Hi here have a Tumblr exclusive, it’s 1171 words and I wrote it at like 1:30 AM so please forgive that it’s not polished hmmm
Summary: Scar has a recurring dream that may or may not really be a dream.
(CW: This might come across as a little existential so if you have troubles with existential or dreams-are-more-than-dreams stuff be aware of that. Also references past death and the third chapter of Miseries, which I haven’t, uh... finished yet...)
...
Scar finds himself on a beach.
It isn’t an unfamiliar sight- the clouds above him, dark and swirling angrily with dangerous promise with an unnaturally calm sea lapping at the shore, the boat in the shallows rocking gently where it sits, caught against the sandy bottom. Far in the distance, across the sea and through the misty rain just beginning to fall, he can see blue sky and a burning sun.
It isn’t an unfamiliar feeling- the wind is cold and the water colder, soaking into the hem of his robe and the gown he wears underneath, ice sinking into his veins and freezing him from the inside out. His hair, damp from the misty wind, stings as it whips around his face, leaving behind water droplets frozen to his skin. His fingers are numb and his feet even more.
It isn’t an unfamiliar sound- the raging wind, billowing his hair and the long, baggy sleeves of his robe out towards that distant shore, sounds like whispers in his ears, no louder than the gentle pattering of raindrops on the windowsill of his bedroom. The loudest sound, the sound that drowns out everything else, is the steady, rhythmic whoosh of the tide falling over the sand.
He stands there, gazing through the storm raging above him- all-encompassing. He stares across the sea, to the light on the other side. He doesn’t turn around yet, knowing what he will find and not wanting to find it.
(It is dark, so dark, and he is not afraid of the dark until he comes to this place.)
Lightning flashes through the distant clouds, painting the world in hues of blue. For a moment everything is ice, as desolate as the world behind him- but it fades as quickly as it had appeared, an image that never did exist.
He wants to touch that distant light, to reach out and grasp it- hold it for himself, claim its warmth and comfort as the storm kicks up sand behind him and the tide reaches higher, ever higher. He wants to bask in its life as the life wilts around him.
The sea is empty. There is no life.
There is only him.
Walk, the light beckons, tempting with its warmth.
Walk, the wind whispers, pushing at his back.
Walk, the sea challenges, swirling all around him.
(It would be easy, he knows, to simply walk through this gentle and shallow sea- he can see the bottom. He can walk to the boat and take it with him, to ride if the sea becomes too deep. He can weather the storm and reach that light, and it will be easier than standing there- easier than standing there in the ever-fading light, letting the darkness settle around him like a blanket of snow.)
Like a gentle kiss to the forehead, a pair of arms that hold.
Stay, something murmurs, like a gentle hand on his back. Like comfort and love and guidance, like warmth settled in his chest. Like a moment that lasts forever.
It feels like safety.
Like love.
The clouds are dark as night, black and starless, and he can hardly see the forest against them. He does not need to see the forest, already knowing the trees that wilt and decay there, the life of their canopies having turned to ash years ago.
Turn around, something begs, and as he always does, Scar obeys. He tears his eyes from the promising warmth of the sun, so far out of reach, and turns his gaze onto the beach behind him.
The dunes are tall and steep, steeper than he could ever climb, and only a strip of beach remains between the sea and the dying dune grass. Where the water meets the shore there are headstones, tilted and sinking into the wet sand beneath; the water laps at their bases, teasing the sand away and threatening to show Scar what lies beneath.
Slowly, agonizingly slowly, he takes a step- then another.
Another.
Seconds yet an eternity later he stands at the edge of the water, eyes on the crumbling and faded stone. He drops down to his knees, the water breaking like ice beneath him, and reaches out with blue-tinged fingers- tracing the words that stood out against the once-brilliant marble, tracing the elegant and shimmering ink.
It runs into the water and taints the blackened-blue with bright, shining gold.
Gold like ink, gold like blood.
Gold like magic.
(Like Scar’s magic.)
Scar knows where he is.
He knows it as well as he knows himself.
He’s known this place forever, though he never remembers when the morning comes.
Every time he sees it he knows what waits for him in the waking world. He knows it will hurt.
Will it be too much this time?
(He never walks. He wonders what would happen if he would just cross the sea. Would he escape the cold? Would he never wake up, never have to fight nature again- would he never fight for a life that isn’t even rightfully his to have again? Will he finally stand on dry ground, surrounded by light?
He wonders what would happen if he stays standing here forever. Will the water rise? Will the water rise until he’s trapped in a watery grave, too late to choose the light? Will he be stuck here, waiting for the water to fill his lungs? Will he be trapped in darkness forever, a light that will never shine again?)
Hold on, the stone seems to say, burning hot against his too-cold fingers. Hold on, it says, and he feels warm.
Like the hands that carried him to bed, like the hands that never left when he needed them.
Stay, the stones say, and against all better judgment he hears them.
Go, the wind, the sea, the light, the dark, the forest say.
His hands are cold as ice and pain is blooming in his chest and the water is rising, eroding the sand beneath his knees, and his hair is tangled and matted from the wind and the mist.
The mist is turning to rain around him.
The clouds darken and the wind howls.
The sea crashes against the sand and stone.
Everything is ice, everything is sand, everything is marble, everything is-
Warmth and light, hands that hold him, a voice that soothes him back to sleep.
Stories and trinkets, gifts that mean I was always thinking of you.
A soft smile, a gentle I love you, a sacrifice.
He closes his eyes and leans over the stone, resting his forehead against its burning surface. The pain in his chest spreads, ice in his veins turning to fire, and he holds onto the marble tighter than he has held anything before.
Darkness.
The warmth burning him from the inside out wars against the freezing rain that now pours around him, the icy sea that pulls him down.
Hi here have a very short one-shot, wordcount is ~350 so it's like barely a drabble for me. (Yes I know a drabble is a 100 word fic don't @ me-)
Subject of the drabble? .... shovel talk. That's it that's the fic-
..
The knock is simple and quick, and Grian and Mumbo share a quizzical glance. Mumbo goes to answer the door, and he opens it to find Tubbo standing on the porch.
"Tubbo!" He greets, surprised and confused. "What are you doing here?" Not that he minds, but the shop barely closed fifteen minutes ago and Tubbo hardly ever comes to the manor.
Grian peers out, wings fluffing. "Tubbo!" He greets with endless enthusiasm, smiling and stepping out. "What's going on?"
Tubbo smiles. "Hi guys! Just thought I'd visit and say hi, now that you're dating my dad."
"Uh, that's very nice of you," Mumbo says, suddenly suspicious. "But we have been dating him for a couple weeks now."
"Right, and now he's out of town, and we can talk."
"Talk?" Grian repeats, unease slipping into his voice.
Tubbo smiles sweetly and, before either Grian or Mumbo can stop him, he reaches up, grabs the lapels of their shirts and drags them down to his level.
He looks them dead in the eyes, his own wide and sharp and gleaming with something dangerous, and he says, "My dad is the most important person in the world to me, and if anything happens to him I will burn the world down. If you two do anything to hurt him, I'll make you wish the Purists got you instead. Understand?"
Grian barely manages to squeak out an affirmation, and Mumbo is too shocked to respond at all- the boy's face shows absolutely no signs of deception or humor, and Mumbo thinks he's serious.
Tubbo lets go and steps back, clapping his hands together. "Good!" He almost sings, smile innocent and blinding if not for his eyes. "Then I think we won't have any problems! I need to get back to finish closing out the shop now, bye!"
And then he was gone, leaving the Vampire and Avian standing in silent shock on the front porch.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 8/?
Fandom: Hermitcraft SMP, 3rd Life | Last Life SMP Series
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Relationships: mumscarian, Scar & Tubbo, Mumbo & Tubbo, Grian & Tubbo
Characters: Mumbo Jumbo, Grian, Scar - Hermitcraft, Tubbo
Additional Tags: Fantasy AU, Fluff Fic Gone Wrong, the first few chapters are fluff, but things are gonna get serious, Character injury later, Roadtrip Fic
Series: Part 22 of Midnight
Summary:
Mumbo, Grian, Scar and Tubbo are going to Midnight Alley. Bonding is made. Fluff is had.
Fun fact! And also spoilers if you haven’t read Midnights Past yet, but!
In Midnights Past, the lullaby Scar sings- Scar is translating it as he goes, and he messes up with the line “Of monster-god and harbinger” as he can think of nothing that rhymes with harbinger. He skips the line after that, and every other time he sang it he continued to skip that one line.
The missing line, which may or may not come up in a future story... below the cut for potential spoiler reasons....
“Of monster-god and harbinger-
Of fate this world cannot endure.”
And yes, I am aware ‘harbinger’ and ‘endure’ do not actually rhyme, but it’s close enough for the sake of a lullaby-
So there you go, if you are on my tumblr you got the whole Warden’s Lullaby now :)
