Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The loud buzz of the alarm clock made Spamton jump out of bed. He glared at it like he was ready to smash it with his fists, but instead he just hit the top button and flopped back down onto the big double bed.
Before he could drift off again, the smell of eggs, bacon, and coffee crept into the room.

“Morning, Spammy. You’re not spending the whole day under the covers.” Tenna’s voice was soft and sweet, way more tender than the one his audience usually got to hear.

“But it’s our day off… shouldn’t I be allowed to do whatever I want? Just five more minutes, Tens.”

“I’ve got the whole day planned out… and your coffee’s getting cold.” Tenna pushed back gently, and Spamton let out a small grumble before finally sitting up.

For the young monster, the sight was picture-perfect. Tenna stood there in a pink apron, holding a breakfast tray worthy of a hotel: sliced fruits, a glass of milk, and pancakes topped with a syrup-written “happy birthday.”
Oh, right—that’s why today was special. 

“So? What do you think?” Tenna’s excitement was impossible to hide.

“Wow, I… thanks, Tenna.” Still half-asleep but clearly touched, Spamton looked up at him, and Tenna was smiling ear to ear.

It was his first birthday since meeting the young host, and the first time it didn’t feel cursed or heavy with “bad vibes.” Spamton had always been known as the unlucky one. Born from a failed relationship between a human and a monster, he'd always been pushed aside by his siblings, who bragged about being taller, sleeker, and featherless, just like their mother always wanted. Spamton often wondered how he’d gotten so close to Tenna, who—just like his siblings—was human, but somehow he never looked down at his partner, instead sharing the spotlight with the little monster. 

To Tenna, Spamton wasn’t some rejected outcast. He was creative, charismatic—his TV presence magnetic. Tenna had been pulled in like a magnet, and never looked back.

They ate breakfast together in easy silence, broken only when Spamton tried to guess what Tenna had planned. Later, they both got ready for the day.

Spamton caught his reflection in the mirror. He hated the thin white fluff covering his body—almost invisible, more like stray hairs than feathers, but enough to make him want to pluck every last one.
They’re so thin, it wouldn’t be hard to rip them all out…
He cut the thought short and tugged on a black turtleneck, making sure as much of his body as possible was hidden. At least like this, he felt less like a freak.

Tenna was in a sweater too—a mustard yellow that looked amazing against his dark skin, paired with a leather belt and tailored pants. He was staring into the mirror, fussing with his hair until the shape was just right. He was vain, sure, but he cared a lot about how he looked.
Spamton chuckled at the sight, then scooped up a good amount of gel to smooth down the black-dyed feathers on top of his head. At least those had a nice shape to them.

---

This time, Spamton was in the passenger seat of his own car. The price of being surprised by his boyfriend. He wouldn’t have minded—if Tenna didn’t drive so damn slow. His fingers drummed to the beat on the radio while his eyes flicked over to his tense partner gripping the wheel.

“If you don’t like driving, I can take over. Just tell me where we’re going, Tens.” he offered, trying not to sound impatient.

“Spammy, I can handle this. We’re almost there, and I don’t want to ruin the surprise.” Tenna kept his eyes on the road.

“I know you can, Tens, it’s just-”

“Then wait!” Tenna snapped, then immediately softened. “Sorry. I just… I planned everything. I don’t want anything to get messed up.”

“Alright, alright. Sorry for pushing.” Spamton leaned over and kissed his cheek. “I’m sure it’s gonna be amazing.”

“Keep that up and I’ll crash the car,” Tenna muttered, flustered.

“Don’t you dare crash the Cungadero!!” Spamton shot back. Both of them burst out laughing—though Spamton was completely serious about his beloved car.

The Cungadero was proof that Spamton had made it. He still wanted more success, more prestige, but he’d already proved everyone wrong. He had a job at the biggest TV station in the country, fans who listened to his wildest rants like they were gospel, and, most importantly, a partner who made him feel complete.

Before long, they arrived. Not too far from the city, but perfect for the adventure and peace Spamton craved. The ski resort was quieter than usual—no surprise, with winter nearly over and the last of the snow about to melt away.

Tenna had filled the day with activities, just what they needed to shake off the stress and pressure of being TV World’s main stars. He had always dreamed of fame, but nothing worked until Spamton came along. Spamton knew how to highlight the best in him, turning him into the idol audiences adored. Tenna was grateful, always making sure Spamton got his moment on stage too—reading emails, talking to the crowd. He knew how much Spamton longed to be in front of the camera, and honestly, there was no better place for him.

That morning they went snowboarding—the rush of flying downhill balanced perfectly with the calm ride back up the lift. But that was only the start. In the afternoon, Tenna had booked a private spot by the frozen lake. The perfect place to spend time together, away from home and away from everyone else.

“You’re a smart cookie, huh, Mr. Tenna?” Spamton teased, trying not to show how impressed he was.

“And you love it, Mr. Spamton!” Tenna tugged him onto the ice, where the view looked even better.

Even frozen solid, the lake mirrored the cloudless sky above. Pines circled the area, dusted with snow, while empty benches sat waiting for couples that never came.

“You got all this just for me?” Spamton asked, still wide-eyed.

“For us. We deserved some time off the cameras.” Tenna finished tying his skates. “Come on, let’s skate!”

It was rare to see Spamton so genuinely happy. Not that he was always grumpy, but seeing him smile without holding back—that only happened on the most special days. His feathers caught the sunlight like a prism, scattering colors and making him glow like a magical being. And Tenna felt lucky—no, blessed—to have such an angelic sight all to himself.

“Tens, hold my hands.” Spamton grinned, skating backward and offering them.
“What are you planning?” Tenna asked suspiciously.
“Come on, trust me!”

After hesitating, Tenna placed his hands in Spamton’s. Instantly, the little monster pulled him into an offbeat dance, spinning him clumsily across the ice. It was messy, but soon the chaos slowed into something almost like a waltz.

“Already tired?” Spamton smirked, resting his head on Tenna’s chest, listening to his erratic heartbeat.
“You’re the one making me like this.” Tenna’s reply was soft but steady enough to make Spamton’s cheeks burn as he buried his face deeper against the human.

To shake it off, Spamton started spinning them both, faster and faster—until they lost balance and tumbled onto the ice.

“Guess that’s enough skating for today…” Spamton offered a hand to pull him up.
“Spammy, your forehead’s bleeding.” Tenna said, alarmed, guiding him to a bench.
“It’s nothing, doesn’t even hurt.” He brushed Tenna off, but Tenna leaned closer, trying to check.
“Let me take care of it.”

Another reminder that Spamton could never truly belong anywhere… Monsters didn’t bleed, right? But he wasn’t just a monster. He was this Frankenstein mix not even his mother knew how to raise. Too normal to be a monster, too weird to be a human. Nobody ever knew how to deal with that—or cared enough to try. Sure, humans and monsters lived in harmony, but moments like this always exposed the cracks. Always something missing, always some cruel joke, always another reminder of where he didn’t fit.

“This should help.” Tenna closed his eyes, channeling energy through his hands. A soft green glow sparked and healed the cut instantly.

“How… how did you do that?” Spamton touched his forehead. No scar, nothing.
“Some humans can learn magic. I never really cared before, but I figured healing spells might be worth it.”
“Oh… because of the soul, right?”
“Maybe. Honestly, I’m not sure if that’s what it is. Can’t monsters use magic?”
“Not that I know of…”
“Then I hope I’m always around so no one can hurt that pretty face.” Tenna brushed his thumb across Spamton’s cheek.

Spamton might have had a comeback or a pun, but it was lost in those gray eyes looking at him with such tenderness. His breath caught as their faces drew closer, and for once he stopped questioning if he deserved this. Their lips met in a kiss full of feeling.

The world seemed to stop. No birds, no wind, nothing but Tenna’s warmth against him—the pauses between kisses, the soft grip of his hand on the back of Spamton’s neck.

---

After spending the afternoon at the lake, Tenna had one more surprise in store. This time Spamton drove, taking a road he knew by heart: they were headed to his favorite restaurant. The perfect way to end the day.

The car sped along as they sang with the radio, tossing ideas back and forth about future show segments. Spamton felt the music fuel his speed—until the broadcast suddenly cut.

“Aw, come on! Right at the best part.” Spamton tapped the wheel of his Cungadero.
“Wait, I want to hear this.” Tenna turned the volume up.

“A human body was found lifeless on the east highway. The perpetrator is still unknown, but residents report seeing a monster near the scene. The victim, not yet identified, suffered severe mutilations to the torso. Authorities ask drivers to stay alert and report any suspicious activity immediately.” 
The voice repeated the message one more time before the music came back like nothing had happened. Tenna’s shoulders tensed, and he tried to relax them.

“Good thing we live in the next city over.” Spamton muttered, trying to lighten the mood.
“That’s horrible. What kind of monster could’ve done that?”
“Why assume it was a monster? Just because someone saw one nearby?”

Tenna hesitated. He didn’t want to pick a fight—but deep down, he already believed it. School lessons always stressed the potential danger of monsters. Dating one didn’t erase the risks, but Spamton had a point. Even if it was unlikely, a human could’ve been responsible.

“Well… if it happened in another city, maybe we should just stay out of it.” He switched the radio station, steering the conversation away.

Spamton said nothing more, keeping his eyes on the road. The sunset was far too beautiful to ruin with a pointless argument.

Chapter Text

Spamton wanted to go back to sleep, but his mind had been wandering with ideas for a new segment ever since he got home. With the coveted role of head writer for TV Time in his sights, he couldn’t afford to let any idea slip by without being meticulously jotted down with all the necessary details and descriptions. It didn’t guarantee acceptance, but having his ideas organized could come in handy during important moments.

The young monster took another sip of his coffee, hoping it would keep him awake a few more minutes, but at that moment the coffee was nothing more than ordinary water... Seeing it would have no effect, Spamton dragged himself to the bathroom, hoping the cold tap water splashed on his face would wake him up.

The bathroom was lit by the warm glow of the living room lamp, casting shadows over some feathers that were longer in certain areas of his body. Spamton spent a few moments studying his lean reflection in the mirror; his face looked a little tired, water still dripping from where he had splashed it. The “I LOVE TV” cartoon print of his partner on his shirt had begun to fade, and the almost-white fabric blended with his feathers… those damn feathers!

It was normal for him to brush them back into place after a long day, but at that moment, they were perfectly in order—except for a single stubborn feather sticking out of his arm. Without much thought, Spamton pinched it between his fingertips and yanked it out in one swift motion. The pain shot through him like a needle and lasted only a few seconds, leaving just a faint soreness behind. No bruises, no blood—it hardly even seemed like a feather was missing because there were so many others there that one wouldn’t make a difference. That tiny sting was enough to keep him awake until every idea was safely down on paper.

In bed, his partner stirred, thinking of wrapping an arm around the writer’s waist, only to wake and realize he was alone. Tenna was too groggy to notice details, but he glanced at the clock and saw it was far too late for Spamton not to be asleep, especially with the busy day ahead.

“Spammy, come to bed,” the human cooed, receiving only silence in response.

Tenna reluctantly climbed out of bed and made his way to the living room, finding Spamton asleep among scattered papers. His usually tense expression, brows furrowed, had softened into serenity. Tenna glanced at some of the notes, smiling proudly at Spamton’s attention to every detail—drawings, collages, countless jottings. He couldn’t wait to hear him talk through each point, but for now, it was time to sleep, and he couldn’t let the writer rest uncomfortably.

Being half Tenna’s height and surprisingly light, Spamton was easy to carry. The human scooped him up in his arms, laid him beside himself in bed, and covered them both with a comforter, quickly returning to sleep comfortably in each others' arms.

It wasn’t long before the alarm blared, waking the pair the next morning. Spamton curled into Tenna’s chest, moving in tandem as his partner silenced the alarm.

“Good morning, sweetie,” Tenna murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to the monster’s forehead.

“Morning, Tens. Looks like we’ve got quite a day ahead.”

“You didn’t sleep much.”

“It’s fine. I couldn’t let it go,” Spamton replied, stretching as he swung his legs off the bed.

The filming studio was far from Spamton’s place, so he’d started spending the night at his partner’s to gain extra sleep. The occasional sofa naps quickly became a thing of the past since the partnership had leveled up.  Now, Tenna’s home was practically an extension of Spamton’s own space, complete with clothes, personal items, and even a few touches of decoration that Tenna would never have added on his own. Spamton barely remembered the last time he’d set foot in his old neighborhood, and honestly, he didn’t miss it. The calm of living high up among trees was infinitely better than the noisy suburbs he’d left behind, this was the closest thing to peace he’d ever known. Part of him would have been content to keep it forever, but another part still wanted more; a bigger house, —no, several houses in every district and city he wanted, luxury cars… Spamton didn’t just want to feel luxurious; he wanted everyone to see and envy his life of opulence.

Even with a hair and makeup team at their disposal, the couple refused to appear on camera without being properly put together, so part of their morning routine involved spotting imperfections and covering them up. Fortunately, this time they didn’t need to do much—they were well rested.

Tenna used the extra time to make an omelet and brew coffee while Spamton gathered all his notes into a folder. He didn’t even remember producing so much the night before and was very proud of it.

“What have you been thinking about, darling?” Tenna asked, taking a bite of the omelet.

“I was thinking of a challenge segment,” Spamton said, taking a sip of his coffee. “You always said you wanted to interact with the audience, so I thought maybe a show with questions and answers… I could combine it with physical challenges too.”

Tenna’s eyes lit up as Spamton described his ideas. The writer could seem indifferent or even stern at times, but he always listened—whether it was a trivial complaint or a heartfelt confession. The little monster wasn’t great with affection, and words of endearment weren’t his strong suit, but this gesture was a clear demonstration of how much he cared, of what Tenna meant to him. He didn’t have to stay up late doing all this—but he wanted to, just to bring a small line the host had said days ago to life.

“Spammy, this is incredible! All these ideas are from last night?”

“Kind of… I combined them with some earlier ones.”

“We need to show this in the meeting today! Can I help with anything?”

“Well, you can have the same reaction you just had—they always love everything you take interest in.”

“Then it’s a deal!” Tenna lifted his coffee mug, expecting Spamton to clink his in return, which he did, trying to mask a shy smile. “You know I’m not just saying I like it because we’re together, right? I haven’t seen everything yet, but the idea alone already seems amazing. You’re incredibly talented, my star. Thank you for sharing this with me.”

Tenna’s candid and honest words were meant to convey genuine admiration, but Spamton never knew how to respond. He simply hid the blush on his face, finishing his coffee, and then stood.

“We should get going, Tens.”

There was no recording scheduled for the show today, but that didn’t mean the day would be easy. On the contrary, these “off” days were packed with secondary activities—interviews, photo shoots, meetings, commercials, wardrobe fittings… They had to make the most of these days to get done what couldn’t be done on filming days.

In a matter of minutes, the Cungadero pulled up to the TV World Studios, with a team already swarming around the stars to check every detail.

The assistants were called Pippins—the backbone keeping everything running smoothly, from checking sets to adjusting the presenters’ and guests’ makeup. Some were eagerly waiting to enter the dressing room once Tenna and Spamton got dressed, delivering the cowboy outfits they had tried on the previous week. Tenna stuck with his classic red, now paired with dark jeans and leather chaps with gold detailing and fringe, while Spamton wore a monochromatic version with patterns reminiscent of a cow. The human loved changing outfits but worried about ruining his hair with the hat; the monster liked feeling attractive and, judging by Tenna’s gaze, he was perfect.

Every second counted at the studio, so the young presenters wasted no time, calling in the Pippins to take care of the finer details.

More than ever, the team was buzzing—chatting and gossiping about things Tenna tried to keep up with, while Spamton stayed quiet, making sure nothing went wrong with his stage makeup.

“They say a monster can possess a soul…” one of the Pippins commented, grabbing a tissue.

“But what can you do with a soul?” another replied, using a tissue to wipe Spamton’s eyebrow. “Sounds like conspiracy stuff. I’ve never seen an aggressive monster!”

“Wait! I’m not saying monsters are aggressive. I have a few monster friends and we work with some here too. I just don’t know if a human could do that.”

“Maybe it was a fight or revenge… Could even be a robbery that led to it, you never know…”

Great, they were talking about yesterday’s case. The last thing Spamton wanted before facing the cameras was to deal with that topic again. Why was everyone so obsessed with it? Not that it was normal, but they treated it as if homicides had never happened. The monster took a deep breath, considering whether to interrupt them, when a sharp, familiar voice filled the dressing room.

“Hey! You’re paid to work, not to chat!” Battat, the Pippins’ supervisor, entered with a clipboard. “Good morning, lads! How ya'll feeling after the day off?”

“Good morning, Battat!” Tenna stood from his chair as the Pippins stepped aside. “We’re great! What’s on the agenda today?”

“Excellent. First, a photo shoot, followed by an interview for ADVENTURE BOARD magazine. In the afternoon, that shampoo commercial, and you’ll need to try on outfits for next month’s event. After that, a team meeting. The boss also wants to speak with you after the meeting.”

“Okay!” Tenna said enthusiastically, adjusting his hat.

“Can we do the wardrobe fitting before the commercial?” Spamton asked, still checking the mirror to make sure the Pippins had done a good job.

“No problem. You’re not scheduled for the commercial, so you have free time until the meeting. I just need to confirm with the team, but consider it done!” Battat gave a thumbs-up with a smile. “Now, let’s head to the set!”

Though slightly annoyed, Spamton understood why he wasn’t included in a shampoo commercial for curly hair—he didn’t even have hair! This free time could be useful to organize everything for the meeting, especially since the network owner would be present. He needed to ensure everything went perfectly.

“What are you thinking about?” Tenna asked, coming up behind the monster, hands on his waist and resting his head on Spamton’s shoulder.

“Nothing much, just checking a few things…” Spamton replied, trying not to show his nervousness about the network owner, subtly distancing himself.

“I’m sure he’ll only have praise for us,” Tenna added, placing a hand on Spamton’s shoulder, reassuring him with a warm smile. “Better head over before Battat calls us again.”

If Tenna could, he would shout to the world how much he loved Spamton, cling to him, and never let go. But the monster had strict rules: no one at work could know about their relationship, so any form of physical affection was gently declined. Spamton had fought hard for his position and didn’t want anyone questioning his abilities or using Tenna against him. Due to his bird-like body stricture, physical touches could have unintended effects depending on how they were given, so he avoided that too. Tenna understood all this, though sometimes he let himself get carried away. He knew at home he could give all the affection he wanted, so for now, perfection on set was the priority.

The couple left the dressing room for the first set, surrounded by warm lights and spotlights focused on a corner decorated in a Wild West theme. Battat ran back and forth, checking items off his spreadsheet and directing the Pippins with a megaphone.

“Ah… the stars of the moment! Hello, Tenna, Spamton,” a monster said, extending two of his four arms in greeting.

“Hello…” Tenna shook the hand of what he now thought of as a cicada/radio hybrid monster.

“My name’s Ray Dio Head, but you can call me whatever you like. I’ll be conducting the interview today. By the way, I’m a huge fan! You’re the freshest thing on screen since the Beatles!”

“You know your stuff!” Spamton said, patting him confidently on the shoulder.

“First, we’ll take the photos, then we’ll return for the interview,” Tenna said with his usual charm.

“Alright, I’ll snap some backstage shots. See you soon!” the interviewer said, walking away.

The photo session went smoothly, except Spamton had to step aside every five minutes to dry the sweat caused by the warm lighting, perfect for that western breeze atmosphere. Tenna was in his element, interacting naturally with the camera as if they were best friends, smiling and engaging with everyone around. This helped Spamton relax and interact with the camera as well. After just over an hour of testing angles and poses, the photo shoot was finally over. Tenna and Spamton had a team of Pippins around them, making sure everything was ready for the interview with Mr. Ray Dio Head.

The preparation time was short—just enough to adjust the lighting and set up the seats— and Spamton had always underestimated how exhausting these photoshoots could be. At this brief pause, he was trying to drink as much energy drink as possible to give his best during the interview, while Tenna took a few sips of water. They were soon called back to the set. Even though the interview was for a magazine, there would be plenty of backstage content, so they had to stay flawless until the end.

Mr. Head had changed as well; his previous band t-shirt was replaced with a button-up blue shirt adorned with a subtle star pattern addapted for his four arms, and his comfortable shoes were swapped for black cowboy boots.

The presenters greeted him again and took their seats, ready to begin the interview.

“I have to say, I’ve never seen you two look so stylish. Tenna and Spamton, you’re the sensation of the moment!” the interviewer began. “We’re covering your show’s special segment firsthand, could you tell us a little more about it?”

“Thank you for having us on ADVENTURE BOARD, Ray! I don’t think there’s a better place to talk about our next segment,” Tenna said. “Our goal is to interact with viewers at home, so the new segment will be like a TV RPG. We’ll face challenges and unlock the story based on what the audience votes online.”

“We know that dial-up Internet technology is still new, so we’re using it to our advantage, being the first TV show to have live online interactions!” Spamton continued confidently. “Messages sent to our website will go live and shape the scene in real time.”

“Wow, impressive! Is it true that the idea came from one of your dreams, Tenna?”

“Not entirely! Most of the time, I have these wild dreams, but Spamton is the one that turns them into something real. I remember dreaming that Spamton’s voice was interrupted by random text, I mentioned it to him once, and that was enough for him to create the segment.”

“Oh, Spamton! You really are one in a million. How do you go about creating these segments?”

“Well, I write a lot,” Spamton said, using all his charisma to appear nonchalant. “When Tenna shares an idea with me, I check my notes and start connecting everything like Frankenstein. I had already written something about the Wild West, so I just combined the ideas.”

“Incredible! So it’s a team effort… and what a wonderful job! What’s the key to making it work so well?”

“I think Spamton and I have very different personalities, but very similar goals, so we complement each other. Spamton isn’t just a coworker, he is…” Tenna quickly swallowed the words he couldn’t say aloud. “a friend! A very special friend, and I’m glad I can share the cameras with him.”

Spamton, blushing, nodded and tried to steer the conversation.

“The truth is, our chemistry wouldn’t work as well without my charisma and, of course, everyone behind the scenes making the show happen.”

“We’re just the faces of a big team, as you can see today!” Tenna added.

“Indeed, the Pippins make me almost as handsome as you two, hehe!”

After the brief moment of tension, the rest of the interview flowed smoothly. Not only was the chemistry between Spamton and Tenna excellent, but their individual experience made them quick to improvise and handle any situation. Ray concluded the interview with a handshake, and at Battat’s signal, the crew started dismantling the set.

“The interview was amazing! Thank you for revealing so many details firsthand!” the interviewer beamed.

“I can’t wait to see the final work. And, oh! Could we release some exclusive signed editions, what do you think?” Tenna asked as they left the set.

“Deal! See you around!”

Spamton stretched, the sound of small pops echoing.

“Sometimes I think photo shoots are worse than some shows.”

“I guess my outfit wasn’t very comfortable...” Tenna said, finally taking off his cowboy hat. “But it’s over for now!”

“Mr. Spamton, there’s a call for you,” one of the Pippins approached with the news, taking the hats back to the dressing room.

Spamton paused for a moment, wondering who could be calling—something extremely rare—and tried to run through possible reasons in his mind as he walked toward the phone.

“Who is it?” His voice came out drier than usual.

“Did you leave your manners at home, Spamton?” a familiar voice said on the other end.

“Swatch!” Spamton sighed, relieved and happy to hear from his old friend. “It’s been ages! How have you been?”

“All good, Spamton. I hope things are going well over there too.”

“Things are going full speed ahead! But anyway, what’s up with the newest city hall employee?”

“Well, that’s exactly it. I was sorting out the things to move to the Mayor's neighborhood and your dad showed up with a box for you. I needed you to come by to pick it up because I’m leaving the house today and didn’t want to carry it with me.”

“Hmm…” Spamton analyzed the situation quickly. “I think I can swing by, thanks for letting me know, Swatch!”

“If you don’t come, I’ll throw it out.”

“I’m counting on it!”

Swatch had been his neighbor for a long time, and Spamton was happy to see him enjoying the fruits of his hard work. Leaving the noisy suburb behind felt like a victory, and although he wasn’t thrilled about going back, he could rely on his convertible to make the trip more interesting.

“Is everything okay, Spammy?” Tenna approached.

“Just fine! I'll need to swing by the city quickly. Shouldn’t take long. You can record the commercial without me.”

“So you’re not going to watch me?” The human pouted.

“Not today, Tens. Sorry.”

“It’s okay. The seamstress is already here; let’s take the time to talk about today’s outfits.”

The fitting session was quick but full of details. The blue and black velvet suits would be used at an important award ceremony next month. Besides competing, the presenters would take part in a special moment on stage, so everything had to be perfect. In these moments, Tenna took full responsibility, directing and communicating efficiently with the entire team. Within minutes, he was able to explain the problem with the cowboy outfits and point out a few sewing details. Spamton was grateful to have someone handle this part; his role was just to agree with whatever his partner said.

After the fitting, Tenna's Pippins team brought lunch and had already started organizing the outfits for the commercial shoot. For a brief private moment in the dressing room, the presenter managed to convince the monster to give a small, quick kiss under the excuse that he would miss him, and after the act, Spamton was already on the road to return in time for the meeting.

The TV studio was in a more distant area of the city, and Spamton had to cross almost the entire city to reach the neighborhood where his real home was. It was funny for the writer to call that tiny studio apartment “home” because he had never felt comfortable there, but since he didn’t have to pay rent, he still kept it convenient at least as a storage space.

As he approached the neighborhood, Spamton could see everyone's reaction to his Cungadero. The area wasn’t the most luxurious part of the city, and cars like that always drew attention. The presenter made a point of taking the roof off so everyone could see him driving, and before he knew it, he had parked in front of the building where he and Swatch lived.

Their apartments were both on the second floor. Without an elevator, Spamton climbed the stairs, noticing the dusty walls of the old building, and soon saw his friend struggling to carry a box out of his apartment. The young monster hurried to help, receiving a shy smile from his friend. Once they returned to the apartment, slightly out of breath, Spamton commented.

"Looks like someone had a growth spurt…" he joked, seeing how much Swatch had grown.

Like the half-monster, Swatch also had bird-like features, but being fully a monster, not only his height but his feathers had fully developed. His height difference was now almost a whole head taller than Spamton.

"And you’re still the same, well… the black feathers are new to me," Swatch replied plainly, as he usually did.

"Looks really good on TV!"

"Yeah, I saw. Personally, it’s not bad either."

"Is that a compliment?" the presenter laughed. "I guess that city job changed you."

"And you’re still the same." Swatch laughed as well.

"I hope that counts as a compliment too... I wish I could have more time, but I gotta go. Where’s the box?"

"Oh, yes, it’s over there in the corner," Swatch pointed to a medium-sized box. "It’s not too heavy; I can help you carry it."

"Okay!"

Once again, the two monsters went down the stairs. Swatch wasn’t one to make small talk, but somehow Spamton enjoyed his company. The few minutes in his building and with his old neighbor brought bittersweet memories of when Spamton struggled to get his scripts accepted anywhere, while Swatch worked part-time at a bar to pay for college. They had shared too many memories to be just hallway acquaintances; Spamton saw him more as a brother.

Arriving at the Cungadero, Spamton pressed the button to open the trunk and placed the box inside.

"Hope to see you again soon, Swatch! I’ll be waiting for an invite to the mayor’s party," Spamton said, shaking his hand warmly.

"I’ll think about it. Take care, Spamton. I hope I can see you soon!" the monster replied and went back to his building.

Okay, back to TV World the writer thought, closing the trunk. Before he could get into the car, an annoying presence blocked his path.

"Well, well, if it isn’t the Big Shot of the moment..." A sharp, familiar voice echoed. "It’s been a while since I’ve seen you, Spamton — or should I say… how does Mr. Tenna call you again? Oh, right! Spammy."

Spamton’s body tensed with anger, that tall, slender figure looked like a distorted reflection of himself — or rather, Spamton looked like a distorted version of the human staring back at him.

The pose was the same as always: one hand resting on his hip, the other pressed against the convertible’s door. His smile was polished, elegant — and yet Spamton could feel the venom dripping through those white teeth.

"Take your hands off my Cungadero. I don’t have time for your nonsense." Spamton kept his eyes on the car, trying to open the door that his brother was still holding shut.

There was a clear family resemblance, but the differences made Spamton’s blood boil. His brother’s pale skin contrasted with the pastel pink hair he now sported, and his tall, athletic build only reminded Spamton of what he might have looked like if he weren’t half-monster. Addison always made sure to remind him of that.

"You know... I really think Mr. Tenna’s amazing. Not every day you see charity on TV — how generous of him to put someone like you on air." A sarcastic smile lingered on Addison’s lips.

"Don’t you have anything better to do?" Spamton growled, still struggling with the car door. All he wanted was to disappear from that man’s sight.

"I do, but I couldn’t miss today’s hot topic. Nice of Mr. Tenna to lend you a car so you can show off around here." Addison spoke slowly, savoring each word like poison meant to burn.

"For your information, this car is mine. And everything I’ve achieved so far is because of ME. Tens has nothing to do with it. Now get lost!" Spamton finally looked his brother in the eyes, hoping his rage alone could strike him down.

"Tens? What a cute nickname! So that’s what you call him." Addison laughed softly. "Come on, Spamton. If you’re going to lie, at least make it believable. As if you were capable of having anything without completely destroying it first."

"I’ll say it one more time — get. away. from. my. car." The half-monster was trying hard to keep his breathing steady.

Addison, of course, was enjoying himself. To him, Spamton was nothing more than a clown — a toy to be mocked and pulled apart whenever he pleased.

"You think I don’t know what people are saying about your ‘perfect chemistry’ with him?" The human leaned in, close enough to see Spamton eye to eye. "The looks, the jokes on live TV… Oh, you two make such a dreadful couple!" He laughed between words. "That is, if Tenna even sees you two as a couple."

Spamton had no words left. He could have the sharpest tongue in the world, but it always dulled around his family. Addison was used to seeing his older brother like this — small, cornered, humiliated. For as long as he could remember, that was normal. After all, Spamton was that strange, violent hybrid — the closest thing to a real monster anyone in the family had ever seen. He needed to be reminded of his place, or he’d embarrass them all.

Until one day, Spamton left — and never came back. Addison saw it first as betrayal and when Spamton made his TV debut, that betrayal turned into pure hatred. How could someone so ridiculous be loved? How could someone so disgusting succeed? Seeing him again now only reignited the urge to drag him back down to where he belonged.

"Oh, Spammy..." Addison’s voice dripped with fake sympathy. "Sooner or later, Tenna’s going to realize you’re just using him like some cheap hooker to make a quick buck. I bet he thinks the same — just another little toy to please himself. As if anyone could ever want a freak like you." One of Addison's hands held his brother's shoulder firmly.

"If you don’t take your hand off me and my car right now, I’ll break it in half." Spamton looked away.

"Oh, my apologies!" Addison pulled his hand back instantly, still smiling. "I always forget what monsters are capable of. I hope you don’t."

"Back the fuck off!" Spamton yelled.

The monster finally opened the door, but his brother leaned over it, still blocking him.

"What, not even gonna ask how I’ve been? You’re not gonna push me, are you? Wouldn’t want another problem on your plate."

Spamton just glared, waiting for the moment he’d be free of that pest.

"Get lost, Addison. We’ve got nothing to talk about!" Addison ignored the words of your brother and climbed into the car's door.

"Did you know my modeling gigs are getting more and more frequent?" Addison said with fake excitement. "It’s only a matter of time before I show everyone what the real Big Shot is capable of!"

"Are you done?" Spamton shoved his brother off the car and finally hit the gas.

"See ya around, Spamton!" Addison called after him with false cheer as the Cungadero disappeared around the corner.

"What the fuck was that? Why today of all days?" Spamton muttered, trying not to panic as he left the suburbs behind. He needed to stay composed, so he put on his sunglasses and kept himself together until he was far from that familiar neighborhood.

On the road back to TV World, the monster tried to focus on driving, but his body betrayed him. His vision blurred, making it hard to see the road; chills ran down his spine as his hands trembled on the wheel, his teeth grinding uncontrollably. Every inch of his skin burned as his feathers stiffened in distress.

It didn’t take long before he had to pull over on the side of the road, driving had become impossible without risking an accident.

Under the dim light, in the lonely stretch of asphalt, Spamton pressed his forehead against the steering wheel, trying to control his ragged breathing as his thoughts collided in chaos.

I’m a monster.

Everyone knows I’m a monster.

I’m a fraud.

I'm a real monster.

Not just in appearance — but like the irrational beasts from horror stories. Out of control. Terrifying. He tried his best to avoid these thoughts, but it was useless since it was only getting higher and higher. The panic had already taken control of him.

Spamton hated losing control of himself. Hated those intrusive thoughts. Hated this body, this mind, this feeling. His hands gripped the wheel tighter as his head trembled with the weight of his own thoughts.

In a desperate attempt to silence them — to take back control — he began banging his head against the wheel, his body rocking forward and back violently.

His hands slid off the wheel and clutched his own arms instead, squeezing until feeling his claws pierced the skin. If pain was the only thing that could bring him back, he'd make sure to keep going — tearing out feathers, striking his head, digging into his flesh — anything that could anchor him back to reality.

Pain is all I deserve.

Pain is all I deserve.

Pain is all I deserve.

Pain is all I deserve.

Pain is all I deserve.

His mind repeated it again and again, until his mouth began whispering the words too. Exhausted from the struggle, his breathing finally slowed, the tremors eased, and the burning under his skin faded. It wasn’t a good feeling — but at least his mind was quiet now.

For several minutes, Spamton stayed motionless, watching the last streaks of sunlight through the windshield. Slowly, awareness returned. He began grounding himself, step by step.

I’m alive.

I’m in the car.

I'm ok.

I'm capable.

I'm in control of myself. 

I need to get back to TV World for the… The meeting!

Spamton suddenly remembered the important appointment he had today and hurried to make himself presentable again. Tenna’s insistence on keeping a first-aid kit in the glove compartment had proven useful; he had everything he needed.

He checked his reflection in the rearview mirror, adjusting his feathers around his forehead. Thankfully, they covered most of the bruise, leaving only a faint swelling underneath. His arms still showed traces of blood, with a few patches of missing feathers, but his blazer would easily hide them.

Gathering the scattered feathers from the car, he stuffed them into a plastic bag and tucked it away in the glove box. Now everything looked normal again — except for the ache running through his whole body. But that part was always easy to hide.

Once everything was back in place, the monster pressed down on the pedal and sped toward the TV World Studios. The meeting with the network owner could open doors Spamton had never even dreamed of, and he was ready to do whatever it took to make it perfect. He couldn’t show up like a madman. His appearance had to be flawless. Just like his ideas.