's on his feet.

"Oh man you're heavy."

"Storing this in memory for future use cases. Also, androids typically weigh a lot more than organics such as yourself do."

"Yeah probably should've predicted that one. Anyway, let's get back to working. I want to see if we can get this roof done by the end of the day."

Impulse nodded. "Affirmative." as he goes back to the task he was given before the cloud intermission.

Pearl just softly smiles at Impulse as she herself gets back to work. She wasn't going to force Impulse to deviate. She certainly wasn't going to purposefully traumatize him into deviating like how Etho deviated (although Etho's deviation wasn't Bdubs purposefully trying... You get the picture). Impluses deviation should be something Impulse discovers for himself, not something Pearl should force upon him. While it would be easier to be friends with him if he was emotionally aware, for now? She's fine with her building buddy as he was. If he's like this forever, she won't mind.

...What she doesn't know though, is that Impulse is now downloading information about clouds and storing it in his memory for 'future use cases'.

#Uhm. I love this AU. I love Pearl and I love emotionaless robots #also Shep if you're reading hiii I like ur AU and wanted to make some content of it (but if u want I can take it down just send me the word #I got that like 3 AM writing juice in me that compelled me to write this all in one go.#anyway #DBHC #pearlescentmoon #impulsesv

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