#etho fanfic

[thaumasilva]

lachrymose / 1419 words The first world he ever spawns in is not kind.

Etho wakes for the first time as all players do: confused and searching. His name hovers above his person. The soft grass the plains biome a temporary reprieve from the moans of monsters and the terrifying night; pitch black. He huddles in a hastily-constructed wooden hut and listens to the rattles of skeletons. Many years after-- nowadays-- every world is smoother, brighter. But back then the darkness flooded in each night. Inescapable.

His first death is to a creeper explosion.

Like all players, Etho learns he can die. 

He spends long days and nights unwilling and barely able to go underground. In the future, he’ll never mention this. Most others didn’t have such issues adjusting to their existence, but Etho is marked by vulnerability from the start. He is strangely open to it all, feeling every moment of life like sunlight, but just as open back to the arrows the same life slings at him. He blocks out his homeworld with ugly cobblestone boxes; he catches a moment to breathe. It takes a long time to venture forward, and he dies. His progress slips through his fingers like water. Open to every brush of grass and animal call and rainstorm and he knows like his heartbeat he’s in this world to change it, but often he feels up against insurmountable odds.

Slowly, his efforts take shape. Swords are crafted, his mine starts to extend beyond the coal-layers. Etho wakes one morning and everything is brighter, smoother, and for the first time he feels hunger. He patches his wounds. He pulls up his mask as a small layer of protection. Gradually, he feels himself becoming pleasantly used to the small hardships as his experience grows. 

It’s only when he jumps on his wheat field and a stalk breaks off into seeds, farmland ruined, that he cries for the first time.

In the future, he’ll never mention this. He won’t need to bottle up his emotions anymore, but for now, they shatter when pushed. Easygoing Etho, with his knees in the mud, sobbing. He grips the straw and cries for his months of frustration and fear and total loneliness in a world dotted with ruins. Like all players he can sense just how long the road ahead is, how much more there is to learn and suffer through. 

Eventually his gasping breaths turn steady again. Etho stands, wipes off the last of his tears, and his hand comes back red.

He staggers back and another wheat breaks beneath his foot; he doesn’t notice. The dripping liquidity and the smell and a taste-test confirm the red isn’t blood, but he still runs to his water pool to assess the damage. Knees in the mud. Etho bends over his own reflection and finds that from his left eye, he cries red.

It makes a dull sort of sense, the color matching the iris there. But his tears dry quickly, and from that eye instead of salt coating his fingers a shimmery, red powder remains.

He doesn’t understand what it means. Perhaps all players are like this. Days later, farther underground than he’s ever been, Etho drifts towards the popping sound of a lava pool, drawn towards the light and the promise of safety that it brings. Next to the lava, in the rock, is a familiar red shimmer. It lights up when he gets close. Activated.

Etho’s first thought is that he knows it’s been activated in the same way he knew how to breathe when he woke up. 

His second thought is a pang of horror, of how many tears are trapped in the earth. 

Whoever preceded him to touch this world is long gone, and with that sole comfort in mind, he mines. Etho names the powder redstone as something simple to remember, like fire-place, like crafting table. He doesn’t know why but he loves the stuff. It must be salt to him after all, a part of his body in a fantastical way. It clings to him like static electricity, never uncomfortable. Redstone becomes a quick obsession when he finds he can craft it into torches, and he laughs and furnishes every room of his house with the happy mellow glow. 

Etho wakes one morning and he knows his world is a little further down that long road of advancement. This time, instead of a change to observe, with an almost manic excitement he knows it’s a present. He’s spent so much time now at peace with the nature of the existence he’s found himself in, and now it all seems to hum to him: create, create, look at what we did for you!

Almost on autopilot, his builds evolve.

His hands twitch around iron and redstone and gold when he can find it. One night he staggers back through his doors, hand pressed tight to a skeleton’s shot on his ribcage, tears of pain dropping to the floor. One patters near a torch and instantly evaporates, and the powder that remains glows bright on the floorboards like a revelation. 

I know you, Etho thinks. He dreams. I know what to do.

Around him the world progresses, faster and faster. He spends hours upon days upon months in his workshop, experimenting with a kind of glee that makes the terror of the first days fade from his mind. Sometimes he wakes and at the end of his consciousness he knows more has been made for him to discover today. Sometimes it’s like he’s a step ahead of the world itself, passionately talking aloud of how this circuit (this clock, this piston) could work if only he had this--

And eventually, Etho learns that he isn’t alone. 

Others players find him first. They come to him, and he speaks with them choked up with relief. This world has been exciting and expansive and his but lonely, after all, like the ruins dotting the landscape. Most players weren't left alone this long. He eagerly shows everyone who visits what he does, teaches and shares the mechanics he’s painstakingly put together. So many other worlds out there. He learns they all have redstone, but none have quite done it like Etho.

When he leaves for the first time, the world becomes the Universe. He pulls his mask up to hide how years of solitude has made him unable to hide his emotions, he visits entire communities and the pace of life speeds up to a run. It’s like he can finally, finally see a glimpse of the end of that long road, a ways off, but the knowledge of the finish line excites him. They’re all in these worlds to create.

His headband stays over his red eye, only to avoid questions. There are all manners of magical others out there, but no one mentions their own tears, no one treats redstone like anything other than another mineral. They can’t see the crying of the earth. Etho finds that, in company, he prefers to keep his secrets. This is his one selfishness he allows himself-- all that he invents, he shares, but what the Universe gave him first is his and his alone.

He can tell that he’s older than most. From that time when the darkness flooded the earth each night. As humble as he is about his own achievements, the question of his age remains a quiet mystery, a concealed joke around his friends. Etho knows he isn’t special, really, he was just a little lucky to put together the pieces when he did, and perhaps his own body helped him along the way.

Like all players, when it’s time, he finds himself in the End.

There is no more road buzzing at the back of his skull. Experience orbs rain down around him as the great dragon dies, dissolving into nothing. A few paces forward the static void of the End Well beckons as it does to everyone, promising safety, rest. 

Etho shoves his hands in his pockets and casually walks into Everything.

They whisper.

Do you know what you were born for? sings the Universe.

And sometimes the player dreamed of machines and purpose.

And sometimes the player shared its knowledge.

And the universe said you are not alone. 

Do you know what you have created?

And the universe said you are the universe tasting itself, talking to itself, reading its own code.

And the universe said I love you because you are love. 

And the player was loved.

[legally-allowed-to-slime]

The last few people had logged off the server, leaving it in its burnt, damaged state.

She knew where Gem would be.

Cleo scaled up the ladder and clambered up to the rickety roof of Joel’s tower — where you could look out on the entire server.

Sure enough, Gem was perched on the railing, sitting on the edge with nothing to support her but the wind, staring in the direction of the Secret Keeper.

Cleo looked around at the short cobble walls. Grian had told her that he’d hid away here. Not a bad strategy, overall. You could shut yourself here and forget everywhere else existed.

“Hey, Cleo.”

“Am I that loud?” Cleo joked weakly.

“Who else?”

Cleo watched as the last remains of the green flesh flaked off Gem’s skin, leaving her regular human tones. “No more zombies now, then? Good job, anyway. Killing people left and right.”

“Not you, though.”

“Not me. Only way I’m going out is my way. I’d rather die on my own stupidity than someone else’s callousness.” Cleo allowed a hint of pride to enter her voice. “You were great zombies, though.”

“We weren’t zombies.” Gem turned and hopped down from the railing.

Cleo noticed that unlike the other zombies, or even Scott or Grian, Gem didn’t have a single scratch or injury, save one neat bandage that no doubt was due to Scar’s reckless arrows.

Which meant the blood splattering her face wasn’t her own. “What do you mean?”

“That’s not how zombies work. No offence, Cleo, but most zombies aren’t sentient.”

Cleo blinked. “No worries, I know they aren’t. I kill plenty of them at night.”

“So you should know how they work. They’re mindless. They lurch along, they kill without thinking, they probably bump into trees.”

Gem tilted her head. “They don’t set TNT traps, or betray their teammates, or ask for permission to kill their wife’s perceived murderer.”

Cleo’s mouth was dry. “So you’re saying…”

“I’m saying the apocalypse wasn’t zombies, Cleo. It was human.”

Horribly, incredibly human.

Cleo remembered when they were up on the tower, staring at the others down below, condemning them as monsters.

Somehow, it was better to think of them as a mindless horde and not people she’d been laughing and arguing with a session ago.

Gem was watching her. “You know I’m right. Look at Pearl. Was running from us, convinced we were infected or something but once she realised she had permission to kill, she went in. Even unleashed a warden, or two. That’s how quickly we switch.”

Ironically, Cleo realised, the roles had been swapped this session. The humans were chasing the zombie, but it hadn’t been any different.

“That’s not true,” Cleo said, “It’s not all bad. Did you know, Grian snuck down from this tower to check on his magma pet, and I was there too. And so was Etho. He didn’t kill us.”

Irritation flashed across Gem’s face. “He didn’t kill you? If he had, or, like, told us your location or something, we could’ve all just gone after Scott, and, and, the task would’ve succeeded…”

She trailed off, and looked at Cleo. “Is that the point you’re trying to make here?”

Cleo shrugged.

“Alright, I get it,” Gem grumbled, “No need to rub your holier-than-thou alliance and great morals in my face.”

“Well, no one asked you to put your task over your bandmates.”

Gem didn’t say anything to that.

“It’s not as if I’m exactly a paragon of morality either.” Cleo continued.

“I guess not.” Gem gave a short laugh. “Neither am I. You know, all the murder and stuff? I don’t feel bad! In fact, I feel great. I feel proud of myself for it.”

“…I feel you should be a little less bloodthirsty.”

Gem smiled at Cleo, an innocent, cheerful smile that would have been such if not for the circumstances. “Oh, no.”

Cleo was suddenly feeling very unsafe on the highest platform on the server. She wished Etho was here, or even Grian.

She knew Gem couldn’t take any lives, not now, not when the session was already over. But still…

Cleo raised her sword to stop the axe swing that came, but it was a feint, and her sword hit nothing.

Gem dramatically swung her axe back into her inventory.

“You really thought I would attack you?” Gem said.

“I don’t see why you wouldn’t,” Cleo retorted curtly.

“That’s true,” Gem conceded. “But the curse is just so- it’s so freeing, Cleo? Can’t you see? You could do anything.”

“Uh- no thanks. Session’s over, anyway,” Cleo pointed out.

“That’s true. But I’m still kinda cursed, you know.”

In response, Cleo warily raised her sword. But all that Gem did was deliver a mock salute before logging off with a chirpy “See you next week!”

Cleo stood silently. There had been one zombie on the platform just now. Her.

And thinking about it, she wasn’t sure if there hadn’t been two.

[birrdies]

“he’s a survivor, that’s all he does— survive”

[strelitzien-gewaechs]

based on "and the void stared back" by @crabbunch!

Absolutely adored the fanfic and its sequels. tysm for writing the series <3

(picking a scene to draw from the fic was. very very hard and i limited myself to not include the sequels asdfsjh)

[verdantglow]

New SmallEtho Shipper: MythicalSausage

[k0i-fish]

Once again desperate for more fanfics anyone got any good boat duo fanfics please 🙏🙏

[lugwen]

them.

[amethystfairy1]

In sky-blue cracks, I like to imagine Jimmy has quite a few burn scars from when he and Tango were younger.

Another thing I like to think is that one time when they were younger Tango lost control of his fire because he was a little too upset and Jimmy ran up to him and tried to calm Tango down causing Tango to burn Jimmy because Jimmy hugged him or like grabbed his shoulders or something.

Extra thing: Etho and Doc most definitely have a few fire resistance potions lying around the apartment for when Tango flames get a little too out of control and they don't have Doc around to help.

(I love Jimmy and Tango's relationship sm sadly we haven't gotten too much on it but I would love to dive deeper into then!!)

Oh for sure! 100% Jimmy has several burn scars from Tango from when they were kids! Tango still feels kinda bad about it 😓

Let's just say it's always good to have a witch in the friend group, Shelby has restocked Doc and Etho's cabinets with many a fire resistance potion, and when they were in high school she would practice her potion-skills by testing them on her friends, and dousing Jimmy in various fire resistance potions was a common pastime, I'm sure! 😆

I'm so glad you love their relationship in TTSBC! I have a lot of fun with them, and I do have plans to do a childhood era fic about how they met and became besties, hopefully at some point soon! So please look forward to it!

[tunastime]

A Gear of the Heart, Starting

just a little something I wrote for somebody's (@shepscapades) birthday back in November :3 after I asked what etho and bdubs would've been like shortly after etho's deviation. this is the few times before last life where bdubs realizes etho might be a good friend, and how their relationship changes. comes right before A Gear of the Heart, Turning! (4653 words)

Etho remembers quite a bit.

He remembers the ricochet of the explosion through his left side. He remembers a dozen errors across his vision, showing every unit damaged by the blast, the fractals of fracturing snaking up his arm, the shattered remains of his central programming lingering like a livewire. 

Over and over he can remember the pitch of Bdubs’ voice and had to wonder his own diagnosis at that moment. Bdubs watching his android die in his name—he remembers that, too. Bdubs didn’t even ask for that. It was something Etho gave to him. He’s not sure he could even say why, either. 

It remained a bitter flavor he couldn't identify, even as Xisuma assured him he was okay. Something had happened then, sitting on that floor, thirium in hand. Some movement in his chest he couldn’t place. It wasn’t anything physical, but it felt like some gear of his nonexistent heart had started, turned—rotated. And all he could do was ask himself why. What’s he supposed to do with that?

He doesn’t know. Fine. 

Etho goes back to work at someone’s request. Not even his own request, either, so he has to wonder if maybe Doc put him up to it. Him being Bdubs. Him being Bdubs who shifted back and forth on his feet at Etho’s door—a facade of a base in the process of being designed. If one could even call it a base, yet.

And even though he was increasingly certain that Bdubs had been told to ask—and Etho asked him if he’d been asked to help, and he was adamant about asking by himself, that’s what he said. He said: “You think I gotta be told to ask people for help? I can’t just be doin’ things on my own?” and it had felt so much like doublespeak that Etho didn’t even fight to differentiate his tone. 

But Bdubs had asked if he wanted to help with the horse course. Terraforming—it should be right up his alley, if he’s still into that kind of stuff. Figured he was the expert—or so it goes. Etho had nodded. He wasn’t sure what else he was supposed to do. He supposes he could have easily said no. 

But every part of him yearned to say yes.

So he did.

The dust sifts through his fingers.

Etho perches in the grass, partially hunched as he leans over his line of redstone, shrouded by the hill half-built around him. He’d spent most of the week prior carving out the lines of the track, setting posts for buildings, laying out blueprints for Bdubs to finalize. Today, he lays his line meticulously, dust shifting in his hands. They still shake a bit—nothing a human would notice, nothing that disrupted the flow of his lines, but the overworked gears still shifted in protest as he worked. He could see the faded overlay of the project in his vision if he focused. It crackled, slightly blue-yellow, orange glowing indicators where action was needed, where there were mistakes to be corrected.

It isn’t his redstone to fix. The lines under his hands were—freshly laid by his near-expert technique—but the deeper lines, noteblock announcements, droppers, doorgates, the flourish of the house course, weren’t. Etho smooths out the line he was standing near with his thumb. 

There was nothing wrong with the laid redstone, really. It’s just. Well. It’s not even. It takes up so much space. It lacks the efficiency and tidiness he practiced to a precision. It radiated Bdubs in an overpowering way, one that might turn a gear of the heart—one he didn’t have, of course. Etho’s lines are neat, rigid, conforming to his perfect mental map. 

He lets down his section of dust, drifting over to the dispenser system. He pushes a line further into place, brushing dust back from the side. Further on, where the line crosses, he readjusts it, he smooths them from start to end of line. His hands work where his mind recalculates, looking for errors along the redstone already laid out by Bdubs. Programs bubble up to assist; he dismisses a message, and another as he works. The line straightens from source to sink. 

As he passes, searching for another correction, he hears someone above him. In the corner of his vision, another message notification pings: from Bdubs.

They’re all from Bdubs, actually, now that he notices in full. He blinks, mouth twisting into a frown. Whoops.

He hears someone—Bdubs, he realizes, as he notes the fall of his feet, and the sigh he hops down from his horse, the shuffle of said horse, hooves on grass—clear their throat. Bdubs shuffles around as Etho moves back over to his finished redstone, dusting his hands on the sides of his pants. He lifts the small bag of dust, twisting the tie shut around his fingers as he travels back up the line to recheck the connections. 

“Etho?” Bdubs calls. Etho straightens, just on instinct alone, glancing up at the stretch of sky he can see. It’s bright blue, barely dotted with clouds, and the grass looks warm with sun. He fixes where the dust starts as he sections off the end, tossing the rest of the redstone over to his sling bag.

“Under the hill!”

Bdubs leans over the edge, tilting his head at Etho as he peers into the dark. It takes him a moment to find Etho’s face, partially obscured by black fabric and the fluff of wool around his collar. Etho tilts his head, raising his eyebrows.

“Did you need something?” he asks, arm hanging loosely by his side. Bdubs frowns, too, watching Etho’s expression. As his eyes seem to adjust to the dark, his gaze falls on the lines of redstone. He pauses there for a long moment. In that moment, Etho feels something in his chest grind, almost to a noticeable ache. If he could pull in a breath to settle it, he might have, but the sensation and minute sound passes as soon as he moves his hand to press flat against his regulator. Bdubs is gone when he looks up, reappearing only as he drops into the cavern, catching himself on the wall. He readjusts his cloak around his shoulders, shuffling into the low-light.

“Etho,” he says, still frowning. Etho looks him over. He watches Bdubs set his hands on his hips, but his heart rate stays even and his temperature level. The only thing that changes is the tone of his voice, fluctuating with a pattern Etho recognizes as forcing something. Bdubs takes a long breath in and lets it out. Etho’s eyes find the twitch of his fingers as he folds his arms, rather than the sharp curve of his mouth.

“Yes?” Etho asks. He feels his pump work a little harder. It kind of hurts still, whatever’s stopped working in his chest. He flicks his eyes, recalling a diagnostic, setting it to run in the background as he closes out of the overlays and the world returns to yellowish-grey. Bdubs is still frowning.

“You mind tellin’ me what’s wrong with this redstone?”

Etho blinks. The diagnostic comes up clear.

“What do you mean?” he says, his expression shifting into something copying amusement. He’s trying. He’s at least trying to mimic the emotions he sees. Soon enough it’ll feel natural, he’s certain. “What’s wrong with it?”

Bdubs snorts, which turns into a laugh, which turns into Etho smiling a bit wider, a bit more confusion lingering in his expression as he leans around Bdubs to check his meticulously placed line. Bdubs turns away from him, facing the system, the clock that linked the start gates to the timer below.

“What’s—” Bdubs scoffs, shaking his head. “What’s wrong with it? Etho—” he holds out his hand, waving Etho over. Etho lingers at his shoulder as he steps forward, peering over the curve of it and the moss and small leaves and flowers draped over his neck. “It’s too perfect.”

Etho makes a sound like a scoff now, a caught sound in his vocal unit, a stuttering start to his sentence that doesn’t form right away. He’s trying for surprise, the pitch of his voice rising unexpectedly.

“It’s too perfect?” he asks. 

Bdubs nods. After a moment, Etho thinks he sees his expression shift, the high of his cheek rising. When Bdubs turns his head to look at him, just for a second, Bdubs is smiling.

“Bdubs,” Etho says, sighing, turning away from him, to his bag on the far side of the room. He shakes his head. That something-nothing in his chest flutters and fades and disappears all at once, instead replaced with the urge to smile back. Bdubs laughs, and Etho can imagine him tipping his head back, mouth curved up as he giggles to himself. Etho shakes his head. As he starts to pull away from Bdubs, he feels him catch his sleeve, holding fast to his elbow.

“Etho, wait—” Bdubs giggles. “It looks really good.”

Etho raises his eyebrows. Caught in Bdubs grasp, all he can do is look at him, head tilted, trying not to let the amusement show on his face. Bdubs giggles, face breaking again as he does.

“Etho…” he tries again, fighting back a smile. Etho tilts his head the other way, as if to prompt him further, looking for anything. He stays silent. Bdubs hand lowers slowly, that smile faltering just a fraction. Maybe he thinks Etho’s upset with him. There’s a flicker of recognition in his eyes. “You gonna say anythin’? Or you just gonna stand there?”

Etho smiles, finally. He shrugs a little, glancing over at the fixed lines of redstone.

“I fixed your redstone,” he says cooly, sticking his free hand in his pocket. Bdubs blinks. He jerks away as Etho’s smile grows, shoving him hard in his shoulder. Etho wobbles for a moment, smiling to himself, scrunching up his face as Bdubs’ expression morphs. He does laugh, after a beat, poking Etho in the shoulder as he does. Etho hopes he can see the smile in his eyes. He saves, logs, keeps this moment. He’s sure in the low light that his LED spins yellow for a moment. It feels right. If there’s any feeling to catalog.

Bdubs huffs. Etho thinks he hears him say something under his breath. It sounds a lot like thank you.

It’s out of habit, rather than obligation, that Etho finds himself back at the horse course. Of course he ends up here, his feet moving him about as if his brain-not-brain had no thoughts of its own. Man. Some days, it really felt human.

He wanders across the plain, eyes lingering on fully-built buildings, knowing the schematics and plans, watching as those plans-now-buildings stretched higher above his head, where they nearly threatened to pop the sky wide open. 

Bdubs had sat down with him earlier that week, papers spread out between them. He’d stopped by, actually—worked his way up the mountain to the base Etho had finally finished, papers in hand, looking like he was on the verge of collapse. He’d dropped the blueprints on the largest table Etho had managed to clear, spreading out the designs for huge, complex buildings. Etho watched him explain, listened for the inflection of when to offer suggestions, heard the way Bdubs’ voice grew quieter, almost conspiratorial, as he explained his palette. There was something methodical in the way Bdubs spoke, not only in the approach to his colors, but to his style. As much as it seemed eclectic and strange, he watched the pieces fall together as Bdubs spoke of his gradients. There was something deeper there, a precision that Etho, all of a sudden, in that room, craved to emulate. To write to disk. To save. To do more than just copy. 

He’d built the horse stable first—all to his own specifications. It was Bdubs later who came in to detail, tilling up the dirt around to plant grass and flowers, sectioning off parts of the empty stable. It was almost difficult to compartmentalize that Bdubs was finished with it now. That they’d worked each line of the redstone and Etho had supervised the first steps of building, and now he could look up and see the very top, or almost, if he were to strain, of the spikes above the buildings. 

And in just a few weeks, Bdubs was onto another project. Etho smiles to himself. He can’t help it. There was something rather comforting about that. Something about Bdubs dragging him along to help, pointing him toward the thing he was good at, and asking for help. Bdubs showing up at his door with plans. Bdubs cracking jokes with him, and looking for a laugh Etho couldn’t replicate yet. It’s like something clicked. Or was just on the breach of it. And Etho liked it.

Etho clears his field of view, taking in, instead, the stretch of sky where it met the ocean, along the line of hills and grass and flowers, and further still, to the smudge that looked like Bdubs. He blends in too well—the green of his coat barely noticeable against the field of grass that splayed out from the side of his build. There were still materials strewn about—chests half opened, shulkers stacked waist high. 

Bdubs stands to the side of a dark grey and white horse, one hand placed on its nose, the other digging through his bag. Etho watches for a moment. Bdubs fishes around for that entire second that he lingers, searching for something, until he pulls out an apple. Another falls to the ground, rolling away from him. He holds out the fruit for the horse as Etho clears his throat. 

“Hiya, Bdubs—” he says as Bdubs startles, twisting around to see him. He huffs, an immediate frown coming to his face. Bdubs turns to fetch the dropped apple, holding it high above his head as the grey horse nudges its nose into his empty hand. He pats it instead.

“Etho,” he says, tone thin. He sighs, shaking his head. “Scared the life outta me, you know that? You gotta make some noise when you’re walkin’ around.”

Etho smiles, a nice and easy reaction to the annoyance in Bdubs’ voice. It’s getting easier. At least a bit. The smiling part, that is. The inflection that comes with being happy.

“I’ll try next time,” he says, shrugging his shoulders. His hands find his pockets as he looks around, eyes following the path around the buildings. He’s sure the pollen and moss will be stuck to his clothes for days before he gets them out.

“Mm,” Bdubs hums, unconvinced. “I’m sure you will. Now, what’re you doin’ here? You don’t have anything better to do?”

“That’s a good question,” Etho says.

Bdubs turns back to him for a second, just a glance over his shoulder as he cocks his head to the side. He raises his eyebrows before he turns back to the horse, who’s started to nose at his bag. He drags his hand down its nose.

“You’re tellin’ me you don’t have an objective right now?”

“I never have an objective, Bdubs.”

Bdubs snorts again . Etho steps over, slow, minding the horse. It sniffs as Etho holds out his hand, nosing his gloved palm. He pats the horse's nose, somewhat stilted, smoothing over the soft bridge of his nose.

“Right,” Bdubs hums. When Etho glances over to him, Bdubs glances away, as if he’d lingered as Etho stepped over. He’s not moved from Etho’s side, which. Makes something fit into Etho’s chest in a way he isn’t expecting. He rests his hand on the horse's head, looking over at Bdubs in full.

“I can’t come see how the horse course is looking, now that you’re done?” he asks. Bdubs makes an embarrassed sounding noise, watching the rise of the buildings to their left. The horse sniffs, and Etho lifts his hand away, letting it fall to his side.

“I—I got excited about it,” Bdubs mutters. If Etho leans enough, he can see the beginnings of a flush creep over his cheeks, up the shell of his ear. Something about that, too. Etho looks beyond him, though, studying the rise of the buildings as Bdubs does. He nods to himself.

“I can tell,” he says, amusement slipping into his voice, almost naturally. Immediately, Bdubs whips around again, face twisted in offense.

“Hey!” he snaps. “You makin’ fun of me?”

Etho shakes his head, spreading his hands out in front of him as he does.

“No, no. Not at all,” he says, hoping the smile he’s giving is reaching his eyes. “I’m saying we make a pretty good team.”

Bdubs makes a little huff of a sound, but his posture and expression softens. Etho studies it from the moment it appears, trying to place the emotion behind it. He seems upset—but not from anything Etho said. He almost looks guilty.

“We’ve always made a good team,” Bdubs mumbles. Etho blinks.

“Since when have we been a team?”

“Since—s…” Bdubs blurts, then backtracks, folding his arms over his chest. “Well we’re a team now!”

Etho raises his eyebrows, stepping away from the horse and more around Bdubs’ side. He leans in a bit as he stands by his side, bumping their shoulders together. Bdubs doesn’t recoil. Instead, he pushes back, just for a moment, and they jostle. Bdubs hums, sighing through his nose.

“Are we?” Etho asks. Bdubs nods, short and firm.

“Mhm! ‘Cause I said so.”

Etho nods with him. There’s that thing again, a turning, jostling, in some part of his chest that really shouldn’t turn or jostle. He can feel his temperature tick up just a few degrees, a fan kicking on to settle the temperature, thirium sludging warm to cold through his limbs. A team, huh? He couldn’t beat Bdubs’ conviction, that’s for sure. Maybe it was a bit of guilt, then. Maybe something in Bdubs had realized Etho was much more of a help than a hindrance. Maybe Bdubs wanted a friend. Maybe he just felt bad and the feeling bad got to a point where he had to just do something about it. Etho didn’t know. He didn’t live inside Bdubs’ brain. And picking at Bdubs’ every emotion was a task enough to drive his processor into the ground. He could already feel another spike in temperature, LED glowing yellow-blue. Maybe it wasn’t all bad. Etho sticks his hands in his pockets.

“I’d like that,” he says, finally pushing out the words as his programming jumps into gear, “What’s our next project then?”

Bdubs goes back to jostling him before he turns away, moving from Etho’s side to collect his horse. Gathering the horse's reins in his hands, Bdubs pauses.

“Ooh…” he says, frowning a little. Etho watches the little furrow of his eyebrows—thinking. Bdubs is turning the idea over in his head. Bdubs steps back over with the horse in tow, already walking in the direction of the horse stable. Etho jolts forward, taking several big steps to match Bdubs’ pace. “Well why don’t you come back to the clock and we can talk about it, huh?”

“That sounds nice.”

Bdubs makes an affirmative sound, leading the horse around and into the stable. Etho watches him unlatch the gate, ushering the horse into the pen.

“I can put the kettle on and everything,” Bdubs says. He lifts the bridle out of the horse’s mouth, running his hand along the length of the horse’s nose. Etho doesn’t mean to watch him as he does, but the action is so purposeful. There’s a moment where Bdubs’ expression is unreadable—unreadable as in Etho simply can’t place anything on it. Unreadable in the amount it changes—something softer than he’s seen, something far away. Bdubs’ whole demeanor seems to shift as he stands still for a moment. Etho isn’t sure what to do with himself. He’s just standing in straw and dirt and stones, all of which he can feel under his shoes. He shuffles a bit, back and forth, to make his presence known, before he says:

“You know I can’t drink anything, Bdubs.”

And Bdubs rolls his eyes, squinting over at him, stepping away from the horse to hop the gate.

“Well you can at least fake it,” he grumbles. He folds his arms again, wrinkling his nose at Bdubs as Bdubs leads him out of the pen and into the open field around the horse course. The shadow of the buildings above them hasn’t changed, yet. The sun is still high and warm in the sky.

Etho laughs. At least, he makes a sound that he thinks passes as a laugh. Bdubs laughs too, though, so it must sound pretty convincing. He nods, the smile on his face feeling much more natural than he ever could have expected. 

“I could fake it,” he laughs. “Sure.”

Bdubs grins at him. It’s nice. It makes the walk back to his base a little more bearable.

By the time Etho gets his invitation to the life game, he’s grown accustomed to being at Bdubs’ side again. He wanders around Bdubs’ base like he knows it, makes it a spot he chooses to map, to memorize. Bdubs checks in on him when he isn’t around as much—asks him how his builds are going, wonders if he needs help. Bdubs lingers in his spaces too, like a plant trying to root, gives himself reasons to stand in doorways just a bit longer, just enough to extend their goodbyes. It feels right—in a way that almost gives reason to Etho’s deviation. Maybe, deep down, from their first introduction, Etho had decided to glue himself to Bdubs’ side and not become unstuck. Maybe he’d simply put that decision, his first ever decision, into motion that day. It didn’t matter much as to why anymore.

When Etho gets his letter, he doesn’t open it. He holds it between two fingers, turning it over and over. He doesn’t need to read it to know what it says. There’s a dark red seal on the back, shaped like a heart. He makes a little sound, some sort of click in the back of his mouth, before he stuffs the letter in his pocket, half-folded.

He finds Bdubs exactly where he expects. Bdubs is sitting cross-legged in his garden, hands in the dirt, when Etho arrives at the crescent moon base. If he looks closely enough, Etho can still tell that Bdubs’ own letter sits on his window sill in the kitchen, unopened. But he’s really squinting to notice, so he writes it off for now as a flaw in his own sight. 

Bdubs turns to him as he walks up. His hair is pushed back away from his face with his bandana, and his hands are covered in dirt, and he’s got a streak of black soil across his forehead that Etho tries not to look at for too long. Bdubs shoots him a toothy grin, going back to his bright orange tulips. If Etho looks long enough, he could probably guess the soil mixture, and tell him if it's good enough to be planting orange tulips in, but he doesn’t. Instead, he comes to stand behind him and Bdubs hums in greeting.

“Etho,” he says, looking up again, wiping the dirt from his forehead. “What can I do for you?”

“Oh, nothin’,” Etho says, stuffing his hands in his pockets. He forgets who he picked the gesture up from, but it’s become part of his natural body language patterns now, so he won’t be stopping it anytime soon. “I just came to see how you were doing.”

“How I was doin’, huh?” Bdubs asks, amusement trickling into his voice. Etho smiles, feeling his face pull.

“Mhm,” he says. “That’s right. I can’t come and check up on a friend?”

Bdubs laughs, sticking his spade in the dirt.

“Oh, we’re friends now?” he says, still giggling as he turns around. “I thought we were just a team.”

Etho watches him lean back on his hands, legs coming out from under him. He tries to read Bdubs’ expression and voice for any note of insincerity, or play, or teasing, but doesn’t find anything he normally associates with Bdubs. This just feels true.

“I mean, I figured with how much we’ve been working together…” Etho starts, to which Bdubs startles, waving his hands.

“No, no!” Bdubs yelps. “Etho, I thought the same thing! I just wasn’t expectin’ it from you.”

Etho blinks. It feels owlish, small, almost a wrong reaction to hearing Bdubs say something like that. But it’s what immediately happens, before he tries to open his mouth, and no sound comes out. He waits for a moment. He assumes his LED spins, maybe even red, as Bdubs watches him, face paling.

“Oh,” Etho says quietly.

“We’re friends,” Bdubs says, voice much smaller than Etho’s ever heard it. “‘S that alright with you?”

Etho feels like the proper response would be to laugh, if he could really feel anything at all besides every gear in his chest halting and restarting themselves. He makes a noise that sounds almost like a cough.

“Mhm,” he says. He watches Bdubs’ shoulders relax and finds that his own posture sinks with it. 

“Good,” Bdubs says, nodding along. “Was there anything else you wanted to scare me with?”

Etho knows this tone—playful. Teasing. He works up a smile and fishes the letter from his pocket, slightly bent. Bdubs’ eyes flick right to it, right to the red seal pressed into the paper. Immediately, he scrambles up, reaching for the note in Etho’s hands. Etho lets him grab it in his dirt-covered fingers, even as Bdubs tries frantically to dust off his hands as he notices. Bdubs turns it over itself, glancing up at Etho.

“It’s for you?”

Etho nods.

“It was on my doorstep this morning,” he says. “I can see you’ve got one in your window?”

Bdubs snorts, shaking his head.

“Yeah, I haven’t opened the damn thing. I’m excited up until the point I’m not, ‘cause I know I’m gonna lose again.”

Etho hums. As Bdubs hands him back the letter, Etho rests his hand on his shoulder, giving it a hesitant, light squeeze. Bdubs looks quickly down at it, before he’s back to staring at Etho’s face.

“Don’t worry, Bdubs,” he says, hoping his voice is full of amusement and affection like he feels like it is. “You’ll have me there this time!”

And Bdubs laughs, full and warm in his chest, and Etho jostles him around as he does, until Bdubs is smacking his shoulder and wiggling free. He picks up his fallen hat and his tools, and Etho follows him around the side of the house as he puts things away. As he shuts one of the chest, Bdubs says:

“You mean that, though? You wanna be on a team?”

Etho smiles, feeling his eyes squint, forces every ounce of new feeling into his words when he says:

“I don’t think I wanna team with anyone else, Bdubs.”

And Bdubs’ grin in excitement is more than enough to convince him he’s made the right choice.

It’ll be a long two weeks until the death game starts. When he returns home later that night, Bdubs’ plans for success turning over in his brain, recording for later, Etho reads over the letter enough to commit the page to memory. He keeps it safe internally as the letter finds its way to his bookshelf, half-sealed. Through him, like it’s just under the skin, runs an emotion he’s not yet familiar with. He hopes it's a good one, at the very least. He hopes so, as much as an android, a machine, someone just now familiar with the idea of free will, can hope. 

It feels good, though. And something makes him think that everything will turn out just fine.

[autisticmao]

GENRE: fluff - maybe crackish?

FEATURED: joel

WARNINGS: none

PROMPT: Etho loses his mask, and finds who the thief who stole it was.

WORD COUNT: 759

//one day i will get back to writing angst... but for now:

//also this idea has been in the works since the beginning of writing these two- so it looks as tho i joined the obsessed joke sorta late. sjsns

"Where even is it?!" A groan of frustration leaves from Etho, his voice echoed the room after slamming the top part of the chest down, a flurry of noise follows the action.

To put it simply, Etho has lost his mask. He wasn't quite sure how or when, but during the past few days and up until now, the mask was gone with no trace.

A sigh of defeat leaves from the ashen-haired male as he walked over to his bed on the other side of the room, plopping himself down and resting his chin in his hands, elbows rested on his knees as he stared forward with a blank focus on the wall ahead of him.

Etho's thoughts wracked through every memory from the past week or so to how he could have lost his mask, trying to remember who he last interacted with to think if any of them would know. He's interacted with a decent few, like Mumbo, Gem, and especially...

Etho hears a noise come from one of the rooms next over as he was stuck in thought of his missing wanderings. His head perks up at the said noise. There was only ever one other person besides him in the house.

...Joel.

With a steady thought flowing in his head, Etho stands from his bed and walks over to the door, letting it creak open after pushing it gently over and stepping out onto the landing.

He looks left and right, ears perked for more noise to which he follows through the house until a few minutes after, and Etho finds himself standing in a singular open doorway of one of the rooms.

Etho peeks his head past the doorframe, noticing the familiar figure of Joel standing near one of the walls and facing it. On the very wall was a standard size mirror that Joel seemed to be entertaining himself with, laughing at himself as he made jokes and silly voices and even poses or other movements to go with what he said every other sentence.

Etho goes to only take two steps into the room, and with Joel's extraordinary observant antics, from where Joel stood, he turns around speedily, meeting eye to eye with Etho.

He goes to speak to the other male, only to realise that Joel had something of his...

Joel was wearing Etho's mask, the one he's been looking for hours on end for. All this time spent looking around wasted, only to find that the brunette had it to himself all along.

Etho leans against the wall behind him, arms crossed over as a facade of cheekiness crosses over his features, eyes focused solely on the other male. "What you wearing there Joel?" He asks teasingly, nodding his head towards the other male.

"...Nothing." Joel stutters a little, staring wide-eyed at Etho.

"Uh huh... seems like it." A smirk crosses his facial features. "Then mind telling me where you got that mask from?"

A sudden hit of realisation shocks through Joel, one of his hands come up to his face as he attempts horribly at hiding the midnight coloured mask that he was wearing. "Oh, you mean about this? Totally from the shopping district! Not anywhere else." The umber eyed smaller attempts to lie, hoping to metaphorically push Etho away. His voice sounded incredibly muffled, but Etho could still understand him from under it all.

"That's funny," he steps incredibly closer towards Joel, "because the mask you're wearing looks exactly like my one. From every frailed loose string to anything else. Practically down to a tee. Are you sure that's not mine... or are you so obsessed that you're cosplaying as me now?"

Joel stills himself into defensive mode. "I'm not the one obsessed, thank you very much, Etho!" He huffs loudly. Etho couldn't help but chuckle silently. It was easy to rile Joel up when using the right words, and in a way, it was entertaining to the ashen-haired taller. Joel reminded Etho of a young toddler who was in a stroppy mood, whinging until daylight was taken away.

"I don't know about that... everything you do lately around here seems like you are, and the fact that you also decided to move in with me a few months ago doesn't help factor your point there, Joel."

Another huff comes from the male who was talked about.

Etho talked once more, originating back to the previous subject of talking. "Anyways. The mask...?"

"Nope! It is mine!"

"Joel!"

"...Bye!"

"Joel, don't run off! ...Damn it... Joel! Come back!"

[poetthewriter]

Excuse me sir, may I have some Etho fluff? Just a little to spare.

Drink water and touch grass! -🪓anon

KitsuneEthoslab x GnReader

Cookie Kisses

𝑯𝒆𝒓𝒎𝒊𝒕𝒄𝒓𝒂𝒇𝒕= 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒃&𝒔𝒑𝒊𝒄𝒆𝒔🌱🧄🌿

The sky is dark and the shopping district is silent as soft white snow falls down from the sky, a gently lit lantern sways back and forth as the light guides your way, heat realises its self from the tiny crackling fire but the heat is only enough to warm the frosted feeling in you finger tips. snow crunches underneath warm boots and the wind harshly snaps you face.

walking through the shops and stores a joyful smile forms on your face the beautiful blue glow reaches you as you look through the widows of the alley sanctuary, your eyes shimmer reflecting the enchanting view and from afar someone admires the charming looks that belong to you.

Etho sits like a cat on a firm branch of a spruce tree, one by one 9 tails show them self's behind his back matching the color of the freezing snow and mimicking the chilled wind, his tails resembles the tail of an arctic fox snowy white with soft periwinkle tips.

Ethos hair falls over his face as as he tilts his head onto his hand, you continue walking your cold path but a patch of ice is not so happy to let you pass on without harm, hidden under the snow you trip, slipping back onto the ice.

Holding your head soothing the flashes of pain pounding on the back of your head, a silhouette stands in front of you hold out a hand to pick you up from your pained state, "Are you alright dear" Ethos tall stance lowers as he puts an arm around you picking you up. "i would offer you some ice to help your head but i don't think you need more, already got enough ice to the head" he laughs out breathily.

As you pull your self up your friend supports you with his arm, feeling a bit dizzy still Ethos pulls you in to Scars cookie shop sitting you down to rest for a moment. "thanks Etho" you look at him with a smile and he returns one right away.

"Anytime, So Y/n what ya doing out shopping so late?" Etho responds in his quiet sweet deep voice.

"Well I'm going on a trip soon to some other servers to go scouring for some gifts for everyone I know its still quite early but I'm always rushing and I'm not to good at keeping up with getting all the gifts, I came to grab some elytra's". you respond with a embarrassed tone.

"ah I see well are you feeling alright now?"

"oh yeah, don't worry ill live"

Etho stand up and quickly grabs a cookie from Scars shop counter leaving him some cash and bringing it back over to you, your eyes question him at why he bought you one, Scars shop is fairly new and you haven't had the time to check out and support you good friends business so unbeknownst to you you didn't know the spell put on the tasty cookies.

"Oh, thank you Etho" you say to him as he hands you a cookie, slowly you take a bite out of the cookie as you close your eyes, soft and chewy and... huh? opening your eyes you see yourself teleported right Infront of Etho, of course embarrassed you go to get of of him but his hand pulls you in stroking your cheek.

"Y/n" he looks at you with loving eyes, pulling down his mask he looks at you again, "may i kiss you?" your heart strings pull tight and you feel as if the air has been knocked out of your lungs, looking as his face you stare in shock, Etho and yourself have known each other for years now he has been there and been by your side.

It was him all along, you and him. he watched over you taking care of you and being your best friend, you and him all along.

your face warms up as he awaits you answer and finally you speak up. "yes" you say to him, his face leans in and his lips are warm its only a peck and it only lasts a few moments but its full, full of love.

"That is one gift off your list" he smile holding you "may i take you home lovely?" he looks at you with a smirk pulling his mask up again, without responding you grab his hand and walk out of the shop, as the two of you walk past the spot of ice you tripped on he looks over at it and speaks up.

"What, lovely weather"

A/n-sorry it took so long hope ya can forgive me 🪓💕

[mentalisill]

Ethubs but they make flower crowns and have tea and be silly and and and and

You are so real actually!!!!!!!!!!!

“It's all patterns.” Etho likes patterns, he finds patterns in everything he does. Whether it's how redstone works, or the patterns he finds in how his friends do things, or in making flower crowns over tea.

Bdubs is next to him, struggling with the chain of daisies in his lap. Etho has been slipping flowers into his hair instead of weaving them together to make a crown of his own.

Etho finds the patterns in Bdubs. He sticks his tongue out of the corner of his mouth when he's really focused, he grumbles when he isn't amazing at something immediately, he glances at Etho every once in a while “You don't even have yours made, yet!”

“I'm giving you a head start.” Etho reaches up to unhook his mask, smiling at Bdubs as he takes a sip of his tea.

“Yeah right, maybe you just are waiting for the flower-crown-making master to show you how it's done!”

“Sure, Bubs.” Etho chuckles, continuing his own daisy crown. He even gets a little fancy and sticks some other flowers around them into his (now finished, whereas Bdubs isn't even halfway done with his—He's getting there, Etho can tell with the “Ah-hah!” Bdubs exclaims when he holds up the thick chain in his hands) flower crown.

Daisies with forget-me-nots mixed in as accents.

Etho can't put it on Bdubs' head, he's already made sure the smaller man's head was decorated with flowers, so he sits the crown in his lap and watches Bdubs.

He's getting it. His fingers are still clumsy, yet they move swiftly along, and, eventually, he has a long chain of daisies he struggles to connect.

Eventually, he does manage to connect the ends and slips it over Etho's head. It's a little too big and it slips off his head and onto his shoulders.

“Ah-hah! See I meant to do that! It's a— It's a necklace!” Bdubs notices a flower fall from his head, causing him to shake his head and grumble at Etho, “Oh…You…”

Etho watches as a few flowers find themselves sticking in his hair, so Etho reaches forward and picks the rest of them out one by one, “I didn't do anything.” He grins down at Bdubs.

It's outside of their usual pattern to go on a sweet kind of date like this, but whatever.

It's nice. They should do this more.

[aoneko-lee]

Everyone knows that Bdubs and Joel would fight to the death for Etho

[thefireintheshadow]

"Oh snappers!" Gem says, eyes alight with mischief.

Etho scoffs. "That is not how I sound." But he's smiling, because she's so fucking cute. He moves forward, poking her in the ribs in all the places he knows she's ticklish.

"Oh, no?" she teases, giggling and backing away, but not too quickly, because she doesn't really want to be away from him. Ever.

"No," he says, backing her into the wooden pillar behind her. Her cheeks pink, and her lips part a little, and he loves that he has this effect on her. "Want to hear my impression of you?"

She rolls her eyes, fighting the fluttering in her belly, trying to keep up the facade of the upper hand, even though he's so close and he's so warm. "Oh, sure, let's hear it."

"Oh Etho, you're so talented," he says, bringing his voice up an octave, and her cheeks are fully flushed now. "It's so hard being an Ethogirl on this server because you're sooooo handsome!"

She scoffs this time, but it's weak, and she fists his shirt as if to shove him away but of course she doesn't. "I don't sound like that," she breathes, and it doesn't matter if it's true or not because he's kissing her, and maybe it's not so hard to be an Ethogirl on this server after all.

(if you recently requested gemtho content from a blog that no longer exists please see the notes on my ao3 version of this fic)

[neosoot]

hello hermitblr, i have come to promote my newest fic 🫡

for now, it's a etho-centric one where he finds himself at the very start of a zombie apocalypse. there's not much to it since i decided to go changing tags as the fanfic goes on and this is only the first chapter, but i hope any of you can give me a shot :3 if you're interested, please read tags and have fun<333333

[vivitheanimaxen]

Etho couldn't have been more relieved and frustrated when the end of session was called.

At first, he'd thought that his task would be easy. Well. Not easy, but certainly doable, especially by him. If there was ever a good time to be an enderman hybrid, it was now. Etho would be able to feel the eyes on him, even if he wasn't able to see them.

The problem started when Tango and Skizz came by to ask to use his crafting table. At first he just thought it was the weight of their eyes on him-- the way his body felt heavier-- but as the session progressed, so did his affliction.

"Hi Etho." Gem's voice made him spin about, though it wasn't quite as fast as he normally would have, "Can I buy your door?"

Etho first noticed the tingling in his feet when he was helping Joel and Bdubs with their double zombie spawner. After it was all dug out, Etho found himself pinned between the gazes of the two men, unable to move, unable to leave the spawner box, the water gently lapping at his boots.

"Just keep doing what you're doing." Etho tried, attempting to difuse the situation so Joel would look away.

"I'm trying to Effo, but you're in the way--" Joel nudged him aside, placing the last few blocks.

Etho had to block Joel's line of sight, then Bdub's to make it so he could move again-- His feet had pins and needles after that whole ordeal, once he'd finally managed to dig into the wall and up and out. It was like-- the longer someone looked at him, instead of getting that anxious paranoid ender itch like he normally did, it felt like his feet had been too heavy to move. Like he'd been glued to the spot.

Maybe he should tell Grian about it. This was supposed to be a death game, but the lore wasn't supposed to go so awry. The secret keeper was just a silly little statue-- some set dressing for the drama, it was even hollow inside! Not-- surely it was just his imagination. The dumb statue didn't hold any power. He didn't need to worry Grian with this--

Etho resolved to just ignore it.

Surely it would go away the moment he handed in his task. It wasn't a problem that the longer someone was looking at him, the heavier his body seemed to get, and the more the numbness started to creep in.

It'd started with his feet, slowly turning them to stone in his boots, then it crept it's way up his legs. It was taking longer for the feeling to return, each time he was out of sight.

Nothing to be alarmed about. Just a little bit of casual petrification.

Every person on the server was his own personal Medusa, only able to turn Etho to stone.

It went faster the more people were looking at him, too.

After the incident with the heart foundation and rigging the vote, Etho found himself stuck on the bridge-- Grian and Tango and Skizz and Bdubs were all looking at him-- the stone had managed to get up to his waist, that time. It'd started on his fingertips too, clutched around the reigns of his skeleton horse.

It was terrifying, to look down at your own tingling fingers and realize the off-gray color slowly seeping away had been his own flesh.

He was glad the horse was already (un)dead, because with Etho's predicament, he surely would have crushed a flesh and blood one.

Pearl nabbing him with her book was the worst thing that could have happened. Thankfully he'd had that invisibility potion, but unfortunately, he'd only had one. Etho hated the taste of it-- sour and metallic, the bitter aftertaste tempting him to chase it down with some milk. But the freedom from the stone was worth the nastiness. Even if it had only been for a short while.

It had been like his own personal hell--- Everyone staring at him, the book burning a hole in his pocket, the dread about what might happen if the stone reached his heart--

The clumsy way he'd had to stumble up the ladder to Joel's tower, hands and legs shaking and weak. Thankfully he was able to get up and out of line of sight, and Grian had his task figured out, so he took a short breather up on the tower, shaking the feeling back into his limbs before downing a slow falling potion in one shot, the musty bubblegum flavor coating his mouth.

Whatever happened, it would only take two minutes. The session would be over and he could press the button and this would all be over.

He'd failed.

At least, he failed giving Pearl back her book. He'd succeeded his own task.

But-- those last few minutes before he pushed the button.

Etho didn't want to admit it, but he would probably have nightmares about those minutes. The stone had been so quick to take him, with all of the eyes on him--

As his arms locked up and the cold numb started to spread up his shoulders to his neck, no one noticed the growing discoloration until it was too late.

"Grian--" Etho managed to choke out, tipping his head back in an effort to keep his head above water-- but it wasn't water.

The last thing Etho saw before the stone overtook him was Tango's panicked face, and Grian turning around to see what the trouble was.

It was like dying.

He was suffocating, like he'd been buried alive in sand, but he couldn't move. It was freezing in powdered snow. It was choking on nothing in the void.

But the damage ticks never came. He couldn't feel the pain of it, even though he wanted nothing more than to gag on the stone filling him up solid like a statue. Like the weeping angel the task had turned him into.

Etho couldn't tell what was going on around him, other than the feeling of eyes on his stone skin, and the gentle brush of someone checking his code. That had to be Grian, surely.

Grian would be able to fix him.

Etho had no idea how long he was stuck as a statue, but the only thing he could see was the symbol of the secret keeper, burnt into his vision like looking at the sun too long.

The only sound was the whispers. Etho couldn't understand the words, but he knew the voices were laughing at him.

He couldn't breathe, and the only taste in his mouth was of the cold stone filling it completely.

But he could feel, and that was even more terrifying. Every touch, every warm hand on his stone skin felt like it was lava. He wanted to pull away, but he couldn't. Etho couldn't speak, he couldn't move, he was helpless. Logically he knew the others would keep him safe, would keep the mobs away if it turned to night-- but some part of him, or the voices hissing secrets and lies into his ears made him doubt.

What if he could never turn back?

What if-- even after everyone stopped looking-- the stone never receded? What if this was permanent? What if the glitch-- surely it had to be a glitch-- carried over to Hermitcraft? Or the vault hunters world?

What if they didn't figure out his task and have everyone look away? Grian knew, and Lizzie suspected, at least, but what if they didn't say anything?

What if he would be smothered by their sight, kept frozen forever by ignorance?

What if--

Etho retched, falling over as the stone finally let him go all at once. He found himself slumped against someone-- Bdubs? No, a glance told him it was Scott.

Another glance had Grian standing in front of him, eyes on his admin screens instead of Etho. Martyn was right next to Grian, eyes on the code scrolling by. It was his own code, Etho recognized it. The rest of the secret life crew was gathered in a little huddle by the secret keeper, none of them looking at him.

"Nobody look at Etho yet." Grian called over his shoulder, "Not until I'm sure I've got the glitch."

Etho just continued to retch, spitting out broken bits of stone. His whole body shuddered, his legs giving out for good as his stomach rebelled. It would have dropped him to the ground if Scott wasn't holding onto him. Etho was on his knees, throwing up bloody gravel and whatever was left of his last meal. He was trembling so hard it almost felt like someone was staring him right in the eyes, fine dust drifting down onto the grass, almost like snow. The dust was from him-- he was absolutely coated in the stuff, and so was Scott now.

Scott's touch still felt like lava, everything felt like it was burning, even the gentle breeze caressing his bare skin. It was too much. Even the pressure of the ground was too much, but at least it didn't burn--He shoved away from Scott, not bothering to try and stay upright.

"Off--" Etho rasped, his voice sounding like stones grinding against each other, "Don't-- no touch--"

Scott put his hands up, gaze still carefully averted as he stepped over to Grian and Martyn. Scott and Grian were experienced admins, but Martyn? Etho almost didn't care that they were combing through his code, he was too busy coughing up more dust and gravel, curled on his side. Everything hurt-- even the normally soft grass he was laying on felt like razors pressing against his cheek.

He could still see the secret keeper's symbol, every time he blinked.

"Etho, you know that anyone who finds a glitch needs to call pause so it can be dealt with." Grian huffed, relief and frustration coating his words. It was more relief, though, "Why didn't you say anything when you first noticed this?"

"It wasn't a big deal at first." Etho rasped, lying, "Just pins and needles in my feet. I thought it was from standing so long in one place. By the time I figured out what was going on-- It was too quick to try and call a pause--"

"Next time, at least mention something. I'd rather you fail your task than get glitched."

Etho let out a breath, still shaking from adrenaline and the cold of being locked in stone.