#they should let me write this thing

[rocketkit]

fourth scene from a nonexistent fic

[starrystevie]

steve's desperate, okay?

he's officially running late for his first date with linda because he couldn't find his car keys and the shirt he wanted to wear just wasn't working so he had to grab something out of his hamper and throw it on blindly which then messed up his hair and he almost forgot to brush his teeth again but remembered as he opened the front door and-

he only realizes he forgot to put on cologne once he makes it halfway to her house and smells himself. the shirt from the hamper smells stale, not bad, just stale. and steve in his normal, non-rushed state wouldn't have noticed because his trusty calvin klein would have covered it up but today is apparently not a day for things to go right.

with a sigh of frustration, steve pulls into the hook's drugstore a little too quickly and it makes his stomach lurch the tiniest bit before sliding into an open parking sport at the front door. he rushes in, pushing the door open with too much force and books it to the fragrance aisle.

"this is so fucking stupid," he mutters to himself, unable to be heard by any surrounding shoppers over the annoyingly loud jingle playing through the speakers.

steve skids to halt in front of the cologne section, crouching down and scanning quickly over the tester bottles for obsession. once he spots the amber bottle, he yanks it towards himself, spraying as much as he can onto his chest given the awkward angle he's at. as he stands back up, steve pulls his shirt collar up towards his nose and the ball of nerves in his stomach loosens at the familiar smell. he may be late but he feels like he's back in the game.

checking his watch, he sees just how late he is and makes a beeline for the door, nearly running into an older lady with far too many rolls of toilet paper in her tiny arms. as he dodges around her and extends his arm to push open the door, he hears a loud voice over the intercom.

"you're not going to buy anything after stealing cologne?"

steve stops, freezes where he is and frantically turns his head around to spot the cashier grinning at him. he has long hair and a bright red hook's drugstore vest over a denim vest which doesn't look very comfortable. he has chains in his jeans and handcuffs holding his belt closed and a smirk that is trying to kill him and oh-

"wait, stealing cologne?" steve shakes himself back into existence as the old lady pushes by him without dropping a single roll on the way back to her car. "you're going to call me putting on a few sprays stealing?"

the cashier's smile just gets bigger, like a cat hunting down a canary. steve's never felt like a canary before but can't deny that it's an exciting feeling.

"well, on a good day i wouldn't. but i'm bored and you didn't buy a single thing so technically, yes. you're stealing, pretty boy."

steve fights the urge to roll his eyes and put his hands on his hips, so instead he crosses them over his chest, cologne wafting up from the movement and reminding him that he doesn't have time for this no matter how cute the cashier may be.

he makes his way over to the counter, grabs a pack of gum and slams it on the counter. without breaking eye contact with eddie, as his nametag suggests, he throws him a salty smile of his own and pulls his wallet out from his back pocket.

eddie's eyes are a deep brown with a glimmer of something behind them and his hands are covered in rings making his fingers look long and strong. the jeans he has on are ripped on one of the the thighs, showing a hint of a tattoo to match the ones crawling up his arms. steve's no stranger to thinking men are attractive but this guy? he's on a new level. his heart thumps painfully in his chest when eddie's grin grows larger as he watches steve give him a once over. it thumps even harder when eddie gives him a once over of his own.

the clock above the register shows that he's officially 20 minutes late to picking up... laura? lisa?

no, linda. damnit.

eddie looks down at the gum and then back up at steve, quirking up an eyebrow. "i hardly think this monetarily equates to a bottle of cologne but-"

"oh come on!" steve huffs. eddie laughs and it's clear and bright, ringing off the cinderblock walls louder than the annoying jingle that's still playing. whatever fight steve may have had left in him drains away at the sound and suddenly he isn't thinking about the clock anymore. he feels his shoulders fall down to a more relaxed state, feels himself shift his weight on his feet to look more natural than ready to run at a moments notice.

"just kidding, man." eddie rings up the gum quickly and hands it back to steve. "sorry, you looked like you were in a rush. i shouldn't have created a scene just because i'm bored."

steve chuckles. "i'm already supremely late for my date so what's another five minutes. especially if it gets me..." he looks at the gum packet to look at what he even picked up in the first place. "... spearmint freshen-up gum."

"well there you go," eddie says, grin smaller than before, "a perfect thing to get for a date. everyone likes their date to be minty fresh for that first kiss."

it strikes somewhere in steve that he isn't expecting. the beemer is still out in the parking lot running so he didn't have to waste time, his watch on his wrist feels heavy, the scent of obsession overpowering. but he can't make himself move. he wants to stay and talk to eddie, wants to learn about what makes him tick.

"can i borrow your phone?" steve asks. eddie's eyebrows furrow but he reaches for the store phone and places the console on top of the counter.

"for what?"

steve look through his wallet, finding the piece of paper with linda's number on it. holding the receiver between his shoulder and ear, he dials in her number and holds his pointer finger up at eddie, signaling that he'll need a second. steve then brings the finger to his lips and shushes with his cheek pulling up in a smirk. eddie's eyes zero in on the motion and it feels like steve's gone from being the canary back to the cat.

"linda? hey it's steve."

he watches as eddie mouths steve back at him and then nods to himself when he gets the confirmation that it is indeed his name. steve throws him a wink for good measure.

"i know i'm late and i'm really really sorry to cancel last minute but-. oh. yeah, sure. have a good time. okay bye li-."

on the other end of the line, linda slams down the phone without waiting for steve to finish talking and it makes him wince with how loud it is in his ear. he gives eddie a sheepish smile, all toothy and guilt-ridden, and gently puts the receiver back down.

"what was that?" eddie asks with a disbelieving look on his face. steve shrugs.

"she got tired of waiting so she already had another guy lined up to come pick her up."

eddie sucks in air through his teeth and mimes getting shot in the heart. it has steve laughing as he falls over on the counter, hair covering his face. he turns his head to peer up at steve through the curtain of curls, the one brown eye that's visible twinkling in the harsh overhead light.

"was it true love? are you just absolutely heartbroken?"

steve thinks about it for less than a second. watches how eddie curls back up one vertebrae at a time before placing his elbows on the counter and leaning over. watches how eddie's eyes flit between his own and his lips. watches how he focuses on the latter for a little while too long.

"why would i be heartbroken," steve starts. he's being too forward, too brash, but with eddie looking at him that way, he knows he can be. "when you'll probably be on break soon and can make it up to me? you know, for making me even more late and all."

eddie's grin grows wide again. "oh really?"

steve shrugs once more with a playful look of consideration on his face, resting on his elbows to match eddie on the counter. "yes, really. this is your payback for being bored and taking it out on me."

it's later when eddie's on break and steve hasn't left the drugstore in over an hour and they're sitting in his car with bowie playing through the speakers that eddie looks up at him with a look steve knows well.

"you do smell really good, y'know." his voice is softer than steve's heard it all day.

"so are you glad i came in to steal cologne?" steve leans closer over the center console to get into eddie's personal space. there's a hand curling over his bicep and pulling him even closer, their faces only centimeters apart.

"i guess i'll let it slide this time, thief."

and when they kiss for the first time, it tastes like the freshen-up gum they both had been nonstop chewing ever since steve paid for it.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Reasons to play In Stars and Time: Canon Pronoun Warfare.

[willowser]

not to be so disgusting and gross about gojo on the dash but i think he's such a flirty, teasing idiot that, when you show him genuine and true affection, he goes all somber and quiet.

like you come up to him after dinner and stand on your tip-toes and hug him for no reason, give him a fat kiss on the cheek for no reason, and he just — lets you. doesn't say anything, just kind of hums and lightly places his hands on your hips, so gently you might not even know they're there. you tell him, "i love you, thank you for eating with me," and he presses his mouth to the top of your head, lips squished, and says it back, but there's no jokes, no teasing remarks. he just allows himself to be weak and to bask in it, for as long as he can.

[dukeofthomas]

I hate the insistence in pushing Jason into the batfamily.

If he doesn't wanna go to dinner, he doesn't have to. If he doesn't wanna hang out with them, he doesn't have to. If he doesn't want to see them, he doesn't have to. If he doesn't even want to contact them, he doesn't have to.

It's so annoying to read fic and always see it presented as his Family Knows Better. Jason is just being silly by not realizing how much they love him and he just needs to let them break into his home and comms and life because they want him there.

[bananasofthorns]

“He betrayed your trust and you aren’t more upset?" Helsknight scoffs. "Pathetic.” Wels rolls his eyes. “It’s a death game, Helsknight, that’s kind of the whole point. I should’ve seen this coming, honestly.” “You’re naive.” “Iskall’s my friend. It’s not naive to trust him.” “He broke that trust!” “Well, yes, and I plan to get him back for that someday, but also: it’s a death game. We all agreed to it. I’m not mad at him for killing me, I just wish he’d been a bit more upfront about it.” If he’d been more obvious about trying to kill Wels, then maybe Wels wouldn’t be dead, also. But Iskall’s whole goal was to kill him, so he can understand the deception. “You’re infuriating.” Wels shrugs. He generally tries not to be, but in this instance, he finds that he doesn’t mind. “Maybe so. Look, can we finish this later? I need to go get my stuff back from Iskall, and your presence would probably freak him out.”

you know when you get to that point of dealing with intrusive/self deprecating/etc thoughts that you're just like. "yeah okay. consider: you're stupid and wrong. also: go away, i'm busy"? that should be wels and hels

read on Ao3

[estrellami-1]

If I Should Stay

Part 1 | . . . | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9

After pizza—and after El wakes up and eats her own pizza—everyone gathers around again to listen to Steve and Robin. “So I think by now we’ve proven we’re from the future,” Steve says. “We’re here, four years in the past, because a lot of bad things happen, and if we can, we’d like to stop those things from happening. The big one, and really the recurring problem, is a guy named Henry Creel who essentially took control of an alternate plane of existence we call the Upside Down.” He motions El over beside him, and she goes gladly, tucking her feet up onto the couch as she leans into his side, trusting him to hold her up. He does, sliding a protective arm around her shoulders as he says, “He’s also One.”

He watches as one by one the lightbulbs come on. “Oh, shit,” Dustin whispers, and Steve doesn’t even call him on it, just nods.

“Beyond Henry, though, there are creatures in the Upside Down that can and will kill you.” He rolls his eyes fondly at the boys. “For some inexplicable reason, you came up the names, so they’re called demogorgons, demodogs, and demobats. Demogorgons are what took Barb and Will, but they both got away. That doesn’t mean they’re safe, though. Like El said earlier, Barb was safe in the moment, but it’s still a very dangerous place. There are vines everywhere that are connected to a hive mind. You step on one, and Henry knows you’re there.”

He continues telling the story, Robin interrupting when there’s a detail he misses. It’s silent when they finish. Finally, El speaks up. “So, it is… my fault?”

“No, El,” Steve says softly. “None of this is your fault. Things out of your control happened that made you who you are. Those same things created all of this.”

El frowns. “So I am bad? Like One? Like the Upside Down?”

“No,” Mike says sharply. “You’re good, El.”

“He’s right,” Steve murmurs. “You made yourself good.” He pokes her arm teasingly, and she smiles, leaning back into him.

Steve looks around, catches Nancy’s eye, and sighs. “Nance? A word?”

“Steve?” Robin asks.

He shakes his head. “I’ll yell if I need you,” he promises, rubbing her head as he passes. She squawks and bats his hand away.

“Asshole,” she mutters, and he laughs as he disappears down the hallway, Nancy in tow.

They end up in a room Steve thinks was meant to be a study. “You have questions.”

“Understatement of the century. There’s just one that’s really bugging me, though.”

“Us?”

“Yeah.”

Steve sighs and leans against the wall. “On Halloween, Tina throws a party. We didn’t know what we do now, about the Upside Down, and you were still looking for her. I was an asshole, self-centered and unhelpful.” He blows out a breath, crosses his arms, and looks away. “You got drunk, called me, and my love for you, bullshit. Left. I tried to talk to you the next day at school about it and you couldn’t say you loved me. I was still hopeful. I’m a romantic at heart, y’know? I thought maybe if I could be everything you needed, if I changed enough, if, if, if…” he shakes his head. “So we stayed together. I tried. You slept with Jonathan Byers, then broke up with me.”

Nancy looks horrified. “Steve-”

He shakes his head. “I made my peace with it. And maybe this makes me an asshole, I dunno, but Nance, I can’t go back. We’re okay, we’re friends, but I can’t pretend I still have feelings for you. I’m sorry, but we both know I was just convenient for you.”

Nancy takes a breath. “So that’s it?”

Steve shrugs helplessly. “I don’t know what you want me to do. I tried and got my heart broken for it. I moved on, found someone I think I can really be happy with, without changing who I am. And for the record? It gets rocky for a second, but I think you and Byers are it, too.” He smirks. “Plus Mike likes him better than me.”

Nancy rolls her eyes. “Oh, well, if Mike likes him better…” they both laugh, and she looks at him. “No more feelings?”

He shakes his head. “We make much better friends.”

Nancy grins lopsidedly. “And Robin?”

Steve snorts. “Purely platonic, I promise. Neither of us want anything else with each other.”

Nancy looks at him then. Studies him. “You’ve been through some shit,” she decides. “But you look happy.”

He smiles. “I am, for the most part. I know who I am.”

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[thirdeyeblue]

“Nine would have treated Martha better than Ten did”

I need to talk about this argument that never seems to stop circulating.

Note: Not a venomous/anti post. There’s more than enough of that across fandom spaces as is, and this is supposed to be a place for ✨sweet, blissful escapism✨

When making this argument, people seem to envision a scenario in which Nine never met Rose.

While I can appreciate a good hypothetical, recognizing Rose's significance to the Doctor (Nine and Ten) is essential to understanding why things with Martha played out the way they did in the first place.

In the third series, the Doctor is grieving. This grief is deliberately threaded into nearly every script, whether spoken aloud or not (and these are just a few examples):

He's burning in Rose’s wake the entire time Martha travels with him, which is why it’s so frequently called upon: It’s 100% deliberate in framing his grief. He grieved as Nine too, of course— having been fresh on the heels of the Time War — but then he met Rose, which changed everything.

Back then, he was still a rude, traumatized pain in the ass, but we watch Rose soften more of those jagged edges with every episode as they grow closer; as he lets his guard down and forms a deep connection with her.

He falls in love (against his better judgment) and it's game over.

And yes: provided S1E1 had been titled 'Martha', one can realistically assume things might have unfolded similarly to how they did with Rose. However, it wouldn’t have been that way just because the Doctor was Nine and “Nine was different” — it would be because he wasn’t already in love with someone else. The same can't be said for the start of S3.

Think of it like this: if Rose AND Martha had been in that cellar — if Nine had taken both of them along with him in S1 — we’d eventually be looking at the most melodramatic love triangle ever, what with him living in close quarters with two brilliant, gorgeous, compassionate young women... But Doctor Who is plenty “soap opera” as is with just one woman in the TARDIS.

(I certainly wouldn’t object to reading that fic, though)

Now, regarding the unrequited elephant in the room…

His inability to be romantic with Martha isn’t because he thinks her lesser, nor is it for lack of compatibility. It isn't because Rose is any better than her. It certainly isn’t just because he’s Ten.

It’s really only for one reason, which can't be denied — and now I’m a broken record:

He is still in love with Rose.

(cut from a tenrosedaily gif)

Nine is Ten, and Ten is only such a mess in S3 because he’s just lost the love of his life. Martha merely got caught in the crosshairs of a volatile Time Lord in mourning, and yes — it sucks. Absolutely.

But it also feels dismissive to chalk Ten and Martha’s relationship up to little more than some sort of mindless dance of pining, jealousy, and toxicity.

Ten trusted Martha with his life over and over again — and hers, with him. He constantly praised her brilliance, happily carting her around time and space with no intention of letting her go. In the BBC’s extended universe of novels/comics/cartoons/etc, there’s so much depth to their relationship: love and trust and trauma and sacrifice. They had their own special bond as mates, their own complexities — so it’s a bummer that it's forever overshadowed by the other things.

I’m not denying that there was a lot of stuff that sucked/was for sure toxic about Ten's S3 behavior, but so many of the things I've seen him catching flak for can be directly attributed to being A Clueless Fucking Alien Idiot (not a trait that’s unique to Ten) — as well as his flat-out obliviousness to Martha’s feelings.

So yes, I agree: if Rose never existed, he would have treated Martha differently as Nine. He also would have treated her differently as Ten. Certainly.

But Rose did exist, and when discussing canon, it matters.

“He tells me that he absolutely, 100% loves Rose... He tells me how my daughter; my wonderful, beautiful, clever little girl saved him from himself before… And he says that’s all because of me! I made her into the Rose Tyler that saved him.”

-Jackie Tyler, Flight Into Hull!

Martha got the short end of the stick in S3. She came round at the wrong place and time, but that doesn't mean it was all bad. It doesn't mean the Doctor didn’t adore her. It certainly doesn't mean the time they spent together was wasted or worthless. They were brilliant!

Sure, he could be a twat, but let it be known that he was a twat with Rose as well, both as Nine and Ten. I’m sure Tentoo can be plenty infuriating, too. So while I'll defend Ten (and Tentoo) into the ground forever and ever and ever, I'll concede that he's fucked up.

The Doctor is a certified Pain In The Ass. It’s one of the things I love so much about this character — dynamics.

But never forget that Martha was goddamn tough as nails and overcame every bit of it. She moved on with her life, and the Doctor moved on with his. One can only pray that, when they inevitably drag her back onto the show (which feels inevitable if I'm honest), we see at once that she's been living her best life for all these years.

[sailing-through-hawkins]

✧ written for 'charm' ✧ word count: 548 ✧ rated: T ✧ cw: creepy in the luring kind of way ✧ tags: other!eddie ✧ @steddiemicrofic (≧∇≦)ﾉ⁠✧

The ringing wasn’t that annoying, mostly because it meant his favourite guest had arrived.

“Meow.”

And there he is, with the little charm on his collar. Steve has no idea how it makes a jingling sound but it’s so cute, he doesn’t really care.

“Hello precious,” Steve greets and opens his windows out to let the black cat in. Robin always complains and calls it a hazard, but she also baby-talks to him so Steve doesn’t take it to heart.

But the cat doesn’t come in. He stares at Steve with wide eyes, eyes as red as the jewel of his charm. Huh. He didn’t know cat eyes could be red.

The cat meows again and hops out of the window. Steve takes his coat, locks his front door and steps out. The cat meows again, hopping along the street and Steve follows.

“Meow.”

Steve blinks. The cold air has finally hit his skin and has him shivering except – he’s been cold for a while, hasn’t he? He’s been – he’s been walking for a while, his legs ache so much. Steve looks around, the shadows of the empty road crawling around him, and realizes he must have left town ten minutes ago.

How –

The cat.

The one that always came to their window and asked to be let in, the one he followed all this way.

Where is it?

“Aren’t you a little far from home?”

Steve swivels around, hand grasping out for – for what?

A man smiles at him from the middle of the road. It’s too dark to see his face but he can see his eyes.

Pretty, pretty red.

“What are you doing here, stranger?” the man asks as he holds his hand out, crooking a finger in a ‘come-hither’ kind of way.

Steve stumbles over. “I – I was following this cat, where –“

The man’s (pretty, so pretty) red eyes widen, and he barks out a laugh. Steve smiles with him. “A cat, huh? In this cold? Oh, you poor thing.”

The moment he said that, the chill of the wind bit at Steve’s ears, and he shudders.

“Oh no,” the man tuts. He steps closer to Steve, pulling him in by his waist and adjust his own thick, fur coat around the both of them. “Is that better, sweetheart?”

Steve smiles, and he knows it’s his dopiest one because it’s the one that would always make people laugh and call him an idiot.

The man’s smile drops and his (beautiful, bloody) eyes flare angrily. He holds Steve even closer, even tighter, and Steve feels so warm. “They’re not worth it, sweetheart. We’re here now.”

Nuzzling into his neck, Steve sighs happily.

“That’s it, darlin’,” the man murmurs and he sighs too. “You don’t even remember me, but I’ve been so lonely without you.”

“Without me?” Steve frowns and goes to look at the man, Eddie, in the eye but a cold, clawed hand presses his face back into the warm skin. “Why were you without me?”

“It doesn’t matter anymore, does it?” Eddie chuckles and Steve hums. “You’ve got me now and I’ve got you. Just like we said.”

Steve peeks over Eddie’s shoulder, where the lights of the town fade into the shadows. Just like they said.

[uniiiquehecrt]

Voice actors are NOT the same as actors.

It takes a specific kind of skill-set and training to be able to warp and meld the voice. It takes a certain kind of talent and dedication to hone that talent into the ability to meld the voice and invoke emotion with one's voice alone. Actors are used to using their voice secondarily to their body language and their facial expressions. It's all mirrored back on camera. They do have nuance. But it's a different kind of nuance and a different kind of training to produce that nuance.

Voice actors might get their likeness transposed on their character's design, and maybe their mannerisms might seep into the character's animation. But when it's all said and done: their presence is in their voice. They are bringing a character to life, showing that emotion in their voice, trying to keep a specific accent, drawl, pitch, tone in that voice and keep it consistent for their recording sessions.

The voice actor is like a classically trained musician who can play first chair in a competitive, world-renown orchestra. The actor (who fills the voice actor's role) is like a moot who played violin in beginner and intermediate high school orchestra and thinks they can get into Juilliard with that 2-4 years of experience.

This doesn't mean that the HS orchestra moot can't play. They can even be really good at it. Maybe they won competitions and sat first chair. But they are not in the same league as the person who's been training their whole lives and lives and breathes to hone their craft using the instrument and all of the training they've ever acquired to perfect it. They are not meant for the same roles. They are not in the same caliber. You do not hire the HS equivalent when you want to play complex music in a competitive orchestra.

Actors are not the same as voice actors.

And furthermore, actors - especially big name actors - taking the roles of animated characters for big budget films or TV pilots makes no sense anyways when - at least in the case of TV pilots - there's not a point to hiring a big budget actors anyways. That money could be used elsewhere (like paying your animators), and the talent that is brought onto the screen for X character could then be hired on to voice said character no recasting required.

I wouldn't say voice acting as a profession is in danger exactly, but it's certainly being disrespected and overlooked for celebrity clout, and this has ALWAYS been an issue. Shoot, even Robin Williams knew that much - which is why he tried so hard not to be used as a marketing chess piece for Aladdin and got royally pissed off when it happened anyways. People shouldn't go to any movie (but especially not animated films) because "oh famous actor is in it". People should go because it's a good movie and the voice acting is good.

People who honest to god think that voice actors are replaceable because "oh well anyone can voice act" or "I like xyz celebrity so naturally it'll be good" ... Honestly I just wish you'd reassess your priorities because you're missing the point and are part of the problem.

Voice Actors ≠ Actors.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Call that a Cave Story.

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[starrysharks]

google "how to write a character who is known within her universe for having no filter and swearing a lot (especially in the face of authority) without having it read like i graduated from vivziepop school of writing"

[witchspeka]

It's always "Shou and Ritsu need to blow stuff up with their minds for mental health reasons" or Ritsu and Teru or even Shou and Teru!

But what about Mob? When does he get to blow stuff up with his mind for funsies? For shits and giggles? He didn't go through all of those meltdowns and character development for nothing, let him go ham on a junkyard car or something smh

I believe in Mob's narrative given right to fuck shit up sometimes

[infernal-scales]

the beginning of the end to your sanity starter :) || @fellandfeathers

WHEN IN ROME do as the Romans do, and Crowley has discovered Romans do a lot of fucking. End of story.

Nudity and sex weren’t really anything looked down upon yet in most civilizations. Well, if you overlook the instances of Sodom and Gomorrah, or any other time humanity has been far too indulgent in their “sinful ways” that called for their untimely destruction.

There was a carefree attitude for all things pleasurable with the Romans, though, that Crowley quite liked, and with a flourishing nation came a want for indulgence within all its people.

It was A BREEDING GROUND for on-the-job demons, of course.

The knowledge that Aziraphale was stationed in the city alongside him put a damper on his mood. DON’T GET HIM WRONG: seeing that familiar face did wonders for his mood usually. However, this would be the first time Crowley was actively working when the angel was nearby. Most of the time, he stumbled upon or sniffed the other out—keeping his reputation clean of actions that would otherwise have Aziraphale turning his nose up at him.

Not this time, and it made him itchy, irritable, more so than he already was with the whole Emperor gig.

Speaking of the devil, the public bathhouse is filled with nothing but Caligula’s court, all mingling with each other in a manner of… INDECENT WAYS. Crowley’s mainly kept himself separated from the more involved circles—doing his best to enjoy a goblet of the finest wine in the country—but it’s not long before a curly blonde soldier swims in between his legs.

❝ How can one seem SO ALONE in a room full of people? ❞

Was that suppose to be romantic? Rude, but okay.

Crowley smirks instead of letting a biting remark fly, aware of the eyes on him from the powerful parties nearby. A hand cups the man’s jaw, forcing his neck to crane up.

❝ NOT ALONE NOW, am I? ❞

The blonde beams at him, but it lacks the radiance and dimples that never fail to warm him.

[star-burrry]

Fics with Newt as a cane user.

[birrdies]

Sorry to give you 80 options but you know me haha 🤩🤩🤩🤩

Scar rehearsed it twelve times.

Once for each step it takes to cross the rotunda. He can’t tell if it’s the building that’s not so wide or if it’s his own desperate steps that make it seem like such an inconsequential distance. Either way it’s stuffed to the brim with people and their wandering hands, fingers loosely grabbing at his biceps and drunken congratulations on strangers lips like a baited fish hook nudging his cheek.

It’s an inauguration after all— a hard-earned, highly anticipated one at that— so Scar can hardly blame them for their excitability. Any other time, he might bite that hook, just to see what comes of it, eager to taste something fresh. But tonight is not any other night.

Tonight, his sights are set elsewhere. A clear target— albeit one that’s spent most of the night on the opposite side of the rotunda, as if keeping a thirty foot radius from Scar at all times is necessary to his survival.

Grian.

He’s standing there, tucked against a marble column with one foot propped up behind him and donning a deep maroon suit that couldn’t have fit him better. He isn’t drowning in it, nor does it dwarf him either. The tightly-tailored jacket hugs a set of broad shoulders, muscles Scar never knew existed beneath the loose button-ups and sweater vests Grian drowns himself in when he’s at the office, too busy with his nose buried in blueprints to notice Scar’s wandering eyes.

Only now his nose is tucked in a flute of champagne that makes his lip curl when he gets a taste. His hair, frizzy with the summer’s heat, curls around his face and cheeks. The bridge of his nose is covered by a black matte mask studded with feathers around the edges, like some kind of showman corvid. But even with the mask, even six paces away, Scar can’t miss the coy tilt of Grian’s head. An avoidant gesture that’s betrayed by the way he keeps his chin high, his nose upward. He must feel Scar coming from a mile away.

So, when Scar gets within ear-shot— closer than you might think, given the crowd only growing rowdier as more and more empty flutes are collected on trays and replaced with full ones— he says it. Just as he practices, the words as smooth as honey but still somehow drowned out beneath the noise.

Thirteenth try is the charm.

“May I have this dance?”

Grian doesn’t turn to him right away, but he does flinch. Like he’s trying to decide if he can get away with pretending he hadn’t heard Scar.

Luckily, he comes to his senses quick enough to jerk his head Scar’s direction. Even with most of his face covered he can feel the dubious raise of Grian’s brow— his skepticism a palpable thing.

“Why?”

Scar tilts his head. “Why else would you come?”

“I don’t want to get fired,” Grian says, grimacing after another sip of champagne from the flute he’s barely made a dent in it.

“You think so little of me?” Scar gasps, clutching his chest in a flare of dramatics that has Grian’s lip traitorously curling— this time with amusement. “I’m wounded, Grian!”

“I dunno,” he says. “the message you left on my answering machine saying that if I didn’t come you’d fire me was pretty damning. Gonna fire me if I don’t dance with you too?”

“No, but I’ll pout about it loudly, Scar says, and with the way Grian groans, tossing his head back, you’d think it was a worse threat than unemployment.

He huffs, a small, frustrated sound he makes so often Scar’s not convinced he’s even aware he does it. But Scar savors it, the grin stretching his face almost painfully as he holds out a hand and waits for Grian to take it.

It doesn’t take Grian long to. He abandons his glass on the ledge at the base of the column and pushes himself off of it, straightening the slightly rumpled collar of his suit jacket and tossing a hand through his hair. Only when he’s rightfully fluffed, like a bird preening its feathers, does he take Scar’s hand.

Scar leads Grian to the center of the rotunda by the hand, the curious crowd splitting to make way for the mayor and his special guest. Grian shrinks under their gaze, head ducked and hand tightening around Scar’s, a reaction Scar doesn’t fully understand because he’s never wanted to show anything off more.

Grian, squeezing Scar’s hand. No one else’s.

For a moment, when he holds Grian’s waist with one hand and folds their palms together with the other, he can almost pretend like it’s everything he’s ever wanted.

“You’re gonna have to lead,” Grian mumbles after a moment of awkward buffering, his fingers relentlessly twitching in Scar’s hold. He then adjusts the hand resting on his waist, forcing it up higher a few inches. “And don’t get any funny ideas.”

Scar chuckles and takes the first step forward, bringing Grian along with him. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Grian hums skeptically. “Yeah. Sure.”

Scar's ideas are anything but funny, but he knows Grian well enough to keep his mouth shut and not push his luck. Not now anyway, when he can feel Grian's nervous pulse all the way through his palm. Sure, Grian's always been relatively allergic to parties and sequins and general fun most days, but he seems especially squirrely now. Even as they dance, Scar leading him through the shifting tides of the crowd, it's like his mind is elsewhere. Hands jittering, eyes skirting, feet shuffling and nearly tripping on Scar's shoe every other step. It's hard to get swept up in the music when Grian keeps him so relentlessly tethered. Corporeal.

"You alright?" Scar asks after the first song, making no move to let Grian go. "Y'know, having fun is kinda a prerequisite for dancing with Mayor GoodTimes."

"I'm fine," Grian says with a small scoff, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth when he pauses his hypervigilant gaze-sweeping to glance back at Scar. "You look like a turkey."

"Peacock," Scar corrects, lifting his hand from Grian's waist to brush the multicolored feathers layered over his own fine piece of velvet. Bdubs really is a genius, coming up with this whole masquerade idea. He's always been better with a mask to hide behind. Even if he's not the other guy right now, he can pretend he is. He can borrow his strength, his confidence, his charm.

"Of course. Plumage," Grian says with an thin, airy laugh. He lets Scar pull him back in as the next song sweeps them up. A slower tune that has Scar pulling Grian closer to him.

This close, beneath the glitter of the crystalloid-diamond chandelier, Scar can't help but stare back. His usual fanning of freckles are hidden beneath that black, feathery masquerade mask.

"You know," Scar says with little thought. "You kinda remind me of someone."

Grian's paranoid eyes dart everywhere but Scar's face when he asks, absently, "Hm? Who?"

The resemblance truly is uncanny. Those dark, paranoid eyes framed by dark black fabric, making every dark or nervous thought crossing them twenty times heavier. But it's not possible, no matter how bad Scar wishes it to be. His extra-curricular coworker wouldn't come ten feet within Scar willingly, let alone let one hand hold him at the waist and let himself be lead with the other. But a man can dream. Scar can fantasize about a time or place he can reconcile the two people inside him-- the mayor and the vigilante-- and have the two objects of his affection:

Grian and CuteGuy.

Scar parts his lips to respond before he thinks better of it.

He's here tonight as the mayor. Grian is here as his coworker, a part of his campaign. Nothing more.

Though these days, the lines are getting far blurrier.

"Aw, nevermind," Scar dismisses with a soft smile as he pulls Grian closer. "Must just be a trick of the light."