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freyanistics · 1 year ago

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Fiery flames 🔥 (part 2)

Part one here

"Come not between the dragon, and his wrath."

- William Shakespeare, King Lear

That little mishap happened a week ago.

There were talks about a party at the studio to celebrate Welcome Home’s 100th episode. Everyone was excited, including yourself, as it’s been awhile since you’ve went out to a party. At the night of the party you braided your hair into four plaits then put on a neutral outfit, not too masculine but not too feminine either. After checking yourself in the mirror you head out to the studio.

As soon you came inside the building music and bright lights cause you to step back a bit. After you adjusted to the new environment you grin seeing everyone was there. Frank and Eddie were talking at the punch bowl holding hands, Julie was already dancing on the floor with Sally, and a few of the others were doing their own thing. You start mingling with everyone as you drank some of your punch. There wasn’t no alcohol at this party because the executives didn’t want things to get too wild but that didn’t stop you from slipping some vodka in your drink, you even shared some with Barnaby.

By ten pm everyone was having a good time. You was laughing with Poppy and Eddie when you suddenly felt like you was being watched. Your eyes start to scan the crowd until it lands on Wally, leaning against the wall from across the room, staring at you. His face was shrouded in the shadows illuminating his eyes as they bore into yours. When he noticed you had saw him he starts walking towards your group.

“Aw shit.” You muttered under your breath. You force a smile as he reaches you and the others, but his eyes were trained on you.

“Hello~ Enjoying the party?” He asks in a sultry voice. Everyone was saying something but you stared back at him with narrowed eyes. Something felt…off. You could feel tension in the air and felt uncomfortable with him so close proximities of you.

“Excuse me I think I’m going to get some more punch.” You said leaving to go to the punch bowl. You dip the large spoon into the pink liquid filling your cup. Your ears perk hearing footsteps behind you as the hairs on the back of your neck stood up.

“Are you alright?” Wally asks from behind.

“Yes Wally I’m fine.” You turn to face him seeing his lips curled up in a smirk. Pompous motherfucker, he reminded you of…

“You seem quite tense.” He says stepping closer. “How about we dance?”

“Together? No thanks I’ll pass.” You declined walking past him. His hand shoots out grabbing your wrist causing you to halt.

“Why are you playing so hard to get, Y/N?” His voice goes down to a husky tone as he eyes you.

“Let go, Wally. I’m not interested in you.” You grit out.

“Why not? Have I not been nice to you?” He tilts his head to the side, that smirk still evident on his face.

Maybe it was vodka you had slipped in your punch earlier because you suddenly wanted to give the arrogant bastard a piece of your mind. Did he really think you’d go out with him?

“Listen Wally and listen to me well.” You walk right up to him until you were barely chest to chest. “I don’t like you. I never did like you. You’re nothing but an arrogant little man with an inflated ego. You got everyone wrapped around your finger except me, because I know what you really are.” Your eyes narrow. “I rather drink cyanide than go out with you, so fuck off.” You rug your wrist free storming off with several people watching with their mouths agape. You didn’t notice the sinister look in Wally’s eyes.

“You forgot one thing, Y/N. I always get what I want.” He says softly

Around midnight the party had long ended with all the guests leaving the studio. You had hung back helping the cleaning crew with picking up the trash left behind. You was in one of the recording rooms picking up dirty plates and cups wearing AirPods listening to a few bops when the lights start to flicker. You look up as the lightbulb flickers before going out. “Shit.” You mutter pulling your phone on cutting on your phone’s flashlight. Stepping out of the room you noticed all the lights to the building have went off.

“Hello?” You called out but there was no answer. Odd, did the others finish before you? You knew the electric box was outside located in the back of the building so you headed out. The tension in the air was thick and you felt your senses heighten. Your eyes looked around as you reach the back door leading outside. Stepping out in the fresh air you scan your surroundings but found nothing out of the ordinary.

Maybe you’re just getting too paranoid. You shake your head walking to the electric box opening it. All the switches were flipped to off. How strange, it’s almost as if someone…

“You shouldn’t have said those nasty things about me, Y/N.” A voice comes from behind you causing you to jump spinning around to see it was Wally. He still wore his blue sweater and red ascot around his neck as he looked at you with a sly grin.

“What the hell are you doing out here? Did you do this?” You accused him.

“Maybe I did, maybe I didn’t.” He says cockily.

You growl gritting your teeth together. “I don’t have times for games, Wally. What do you want from me?”

“I just wanted you to give me a chance. But you were awfully rude to me at the party, everyone heard you. I think you owe me an apology.” He takes a step towards you.

“An apology? I’m not apologizing for shit.” You scoff folding your arms. “Go cry to it to your mother.”

Wally looks at you for a good few minutes before chuckling.

“You know there’s a reason people are scared of me.” He starts but you interrupt with your laughter.

“Scared of you? I don’t see why not. You’re not scary, you’re anything but scary.” You wipe a tear from your eye. “The only thing going for you is your staring problem, but that’s not scary that’s creepy. You’re a creep, but not scary.” You continue to laugh. “Look fine, I’m sorry for hurting your big ego. There happy?” You turn back to the electric box rolling your eyes.

Then you cried out as you felt something pierce your skin. You look down at your arm seeing a bite mark with blood dripping from the wound. You twirl back to Wally who’s grinning from ear to ear as his pupils had widen to the point there were no whites.

“That wasn’t a proper apology. Y/N. Very un neighborly of you.” He says in a sickly sweet voice.

“You…you bite me.” You said breathing heavily.

“Did I?” He asks giggling. “I’m standing right here am I not?”

“Don’t.You.Dare.Bite.Me.” You hiss out feeling your eyes turn yellow.

You could feel it. Deep inside of you the beast you suppressed for so long was coming free. It was like the chains were being ripped free. You had to calm down. You have to calm down.

“And what are you going to do about it?” Wally says stalking towards you in a slow pace until he was chest to chest with you. His eyes bore into yours as he chuckles. “I don’t want to hurt you, believe it or not. But I must teach you some manners.” He says as he blinks. You felt another piercing pain on your shoulder causing you to cry out. This one felt deeper than the other time. You could see blood on Wally’s lips and teeth.

“I SAID DON’T FUCKING BITE ME!” You scream shoving him back on the ground. You snapped and your eyes roll in the back of your head as you heard your bones and limbs popping. Your back aches as wings sprout of it as you fall to floor trembling. Wally’s eyes were back to normal as he watch with surprise as you transformed before his eyes. You slam your large claws on the ground as rose to your full height staring down at Wally not as a human, but a large scaly dragon.

Your eyes bore into his as he scrambled to his feet backing up. Thunder roars above as a storm starts to form. You was pissed and now you was going to give this thing hell. Letting out a thunderous roar you charge towards Wally with your mouth wide open. He takes off into the woods with you right behind him shoving trees and anything in your pathway. Opening your mouth you blast an electric blast near his feet causing him to fall down scrambling back up.

“Now now y/n, let’s talk about this!” He calls out.

“No talk you’re dead.” You growl out as slam your fist into the ground causing it to shake.

“Y/N please! I apologize, let us not do something brash!” He says running down a slope.

Rain crash down on you as the ground starts to get wet and muddy. You didn’t care as you follow after the blue haired man with one thing on your mind; tearing him apart.

“I warned you!” You snarl as you throw a tree near him. It crashes onto the ground splitting in two. “I’m going to show you what scary really is!” You lunge grabbing him lifting Wally up until he was at your eye level. Your yellow eye glares into his as he bites his lip.

“Y/N, dear, let’s calm down. You don’t really want to eat me. I won’t taste well.” He counters.

“Let’s see if that’s true.” You laugh lifting him high in the air about to drop him in your gullet when you snarl in pain. It’s been so long since you’ve shift into your true form that you couldn’t handle it for too long. You let out an agitated roar as you felt yourself slipping back into your human form, dropping Wally and crashing down onto the ground. Your clothes were tattered and your breathing was heavy. Above you the storm disperse and the rain stops. You close your eyes trying to control your breathing.

“Y/N?” Wally calls out standing over you.

“Don’t…touch me.” You force out stumbling to your feet. You stare at him before shuffling away. Back to your apartment. You left him in those forests, too exhausted to care.

Wally watches you leave, deciding against chasing after you. He was stunned but slowly a smile appears on his face.

“You’re more special than I assumed.”

A/N: Part 2 as promised. Kinda wonky so I apologize. No proofreading as usual

#wally x reader #wally darling x reader #wally darling x y/n #wally darling #welcome home

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sleepless-in-southlands · 1 year ago

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Walking on Sunshine

Ao3

Summary: Now that Luke knows he has carry-overs, what better way to spend his time than trying to figure out just what they are? Content: Crackfic in a series of crackfics, meant to be 100% angst free but oops!; accidents, sigils, flying, hijinks, potatoes banter, go ahead try and guess what you're about to read, go on guess Ship: Lucky Jumbo (Mumbo Jumbo/Luke Carder) Note: Part seven of Lucky Jumbo

Using the kind of precision that only came with doing the same thing far too many times, Luke oh-so-carefully rounded out the inner swirl on the wing design he had been repeatedly drawing far too many times. The thirty other potatoes he had scattered on the table in front of him had nearly identical symbols sketched on each of them, some with multiple, some in other colours. None yet had done what he wanted them to do, but he had a good feeling about this one.

(It was, coincidentally, the exact same good feeling he had had about all the other non-reactive potato-drawings as well.)

Since learning about his carry-overs, at the beseechment of Mumbo and for the sake of his own curiosity, Luke had invested himself in experimenting with different creations and experiences, trying to determine what he had and hadn’t brought over with him from his old world.

His tests had yet to show much success.

He hadn’t suddenly developed any of the diseases that made the other hermits look at him in horror when he described them. The sun no longer had any significant effect on him as far as he could tell- no sunburn, no heat exhaustion, no tanning- even if he stood about in it, unprotected, all day long. His various mushroom recipes had yet to produce anything even slightly psychedelic, and Hermitcraft apples lacked the seeds for him to try and make cyanide out of.

It hadn’t all been for naught, though. Luke had discovered some things. His attempt to boil potatoes had resulted in the creation of ‘potions of survival,’ which neither improved nor worsened a player’s health and hunger. It didn’t prevent injury, but it did stop the natural decay that came with starvation and sprinting.

(“-I think it’s because potatoes are supposed to be the one perfect survival food. You know, the ‘if you could eat one food for the rest of your life, what would it be?’ cheat answer. All the necessary proteins and vitamins and stuff, but not really nutritious to only eat forever.”

“Vitamins?”

“Right, you guys don’t have those. Or food groups. How do I explain this… ok, imagine you have a dozen different hunger bars, and you have to balance all of them, without seeing them, and while avoiding the secret evil hunger bars too.”

“What?”)

And he learned that he was still capable of drowning, although Mumbo assured him that all hermits could drown, which rendered both Luke’s test and conclusion moot. It also rendered Mumbo distressed, because Luke was distressed, because there was nothing comforting about sitting underwater while testing your ability to wet-drown while squids continued to accidentally dry-drown around you.

Outside of those few discoveries, however, Luke’s efforts had largely been for naught. Hermitcraft lacked a lot of things he had once had, while simultaneously containing a seemingly endless amount of things that Luke had never heard of before. It was hard to experiment with what he didn’t have, and he wasn’t exceptionally keen on messing around too much with what he didn’t know.

And that had given Luke an idea.

After all, messing around with what he didn’t know was exactly how Luke had ended up in Hermitcraft in the first place. Inscryption had gotten him- er- forcefully removed from his old life, yes, but he was fairly certain that it was what had transported him to his new one. So if he could have carry-overs from his world… why couldn’t he have some from Inscryption as well?

It was a terrifying thought. When Luke first realized it was a possibility, he had spent the rest of the day locked up in his mock recording studio, trying to decide how likely such a thing was, if he had seen any signs of it being a reality before then. He hadn’t, not to the best of his knowledge, but with how long it had taken him to realize he had any carry-overs, it wasn’t the complete reassurance he had been hoping for.

But if Xisuma said the only way to figure out Luke’s carry-overs was through trial and error, then Luke could never really be sure either way without testing.

Granted, he wasn’t going to try and test everything like he had been with sunburn and drowning. But Inscryption hadn’t all been sacrifice and mind-games and slowly growing inescapable insanity. If he could replicate something a bit safer from the game, he would be able to determine if he had carried any of its code into Hermitcraft with him. If he hadn’t, no more need to worry about it. If he had… well, he’d get Mumbo to build that bridge when he got to it.

Hence the airborne sigil in the potatoes.

Three dozen or so attempts had yet to produce any result, which Luke figured most people would take as a good enough sign that Inscryption and its rules hadn’t followed him into Hermitcraft. But Luke needed to be absolutely, completely, one hundred percent certain, and if that meant turning a full stack of Mumbo’s potatoes into an oddly repetitive art project, then so be it.

With care not to let any drippings mar the potato skin, Luke pulled back the stick he had been using as his drawing utensil, the tip of it sharpened for precision and dipped in squid ink. The sigil was perfect, the edges on the inner swirl sharp where the ones on its three feathers were rounded off. Although he had no exact reference to compare it to, it matched his memories of the sigil to a T, to the point where he could almost see the pale green glow of Magnificus’s stolen paint hovering over his drawing, a grisly afterimage of the original symbol. It was as close to accurate as Luke could ever hope to get it.

And yet, the potato did not fly.

Feeling the same mixed sense of defeat and relief he had gotten after each other potato also remained grounded, Luke tossed it onto the table with the rest of the lot. As much as he didn’t actually want his efforts to all be for naught, the growing evidence that he didn’t have any Inscryption carry-overs was reassuring.

After staring at his pile of dud-spuds for a moment, Luke pushed himself away from the table, standing up and stretching his arms over his head. While he did fully intend to test the drawing on every one of the sixty-four potatoes Mumbo had leant him, there was only so long Luke could do so in one sitting before starting to feel like he was inviting in the Inscryption madness himself. He left the pile of doodled-on vegetables and various writing implements on the table as he headed for his house’s front door, making his way outside and into the fresh air.

Given the usual state of things, Boatem wasn’t too lively. Grian was nearby, messing with an odd assortment of blocks (if Luke had to wager a guess, it probably had something to do with colour palettes), but other than him Luke couldn’t see any of the company’s members, suggesting most were either tinkering with interiors or out interacting with non-Boatem-ers. Pranking was always a possibility as well, but if Boatem was up to anything major Luke was sure he would’ve been pulled in on it.

His guess was proven right for at least one hermit when a few minutes later, as Luke was doing his best to stop seeing the same three-feathered wing pattern in every other block, the door to one of the houses a bit down the way from his on Mumbo’s mountain opened. The redstoner himself emerged, walking out backwards as he shoved carpet into his pocket, clearly trying to get a good idea of how the building’s interior now looked with whatever changes he had made.

Mumbo’s distraction made it very easy for Luke to lovingly sneak up on him, standing a few spaces behind him and taking his own glance inside before speaking up. “Looking good, but I think it could use a little something more.”

Mumbo startled as though Luke had set off an end crystal behind him, which didn’t say as much as Luke felt it should. “Luke! You can’t surprise a hermit like that!”

“I think I just did.”

For his humor, Luke got (lightly) shoved. “I thought you were busy with your potatoes.”

“I am,” Luke acknowledged, casting a glance at his house, “but I needed a break.”

“And you felt the best use of that break was to scare me witless?”

“That seems a bit dramatic, seeing as I wasn’t even trying to blow you up or shove you into the abyss.”

“Those are pranks, very different situation.”

“Would you have preferred I said hello with a sword, then?”

“That’s hardly creative.”

“But it is dangerous, which seems to be the more important factor here.”

“Not every prank is dangerous, just… a good deal of them.” Clearly aware that he was losing his side of the debate, Mumbo wisely switched topics. “What have the potatoes done that you need a break from them?”

Luke let the obvious subject change slide, if only to grab at the chance to bemoan the current state of his own project. “They haven’t done anything, and that’s the problem.”

“Are you expecting them to do something?”

“Yes, I-”

“Are you aware that, here, in Hermitcraft, potatoes do nothing but grow and taste delicious?”

Luke huffed, doing his best to seem annoyed while Mumbo laughed at his own comedy bit. “Yes, I am. And I know that you knew I did too.”

“Well, it’s hard to be sure. Your potatoes had ‘vitamins’ in them. Who knows what they could get up to with those.”

“I told you-”

“Yes, yes, the secret hunger bars and the chewy cavemen. I don’t actually need- nor want- a refresher.” Mumbo waved his hand, as if that alone could remove the existence of the concepts. “Really, though, what are you expecting? Have you been trying to make them do something?”

“In a sense.” Luke replied vaguely. He had done his best to avoid directly telling Mumbo what he hoped to achieve with his potato project ever since he had asked for the necessary materials, not wanting to freak him out (or get his hopes up) over something Luke wasn’t sure would work. “But they’re being uncooperative.”

Mumbo hadn’t pushed Luke to go beyond non-answers at any point, but Luke could tell he wanted to. Not that Luke could blame him for that. “Anything I can do to help?”

“Last I checked, you’re not the one with the messed up code. For you, the potatoes will always be vitamin-free.”

“It’s for the best.” Mumbo said, as if he was the one who had made the decision to not personally carry-over things that weren’t even his to carry. “But I meant more if you wanted to discuss it, see if you can talk your way through what’s going wrong.”

“Well I know what’s going wrong, I think. Just not how to fix it.”

“What’s the problem?”

Luke hesitated, trying to decide how best to phrase the issue. “It’s… a drawing.”

“A drawing?”

“Yeah. It’s a- a special symbol. Supposed to have an effect on the object it’s drawn on. But it’s not working.” Luke sighed. “I don’t really have any references for it here, so I’m only sketching from memory, but it doesn’t seem inaccurate. Probably means it’s not something I carried over with me, but it’s hard to be sure.”

Mumbo tilted his head slightly. “Is it like an enchantment? Typically those need to be activated before they work.”

“They’re actually pretty similar, yeah.” Luke admitted, briefly thinking through the different events and rituals that had been used to imbue his cards with the different sigils’ powers. “Maybe I don’t have what I would need to activate them here.”

“What do you need to activate them?”

Sacrifice. Magic paint. Death. Robobucks. “...Nothing I can get here.”

Again, Mumbo accepted the barely-an-answer response. “That could be it, then. Unless you are drawing it wrong. Is it a particularly complicated symbol?”

“Not really. At this point, I could draw it in my sleep.”

Mumbo hummed. "Can I see how you've been drawing it?"

Luke waved in the direction of his house. "I left all my examples behind, otherwise I'd show you."

"Can't you go grab one?"

"I told you, I'm on break."

Mumbo rolled his eyes in amusement. “I’m sure I have a potato on hand that you can draw on here, then.”

“I also left my drawing supplies in my house. And I will also not be fetching them.”

“You’re making it rather hard to help you.”

“You’re not being creative enough with your suggestions.”

“Art is not one of my strong suits.” Mumbo cast a side-glance at the interior of the house they were standing beside, reaching out and shutting the door as he did so. “I don’t have to be creative about it.”

“You could be.” Luke said, just for the sake of it. “But fine, fine, I’ll find a solution all on my own.”

Mumbo leaned against the now-shut door, crossing his arms. Their bantering was pointless, and more than a little stupid, but Luke knew Mumbo enjoyed it as much as he did. “One that doesn’t involve walking back to your house in any capacity, I take it?”

“Clearly not. I can’t walk on my break.”

“But you walked over here.”

“Not necessarily. Seeing as you didn’t notice my approach, it could have been in any manner of ways.” Luke half-answered, faking thoughtfulness. “For all you know, I could have jumped the distance, or teleported, or-”

“Flown?”

“Cruel, Mumbo. That’s cruel.” Mumbo’s expression was as close as it could get to a shit-eating grin, given his moustache was doing all the work for the grin. “But that does give me an idea.”

“Instead of walking to get the supplies, you’ll fly?”

“Why would I? I have everything I need right here.” Luke moved to join Mumbo against the door, facing the redstoner. He held up a hand, pointer finger extended. “My finger… and your moustache.”

Mumbo, who had somehow always dealt with nonsense much better than Luke, merely chuckled in bemusement. “Should I be concerned for my moustache’s safety?”

“No more than you usually are.” Luke reached forward, swiping a finger through Mumbo’s moustache in the path of a vaguely curved line. The hair somewhat parted as he went, leaving an impression of the arc. “I’ll draw the symbol right here.”

“I can’t quite see it from there.”

“Quiet, you’ll ruin my work.”

Despite the fact that he was correct, and Luke’s plan wouldn’t actually be of any help with showing him the sigil, Mumbo dutifully didn’t say another word, quietly watching Luke instead. Luke, for his part, felt as though they were once again in their weeks of fake not-dating, looking for any excuse to be close in a totally, completely normal, non-romantic way. If anyone else from Boatem opted to pass by them at that moment, they’d get made fun of as much as they would’ve back then, too.

“Any guesses as to what the symbol looks like?” Luke asked as he zig-zagged in the tips of the wing.

“A lot of squiggly lines?”

“That’s not very nice. I’m putting my best effort into this, Mumbo, I’d appreciate your respect.” It was a blatant lie to claim Luke’s current work was a good effort, much less his best, given how wonky his line work was (he blamed the canvas), but Mumbo didn’t need to know that. “And I thought I told you not to speak.”

Mumbo gave Luke a look that almost could have been classified as a glare if one ignored how terribly fond it was. Luke grinned in response, right as he finished off the symbol with a half-hearted swirl.

And that was when everything went to shit.

The joke Luke had been preparing- something about how now Mumbo could look at the symbol, gosh, wasn’t that helpful- died on his tongue as the sigil, the messy sigil that only bared a passing resemblance to the one he had been trying to replicate, flashed yellow in Mumbo’s moustache. Panic flared automatically, followed in a microsecond by denial’s reassurances- that couldn’t have been what Luke thought it was, just a trick of the light, mind games, nothing real.

And then the panic came right back as Mumbo’s moustache started to grow.

It took Mumbo a moment to notice what was happening, picking up on Luke’s distress first. He looked as though he were going to say something, but before he could, the edges of his moustache were growing past the sides of his cheeks, getting wider and bushier from the center of his face outwards. The sudden additional weight sent him toppling forward, barely managing to grab Luke’s shoulders before he fell over entirely. Automatically, Luke’s hands came up to hold Mumbo’s arms, trying to stabilize him.

“Uh, Luke?” Mumbo’s voice was light, but slightly shaky. “What’s happening?”

“I- I don’t know.” Luke admitted, pulling back enough to watch as Mumbo’s moustache continued to grow. Was rapid-hair-growth a side effect of airborne? It was technically possible, since Luke had never actually seen the sigil applied to anything that had hair. Was that how Leshy had gotten so overgrown with plants? They were kind of like his hair.

But that didn’t seem right. The hair wasn’t just growing in general, it was strictly going outwards to the sides, as though trying to maintain its shape. And despite how far off Mumbo’s face it had gotten (it had already grown further out than Mumbo’s arms could stretch), the moustache wasn’t drooping at all, like a rod had been put through it to keep it in place. On the bottom of the moustache, the hair had started to bunch up in an odd way, forming three bumps on each side of Mumbo’s face.

…Three bumps. Fuck.

Mumbo’s wings-turned-moustache started to flap as soon as Luke had made the connection, startling a shout from Mumbo. Luke tightened his grip, trying to prevent the sigil from doing what it was meant to do, but it was a losing battle. It made absolutely no aerodynamic nor logical sense, how wings made of facial hair were able to lift a grown man from a single connection spot of a strip of skin underneath where a nose should be, but Inscryption had never made any sense either. Luke was slowing the process by anchoring Mumbo, but even his feet were starting to lift from the ground.

“Luke?!” Mumbo was completely off the ground when he next spoke, sounding upset but not pained, and Luke took a small relief in the fact that whatever was happening, at the very least, didn’t seem to be hurting him. It was also good that he could still speak, although it did jarringly remind Luke that he still had absolutely no clue what the exacts of Mumbo’s mouth situation were. “Is this what the symbol’s supposed to do?!”

“It’s- kinda? It’s supposed to elevate you but not like this!” Luke’s hands were slowly slipping down the sleeves of Mumbo’s suit, and he bit back a curse. “I swear, it wasn’t working on the potatoes- I don’t know what’s changed!”

“I’ll be happy to work that out with you as soon as my moustache isn’t trying to carry me into the sun!”

“Alright, alright, I’ll-” Mumbo’s moustache wings flapped particularly hard, and Luke stumbled as he lost hold of Mumbo and hit the dirt, “-shoot.”

Mumbo, luckily, managed to grab onto the edge of the house they were next to, but his hand placement was awkward at best, and Luke could tell it wouldn’t be long til the wings were winning out once more. Mumbo seemed to know this too, fingers pressing as close as they possibly could to the roof. “Why did you let go?!”

“I didn’t mean to!” Luke shoved his hands into his pockets, grateful for how his tiny elytra immediately pressed against his palm even if he still didn’t understand ‘inventory.’ He started shrugging on the artificial wings as he went to retrieve his fireworks as well. “Your moustache has a mind of its own!” “It didn’t a minute ago!”

Only singeing his fingers a bit, Luke joined Mumbo at his current height after overshooting him by a little (a lot), drifting past him as he tried to find a way to help the situation. His elytra was more like a glider than actual wings- it couldn’t keep him level in one position for very long, especially given Luke still royally sucked at using it- so he wasn’t able to stay beside Mumbo for very long at a time. Even if he could, he wasn’t sure what he would do. The airborne sigil was obviously too strong for Luke alone to hold Mumbo down, and as was he’d be lucky if he managed to grab Mumbo without also body-slamming him away from the one handhold he still had.

“How long do you think you can hold on for?” Luke half-shouted at Mumbo as he soared past him once more, beginning to sink beneath Mumbo’s level. He didn’t want to risk setting off another firework quite yet. “If I set down to get help, will you fly away the moment I turn my back?”

As Luke spoke, one of Mumbo’s hands slipped off the edge of the roof, the now free half of his body getting tugged up as soon as it did, leaving him with only one anchoring point. Mumbo chuckled nervously, doing his best to look at Luke despite their contrasting positions. “It seems I’ll be flying away whether your back is turned or not!”

“Point taken.” Luke directed himself towards the ground, doing his best not to crash into it as he did so. His first idea as to who to get was Xisuma, but he had no clue where the admin- or nearly any other hermit- currently was, which consequently meant he didn’t know how long it would take them to arrive.

A quick check, however, showed Luke that Grian was still where he had been ten minutes ago, staring intently at a line of blocks.

“Grian!” Predictably, Luke messed up his landing, taking pride in the fact he managed to not fall over as he stumbled over his own feet. When he next took his eyes off the ground, he found Grian had heard his call, turning away from his work to look in Luke’s direction. “Help!”

Luke’s incredibly concise request was met with little other than a confused head tilt from Grian. To expand on his point, Luke frantically waved his arms in Mumbo’s direction, hoping Grian would be able to work out the situation from there.

He did not. “Use your communicator!”

It took Luke a moment of his own to figure out what Grian thought was going on, putting the pieces together when he looked back at where he had just been gesturing. To his chagrin, he found that Mumbo had lost his other handhold on the house and was quickly floating away, likely appearing to Grian as though Mumbo was flying of his own volition and Luke was only looking to get a message passed.

Ignoring the fact that he could also send Grian a communicator message to explain the situation, Luke yelled back, “He’s not wearing an elytra!”

It was hard to read Grian's expression (eyes) from so far away, but Luke didn't think he was imagining the way the builder squinted at him, even more confused, before he looked once again in Mumbo's direction. Luke was also fairly sure he didn't imagine the moment Grian realized what was wrong.

"Is that his moustache!?" Grian asked rhetorically, sounding much more amused by the situation than Luke had expected. He was in the air barely a second after, having moved so fast Luke hadn't even noticed him set off a firework. Given Mumbo was actively disappearing into the sky, Luke appreciated the speed.

Luke promptly followed suit, finding that by the time he reached them, Grian was already at Mumbo's level, holding his arm to keep him from flying any higher. Grian’s wings were flapping hard, a blur of red-yellow-blue as he worked to keep Mumbo in place.

“Was your moustache not glorious enough already for you, Mumbo?” Grian teased cheerfully, laughing at Mumbo’s half-hearted glare in return.

“In Mumbo’s defense, this is my fault.” Luke did his best to keep his glide in a tight circle around Grian and Mumbo. “And in my defense, it was an accident.”

“A rabbit foot stew kind of accident, or a poppy tea kind of accident?”

“My mistakes have categories now?!”

“They always have.” Grian joked with a laugh, ignoring Luke’s indignance as he went on, “But I meant, is it a Hermitcraft thing you don’t understand, or a you-thing that Hermitcraft doesn’t understand?”

Luke blinked. “Are moustache wings a Hermitcraft thing?”

“No! No they are not!” Mumbo replied before Grian could, twisting his hand around so that he could hold one of Grian’s arms as well.

“Just checking.” Grian said, heavily tongue-in-cheek, but he adjusted his own grip on Mumbo to be a bit more secure. “It’s going to take me a bit to get Mumbo back to earth with how hard his moustache’s fighting me.”

“Want me to help?” Luke offered, although he still didn’t trust himself to not accidentally slam into Mumbo and send him off into the ether.

Understandably, Grian didn’t seem to trust him either. “Sorry Luke, but I saw how well you landed. Probably better to leave this to me. Unless Mumbo wants a chance to test how far his new wings will take him-”

Mumbo was increasingly looking like a cat clinging to a tree branch for dear life. “Grian.”

“What, do you not trust Luke to get you safely to the ground?”

“I trust Luke! But his flying skills…”

“Hurtful… but smart.” Luke circled Grian and Mumbo once more. “I’ll touch down and try to set something up for when you two land.”

“See if you can find a lead.” Grian suggested as he kicked at the air, tilting backwards as he started to slowly pull Mumbo down. “We can tie it to Mumbo’s ankle, fly him like a kite ‘til we get this all figured out.”

“I’m glad you can find this funny.”

“I don’t find it funny at all, Mumbo. I think it’s hilarious.”

Luke left Mumbo and Grian to their back-and-forth, grateful they were distracted enough they likely didn’t notice him eat shit in lieu of a landing. He brushed himself off as he got to his feet, shucking off his elytra as he started towards his house. After Luke decided he did want to keep the skeleton horses from the unfortunate lighting-skeleton attack, Mumbo had helped him stock up on everything one needed for the keeping of undead livestock, leads included, and he had a pile of them sitting in one of his storage chests.

Of course, on the way to his storage area, Luke had to pass his pile of art project potatoes. They were still exactly as he had left them, completely grounded, no signs that so much as one of them had suddenly activated like Mumbo’s moustache had.

With nothing else to think about as he started shifting through his horse-stuff chest, Luke’s thoughts turned to the question that Mumbo’s plight had created: why had the airborne sigil worked on Mumbo’s moustache, but not any of Luke’s potatoes? His drawings were detailed, as accurate as he could possibly get, and the potatoes were a much more reasonable size to start flying- the sigil he had traced into Mumbo’s moustache was crude, a shadow of what it should actually look like, and yet it had worked so well it was able to lift two people at once.

Luke idly shoved a lead and a spare fence post into his pocket. His memories of Inscryption were ones he typically tried to avoid focusing on, but as he made his way back outside he ran through everything he could think of that was related to sigils. They were mostly the domain of the Scrybes, not the players- it wasn’t like Luke was ever personally imbuing the cards with magical life.

The Scrybes weren’t the only ones who could work with the sigils though, were they? The Mycologists didn’t create sigils, but they could fuse their cards in such a way as to double their effect. There was someone else too, but the name seemed to be out of Luke’s grasp, flitting about on the edges of his memory.

Luke put the thought aside as he found himself once again in front of the building Mumbo had been clinging to only minutes ago. He and Grian were nearly to the ground, and Luke quickly busied himself with putting down the fence post and tying one half of the rope around it.

“Toss me the other end, once you can.” Grian was carefully hovering himself and Mumbo slightly above Luke’s head, likely getting as close to the dirt as Grian felt he could without hitting anything. He still had one hand holding onto Mumbo tightly, while he held his other out, waiting for the lead. Mumbo, for his part, had Grian in a vice grip, and Luke wouldn’t be surprised if that was due to more mischief from Grian.

Luke half-handed, half-threw the free end of the rope to Grian, who thankfully managed to catch it on the first try. Mindful of the precarious situation they were in, Grian managed to wrap the lead somewhat around Mumbo’s midsection, goading Mumbo into helping him tie it.

“I’m not that big of a spoon.” Was Mumbo’s immediate response when Grian asked him to let go for a moment and check the strength of the knot. “Can’t you do it yourself?”

“I could, I could.” Grian acknowledged as he rolled the lead between his fingers. “But then the knot might not be strong enough. And we wouldn’t have any way of checking other than me letting you go and seeing what happens. Which, now that I say it aloud, sounds like an excellent plan, let me-”

Mumbo snatched the rope out of Grian’s hand before he had the chance to finish the thought. “Let go of me, and the only part of your base left standing will be the back of it.”

Grian chuckled, the picture of untrustworthiness even as he switched to holding onto Mumbo with both hands. “No need to threaten, Mumbo, I’ve got you.”

True to his word, Grian waited until Mumbo had securely triple-knotted the lead around himself, wrapping it around one arm a couple of times as an extra precaution. Only then did Grian hesitantly release Mumbo, hovering and at ready to re-grab him if the lead broke. Thankfully, it didn’t, and Grian gracefully joined Luke on the ground while Mumbo used the rope to slowly pull himself downwards.

“Now that Mumbo’s not going to disappear into the sunset,” Grian folded his wings over his back, Luke having learned over time he was one of the hermits who never really put his elytra away, “can I ask what potion caused this? And does it only work on moustaches?”

“It’s not a potion.” Luke replied as he helped Mumbo in his efforts, tugging him down close enough to the fence post he was able to latch onto it. “And I don’t even know why it’s working in the first place. It wasn’t working on the potatoes.”

“Potatoes?”

“I was using them as test subjects.” Luke frowned at Mumbo’s glorious moustache wings, as if once again seeing them up close would provide him with the answer he needed regarding their existence, before glancing towards Grian. “None of them started to fly. Why did Mumbo?”

If Grian was capable of frowning, Luke was sure he would. “Does this usually work on potatoes?”

“Or moustaches?” Mumbo tacked on.

“I’m… not really sure. I’ve only ever seen it work on cards.”

“Did you try it on any cards?”

“No.”

Luke’s response was a second too fast, but Grian thankfully didn’t comment. “Maybe it just doesn’t work on potatoes, then.”

“I was a potato!”

“But I never was.” Grian tsked, shaking his head. “This is why you don’t steal souls.”

“We had a contract!”

“I don’t think potatoes are the defining difference with this.” Luke interjected, before Mumbo and Grian’s all too familiar soul sharing-borrowing-stealing argument could escalate past the contract stage. He still didn’t understand ninety percent of what the argument was even about, and he intended to keep it that way. “Or moustaches.”

Luckily, Mumbo’s moustache wings were still a greater distraction than anything else, and Mumbo and Grian abandoned their debate. “Well… you said this was like an enchantment. Did you do something different with the activation?”

Luke half-leaned on the fence post Mumbo was clinging to, trying to think through if he had accidentally muttered an incantation at some point with Mumbo that he hadn’t when working on the potatoes. None of the Scrybes had ever used one, to the best of his knowledge. And the Mycologists had used a hacksaw, not wordplay. “Not that I know of.”

“How did you apply the enchantment?”

“I used dye to paint it on the potatoes.” Luke answered Grian, looking back at Mumbo. He still couldn’t remember who the other sigil-manipulating character was, but it was starting to feel like an itch, like something he was right on the verge of getting. “For Mumbo, I, uh…”

“He traced it in my moustache.” Mumbo finished for Luke when he trailed off.

“Young love.” Grian said teasingly, although Luke only half-heard him. He was distracted, staring at the fence post he had been leaning on. Staring at the wood.

In Inscryption, sigils almost exclusively appeared on cards, but those cards were created only by the Scrybes. That was the whole point of the base game- only the Scrybes, with their tools, could create cards. The Mycologists could manipulate the cards, but not make their own, not really. If you wanted to imbue a card with the power of a sigil as a player, you needed a totem.

And if you needed a totem, you needed to see the Woodcarver.

The moment Luke remembered the name, his head started to hurt, but he ignored the pain in favour of following his realization to its full conclusion. His potato drawings hadn’t worked because he wasn’t Magnificus, wasn’t Grimora. He didn’t have a magic paintbrush or quill. But that was for drawings.

Inscryption. Inscription. Inscribed.

Without saying anything, Luke took a quick step back from the fence post, garnering confused looks from both Mumbo and Grian as he pulled one of the many potatoes he hadn’t yet drawn on out of his pocket. Luke dug into the skin of the potato with his fingernails, not worrying about precision or accuracy as he carved the airborne sigil into it. The resulting symbol was messy, and terrible, and had the two hermits looking at him like he had gone mad.

But the sigil still flashed yellow.

Just as with Mumbo, it only took a second for the sigil’s effect to set in, the strips of potato skin and flesh to the sides of the etching peeling away from the body and growing into potato wings as Luke watched. He let go of the vegetable as soon as its wings started to flap, the potato immediately launching into the sky with wild abandon.

“I see you’ve figured it out.” Grian’s eyes were on the potato, tracking its ascent. “The trick was-”

“Carving.” Luke cut him off. His hands were shaking, ever so slightly. “The difference- it had to be carved.”

“You were carving my moustache?!”

Luke tore his gaze away from the flying potato, turning to look at Mumbo instead. Despite himself, he couldn’t help but laugh at the exaggerated distress in his expression.

“Carving might be… might be a bit dramatic of a term for it.” Luke amended, forcing a calmness into his voice he didn’t entirely feel. He moved back to Mumbo’s side, crouching down in front of him, squinting at his moustache. After a moment, he spotted where he had originally marked the symbol. “Hold still.”

“I’ll try.” Mumbo said, his moustache wings flapping in protest. Careful to not accidentally jab him in the face while he was at it, Luke tousled the section of Mumbo’s moustache that had the sigil, effectively removing it.

Near instantly, the moustache wings stopped in place as though they had been frozen, causing Mumbo to abruptly drop fully to the earth. They began to shrink as well, reversing the process that had created them in the first place. By the time Luke had shifted to sit beside Mumbo, checking to make sure he was alright, his moustache had fully reverted to its original form, albeit not as well-maintained as it usually was.

Mumbo’s hands flew up to his face, patting down his moustache as if confirming it truly was back to normal. Once he had determined all was well, Mumbo let out a breath, slumping against Luke’s side in a more dramatic manner than was entirely necessary. “Oh, thank End.”

Luke wrapped his arm around Mumbo's shoulders, offering support while also taking some for himself. "Mumbo, I can't apologize enough for- for all that."

"Don't apologize!" Grian spoke before Mumbo could, sounding excited. "This is the best thing you've carried over yet! Think of the opportunities this offers Boatem incorporated! And all at the very minor cost of nearly losing Mumbo to the sun."

"That's it. Luke, put wings on Grian's house."

"Yes, please, prove my point."

Luke huffed a laugh. "I'm not sending anything else flying today." He turned towards Mumbo, who was heatlessly glaring at Grian. "Are you okay?"

“Oh, I’m fine.” Mumbo patted his moustache another time, as if illustrating his point. “And you don’t need to apologize- accidents happen all the time.”

“This isn’t really your typical ‘accident.’” Luke pointed out before sighing, more fond than exasperated. “Not that anyone here knows what that even means.”

“We pride ourselves on that.” Mumbo joked. “Besides, once I got past the shock of it all, it was a bit fun. Spoiled by the fear of flying so high I’d have to starve to death to return to the surface, but still fun.”

Luke decided that, coming from someone whose hobbies included pushing coworkers into the void and working directly with quasi-radiation-dust, only being somewhat put off by the possibility of dying in space was a fairly tame statement. It was also one he had no good response for. “Regardless, I promise not to test any more sigils on you, supposedly working or not.”

“No more on Mumbo, alright, but what about-”

“I’m not testing sigils on any hermits.”

“Not hermits then!” Grian pivoted without a second of hesitation. “But what about inanimate objects? As long as you can carve into it, it’ll fly, right? Imagine, Boatem’s newest advertising campaign- an army of flying boats, taking over the server!”

“Won’t they just fly into the sky?”

“Not if we weigh them down properly!”

Luke let the focus of the conversation shift away from him, Mumbo and Grian debating logistics of how to best utilize the symbol they didn’t even know the name of despite how the discovery had gone. After all, to them, there was no difference between this carry-over and one of Luke’s potion ones.

Tilting his head back, Luke watched the airborne potato disappear into the clear blue sky and tried to think of anything other than an old woman and her proffered totems.

As far as Luke could tell, the unfortunate incident of moustache wings hadn’t had any lasting effect on Mumbo, outside of him worrying over his moustache’s appearance slightly more than usual. He had been carefully brushing out and styling it for at least ten minutes, time Luke had spent sitting on his bed and waiting for Mumbo to finish up so they could go to sleep.

When Luke had eventually returned to his art project potatoes, Mumbo had tagged along, just to see what the sigil actually looked like, before returning to the interior design work he had been busy with before Luke sent him sky-high. He had been detailing the work to Luke for about as long as he had been messing with his moustache, although Luke admittedly hadn’t been paying perfect attention to it all.

Unlike the one who had actually been in a position of danger because of it, the sigil business was still sitting heavy on Luke’s mind. Or, better put, the implications of it were.

“Mumbo?” Luke felt bad for cutting Mumbo off, but he had something he needed to say before they went to bed, and he didn’t want to try and broach it after the lights had been put out.

Mumbo clearly took no offense to the interruption, turning cheerily towards Luke as he put his comb away. “Yes?”

At that- Mumbo’s ease, how unbothered he was- Luke nearly lost his nerve. He didn’t actually want to talk about what he had to talk about. He had chosen Hermitcraft, and Boatem, and Mumbo over his past, with the intention of leaving one part of it completely behind. Speaking it aloud in his new life felt like it would break something, as though merely mentioning it would summon it to him.

But actions spoke louder than words, and the actions of the day had screamed the one thing Luke had been trying to avoid. It wasn’t a matter of keeping it out any longer, and it didn’t feel right that Luke was the only one who fully understood what Mumbo’s moustache wings meant in the grand scheme of his carry-overs.

“I… there’s something I need to tell you.” Luke said haltingly. “About… the sigil.”

Picking up on the (rather obvious) distress in Luke’s tone, Mumbo moved to settle on the bed next to him, concerned. “What about it?”

“It- it has to do with where I came from. And how I got here.”

"We don't have to talk about any of that unless you want to." Mumbo reminded him, since Luke was certain absolutely nothing about the way he was approaching the conversation made it seem like it was one he wanted to have. "I'm completely fine, I promise. And Grian's excited about the flying symbol, but if you don't ever want to use it again now that you know it works, he won't push. None of Boatem will."

"It's not just about the sigil." Luke clarified, although he did appreciate Mumbo's reassurances, although he'd be happy to drop the subject there and never return to it. "And it's not about wanting to talk about it, it's- I need to."

"I only want to talk about it if you do."

Luke huffed in lighthearted exasperation as his own words were thrown back in his face. He doubted there was any way he could convincingly argue this is different. "If I say I want to, will you believe me?"

"Not in the slightest." Mumbo reached over, taking one of Luke's hands and holding it in his. "You're shaking, love.”

“Barely.” Mumbo affixed Luke with a look. “Alright, alright. Maybe I don’t want to talk about all of it. But… I won’t feel right if I don’t tell you some of it now.”

“Well, if you want to,” Mumbo stressed each word, leaving the backdoor for Luke to escape the conversation wide open, “I’ll listen to it. However much you want to tell me.”

Luke nodded, taking a deep breath, steeling himself. Hermitcraft wasn’t going to deteriorate around him, no matter what he said next. The past was still past, even if he spoke it aloud. Mumbo squeezed his hand, comforting, and Luke let out the breath.

“I want to tell you about Inscryption.”

#lucky jumbo #luke carder #mumbo jumbo #grian #hermitcraft #inscryption #m.y funky words #everyone ready to enjoy this crackfic that is all funsies and no accidental lore/plot angst :]

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