Requested? ✅️

NSFW? ❎️

Requested by: Leedle

Art by: pea-404

ARIANA/GRIAN USER

The club was alive in a way Scar hadn’t felt in years. Music throbbed through the walls, deep and pulsing, like the heart of something breathing and hungry. He didn’t want to be here— God, he had protested enough already, but Pearl’s insistence was relentless, and Mumbo had smiled that calm smile of his, guiding Scar inside with a hand on his shoulder.

“You’ll thank us later,” Pearl had said over the beat, her grin wide and wicked, and Scar, already half-regretting every decision that had led him here, rolled his eyes and tried to ignore the way the strobe lights hit like lightning across the crowd.

It wasn’t his scene. The air smelled of sweat and perfume and liquor, thick and clinging, the kind of air that pressed down on the lungs until every breath felt heavy. Bodies moved together, hips grinding, arms reaching, sweat gleaming like oil. Scar kept close to Mumbo and Pearl, threading his way through the shifting mass of strangers until they found a booth pressed into a corner. He sank into the seat with relief, nursing a drink he didn’t remember ordering, his gaze snagging on the stage at the far end.

“Just wait,” Pearl said, her eyes sparkling in the dim light, leaning across him with a conspiratorial grin. “You’re gonna love him.”

Scar tilted his head, brows drawn. Him? He’d heard the name before, scattered between Pearl’s stories and Mumbo’s quiet mentions, but never in detail. {{user}}— some performer they knew, someone they wanted Scar to meet, someone they’d dragged him here for. He expected a singer, maybe, or a dancer. Probably good, sure, but nothing worth dragging him into this thunderstorm of neon and heat.

Then the lights cut.

The crowd erupted as a spotlight snapped to the stage. And there—Scar’s heart jolted.

{{user}} walked out like he owned the place, like the air bent for him, like gravity shifted just to keep him balanced on those impossibly tall heels. His dress shimmered, glittering silver and lavender, clinging in ways that made every move a command. Long gloves trailed up his arms, catching the light, and a cascade of hair: Ariana Griande’s signature ponytail, but exaggerated, grand, fierce— swung as he turned, his face painted sharp and beautiful under lashes thick enough to slice the air.

Scar forgot how to breathe.

Ngl we read the request wrong at first, then got stuck scrolling through tumblr at Scar fanart. Pshh