#mr. goodtimes

[kaslynspeaksless]

one time I read a fic where the author said "if I have to have a bad pain day, hotguy has to have a bad pain day" and I think about that a lot

[crushedprostate]

mr goodtimes but hes my night time slop

HELP?? this is art 10/10 no notes

[millastaria]

today's mini fella is REPO scar!

[pastel-clown-friends]

Katy Bee, Mr. Finnegan, you had a great mentor.

THEY MAKE ME FEEL SO MUCH!!!!!!

[peanutbutter255]

Disney style study ft. Mr Goodtimes 💫

Plus the sketch cause I think it looks better than the finished piece lol

[waozua]

hi scarian demons took over sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry

[milkbomakes]

Three Little Fellas

-

(These three have recently been occcupying my braincell.. they won't leave... none of HermitCraft/LifeSeries will AIWRHIAHWURAWIURW... for the past two weeks actually KSKSKS) I'm afraid I've fallen down and cannot get up- Will be at Anime Los Angeles btw! These guys will be available as stickers at N19... hoping- this Jazzy wants to draw more SKSKSK Etho I'm coming for you next

[kiwithefruitykitty]

DDVAU Scar because I will protect him at all costs ❤️:)

[funkin-jazz]

Scar picks the most “random” number

[motherofplatypus]

Mr. Finnegan has THAT look. Idk how to describe it, but it's THAT look.

You feel me?

[kaslynspeaksless]

they talk and talk but all I hear are voices in my head

Word count: 1.5k

Warnings: implied/referenced past character deaths, implied depression, referenced fatal car crash

Summary: No one's seen Scar since the funerals, and the hermits are starting to get worried. Mumbo's wondering how he ended up in a situation so heavily reliant on small talk. Scar just wants to water his sunflowers.

previous | ao3 | next

It had been at least two weeks since anyone had heard from Scar.

Reasonably, people had begun to worry. After all, the man had been through something indescribable—something no one could forget. So collectively, as a group, they had decided to send someone to check on Scar. See how he was doing. A pre-intervention, if you will.

As Mumbo stood on the front step of the door he had just knocked on, he was seriously second-guessing his credentials for this situation. He was also wondering why on earth he had decided to volunteer for it.

The door swung open, and he jumped. Scar looked him up and down, appraising him.

“Mumbo.” A statement, devoid of any feeling. An observation.

“Scar.” A reply, filled with trepidation. An acknowledgment.

They looked at each other for a few moments (or rather, Mumbo looked at Scar and Scar looked everywhere but Mumbo), before Scar stepped back and opened the door wider. “Come in, then.”

He obliged and followed the man into the kitchen. He grabbed a chair and cautiously sat down at the table, not exactly sure where to go from here. His plan had extended only up to getting inside the house which, now that he thought about it, was a definite oversight. Thankfully Scar, ever the conversationalist, began for him.

“Tea?”

“Sure.”

He opened a cabinet door and grabbed a kettle, turning his back to Mumbo as he filled it with water. “So, what brings you by my humble abode?”

“Oh, you know, I was ah... in the neighborhood, and just thought I might check in. See how you’ve been holding up, that sort of thing.”

“Oh, fine, fine," he replied, waving one hand in the air as the other flicked on the stove. "You just keep on doing what you used to, settle back into old routines. Don’t drive much anymore, but you know how it is.”

“...I’m not sure I do, actually.”

Scar’s shoulders stiffened for a split-second before returning to their sloped, casual demeanor. It wasn't natural; more careful. Practiced. “No, I suppose not. Probably for the best, huh?”

“Er, yeah.”

You could’ve heard a pin drop. Mumbo fidgeted, again wondering what spirit had possessed him when he volunteered to do this. He had never been good at small talk. Especially not small talk with your friend who had survived a car crash which killed five of your other friends, and whom you haven’t talked to since the funerals.

“You know, a watched pot never boils,” he finally tried, and Scar huffed a short laugh.

The silence returned, awkward after the failed joke, until the kettle finally whistled.

“Earl gray?”

“Sure, yeah, that sounds good.”

Scar busied himself for a few minutes preparing the mugs, finally placing one in front of Mumbo along with a jar of honey and a jug of milk, taking the chair across from him.

Mumbo added milk.

Scar added honey.

Mumbo looked at Scar.

Scar studied his drink.

He tasted it.

He studied it again.

Mumbo cleared his throat.

Scar added more honey.

He didn’t speak.

He didn’t make eye contact.

Finally, Mumbo broke, the awkward silence too much for him to bear. “Have you talked to anyone, lately?” He hadn’t meant to start quite so abruptly but—well, he wasn’t good in these kind of situations, ok?

Scar took a moment to respond, still stirring. “Like who?”

“Jimmy? Cub? Most of the Hermits have said they haven’t heard from you in a few weeks. I mean, I don’t think I’ve spoken to you since the... well, the funerals. And when was the last time you v—"

“I talked to Xisuma,” Scar interrupted, shrugging nonchalantly as if he hadn’t just cut the man off.

Mumbo blinked but continued forwards, grasping whatever straws he was presented. “When was that?”

He shrugged again, turning his gaze away from his tea and towards the window that overlooked the backyard. “A week or two ago, I guess. I’ve mostly been gardening.”

Mumbo’s eyes remained on Scar. “How’s work been? Have you been managing alright with the cane, and living alone?”

Another shrug. “Been working from home, mostly. Only go in when they call. I think the sunflowers will start blooming soon.”

“But Scar, you—you love that job because of the on-site work,” he sputtered. “You love working with all the people and being hands-on with the equipment, you said—"

“I’ve been thinking about growing stuff other than flowers,” Scar interrupted, his gaze never wavering from the glass. “Like tomatoes, and peppers, maybe some herbs. It’d be a nice addition.”

“I—I mean, I’m sure it would, but—"

“Plus, then I’d have fresh veggies on hand. And I wouldn’t have to worry about running out of parsley.” He took a sip. “Yeah, that’s a good idea. I think I’ll do that.”

“...sounds excellent, Scar,” Mumbo responded, resigned. Clearly, Scar was not in the mood to talk about all the things he had (or rather, hadn’t) been up to since becoming a literal hermit. So instead of forcing the matter, Mumbo would let the man talk about whatever he wanted, and maybe if he played his cards right he could guide the conversation back to why he had come. And if not?

Well. He wasn’t quite sure.

“You know, I make a really good roast, Mumbo. Have you ever had one of my roasts?”

“I don’t believe I have.”

He drummed his fingers on the table. “I made one the other night. Threw it out, though. A shame, I could’ve given it to you. Probably could’ve eaten it as leftovers, too, but I wasn’t really thinking straight when the whole kref— kerlf— kerfluffle happened.”

“I— you threw out a whole roast? Why?”

A shrug. “Forgot.”

“Forgot what?”

No response. Mumbo wasn’t even sure the man had actually heard him. “Scar? What did you forget?”

“People love my roasts.” Scar was still looking out the window, but Mumbo didn’t think he was looking at the garden anymore. “They asked me to make one while we were there, you know. We were going to go grocery shopping. I was in charge of the list of ingredients we’d need for dinner throughout the week.”

There was a small clatter as Scar’s mug knocked against the table. His hands were shaking. “Everyone had a job, did you know that? Joel didn’t, though, so he said his was being the driver. We didn’t realize how serious he was about it, I swear. It was a 14 hour drive, and—and we tried to convince him to take a break, but he refused.”

Mumbo felt something soft and heavy brush past his legs a moment before Jellie jumped onto the table. Scar’s hand automatically moved towards her, and she pushed her head into it as he stroked, purring. “He wouldn’t—he wouldn’t let anyone else drive, even though he was obviously so tired, but we were almost there and so we just thought an hour or two more couldn’t hurt, and the traffic had been slow, and then...”

Without warning, Scar snapped back to reality. His shoulders tightened, and his blank, distant look cycled through several expressions before finally settling on a large grin that didn’t quite meet his eyes. “But look at me, jabbering on and on about old, sad news like you have all day. Why, I do believe the sun’s started to set! And here I am, being a Downey Debber. Don’t let me hold you up from all the important business I’m sure you have to attend to.”

Mumbo opened his mouth to argue that he did have all day and even all night to talk to Scar—but the man was already ushering him out of the kitchen, and before he could even blink he was outside and the door had shut in his face.

There was a quiet but distinct click of a lock turning, and he sighed. Someone else might’ve simply continued banging on the door until Scar grew tired of the noise and let them back in—for that matter, someone else wouldn’t have even ended up outside in the first place—but Mumbo was not that man. So instead, he slid on the coat Scar had unceremoniously shoved into his hands, pulled up the collar, and began the walk home.

There were a lot of things that had happened in that conversation—some things so very Scar, and others so very not Scar. It made him glad he had decided to walk—the fresh air and steady rhythm of his steps would help him think, not to mention give him the much needed time to digest everything before he attempted to relay the interaction to the other hermits.

But as he walked alone down the sidewalk, cars occasionally rushing past, the setting sun causing the shadows to grow long and dark, replaying the conversation over and over, the one thing he couldn’t seem to stop thinking about was that in that entire time, Scar’s eyes had never once met his.

[muftiys]

Immortal AU taking over my mind

[hellhelpwhichever]

I think I know this man

his name is mr. goodtimes

[millastaria]

Day 16 - Scar

[acehalah]

hot guy!!! forgot his sunglasses!!! DANG IT!!

[obkknoxious]

Alr drew him w Turtwig so had to draw his elf skin w torterra ofc.