#pirate or steampunk next! ive just been busy <3< /div> Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[hermitblurbs]

Please,,, more of the archeology au im begging you

Archeology AU: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 (here)

“You collapsed in the rain, Scar!”

“Yeah, well you collapsed in those ruins that one time!”

“I slipped. You were standing on level ground and then you were lying on it!”

“It was raining!”

“So?!”

Something strange was happening at the ruins. A few diggers mentioned hearing whispers and seeing ghosts, and the more superstitious of the bunch were left muttering around halls.

The rain wasn’t helping. Between the weather, the fear and the caution, piecing together the tale of the Red Desert was going to take forever. All they’ve found in the short time they were able to dig were dried up, nearly petrified saplings, and half a dozen crates of sulfuric black powder.

Grian needs to be on the top of his game. This place is old, but if they had explosives, and they did, Grian’s already lectured on the angle of the blast and how it could’ve been planted, then…

Scar’s worried for his partner. They already tested the powder—still highly potent and rearing to explode—so if there’s anything that’s been wired and weathered by time, and if Grian isn’t careful, he’s the first one to go.

The only issue is that Grian isn’t listening to him.

He knows his partner is capable. They’ve been on enough digs together that it’s impossible not to know his prowess. But he also knows what he looks like when he’s hiding eye bags, when he’s overbalancing whenever he stands from a chair. He sees Grian jump at the smallest thing and bite at his nails in his paranoia.

Grian’s not listening to him, and Scar falls over once before he’s being put on rest for the day even though his job’s the easy one.

He wonders if Grian’s just trying to get him to stop caring for him.

That’s ridiculous, though. Scar would do the same thing himself in Grian’s shoes.

He has to tell his hands to unclench from their white-knuckled grip on the cot he’s sat on.

He shares a tent with Grian, so he’ll talk to him then. His partner’s got to come back from whatever he’s doing eventually.

Scar’s just… frustrated, he guesses. Confused.

“Trouble in paradise?” Comes a voice, amused and accented, and Scar just about jumps out of his skin and trips over his boots in his hurry to turn around.

The voice laughs, a soft chuckle that feels too large for the space they’re in.

“Grian was right, you’re so fun to scare.”

Standing in front of him is a person. Or, an outline of a person. An approximation, a space left empty where a person should be, traced in red—green, it’s green in the dim light of the room. Flowers pepper their hair, circled by a few fantastical floating cylinders.

“Who are you?” Scar breathes, watching the lines bob up and down. He gets a frown in response.

“…It’s me. Scott. Are you alright? Did your red life go to your head?”

His hand grabs at his chest on instinct, expecting the pull and press of a charm on a necklace and finding nothing.

He laughs, the sound a little choked coming out.

“I’m alright,” he says, not wanting to break the ghost out of their happy reality. They mentioned Grian, so he should be safe to mention. “G’s put me on rest for the day.”

“Is that why you’re pouting?”

“I-I don’t—I-I don’t pout!”

“You’re doing it right now,” Scott points out, an amused edge to his voice.

“Well—!”

The entrance to the tent opens, and the light breaks into the space. It takes Scott with it, shattering the visage of what might have been a man, or maybe never was.

“Who’re you talking to?” Asks one of the diggers. He tries not to be upset at the unexpected loss of companionship.

“Myself,” Scar says with a smile. “Got into an argument with nothing.”

There’s something strange at these ruins, and Scar’s going to figure it out.