Work Text:
Golden rays of sunshine seeped through the cerulean curtains, illuminating the room in a warm glow. T.Vee rolled over in his bed, groaning sleepily as his eyes fluttered open. He blinked at the light before sitting up and stretching, yawning while doing so. He got out from under the duvet, putting on a pair of indigo slippers.
Slipping on his glasses, he walked over to the curtains and pushed them open with near-performative enthusiasm, basking in the sunlight. ((look at brodakettle, acting like he's in one of those Disney Channel shows 💔🥀)) …His cheerfulness faded slightly, but almost immediately perked up again.
The journalist tapped a rhythm on the white sink as he brushed his teeth. He spat out the toothpaste, then looked up and smiled at himself in the mirror. His smile faltered once more as he took in his features.
His carelessly shaved-down horns.
The freckles littered on his face.
The bags under his eyes. They were barely noticeable, but to him, they were the most obvious things in the world.
He hated his face.
He turned away from his hideous reflection.
* * *
They fastened the last button on their overalls, their TV mask on the bed next to them. After quickly fixing their collar, they reached for it and slipped it on. The screen flickered to life, displaying the signature cartoonish grin they always wore.
Stepping in front of the full-length mirror that leaned against the wall, they began slowly spinning around, checking how they looked from different angles. “Looking good!”
They stopped at the side view.
Shrinking into themself slightly, their hands slowly covered their stomach.
…Maybe they shouldn't eat as much.
* * *
The windchimes on the door jingled welcomingly as T.Vee walked into Thieve’s Rest, approaching the cash register. Thankfully, there weren't many people, so he must have avoided the morning rush. He lightly tapped the bell on the desk.
Not long after, a pink-horned inphernal with long, curly hair popped out from behind the staff-only door. He had begun to recognise her as Vine Staff. “What can I get you?” she asked, her tone welcoming.
“A matcha latte, please.”
“Name?” Vine Staff flicked the cap off of a black marker as she reached for a cup.
“Paint Buckét, with an accent on the E,” they answered. Over the few months they'd been dating, T.Vee had memorised the makeup artist’s coffee order, and they just thought it would be nice to get her something.
“Coming right up!”
A few minutes later, a tired, younger-sounding voice called out. “A matcha latte for… Paint Buckét?” T.Vee walked up to the counter and saw someone with green horns, with the same shade of pink peeking through at the base.
“Thank you!” They took the drink from the worker's hands before turning around and starting to walk out.
He blinked slowly, before giving a delayed response. “Enjoy your coffee!”
“That probably wasn't his, Shuri,” Vine Staff stated light-heartedly.
“Wha..?”
* * *
Paint Buckét sat in her booth, one leg over the other on a stool, testing a new look on a mannequin. She muttered irritatedly to herself as she kept wiping off and re-applying the eyeliner, trying to perfect the swirl.
Someone knocked on the door. “Come in,” she answered gruffly.
T.Vee gently stepped in. “I got you some of that coffee you like..!” He could feel his face turning red - even under the mask - as she swiveled around to face him. Her shiny, flowy hair was stunning, her makeup was flawless, and her outfit looked beautiful. She was beautiful. ((omg bro, you're such a simppp 🙄🙄))
Her piercing gaze softened as she saw him. “Oh… thanks.” she said, feeling her own cheeks start to burn as he handed her the coffee.
“What are you working on?” he asked tenderly, leaning closer and trying to peek at what she was working on.
The makeup artist waved her hand dismissively. “Just testing out some new eye looks.”
“...They look like shit, though.”
“Could I see them?”
“...”
Paint Buckét turned around, looking at the mannequin head again. To her, it looked horrendous, laughably bad. The poorly chosen colours messily joined together in a blotchy gradient, and the eyeliner, dear Swords, the eyeliner. You'd think she'd drawn them in an fucking earthquake with how shaky it looked. She could do so much better.
She sighed, slowly handing it to T.Vee - he held it like it was an ancient relic. It was gorgeous. The eyeshadow went from a pastel pink to a deep purple in a smooth and seamless gradient. Two wings of eyeliner spread out, a small swirl at the end of each of them. How could she do this so well? “This is beautiful…”
“Don’t lie, Vee,” she retorted flatly. Crossing her arms, she turned away.
“I'm not lying, it really is!” he assured softly, giving the false head back to his girlfriend. The makeup artist held herself to (almost impossibly) high standards, always striving for nothing less than perfection.
More often than not, she'd be so focused on perfecting a look that her eyes picked up on even the slightest of flaws.
“Maybe you should take a break?” T.Vee suggested, his tone sincere.
“Alright,” she murmured before taking a sip of the coffee.
He turned around to walk out of her studio, but then she called. “Wait. Before you go…” Paint Buckét trailing off, taking his hand in hers and bringing it to her lips. She gently pressed a kiss against the back of his hand before letting go. “Have a good day, babe.”
The small act of affection had rendered the journalist at a complete loss for words, his face going even redder than it had before. “I— uhh—” he stuttered, although he quickly regained at least a bit of his composure. “You too, Buckie!”
* * *
Spinning slowly in their office chair, T.Vee wracked their brain, trying to think of who they could interview. They had interviewed all fifteen Phighters ((ts finna age like milk 😔😔)), Ghosdeeri, the FlipSide brothers themselves—hell, even Pwnatious “Moneybags” III! Who else was there?
They stopped spinning abruptly, promptly pivoting to face an invisible camera. “Hey, you!” ((ah, phrasing how he'll ask the next interviewee in his head, i see???))
“No, I'm talking to you!”
. . .
((me??))
“Mm-hmm!”
((the author???))
“Yeah! Well, obviously, you don't have to do it if you don't want to, haha—”
((no, no, it's fine!! ^^))
((honestly bored asf rn, so i ain't got nothing better to do :/))
“Oh— great! I'm so glad you—”
((sorry to interrupt, but we should probably go to a different room. your co-workers are gonna look at you like you're a phucking lunatic just talking to the air 😭🙏))
“...Right.”
*
T.Vee and the author sat down in a room, facing each other. The former had their notepad and pencil in hand, and the latter was doing something on her phone - probably texting her bestie. ((damn right, he's just GOTTA know about this))
She put her phone in her yellow, star-shaped ita bag, then slung an arm over the back of the chair. Her white headwings fluttered idly as her colour wheel halo steadily swayed up and down.
“Thank you so much for letting me interview you!” he said eagerly.
((my pleasure ^^))
~~~~~~~ < [ the interview ] > ~~~~~~~
“First off, what's your name?”
((people here call me Colour Wheel, but my followers, fans and moots call me Shr00mie!))
“Your fans? Do you post online?”
((yea! i have a TikTok, Pinterest and AO3!))
“I… don't think I recognise those platforms.”
((wasn't expecting you to, they're from another universe))
“What—?”
((i’m not elaborating.))
—————
“What’s your identity?”
((demigirl lesbian!! i go by she/they ^^))
“I heard you've recently come out to your mother; how did that go?”
((it went really well! she says as long as i’m happy and safe, she doesn't mind who i end up being with ^^))
—————
“How do you feel about the fact that staying up late to catch the latest chapter of a webcomic might've saved—”
((OKAYYY BUDDY, WE DO NOT NEED THAT INFORMATION ON THE INTERNET FOR EVERYONE TO SEE.))
—————
“What are your hobbies?”
((i like drawing, gaming, animating and writing!))
“What kind of things do you tend to draw or animate?”
((usually characters i like, or my OCs! speaking of OCs, I might share a few soon… idk, tho))
—————
“I've heard that some otherworldly beings torture us for their own entertainment. They call it ‘throwing bricks’. Others have tendencies to protect their favourites, so would you… protect me?”
((lol, nope.))
“...Ah.”
((if people wanna throw trauma bricks at you, personally, i'm all for it! actually, i might have thrown a few myself… 👀👀👀))
((your insecurities about your appearance ^^ may or may not be projecting slightly—))
“What do you mean ‘projecting’? And how did you know about—”
((yet again, not elaborating.))
—————
“How do you feel about your classmate, [REDACTED]?”
((i hate her with every fiber of my being. she is so PATHETIC. even just hearing her voice, even just LOOKING at her genuinely fills me with rage.))
((she reminds me a lot of my younger self. i don't like that.))
“Oh…”
((yeah.))
—————
((anyways, that's it for this fanfic!))
“What—?”
((bye guys!! ^^))
“Wait wait wait, I STILL HAVE SO MANY QUESTIONS TO ASK, DON'T END THE—”