cogito, ergo sum

The Desired Ending AU

AO3 Link

A Traffic Light SMP AU where Grian is a Watcher who fell to earth to be with the souls he was meant to watch and is being punished for his choice. (vague scarian??)

Tags: DE AU -- DESIRED ENDING AU

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Hermit League AU

Master Post

Scarian Starter - Hold On When You Get Love - AO3

TreeBark Back Story - Set Yourself on Fire

P1 - Your Ex-Lover Is Dead - AO3

P2 - Do You Want To Die Together? - AO3

Posts About It -

Grian + Scar Info

The Great Treebark vs Found Family War Poll

Tags: HML AU -- HERMITLEAGUE AU

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Romance Novel AU

Original Drabble

Time Can Never Kill The True Heart - AO3

Scar, once a trader by sea turned thief, finds himself in love with the man worth the most money in their town, who he had originally set out to rob. Etho, meant to marry Grian to pay off a family debt, finds himself falling in love with an acrobat from a circus he's met only a handful of times. Tango, a servant to Etho, finds himself falling in love with Jimmy - the youngest brother of a family of elites. Ren, a wealthy man with hefty influence over the whole story, finds himself falling in love with his new servant.

Ethubs, Scarian, Treebark, Solidaritek (maybe more this is just a fun side project lol)

tagged as romance novel au

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Time Wars AU

scarian/treebark drabbles that have to do with a time war very loosely based off of this is how you lose the time war and time by pink floyd

AO3

Part One: An Iteration of Three

Part Two: The Cowboy Way

Part Three: The Flickering of a Fir Tree

tagged as time wars au

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my oc’s

c!swan, my beloved

tagged as c!swan. android type previous television head with zero interpersonal skills and a desire for a sense of humanity they’ll never achieve

(Art by nuggets4fools)

Achilles, my fool

tagged as achilles (bsmp). space rock previous hive mind with one goal - destroy. the power of friendship made him something real and now he’s just straight up sad. is it true that something like me could never love like you?

(Art by setacin)

‘Kay.” He grumbled, and curled up tight on himself to let her know he was done with the conversation. Another sigh left her lips, but with it the door to his room finally closed, and he was finally alone.

Eventually he heard the sound of his front door opening and closing, and the family car pulling away. A silence that could only be achieved when both of his sisters left the house crept carefully into his room, and he tossed his blankets away from himself and stared up at the ceiling.

He was awake now, and there was no going back to sleep, so he'd at least take advantage of an empty house. He pulled himself out of bed and trudged down to the kitchen, pouring himself a massive bowl of cereal and taking all the time he wanted at the toaster, no Nancy breathing over his shoulder and commenting on the number of slices on his plate. Triumphant in his breakfast choices, he made his way down to the basement, his one and only sanctuary left in Hawkins.

The last place he saw Will.

After a brief struggle to rearrange his desk and set his tidings down, he settled into his chair and snagged his book, ready to lock in and get to writing yet another campaign that would not be played. His notebook was filled to the brim with stories and ideas, worlds for his friends to play in, but... he didn't really have friends anymore.

He raised his eyes to look at the old corkboard above his desk, the picture of Dustin, Lucas, Will and himself staring back down at him. Since Will died, their party had fallen apart. Some part of Mike would like to think they were still friends - in school they'd talk, and even sit with each other at lunch, but... there was nothing beyond that.

It was partially his fault. But it was also theirs. Mike choose to ignore them for the most part, because they'd gone ahead and replaced Will with some loud mouth red head who appeared in his absence named Max. And when he stressed his disagreement with that choice, they went and replaced him with a strange girl named Jane that Dustin had somehow managed to hit it off with. He wasn't going to wrap himself up in their new party if they refused to admit all they were doing was replacing his - their - friend.

He took a large spoonful of cereal and shoved it into his mouth as his eyes betrayed him and drifted to the other side of the board, where a singular news article was hung, much against his mother's continuous pleading he take it down.

'Hawkins boy feared dead after believed hit and run' was the headline, and right below it was the shattered image of Will's bike on the side of the road. Mike dug his teeth into the metal of the spoon, the now well known feeling of dread bubbling up into his throat as he thought about his best friend and what probably happened to him, and how he could do absolutely nothing about it.

With an angered breath he yanked the spoon away from his mouth and tried his hardest to focus on the blank page of his notebook. All he wanted to do was distract himself from these swirling, dark feelings. His friends had left him. Will was gone. Everyone had moved on from the Fall of 1983, but Mike was stuck there. He feared he'd always be stuck there.

In attempt to rewire his brain he grabbed a piece of toast and took an awfully loud, crunchy bite. He squinted his brows together in confusion as even through his chews he still could hear the strange crunch, until he slowly stopped his jaw and realized the noise wasn't coming from the bread - it was coming from the walkie talkie stationed just behind him. A static buzz.

He slowly turned in his chair to look, eyes wide and unsure. The only reason that device should be making any sort of noise would be...

"Mike?"

The voice that came through the radio was distorted and heavy with static, but Mike would know it anywhere. He flung himself towards the walkie talkie and fumbled to pick it up and respond, bringing it close to his mouth and sputtering, "Will?"

There was silence. Almost too much silence, and Mike just about talked himself into believing he'd just been hearing things, because there was just no way Will was somehow talking to him now through the walkie talkie he'd left in Castle Byers just in case. Just in case, by some miracle, he'd come back. He slowly lowered his hand down and rubbed at his brow, feeling stupid for even allowing himself to imagine such a stupid thought -

"Mike, I need your help." Will came through again then, his voice more solid now, more real, "I don't know-" heavy noise distorted the call,  "I hurt my leg. I think I got lost and-" static cut through, garbling whatever Will was saying, and Mike shook the old piece of junk around to try and hear, "-nobody else was picking up."

Whatever sort of disbelief was swirling around Mike's head was fogging any thought he had to respond. Was this real? Was Will real? Was someone playing a really sick joke right now? He found himself gripping the plastic of the device tightly, trying to ground himself, trying to make this reality actually be happening.

"Mike? Are you there?" Will's voice was riddled with confusion, desperation. It finally triggered something in Mike's brain, and he yanked his hand back up to respond.

"Yeah- I'm here. I'm here. Just stay where you are, Will, I'll be right there." He said, and then, just to make sure, "You- you're in Castle Byers, right?"

"Where else would I be?" Will laughed a bit, and the sound of it made the hair on Mike's neck stand up, because it was real. Will was real. That laugh couldn't just be replicated.

He took off up the stairs, tripping over his feet one too many times in his effort to hurry and put on real clothes, "Okay. Stay put. Don't move. Okay- promise me you won't move."

"I- okay. I promise?" Will replied, and Mike finally let go of the walkie talkie to throw on a shirt and toss together a bag. He didn't know what sort of state Will might be in, what he might need, and he began to just grab random things from around his room and just about anywhere in the house. Extra clothes, a first aid kit, granola bars- he paused in the kitchen, staring down a knife, wondering if maybe he should take it, but- decided against it, not even sure where the hell he'd put it, and he dashed out the garage door.

Despite every bone in his body screaming at him to stay on Will's channel, he had to let someone else know this. He got himself peddling down the main road before switching to Lucas's channel and attempting contact - only to be met with silence. He changed again, this time to Dustin, and when there was nothing in return he let out an annoyed sigh and attempted Max.

"Max - this is Mike. Do you have a copy?" He spit out through clenched teeth, not totally happy about having to reach out to her. At first there was nothing, and he was just about to give up when suddenly, static picked up.

"Hi, Mike."

He didn't really know the voice very well, but he blinked until the dots connected, "I- Jane?"

Jane was the newest kid in school. She was adopted by the Chief of Police, Jim Hopper, and most people found her to be an absolute odd ball. Mike had heard rumors that her mother was some crazy broad that had kept Jane locked away for years before someone, somewhere saved her, and that was why she was so backwards. They'd not talked much, but when they did, she was nice. It made him feel bad that he didn't like her.

"Max says you can lose her number." Jane came back over the air, and Mike bit his tongue to not come back at them with an insult.

"Okay- one, this isn't a number, and two, tell Max that this is important. It's about Will." He snapped, taking a corner too sharp and almost tumbling off his bike in the process. He caught himself last minute and readjusted, waiting for a response before he took off again. He'd be faster once he wasn't dealing with this.

Max spoke this time, "What do you mean, about Will." She sounded annoyed, which annoyed Mike, and he shook the walkie talkie as if it was her for a moment.

"Can you tell Dustin and Lucas to meet me at Castle Byers. Tell them it's super important. They won't answer me." He did his best to keep his voice calm despite wanting to throttle the girls through the speaker.

"I can relay your message." Max said, "But what do we say when we want something?"

Mike couldn't wait for the next time he saw Max, hoping she'd bring her skateboard so he could trip her right off of it, "Can you please tell Dustin and Lucas to meet me at Castle Byers." He took a deep breath in, "Please, Max."

There was a sincerity to his voice that nobody had heard in over a year, and that Max had never heard in her life, and so she quietly responded, "Okay."

Mike took her word and switched back to Will's channel, "Five minutes, I'm on the way."

There was no reply, and Mike dropped the walkie talkie in his backpack and took off as fast as his legs would allow him. He flew down the old country roads towards the Byers house, blowing right past the memorial that rest on the side of the road for Will. He glanced its way but had no time to stop. Not with what was on the line.

He reached the path that lead off the road and rode until his bike couldn't make it anymore, too many roots and not enough foot traffic in the time since Will's disappearance to warrant the plants being trampled. He abandoned his bike and rushed towards the space, the route he'd never forget in a million years. Eventually he came to the clearing, breathing heavily and staring at the well overgrown fort before him.

The tattered American flag fluttered in the soft summer breeze. Mike found his throat getting tight. What if this was just some - some crazy delusion he'd brewed up in his brain? In his dreams sometimes he'd find Will alive, and he'd feel happy again. But those were dreams, and dreams weren't reality. He'd seen the remains of Will's bike in person.

"Nobody could survive that." Hopper had said, unaware Mike was behind a nearby tree, listening as the crime scene photos were taken and they buried Will there an then, with no body.

Mike ran his hand down his face, pulling on his lips, trying to calm down. He just had to see. What good was standing still getting him?

With heavy feet he crept around the side of the fort and slowly glanced through the main entrance. His heart flew into his throat as his eyes locked upon him- upon Will, sitting in the one corner, nursing his leg and staring off into space.

He looked different. His hair was longer, below his ears, and was oddly well maintained. He was thin and pale and the whole left side of his face was etched with a burn scar, like someone had thrown boiling water on him. He was in plain clothes and his right leg was clearly twisted at the ankle. Mike took all of him in before allowing himself to finally get excited, throwing himself into Castle Byers and at his friend, hugging him close and tight.

"Will. Will. Oh my God." He clung to the other boy with the strength of a thousand hugs, sure he'd slip through his fingers if he didn't hold on tight enough.

Will hugged him back, laughing into his shoulder, "Mike- Mike you're gonna crush me. Actually, you are crushing me."

Despite not wanting to pull away, for the sake of Will breathing, Mike let himself move back, but kept his hands firmly on Will's shoulders. Will looked at him with a smile that slowly faded into confusion, and he reached his hand up to touch at Mike's hair.

"When did you... how'd your hair get so long?" He asked, and his nose scrunched up the way it does when you're trying not to cry, "I thought... I thought everything around here looked- looked different, Mike, what..."

"It's okay. It's okay, Will. You're okay." Mike squeezed his shoulders, "You- you've been missing, okay? But it's gonna be fine. You're gonna be fine."

Will's face dropped even further, now a serious dread smearing across his features, "Missing? What do you mean? How long have I been missing?" He shook his head, and his voice grew in desperation with each passing word, "I just fell off my bike- I fell off my bike and I was- I was confused but I didn't- I didn't go missing!"

Mike didn't know what to say. How to make what was happening any better. He opened his mouth and then closed it, no words in mind to calm Will down. He felt like a failure, and the same disgusted feeling he'd experienced when he watched them haul Will's bike away began to fall into him, knowing then and now there was nothing he could do-

"Holy shit." A voice from behind him saved the day, and standing in the entrance to the fort was one absolutely shocked Lucas. Behind him Mike could see Max with her hands clasped over her mouth and her eyes wide in shock.

Dustin shoved Lucas out of the way to look in, and then ducked down to rush in and push his way close to Will, hugging him tight the same way Mike had, "Will! Will, you- Will!"

Mike watched Lucas scramble in then and join in on the hug, and Will's scared face bled into a sad one as he tucked into the comfort of his friends. A dark part of Mike wanted to be angry with them, and he could feel it starting to boil up in the back of his throat. They'd been the ones to give up on Will. They'd gone out of their way this last year to replace him. Now here they were, acting like they'd cared all this time? He knew the truth, and he went to let it all out -- but just as he opened his mouth someone laid a calm hand on his shoulder.

He whipped his head towards the source, finding Jane knelt beside him with worry spread all across her face, "Are you okay?" She asked, her voice soft and calm. Mike blinked away the feelings that were swelling around him, and a sort of shame took their place. He cleared his throat and nodded his head, flexing his shoulders and knocking her hand away.

Jane watched him for a moment longer, almost as if she was making sure he wouldn't explode on the spot, before glancing towards Max, "I should get my dad." She said, and Max was quick to nod her head.

"You guys stay here. We'll get help." Max took Jane's hand and the two of them hurried back towards the Byers house. Mike watched until he couldn't see them anymore before turning back to Will.

Dustin and Lucas had moved off of him by now, and he was sat wiping away confused tears. It was clear nobody knew what to say. The wall that Mike had built between Dustin and Lucas was tall and thick, and it's presence in the tight space of Castle Byers could not be ignored. He wanted to melt into the ground and just have this whole moment stop, too many feelings engulfing him.

"How long?" Will spoke then, and he sniffled as he looked between the three of them, "How long have I been gone?"

Dustin and Lucas shared a look, and then they both looked to Mike, knowing he was the best person to answer that. Mike licked his lips and did his best to not let his voice crack under the pressure, "A... a little over a year." He settled on, knowing very well it had been 599 days on the dot. He'd never stopped counting.

"Oh." Will's face broke and he was quick to hide his tears, his hands flying up to cover his face. Dustin and Lucas were on him right away, consoling him with gentle hands on his back and promises that everything was going to be okay.

Mike could only watch as his friend cried, and he wondered if that really was the truth. If everything was okay. Because despite five hundred and ninety nine days of not feeling okay, Will was back in front of him, and...

Once it had happened twice, the word spread. If you kidnap the mayor, Hotguy will come to his rescue within hours. Want your free chance at getting the number one hero in the whole city? Snatch the mayor out of his bed for the fifth time and threaten his mustache. 

There had been a few times that things had been more exciting and less painfully boring; around number seven, he’d been yanked right off the floor in the middle of a speech, pulled up through the rafters by mechanical arms and out the ceiling. That was fun, significantly more than this go around, where his office had simply been broken into when he was staying over late to do paperwork. 

The boredom grew with most of these ‘bad guys’ and their ‘evil’ plans. He couldn’t believe the number of times he’d heard ‘use Hotguy’s abilities to take over the city… and then the world!’ Or ‘gain control of the one who controls the Hermits!’ He felt more bad that Hotguy had to deal with these low level punks with no originality in their minds. 

He had to admit - It was sort of his own fault this kept happening. Sure; the bad guys knew he was a direct shot at Hotguy. But he’d also straight up refused protection. After the fourth time, Grian had sat him down with an organized plan on a rotating cast of heroes from the Hermit League who would help protect him from these repeated attacks. However, 

“I don’t see much of Hotguy on here.” He said out loud, without really meaning to say it. Grian’s brows rose to the top of his head and then smushed together in a look of confusion. 

“He’s busy, Mumbo. He’s the leader of the whole organization.” He responded. 

Mumbo popped his lips, “I thought you were the leader.” 

“On paper, sure. But Hotguy is our face, he’s our name. People know who I am behind the mask; they don’t know him. He’s the real definition of a hero. You’re the mayor, you know this,” Grian waved his hand out back towards the window, “We could poll twenty people now and over half of them would choose him over me.” 

Mumbo found himself back on the schedule and let out a small huff. Joel, False, Etho, Grian, Pearl- one a day, always at his side, always with him, and… no more consistent Hotguy in his life. 

That was dramatic. It wasn’t like they didn’t see each other. He was the mayor and Hotguy was the most popular hero on the roster. Events, award ceremonies, the works- they were often in a room together, but not so often… alone. 

It was sad to admit that the reason he didn’t mind being kidnapped time and time again was the moments after, when Hotguy and him would be all alone. Sitting on a rooftop somewhere as Hotguy assured Grian of Mumbo’s safety, with the city asleep or so far away it didn’t matter. When they got to be alone. 

When Hotguy would untie or uncuff him, and softly rub at his skin where the bindings had dug in, or when he’d scoop Mumbo away from any danger and hold him, and he’d get so close he could smell him, feel him breathing. Feel the heat coming from his body. 

Hotguy laughed a lot more around him when they were alone, and he loved the sound of his laugh. A lot. 

He knew he was being selfish, and honestly quite silly, but the words came out of his mouth on their own as he slid the paper back towards Grian, “No thanks.” 

“Wha- huh?” Grian’s mouth hung open, and his eyes went down to his plan and then back to his friend, “You’ve been kidnapped four times. You lost a finger last time, Mumbo!” 

Mumbo held his hand up, showing the robotic appendage that now replaced the flesh he’d lost, “It’s fixed. I’m the mayor, it’s only to be expected that things like this happen. Besides; I like my… routine, my, uh… personal time.” 

Grian didn’t respond, but he had a lot of thoughts clearly swirling around in his mind that were simply etched into his face. Mainly annoyance. 

Mumbo slowly lowered his hand, “I don’t need Joel in my personal business.” 

Grian’s disgruntled sound of disapproval rang in his ears, but, well- he knew he’d done this to himself. And so what- 

He liked the attention. He liked the time that he got to spend with Hotguy. He liked everything about it, and he wasn’t going to pretend that he didn’t. If sitting in boredom with another useless comic villain meant he’d get an hour alone with Hotguy every other day or so, he’d suffer through it. 

His head fell back against the chair he was tightly tied to, and his eyes found themselves locked on the window. He watched as the moon slowly drifted across the sky, knowing with each second he was growing closer and closer to seeing Hotguy again. 

The annoying sound of footsteps caught his ears, and he lifted his head slowly to glance at the villain who had snatched him this time slowly approaching, an annoyed look all over his face. He was the same as most of them - young, scruffy, with too much anger and not enough brains. Mumbo almost felt bad for him.

Mumbo hefted himself into a better sitting position, “What’s the face for, then?” 

The bad guy seemed shocked he was being talked to, and he slowly looked over at Mumbo and then back to the door, “Where is your savior? They all say he comes within two hours; we’re passing four.”

“You’re telling me.” Mumbo sighed, flexing his shoulders around some, uncomfortable, “But you did kidnap me around midnight on a Tuesday. He’s not on patrol and really, who would be looking for me? Think logistically.” 

His captor looked maybe disgusted, but certainly annoyed, at that comment. Mumbo sucked his lips in, folding a grimace away. He often just spoke, without thinking. It was the reason he was down a finger, certainly. But, despite the number of times he’d been in this scenario, other than the appendage, he hadn’t really been injured. Sure, rope burns, some bruises, a handful of cuts. More often than not, though, the persons who had any interest in snatching him up had no intentions to harm him; only Hotguy. 

He was a relatively liked mayor. Or he liked to think. To the fools that kept kidnapping him, he was just a tool to get to Hotguy, and it was better to keep him alive and unharmed. Or so he assumed. 

“What makes you so special, anyway?” His captor asked then, crossing his arms and glaring at Mumbo, “I don’t think anyone else in the city would get such treatment as you.” He slowly began a pace around the mayor, looking him up and down, “Are you two an item?” 

Mumbo sputtered out in shock, trying to make it look like such a comment was ridiculous beyond all, but he could feel his ears growing red and his cheeks burning, “I’m the mayor.”

“Yeah, and every time someone snags you, the only hero who bothers to rush to your aid is him. You’ve got a whole team of superpowered freaks to rescue you, and the only one who can’t even hold his breath a moment, make a plan, who crashes through walls and doors to find you - is Hotguy.” His captor moved in close, sort of smirking at him, “Woooow. The mayor and the cities number one. What a story.”

There was a thick lump in his throat, but he turned his face away quickly, “I hate to disappoint you, but it’s his job to rescue me. And he takes his job seriously. That’s as far as it goes - he and I, that is just… silly.” 

A pause came over the room for a moment, but then his captor began to laugh, right in his ear, “Oh- so you like him, but he doesn’t like you back, then?” 

The words stung worse than the feeling of getting his finger cut off, and he didn’t like it one bit. It was strange to be forced to look his reality right in the face. Of course he liked Hotguy, and of course Hotguy only saw him as a part of his job. As a part of protecting their city. There wasn’t any connection there beyond that, regardless of how much Mumbo pretended there could be, or let himself get continuously kidnapped to trick himself into believing there was. Pathetic, really.

He was so lost in thought he almost didn’t notice the sudden sharp pain that exploded in his stomach. A gasp left his lips as his head lowered to try and figure out what just happened, and he felt himself grow stiff when he saw the handle of a thick blade jutting out of his skin. His eyes slowly rose to meet his captor’s own, and the man gave him an almost tender smile, 

“Well, if he likes you back at all, this’ll prove it, won’t it?” He prosed, patting his hand on Mumbo’s cheek, “If he reacts to you bleeding out, you’ll know you mean something. If not, then- well, you’ll know you’re just a thorn in his side.” 

In one quick motion the knife was ripped out of his stomach then, and Mumbo screamed out in pain as his white button up became increasingly red. Mumbo wasn’t sure what was more shocking to him- the fact he’d actually been stabbed, or the pain. To the first, nobody had ever really cared to bring him harm. They’d all been much more focused on their end goal to worry about him. 

To the second, he’d never experienced anything like this before. The finger had hurt, but not quite like this, not so deep in his body. He let out a gasp for air he didn’t realize he was holding in as his captor lifted his head to force their eyes to lock.

“You’re just flesh and blood, after all. You’re not special like the rest of them. Something like this could easily kill you.” The other man spoke before running the knife along Mumbo’s cheek, smearing his face with his own blood, “You can thank me later, if you make it.” and then he walked off, leaving Mumbo alone with those thoughts and the agony. 

The worst part was, Mumbo knew that the man who had just stabbed him was right. He was, realistically, just a thorn in the side of the city, of its number one hero. All because he had a pathetic little bit of a crush on him. He deserved all this- from turning Grian’s protection down to putting himself in situations he could easily get kidnapped, this was what he’d asked for. 

“Mumbo.” 

He almost hoped that he’d just die before Hotguy even arrived. It would make this whole situation much better for him, after all. No embarrassment, no having to go and grovel to Grian for what he turned down, just- the release of-

“Mumbo!” His head was shaken a bit, and he gasped for air at the feeling of a hand tight on his chin, pulling him from his misery and back into reality, back into… Hotguy’s arms. He couldn’t guess how much time had passed, but he was no longer tied up, and he felt safe in the warmth he’d come to nearly desire from Hotguy. 

“Hey- hey, there you are.” Hotguy said, his grip on Mumbo’s chin quickly softening, “I just need you to stay awake, okay, Mumbo?” 

Hotguy’s hand was gentle on his face, soothing in the situation as the pain came back, and Mumbo found himself whimpering in the agony of it all. Mumbo realized Hotguy’s hand was moving softly against his cheek, wiping away the blood that had been left there previously. It was comforting and… very nice, actually, and he couldn’t help but lean into the feeling to try and ignore the pain. 

“Took you long enough, huh?” Mumbo mumbled out, squinting his eyes up at Hotguy, who didn’t find the humor in it. Even behind his full face mask, Mumbo could see the worry etched into his face. The absence of his laugh stung.

Hotguy pulled him closer, adjusting how they were sitting to better hold Mumbo.

“If joking is going to keep you awake, then- joke away.” Hotguy finally returned, moving his hand away for a moment to wipe away the blood and then quickly return it to Mumbo’s face, “Help is on the way, alright?” 

His voice was extremely calming, and Mumbo let out a small hum as he listened, trying to decide what to do. There was a part of him, the selfish part that had gotten him here in the first place, screaming against the bars of its cage for him to ask. Just ask. What harm could it do? He was bleeding out in the guy’s arms, after all. 

“I’ll stay awake,” he whispered, bringing his hand slowly up to rest on Hotguy’s own, “If you show me your face.” It was a lie, because with each second Mumbo was feeling more and more exhausted- but, hell, if he was going to die, he wanted to go out with this. One more selfish act. 

There was a moment of silence. A debate was happening within Hotguy, and Mumbo couldn’t really blame him. He almost opened his mouth to take it back, regret already pouring in, but Hotguy moved his free hand up and yanked the mask back off his face, dropping it beside them. 

He was… handsome. That was certainly the first word that came to Mumbo’s head. Someone he didn’t know, which made plenty of sense, given he’d been so particular about his secret identity up to this point; why would he hang around the mayor as a civilian? 

Back to the handsome thing, though, because it was very much at the front of his mind. Big green eyes, wracked with worry, were locked on his face. Tan skin, a thick head of scruffy brown hair, a flickering of old wounds across his face that really made him look just… incredible. Everything Mumbo had imagined in his many, many fantasies about what was behind that mask, and well- then some. 

“Wow.” He giggled a bit, blaming the childish noise on the blood loss, “You’re handsome.” 

“I- thank you.” Hotguy returned, and a redness came over his face that made Mumbo smile. He didn’t know if this whole interaction was even real, or just some near death fever dream. He didn’t know if Hotguy was showing him this because he felt bad Mumbo was dying, or if, maybe… he wanted to show him. That those rooftop excursions and the way Hotguy’s breath would catch when Mumbo clung to him actually, truly meant something.

Either way, it was nice. 

He pressed his luck once again, still blaming his burst of confidence on the lack of blood and the dying thing, “What’s your name? It’s surely not Hotguy, yeah?” 

“Scar.” There was no hesitation this time, just a gentle and quick return, “My name is Scar.” 

Woof. Mumbo realized this situation must be more dire than he expected if Hotguy- Scar- was handing out this information to him so easily. Given how tired he felt, he figured it was probably going to end poorly for him, and Scar just felt bad he was going to die. Made plenty of sense to him. 

A dead man knowing your name meant nothing. 

“That’s a nice name… it suits you.” He pulled his hand away from where it was resting atop of Scar’s to press his own thumb against one of the healing wounds on Scar’s face, “Better than Hotguy. Rolls nicely off the tongue.” 

Scar closed his eyes when Mumbo touched his face, and if Mumbo had been less nearly dead, he would have noticed Scar leaning into his touch. But he didn’t, and a sharp pang of pain blistered through his body and his hands flung down towards the wound, which had a patch job done by Scar already that was soaked heavily by his blood. 

“Right bastard, stabbing me…” he joked again, trying to fight the pain away. 

“He’s gone.” Scar responded, “Don’t worry.” 

“I never worry.” Mumbo’s face shifted into a smile, “Not with you to protect me.”

Scar responded, but Mumbo felt himself start to slip away under the lure of sleep. He was so tired, and everything just hurt so bad; it felt like the right thing to do. He could feel Scar stiffen as his eyes shut, and there was the muffled sound of his voice in his ears, but - it all went dark. 

– 

“It happened again.” 

The steady sound of the monitor that reminded Scar everything was okay was interrupted by Grian’s harsh tone. He forced himself into a sitting position in the chair he’d situated next to the hospital bed Mumbo was in, turning his head slowly to face his friend, waiting for the verbal beating he was about to receive. 

“How many times did I tell you- convince him he needed proper protection. Not just you swooping in at the last minute.” Grian’s arms were crossed, and his tone was angry, “I told you this would happen eventually.” 

“I know.” Scar admitted, having already had enough time in the quiet of the hospital room to lament over his selfish mistake. Grian sighed in response, unable to continue to be so angry when Scar sounded like such a kicked puppy. 

Scar found himself looking back at Mumbo, watching him slowly breathe in and out, his face somehow paler than normal. The team had arrived just in time to save him, but he’d still lost a lot of blood. Plenty of bed rest was ahead of him. But he was alive, and for that Scar couldn’t be happier. Despite everything he’d done wrong; Mumbo was going to be okay.

“You showed him, didn’t you?” Grian asked him then, leaning against a nearby wall, “Your mask was all screwed up when we got there.” 

There were very few people who knew his identity. Grian was one, despite the lie he told everyone that he didn’t know. It was just easier for Scar this way, to separate himself from it. To protect his day to day life from who he was under the mask. To try and find some normalcy in the life he had that he never asked for. 

“He asked.” Scar responded after a moment. 

Grian rolled his eyes, “And Joel has asked you maybe three hundred thousand times. Mumbo asks once, and you bend?” 

“He was bleeding to death in my arms.” Scar harshly returned, taking a deep breath at the tone of his voice, “It was the least I could do.” 

Things drew quiet. Grian was watching him with his brows raised, unmoved by Scar’s outburst, already aware of what feelings had bloomed between his two friends since the first time Mumbo had been kidnapped. He’d have to not have eyes or a brain to not realize what had taken over the two of them; love. 

Scar also knew, at least on his side of things, that he loved Mumbo. Countless nights of checking in on him, rescuing him from the clutches of idiots who used him to try and hurt Scar - it had shown a light on the mayor Scar didn’t see before. Mumbo was kind, he was funny, and above all else, he was handsome as hell. 

He liked the time he’d sort of forced into existence with Mumbo. He liked beating up the fools who took him. The gratitude and happiness that would bloom from Mumbo every time made him keep his mouth shut when Grian had pushed about getting a proper form of protection on the books for Mumbo. 

“Go home and change.” Grian said then, “Come back looking normal.” 

Scar lifted his head to frown at Grian, “No chance. I can’t show up as myself to his hospital room, you know how suspicious that would be?” 

“You’ve put him in plenty of danger already, haven’t you?” The words stung as they hit Scar one after the other. He knew it was the truth, but that didn’t make him feel any better. It didn’t make the situation any different. Grian clearly regretted saying them, but they both knew it was true. 

With a sigh he stood up, “I’m leaving- just… not coming back. Tell him I wish him a speedy recovery…” 

Grian didn’t stop him. 

Scar knew it was probably all for the better. Better he cut this silly game with Mumbo off before it got any worse. As fun as it had been to save him time and time again, and have Mumbo thank him, hold onto him, praise him- all he’d managed to do in the end was hurt him. 

He glanced back one last time at Mumbo, but then forced himself to keep walking. This was for the better. 

–

It was a quiet day at the Curiosity Shop. Scar liked it that way, liked when he got to be by himself with his mess of obscure things. The silence gave him time to work on fixing old machines, broken toys, anything that came into his hands. Currently he found himself situated over a watch that had long since stopped ticking away the time, pulling the pieces out one by one to try and find what had gone wrong. 

He found comfort in the redundancy and the simplicity of these tasks. It was much different from the messes he’d throw himself into as Hotguy; so he took all these moments and clung to them when he could. If anything, it was a good distraction from all the mess he’d made over these last few months. He knew Mumbo was safe, and in recovery, and that was what mattered. 

Things would return to normal for him now, and he’d leave his little fantasy behind, because Mumbo would be safe. 

A jangle rang through the shop as someone entered. He let out a small sigh, but kept his focus on the watch for now; if he was needed, he’d be found – and much to his dismay, he heard the sound of footsteps approaching his spot behind the counter. 

“Welcome to Scar’s Curiosity and Scavenge Shop. How can I help you?” He asked, still without looking up from his project. 

“Ah, well… I was told by a friend I could find what I was looking for here.” 

The voice was all that he needed to realize who was standing in front of him. He slowly lifted his eyes to find Mumbo before him, a nervous smile on his face. Scar slowly lowered his tools down to the counter below, unsure of what to do or say. His eyes moved towards the entrance, and he found Joel hanging around by the door, looking bored but clearly eavesdropping on whatever was about to go down. 

“Mum… Mr. Mayor.” Scar cleared his throat and snagged his cane to heft himself up, offering his other hand across the counter for Mumbo, who immediately gave him a look that read ‘seriously?’

“Are you really trying to shake my hand right now?” Mumbo glanced down at Scar’s extended hand and then back up at his face with a humored grin, “I think we’re beyond that, aren’t we?” 

Scar swallowed back a lump that had formed in his throat, feeling seriously sick with this sudden confrontation. He was sure he was about to get a cold rejection of some kind, despite never even asking for anything from Mumbo. His reality, his little silly shop of junk and small apartment, it was all sort of pathetic, and if Mumbo knew what he was really like - what Hotguy was really like - the fantasy he’d let himself live in these past few months was truly gone. If Mumbo rejected him, he couldn’t even pretend. 

He lowered his hand slowly, taking a heavy breath in to try and force away the tight feeling in his throat, chest, and stomach, “Sorry, uh- you’re the mayor, after all, I just…” 

“The mayor whose life you’ve saved countless times.” Mumbo responded, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“Well- no. Hotguy did that…” Scar sucked his lips in after he said it, keeping his voice very low, “I’m just Scar, so…” His eyes moved in the direction of the front door, where Joel was still lurking. 

Mumbo looked unamused by Scar’s words, and he turned his head to Joel and gave him one quick wave of the hand to tell him to go. There was a serious frown that came across Joel’s face, and he opened his mouth to protest, but Mumbo was quick on the draw, “Just go stand outside, would you?”

Joel practically pouted, but he stepped outside with a heavy grumble. Mumbo watched him exit, but then slowly turned his head back, “Okay, can we drop the silly… act?” He asked, “I came to thank you for saving me.” 

“Oh- anytime. You know that.” Scar scrubbed at the back of his head, “I see you finally took up Grian’s suggestion of a, uh… body guard. So - that’s good. Not that it’s bad, not that I wouldn’t have kept coming for you, cause. You know.” His words came out a jumbled mess, and with each one he felt like more of a total fool. He cleared his throat, trying desperately to get that tightness to go away.

“Do I… know?” Mumbo asked after a moment of quiet. His tone indicated he was not just asking about Scar rescuing him, but clearly much more. Asking if there was something more there. 

Scar opened his mouth and then closed it. He wasn’t sure what to say. If he did tell Mumbo the truth, would that rejection he’d feared come to fruition? But, then again- 

He was the one who had saved Mumbo. Every single time, he’d busted through whatever door or wall that had separated the two of them. Every time, Mumbo had clung to him, he’d had his hands on his waist, on his small back, gosh - he’d held him bridal style a handful of times. And every time - every single time - Mumbo had looked at him with such genuine admiration, Scar had let himself think that it meant something. 

“You know how Grian sort of just tends to say whatever is on his mind?” Mumbo asked him when the silence started to feel heavy, “He told me that he realized the two of us had been doing that whole… kidnapping mess… because we just wanted to be around each other.” He drummed his fingers on the counter, and Scar watched his thin digits move one at a time, the robotic pointer finger making a slightly extra bit of movement, “And while I don’t know if that is true for you, I can at least tell you… that it was true for me.” 

Rejection, or the idea of it, started to flood away from Scar at that moment. He lifted his gaze from Mumbo’s hand to meet his eyes again, smiling just the slightest bit, as Mumbo continued, “He said I was pretty silly for letting myself get nabbed time and time again just to see you, when I am the mayor, and I can sort of just… ask.” 

“Ask what?” Scar cleared his throat, and finally the cursed tightness went away, almost as if it was vanquished by the soft and sweet look that had come over Mumbo’s face. 

Mumbo leaned over the counter just a bit, “Ask you to be around me more, I suppose he meant. But what I’d like to do is ask you on a date, I think. And before you get into ‘Scar’ and ‘Hotguy’ again, I’m asking both of you, so- none of that.” 

Scar couldn’t hold back the smile that came to his face. It was massive, and he was ecstatic, leaning forward some himself to meet the mayor just about halfway, the two of them inches apart. There had been many times in his rescues that they’d been like this, lips inches apart, but there had always been his mask there, and they’d always pulled away when they’d realized what they were doing. Whatever silly sort of fear had wrapped around them seemed to finally dissolve, and Mumbo moved forward to break the barrier and plant a quick, chaste kiss on Scar’s lips. Scar felt like a thousand fireworks went off in his head as even such a short act seemed to seal them together. 

“Joel’s watching.” Mumbo whispered as he quickly pulled away, and Scar couldn’t wait for the next time the two of them trained together so he could make Joel pay. He let out a small huff, and Mumbo placed his hand over Scar’s on the counter with a chuckle. 

“I can’t believe it only took seventeen bad guys to make us realize this.” Scar sighed, looking at their hands together with an intense glee. 

“Seventeen bad guys, one missing finger, and one stab wound,” Mumbo laughed, “But, we’re both quite daft, aren’t we?” 

“I wouldn’t call you daft.” Scar shook his head, and Mumbo just chuckled, but he didn’t respond. He was clearly just reading Scar’s face, taking in every feature, almost searching there for something. His eyes were intense, and Scar felt himself start to flush, unsure of what to do in a situation like this, “What are you looking at…?” He asked, wishing he had a mirror to see if he had something on his features. 

There was a small pause, but then Mumbo’s face softened, and he squeezed Scar’s hand tightly, “I just realized I’m lucky enough to have you to protect me. Both as Scar and as Hotguy.” He chuckled, “What a lucky guy I am.” 

Scar sucked a sharp breath in, and without caring what the hell Joel thought, he tugged Mumbo across the counter and held his face in a kiss, refusing to let him go this time.