#note: feel free to guess the what references im making with the costumes im sure its not too hard

[creepfactors]

being so normal rn

[snowe-zolynn-rogers]

The BNHA Group Chat Fic Nobody Asked For

Pairings: Todoroki Touya (Dabi)/Mr/ Compress (Sako Atsuhiro), Shimura Tenko (Shigaraki Tomura)/Chisaki Kai (Overhaul)/Kurono Hari (Chrono), Yamada Hizashi (Present Mic)/Aizawa Shouta (Eraserhead)/Shirakumo Oboro (Loud Cloud), Fukukado Emi (Ms. Joke)/Kayama Nemuri (Midnight)

Word Count: 1,088 Words

Summary: Todo-siblings, teacher shenanigans, the 1-A twins accidentally freeze out the fifth floor, and Kirishima is best boy.

Warnings: Cursing, Sleep Deprivation, Insomnia, Abuse Mention, Mensuration/Period Mentions, Caps, Food Mention, Half Blind Character, Deaf Characters, Anxiety Mention, Mostly Mute Character (due to a different medical issue), Selectively Mute Character, let me know if I should add anything else.

Note: Natsuo and Fuyumi's chat names are based on quirk headcanons I have for them. Natsuo's is because I headcanon him to have a quirk where he can manipulate and generate water like Shoto can with his ice and Fuyumi's because I headcanon her to have a thermal manipulation quirk. Touya's is 'wine' because white and red wine and his hair is red and white.

Usernames: We Are Number One™ Aizawa: Dadzawa, Aoyama: immafiringmahlaser, Ashido: princessbubblegumknockoff, Asui: Galvan, Iida: Emergency Exit, Uraraka: 9.8, Ojiro: tailfloof, Kaminari: Pichu, Kirishima: baby shark, Koda: youredoingamazingsweetie, Sato: GuyFieriIsGod, Shoji: Cthulhu, Jirou: Jack Skellington, Sero: Spider-Man, Tokoyami: EdgarAllanCrows, Todoroki: WHERE?, Hagakure: cena, Bakugo: WHAT?, Midoriya: SmolMight, Mineta: Mineta, Shinsou: exhausted, Yaoyorozu: TheGreatCreator, Kurono: stopwatch, Chisaki: donthugmeimscared, Yukimura: choticgaydisaster, Bubaigawara: shadowclonejutsu, Shimura: idontfeelsogood, Awase: illrememberyouallintherapy, Kaibara: IDOWHATIWANT, Kamakiri: scyther, Kuroiro: itsmeyaboy, Kendo: Akimichi, Kodai: deadinside, Komori: shroomgurl, Shiozaki: wElCoMeToBiBlEsTuDiEs, Shishida: furry, Shoda: cryptid, Tsunotori: mylittlepony, Tsubaraba: airbender, Tetsutetsu: Iron Man, Tokage: t-rex costume, Fukidashi: glorifiedtextbubble, Honenuki: Eren Jaeger/spookyscaryskeletons, Bondo: Slimer, Monoma: HopeSummers, Yanagi: iLiEdImDyInGiNsIdE, Rin: snek, Toga: mystique, Sako: lostmymarbles, Hikiishi: queenofmagnetism, Iguchi: eye gucci, Shinokanri: stardust

Usernames: Emos Anonymous Kaminari: blackcloakedbrides, Shoji: fryingpan, Jirou: greentwentyfourhours, Tokoyami: myscientificinfatuation, Todoroki: twentyoneplotpoints, Bakugo: immobileinwhite, Midoriya: falldownboy, Shinsou: stabtheveil, Kurono: inhalecarolina, Chisaki: plummetingininverse, Yukimura: anxietyintheclub, Shimura: nappingwithsirens, Kuroiro: thousandfootcane, Kodai: marianaspit, Monoma: entiretimelow, Yanagi: recentyearsday, Sako: halfminutetomars, Aizawa: hollywoodlivingdead, Shouji: fryingpan, Kurono: inhalecarolina, Aoyama: phantomtown, Honenuki: visualizedragon, Sako: halfminutetomars, Awase: distressparade, Shinokanri: simplestrategy

Usernames: UA Teachers Are Tired™ Eraserhead/Aizawa: grumpy scarf cat, Present Mic/Yamada: screeching cockatiel, Midnight/Nemuri: chaotic goth gay Ingenium/Iida: gotta go fast, AllMight/Toshinori: actual sunshine, Vlad King/Kan: bloody hell, Power Loader/Majima: speechtotext, Ectoplasm: needalegup?, Snipe: kazoo cowboy, Cementoss: concrete block, Blackmist/Kurogiri: goth portals

We Love A Good, Caring Dadzawa In This House-Chapter 3

11:38 PM

UA Teachers Are Tired™

chaotic goth gay: so anygay we ever gonna talk bout the fact that the twins in 1a plan to take a week home?

kazoo cowboy: no??? it's their personal life????

needalegup?: I say we leave the boys alone.

screeching cockatiel: they don't like being referred to at 'the twins' Nemuri. They're separate beings.

chaotic goth gay: okay, the two canadian flags of Shouta's 25 nearly adopted children.

grumpy scarf cat: you're right but why say it?

bloody hell: I thought his class was 26 students now like mine? who tf you forgetting Nemuri?

chaotic goth gay: no one I be leaving out that little grapist tho. hate him and so does Shouta

screeching cockatiel: OwO oh worm?

grumpy scarf cat: never again Hizashi. never again.

screeching cockatiel: OvO

grumpy scarf cat: i hate you.

screeching cockatiel: love you too babe uwu

grumpy scarf cat: well,

grumpy scarf cat: i'm gonna go yeet myself off the roof for that one.

screeching cockatiel: Nuuuuuuu, how will me Hitoshi and Ayane ever survive without you!?

grumpy scarf cat: tru tru

grumpy scarf cat: I'll take Hitoshi with me.

screeching cockatiel: you wouldn't dare!

grumpy scarf cat: again tru tru

2:24 AM

UA Teachers Are Tired™

grumpy scarf cat: yeet yeet bitch he finally asleep [pic of Hitoshi asleep against Aizawa's side with Ayane asleep between them]

chaotic goth gay: that's perfect.

chaotic goth gay has changed their name to yeet yeet bitch

yeet yeet bitch: thank boi me sleep now

yeet yeet bitch is offline

4:14 AM

We Are Number One™

WHERE?: so anyway I'm ready to yeet our dad into the sun but that's too good for him

chaoticdisastergay: oh worm???? same hat??? could stand to snow his eyes out first tho

immafirinmahlaser: why y'all puttin ur father on blast in the main chat?

WHERE?: wait, where? oh fuck wrong one Touya, wrong one! mayday mayday

SmolMight: I was summoned my the word mayday what happened

SmolMight: oh

SmolMight: well then

lostmymarbles: Dear? Please lay down? I was comfortable?

chaoticdisastergay: well, speaking of tmi, I thought it was just a bathroom run but turns out my monthly came a week early, Atsu. I'm coming back.

WHERE?: that was a long time in the bathroom but okay.

lostmymarbles: Yeah, almost an hour. I'm lonely, the bed feels cold without you, snowdrop!

chaoticdisastergay: I had to shower over in the 1a dorms too, calm down.

lostmymarbles: Kay, come back to bed, I wanna cuddle.

SmolMight: Such precious. Most pure. We have been blessed with witnessing this couple be cute.

WHERE?: so anNYway, Touya, you goin back to the family chat?

chaoticgaydisaster: yee

4:30 AM

Trauma? Yeet. Memes? Yoink.

vulpix: anygay. still wanna yeet our dad into the sun but it'd still be too good for him.

lapis: I??? feel that????? wtf???????

thermostat: oh? a mood? in this good household?

wine: i really just want to go back to sleep but the brain machine broke i'm woke

vulpix: oh worm?

thermostat: anyway gotta actually get outta bed soon, drop off your girls at daycare, get mine to school, and go to work.

lapis: fine, gonna go with ya

thermostat: mhmmmm sure you are, you're gonna fall asleep in 20 minutes Natsuo.

lapis: that may be but i'll at least try

thermostat: doubt

thermostat is offline

8:24 AM

We Are Number One™

cena: so anyway tea apparently shoto and touya are going home all next week

princessbubblegumknockoff: oh? drama?

WHERE?: family visit no drama

chaoticgaydisaster: just visiting our family

SmolMight: so anygay Aizawa told us we have someone special visiting a1 today for class!

Spider-Man: I wonder who it is!

Dadzawa: toshi cmon I gotta get to class and drop you off like a gay goth god of insomniac children

exhausted: hol up im eating still

exhausted is offline

Dadzawa is offline

cena: well, no answers from them i guess

Emergency Exit: Everyone, please get off your phones in class!

9:37 AM

We Are Number One™

itsmeyaboy: so who was it that came to your class?

TheGreatCreator: The Big Three of UA

itsmeyaboy: huh. we had Hawks, Ryukyu, and Mirko

Iron Man: The Three Greats of UA

HopeSummers: We win.

SmolMight: Meh, we both got good people to teach us.

HopeSummers: Valid, carry on.

2:28 PM

UA Teachers Are Tired™

gotta go fast: so anyway, am i ever gonna get told why there's someone named speechtotext in this chatroom and who all they are?

kazoo cowboy: That's Majima with the support course.

needalegup?: he couldn't figure out how to work his phone with his fingers when we first made this chat and he used speech to text a lot.

goth portals: we used to get a lot of text messages where Hatsume had spoken over him and it became too much of a meme so Nemuri changed his name to speechtotext.

gotta go fast: understandable, have a nice day.

7:24 AM

We Are Number One™

Spider-Man: um guys all of floor five is frozen what happened?

Galvan: the girls' side isn't but it's getting cold over here

GuyFieriIsGod: My door is frozen shut.

Spider-Man: Todoroki or Yukimura must have had a nightmare again

TheGreatCreator: Does this happen often?

Spider-Man: more than you'd believe.

GuyFieriIsGod: Does anyone have an ice pick?

Galvan: i'm going downstairs before it spreads

TheGreatCreator: That's a good idea, Tsu, we don't want you getting too cold and hibernating.

WHAT?: wow

Spider-Man: wow? just wow? dude, help us!

WHAT?: ...

WHAT?: perish.

baby shark: I'm coming!

7:45 AM

We Are Number One™

Spider-Man: KIRISHIMA IS A GODSEND

GuyFieriIsGod: He got us out.

TheGreatCreator: It was easier because Todoroki likely melted it.

GuyFieriIsGod: Anyway, now that we're free, I'm making breakfast if anyone wants any. 1b and Shinsou included

WHAT?: wow

cena: Is Bakugo okay?

SmolMight: Yeah, that's just his morning brain. That happens if he gets less than an hour of sleep. He kinda short circuits for about an hour.

Pichu: excellent. thank you for this knowledge.

princessbubblegumknockoff: sometimes I question if your have a death wish.

Pichu: a death wish to get him to hug me and tell me i'm cute dammit!

Pichu is offline

baby shark: a very pure death wish. we don't deserve you denki!

WHERE?: It's been made apparent to me that I froze the fifth floor and I'm sorry.

chaoticgaydisaster: and I made enough snow it was practically snowmen

princessbubblegumknockoff: THEY RISE!

WHERE?: too early for this i need a pot of coffee

chaoticgaydisaster: mood but also gimme half dammit

Taglist: @logan-sanders-enthusiast @luckyicekitsune @whippedbel @lgbtforeverything @pinecone-chomper @mikmacmoo @wasinotwantedatthisexactsecond @purplespiderstormcloud @stankyratman @king-of-the-oranges @headcannons-and-random-things @fear-ze-queer @turtleluv799 @ymmm-someone

[angrylizardjacket]

sabotage {Machine Gun Kelly}

Summary: MGK has a Lot of tattoos, and Tommy Lee does not, at least not for most of when The Dirt is set. It’s no small task covering them all, but being assistant to the man who does cover them means you’re spending a good deal of time with the actor himself, and he’s not what you’re expecting... that is, if you actually knew what to expect.

A/N: 6477 words. alright so i went to im-fucking-db for Accuracy; shout out to: Christine Wada (costume designer), Corey Castellano (makeup department head), and Jorie Malan (key makeup artist). i reference these people in the fic, and i’ll be sure to explain who they are in the fic, but just in case you need a reminder, they’re also here. requested by my dear @luciana-galvez. under a read more because it’s a Monster of a fic. Please give me feedback, and also let me know if you want a part 2??

“You want me to order how much foundation?” It’s nine in the morning and you’ve barely stepped foot into the production meeting when Corey, the head of the makeup department, is tasking you with buying far more foundation than any one production should reasonably need. There’s overestimating and then there’s... this. “What shade?” It’s with an air of defeat that you accept the company credit card and open your laptop.

“Not now; the cast have a fitting at midday, we’ll get shade match them then.” Corey assures, but you keep your laptop open anyways to make notes during the meeting. It passes by fairly uneventfully, at least for you, and by the time you break, it’s already eleven and you’re starving. The corner store a few blocks away serves as a good a place to get lunch as any, and when you turn up to the fitting, half an hour early, you sit yourself in a corner to wait, and start on your sandwich of questionable quality.

You’re pricing bulk order foundation on your phone, still marvelling at the estimate you’d been given for how much you’d need, when the cast starts to filter in, well, the leads. Aside from being one of the makeup artists, you were also Corey’s assistant, which essentially just made you a glorified errand girl for the rest of the makeup team.

Half the costume department was already here, buzzing and agitated like wasps whose nest had been disturbed, and you’re careful to stay out of their way lest you get stung, or smacked for touching the wrong thing. So you’re grateful when the key makeup artist, Jorie, bursts in with ten minutes to spare, and gives a sigh of relief when she sees you. She’s holding a makeup kit in her hands, and when she begins to set up by a mirror out of the way of the costume department, you can see it’s mostly different shades of foundation, a few tubes of lipstick, more smokey eyeshadow-quad pallets than you can shake a stick at, some eyeliner, and a few face paint sticks.

She’s sticking photos to the mirror of the original band in full makeup, and that’s when you start to accept the fact that it’s going to be a very long day.

“You’re late.” The costume department is not about to fuck around, and despite the fact that there’s still five minutes to midday, the costume designer is already reprimanding the newcomer. “And you can’t smoke in here.”

“It’s not midday-” whoever’s walked in is already arguing back, though as you look up, you see him - god he’s so tall, all limbs - backtracking to stub his cigarette out on the screen door frame outside, you think you recognise him. Well, recognise him beyond the fact that you know he’s playing Tommy; you’d seen his bleach blonde head shot with the drummer’s name beneath it on the document Corey had sent out a few months ago, not that you’d given it a detailed look over. You just did what you were told, you could get to know the actors in the process. But as you’re looking at him, something about him does seem... familiar.

“On time is late; five minutes early is cutting it too close,” Christine, the costume designer was fierce, fiercer than any of the actors had expected, though the rest were already trying to hold back their snickers as he got reprimanded before they’d even started, “ten minutes early is on time; gives us all time to get ready.” She finishes, and disappears into another room to start collecting costumes. 

“Fucking hell,” he breathes, rolling his eyes and running a hand through his hair, as the tension dropped the moment she had left. The others were grinning, poking fun at him for getting in trouble before they’d even gotten on set.

“’Stina,” Jorie shouts to the costume designer, “who can we start with?” There’s a long pause, and much shuffling and clicking of coat hangers from the costume department.

“The tall one,” Christine shouts back, and reemerges with an arm full of outfits, “Mister Booth, you first.” And the guy playing Nikki Sixx is lead to a dressing room. After a moment, an assistant carrying another set of outfits makes her way towards you and Jorie, but stops short, gesturing for the guy who had just been getting yelled at to step towards you.

“She meant you, Mister - uh, Kelly?” The nervous assistant doesn’t stay long, and scurries off to collect the two remaining actors, leading them through to the costume room as ‘the tall one’ gives a thin smile as he makes his way towards you.

“Not a fan of being called Mister Kelly?” Jorie asks with a knowing smile, and the tension breaks as he sits in the chair in front of the mirror, half smiling, “what about the tall one?” And he actually laughs at that.

“Fuck no, just Colson’s fine,” he relaxes into the chair, gaze meeting yours where you’re scrutinising him in the mirror, partially because, damn, he really is familiar and you can’t put your finger on why, and partially because you’re trying to figure out what foundation he’d use. 

“Where do I know you from?”

“Y/N tell me you’re kidding,” Jorie mutters to you, looking up from where she’s leafing through a stack of photos of Tommy, “did you not read the brief-”

“Dude,” you hissed at her, ducking your head and bobbing down to rifle through the makeup box, “I read it months ago, sorry I don’t remember every actor whose name and headshot I see once.” 

“You’re so clueless sometimes; you’re meant to be the young one. Hip to the jive, etcetera?” Jorie’s laughing at her own phrasing, not that you can blame her. When you resurface, holding a makeup sponge and five little bottles of foundation all roughly the same shade with slight variations, she’s looking expectantly at you, one eyebrow raised, hand out and gesturing to the blonde in the makeup chair. “It’s- what is it? - Machine Gun Kelly?” She says it like it’s meant to mean something.

“Gesundheit.”

“It’s his name,” she sighed deeply, pulling out a black stick of facepaint.

“Oh. Your parents hippies?” You ask, kneeling beside his chair and gently taking his arm so you could begin swatching the foundations on the back of his hand. After a beat you reconsider before he can get a word in edgewise, “I guess not if machine gun is in there.” 

“Stage name,” he explains, but there’s a smile you can hear in his words, amused, and it doesn’t leave his face as he watches you work in the mirror as Jorie is applying the face paint in two stripes on both his cheeks. 

“Hence, Colson?” You ask, not looking up, feeling a little foolish, though the stage name is starting to sound familiar to you.

“Yeah, hence, Colson.”

“Stage name for what?” You ask, but the thought is quickly taken over by the next and words spill from you before he can response, “were you all over Twitter a few months ago? I know I know you from somewhere.” 

He’s quick to clarify; he’s a rapper, sort of an actor, yes he was ‘all over twitter’ a few months ago because of a ‘thing with Eminem’, his words not yours.

“So you’re kind of famous, huh,” you muse, which makes him chuckle, “well sorry for my terrible introduction; I’m Y/N, by the way.” And you hold out your hand to shake his free one.

“Flirt on your own time, Y/N, did you get a colour match?” Jorie snaps, advancing on him with an eyeshadow brush held threateningly before her. He closes his eyes, but not before seeing you fluster at the accusation. “You’re the one with all the tattoos, aren’t you?” Jorie’s voice is quieter as she focuses on her work, and Colson tells her he is. The makeup artist steps back for a moment, her gaze appraising as she looks him over. “Could we get you to take your shirt off so Y/N can make sure she’s got the right colour foundation for your chest?” 

“I wasn’t flirting, I was shaking his damn hand, this isn’t the forties.” You fire back playfully, sitting back on your heels as Colson pulls off his sweater.

“The forties? How old do you think I am?” Jorie squawks, raising her eyebrows at you.

“For your sake, I’m not going to answer,” you say sweetly, accepting it as the makeup artist cuffs you gently on the back of the head, though both she and Colson are laughing at the exchange. 

As you look to him, it all starts to finally make sense, recognition dawning on your face as you take in the tattoos painting their way across his skin. All of it would need to be covered for certain scenes in the movie, which would require a lot of foundation. 

“You mind if I-” you awkwardly gesture to his chest with the sponge in your hand, and he sits back in the chair.

“Go for it,” and he closes his eyes again as Jorie comes in with the eyeshadow once more. As you apply the foundation near his collar, where there was a patch of uninked skin large enough to get a good comparison from, from the corner of your eye you see his lips twitch into a grimace for the barest moment.

“Sorry it’s cold,” you murmur, and he gives a smile, shrugging it off easily. You find a colour match easily, and it doesn’t take long, so you hand him a makeup wipe as Jorie starts talking at you, about how Corey himself would be handling the tattoo covering but that he wanted you there to help out. Of course you knew you’d need to be there, you’re his assistant after all, and after you note the shade required, you stand back and watch Jorie do her work. 

“I wish we had one of the wigs,” she muses, finally stepping away after she’d finished touching up his eyebrows, and you join her where she moves to stand behind his chair, all three of you looking at him in the mirror.

“You did good though,” you nod approvingly, leaning in a little to compare Colson’s reflection to the picture of Tommy taped to the mirror. 

“‘Stina,” Jorie calls, “do we have hair coming in later today?” 

“At three,” Christine calls back, and finally you look to where she’s standing by the changing room, putting pins into a leather harness that Douglas was wearing; it looked equal parts uncomfortable and sexy, though you know the second part was on purpose the first part would probably be helped by being surrounded by everyone in their own eighties, bordering-on-fetish costumes. You give him a thumbs up, expression pensive as you look him over, and look back to the photo of Nikki by the mirror. It does not seem to ease his discomfort. 

“Alright, sounds good, are you ready to send the next one over to us?” Jorie calls back, and after Christine tells Douglas to get changed out of his costume, you send Colson over to her.

“Don’t wipe that off, we can touch it up but we wanna see it with the wig,” you instruct, and he gives a mock salute and a grin, and you feel yourself smiling back. He was a lot... less than his stage name lead you to believe; he had a lot of energy just under the surface, that much you could tell, which meant he had great potential for his role as the over the top drummer, but he had an easy confidence, a level of professionalism that you’re grateful for, and a tattoo of a spider over his nipple, which you’re not sure of the significance of but it amuses you.

And, not to be shallow, though in this industry sometimes you can let yourself be, he’s hot. Though maybe you just had a thing for guys in eyeliner.

Stop.

You were going to be getting up close and personal with him for the next few months as you would probably be helping Corey cover all his tattoos; thirsting over him in eyeliner is the last thing you’re allowed to think about doing. Above all else, you had to stay professional.

And, as the weeks went on, you were successful in that.

Mostly.

“What’s that one about?” You ask, poking at the tattoo of a London bus on his side. He jumped a little at the prod, giving you an amused but rather tired grin as Corey said your name like a warning. It was almost eight in the morning and he was trying to airbrush an even base coat of darker makeup across Colson’s back that you could apply foundation on top of. It was one of the days where he’d be filming shirtless, and ‘even’ was hard to achieve if he kept moving.

“I got hit by a bus.”

“No you didn’t; shut up!” Your eyes shine bright with amusement as you give him a disbelieving grin. He smiles back, sharp, eyes crinkling at the corners.

“Did you think I got it immortalised on my fuckin’ body for fun? It hit me full force; I cracked the windshield,” and he sounds almost proud of it, and maybe he is, but you don’t seem to notice how his smile gets a little wider when he hears you laugh.

“And what about this one?” You poke at the spider over his nipple and he squirms a little. Corey says your name, more insistent this time, and you mutter out a half-assed apology, moreso waiting for Colson’s reply.

“That one’s just cool.” 

Maybe it’s the fact that you spend three hours with him a day at least, being weirdly close, which is par for the course when you’re applying foundation to his whole chest and sometimes his legs, but you’re becoming fast friends. Corey’s adamant that you don’t need to come in for the full three hours every day, but you’re there with a smile; rain, hail, or shine, just proclaiming that you enjoy your job when Colson asks about it. He calls you dedicated, and he’s mostly right; though if you’re being honest, part of you just enjoys spending time with him.

“Do you listen to any rap?” He asks, curious one day; Corey’s finished the airbrushing stage and has stepped out to grab a coffee from craft services, leaving you to start on the foundation.

“You mean, do I listen to you?” You smirked, not looking away from where you’re dabbing the foundation down his arm.

“I know you don’t listen to me; you didn’t even know who I was ‘first time we met,” he snickered, and you considered for a moment, humming as you turn his arm over gently and start working on his forearm. 

“Well, okay, you’ve got me there, it’s just not my style, you know?” 

“That wasn’t really the question,” he’s smiling a little, and you huff out a laugh, conceding.

“I mean, I don’t hate it; if you’re really twisting my arm I’d say I sometimes listen to some of The Beastie Boys earlier stuff; Slow Ride, Posse in Effect, Paul Revere? That I can jam out to.” And you look at him, guaging his reaction, biting back a laugh at his exaggerated wince.

“Not even Sabotage; so you really don’t listen to anything from this century?” He’s teasing you now, and you have to chuckle at that.

“Sabotage is okay.” You roll your eyes, looking back at your work. “When you guys stopped using a brass section as accompaniment, that’s when you lost me; it just adds a certain...” you hum thoughtfully for a moment, taping your chin as if in deep thought. He actually laughs at that, and when you look up, you think your heart might skip a beat at the sight of his smile, “gravitas? Je ne sais quoi?”

“So what do you listen to? What modern music has that,” and he puts on a terrible french accent to gently mock your earlier words, “je ne sais quoi?” You shove him lightly, though there’s no malice in the move, or in your grin as you’re moving to stand in front of him. You start dabbing makeup across his chest and collar. It’s getting harder and harder to keep your thoughts professional when you’re so damn close to him, and he won’t stop smiling at you like that.

Listing off a few bands from this decade seems to placate his curiosity enough, even if he rolls his eyes at some of your choices. Pausing for a moment, you tip your head side to side, considering.

“And classic rock, of course; not just the music, like the people behind it are fascinating, you know?”

Surprisingly, he’s quiet for a long moment.

“You must be enjoying this then,” he muses, though you can hear the suggestiveness in his tone and you swallow hard, refusing to take your eyes off your work.

“This production?” You deliberately refuse to read into his tone, though he was making it difficult when you could hear his smirk in his words, “yeah it’s been pretty great. Get to listen to a bunch of Crue all day? There’s definitely worse jobs in the world.” Snickering, you chance a look at him, though he’s not meeting your gaze, he’s still smiling as watches you work in the reflection of the mirror.

“What about you? Enjoying yourself?”

“Yeah, I mean it’s a challenge at times, but it’s a good one, you know? And I’m getting up at six every morning which is kind of a drag,” he grins though as you mutter out a quiet apology, “nah, don’t worry about it, ‘just part of the job. It’s good, it’s one-hundred.” And he’s looking at you, gaze a little unreadable where you’ve gone quiet as you work, focusing. 

It becomes a routine that you fall easily into; wake up at some ungodly hour, smash a coffee or an energy drink before spending three hours covering Colson’s tattoos with Corey, spend an extra hour and a half helping paint on Tommy’s tattoos if the scenes calls for it. Once he’s done, you tell Corey you’re going to get breakfast but you actually take a nap before you’re woken up by one of the production assistants telling you that you have twenty minutes before you need to be on set, so you race to the corner store and grab something cheap and eat it in a distracted haze as you head back to Corey’s trailer to pick up your makeup bag, before heading to set to be on standby for if any of the boys need touch-ups as filming starts. You’re there longer than most of the cast, staying back after filming’s wrapped for the day to help Colson take off his makeup and get the workspace prepped for the following day, crashing into bed almost immediately after getting home to rinse and repeat all over again. It was fun to begin with, but it was wearing you down quickly.

“Dude, you look dead on your feet.” Colson frowns as you yawn loudly, haphazardly blotting foundation onto his back.

“Y/N, it’s looking patchy, I need you to focus,” Corey’s frowning, but for a different reason as he looks over from where he’s made a start on the actor’s shoulder. You wave Corey off with a mumbled apology, rubbing at your eyes before recentering yourself and getting back to work. You meet Colson’s gaze in the mirror for a beat; he actually looks concerned, but you’re too tired to really care.

And okay, maybe, just maybe, seeing pretty girls drape themselves over the cast, over Colson, over all your hard work, it got irritating. Not that you begrudged those beautiful girls their job, it’s just that sometimes the oil or body glitter they’re covered in to play strippers would end up exposing some of Colson’s tattoos as they were all over him in certain scenes. Next to them, you were the one wearing jeans and a sweater, carrying a tote bag and looking like a child when you had to touch up his makeup. Everyone was always kind to you, of course, and you to them, but you think it’s more pity on their part; it’s common knowledge within the first week of filming how early you had to arrive, and how late you stayed back.

Some of the girls were incredibly talented actors. Probably. They were wasted in this film, reduced to eye candy and sex dolls, pretty beyond belief but not with any real substance. More than a few of them were dismissive of you, mean and sharp, because you weren’t the one responsible for their makeup, so you didn’t matter, and yeah, they were in intense, physically demanding scenes at times, but some of them seemed to just be catty for the sake of being catty. You tried not to let it get to you.

You really fucking tried.

Some of the extras had formed a sort of clique against you, which you found absolutely ridiculous, but they seemed to resent the fact that you and Colson got along. It had been a few weeks, starting with just snide comments in your general vicinity, but by now it had moved on to straight-up bullying. It was never around anyone important, least of all Colson, and when you’d told Corey about it, he’d just advised you to ignore it, as if it would help. 

So you were tired, both physically and mentally, and this actor had the gall to come up to you and call you desperate. For doing your job.

“Hey, can you kindly fuck off?” You snapped, fury blazing in your eyes as you fought to keep your tone level, “I’m trying to do my fucking job, it’s not my damn fault the director won’t give you any screentime-”

“Wow, harsh.” Colson’s voice comes from somewhere to the left of you, and he doesn’t sound impressed. Of course he has to come in at the worst possible moment, just when you sound like a villain. It feels like you’re on the verge of tears, exhausted and stunned, and the extra’s expression flickers to something smug for the barest moment before looking almost painfully innocent.

“I’m really sorry,” she sighs softly, hanging her head; it’s an act, and not a very good one, but she’s pretty, “I just know you work in makeup and I thought you could help me find someone in costume to talk to; it’s okay, I’m sure I could find someone else.” It’s painfully scripted, and she plucks at the string of the bikini she was wearing nervously for effect, turning and heading away. 

“Take a break or something, you’re acting like a tool,” Colson says, and doesn’t let you get a word in edgewise, going after the girl, whose ruse had manipulated him just as she’d wanted. He’s introducing himself and you feel like death standing; you hear a snicker from behind you, and when you turn there’s one of the extra’s friends, another from the clique, smiling triumphant. 

When you get back to Corey’s trailer, he pauses where he’s eating a sandwich from Craft Services, and raises an eyebrow at you. You bite back your bitterness and pull your sweater from your bag, balling it up and using it as a pillow as you resigned yourself to napping beneath the row of makeup mirrors. Corey goes back to his lunch.

“You wanna talk about whatever this is?” Corey asks. You’re struggling to untangle your earphones after pulling them from your pockets.

“Unless you can do something about the asshole actors on set, no, I don’t want to talk about it.” You sigh, resigned and resolute. Corey nods, taking another bite of his sandwich.

“Fuckin’ actors.” He muses.

“Fuckin’ actors.” You agree. It’s not an honest statement regarding your feelings towards actors as a whole, but sometimes a few bad apples really did spoil the bunch, even if it was only for a moment. 

You get to nap, heart aching where you’re pretty sure Colson thinks you’re some work-obsessed asshole who thinks you’re better than the actors you work with. Which you obviously don’t, but daily bullying can wear down the nerves. It only takes a moment, one careless comment that came out too harsh for the likes of onlookers, and any good will you’d been building up seems to evaporate. Not to mention the lies you know the extra had probably been feeding him since the moment you left.

When Colson comes in to get his makeup removed for the day, the tension is so thick that to you it felt solid. You’re sitting in one of the makeup chairs, spinning idly, scrolling through your phone when the door opens; his gaze finds yours the moment he steps in, but he gives you a look, scrutinising, almost disbelieving, and he looks away.

“Do you need my help?” You asked Corey pointedly, your gaze shallow and tired. Colson was tying his wig into a bun already, a look you quietly adored, though he was refusing to look at you. God, the clique really had managed to slander you in only a few hours.

“No dear, go home and rest, you need it,” Corey smiles at you, and you’re already moving around, pulling on your sweater and collecting your things. You want to say something, say anything to the man who’s now regarding you icily, but soon enough some of the other members of the makeup team are here, like always to help speed up the removal process, and your voice gets caught in your throat.

“Hey,” by the door, you finally stop, “I don’t-” but your breath catches on a sigh, “I don’t have the energy for this; I’m not the asshole.” And you sound so defeated, but he doesn’t answer, just rolls his eyes and keeps scrubbing at the foundation on his skin. 

The moment you step into the trailer the next morning, same time as always, at the crack of dawn, you can already feel exhaustion settling into your bones.

“Take the day off,” Corey frowns at you, “Colson told me what those assholes told him; I’m gonna have a word with him about it this morning.”

“No, dude, I’ve gotta explain myself, if I take the day off it looks like I’m running away; I’m an adult, I don’t need you stepping in for me.” It takes you a moment, and you sigh, defeated, “listen, Corey, I actually really like Colson, okay? And I don’t want him to think less of me, so if that means I have to be up at too-fucking-early-o’clock convincing him I’m not a complete bitch, then so be it.” Corey can’t help the pitying look he gives you, but doesn’t say anything more on the subject.

You’ve worked in this industry for years, it’s not the first time something like this has happened; while working in close proximity to talented, famous individuals, outsiders sometimes get jealous. It’s easy to be told to try and ignore it, but it doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt. It doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt when someone you thought you were getting along well with completely ices you out because someone who’s jealous twists their opinion of you. 

It takes a full hour, the silence thick and heavily as Colson stood patiently as the makeup was applied, before you can work up the courage to say something.

“What did she say to you?” It takes him a few moments to register what you’d said, but he frowns a little in confusion. “What did she say to you about me?” You reiterate, voice calm and level, focusing on your work as you speak, and his mouth opens as he goes to tentatively respond, but you don’t give him the chance, “because I can promise you she’s lying.” His mouth closes again, frown deepening. Corey is silent too.

“Well, I was told that you treat her like shit and don’t take her seriously just because she’s an actor, which is pretty fucked,” he admits with surprising candor. You have to take a moment to stop yourself from rolling your eyes. 

“It would be fucked if it was true.”

“But you don’t take her seriously. Apparently you ignore her when she comes to you for help.” And it hurts to hear him spout the slanderous rhetoric the extra had poisoned him with.

“It’s not Y/N’s job to help her,” Corey cuts in, much to both Colson’s and your own surprise, “and I’m sure if she had a real question, she would point her in the direction of someone who could help her. ” His tone doesn’t leave room for arguments, though Colson doesn’t exactly seem convinced; perhaps he assumed that you really were some heinous bitch who had turned the makeup department head to your side.

“I do take actors seriously, obviously,” you gesture to him, and he makes an expression that’s a little unreadable, “but if you have to know, she and a group of other extras have been harassing me for weeks now, so yeah, I tend to ignore her.” 

Your hands are shaking. When did that start? God, when did you start caring so much about what he thought of you? When did the idea of him thinking badly of you start making your chest hurt. When did schoolyard bullying start getting to you so much? Things are moving in a blur, and you think you mumble something about getting a coffee before you leave the trailer. 

Corey finds you half an hour later at the corner store, staring blankly at the coffee machine, cup of undrunk, now cold coffee in hand.

“Go home. Please.”

You look at him, but his words aren’t really registering; he realises he may have interrupted a micronap. It appears you need rest far more badly than he realised. He sends you home for the rest of the week, and it’s a Wednesday. You want to protest, but you cut yourself off with a yawn and he calls an Uber for you without letting you get a word in edgewise. 

It’s practically radio silence for almost five days. 

You watch Netflix and eat junk and take baths and claim self care when really you’re wallowing, dreading going back to work. Sometimes you catch yourself just staring at your phone; you and Colson have each other’s numbers ‘in case of emergency’, though what would constitute a makeup related emergency you’re not sure, it was his suggestion. Emergencies turned out to be him asking about call times, sending selfies from on-set where his face makeup was running from how much he was sweating, he’s grinning and bright and Douglas or Iwan or Daniel are pulling a face in the background, blurry photos of you on set that you hadn’t realised he’d been taking at the time. 

There’s one you stop at when you’re looking back through them, it’s another selfie, he’s squinting, having just woken up, and half cut out of the shot where he’s focused the camera on a smudge of foundation and a bit of eyeliner on his white pillowcase where he hadn’t managed to get all of the makeup off the night before. It’s surprisingly intimate, despite the fact that he’s followed it up with [💀😢].

You wanted to send something, to say something, but you weren’t sure what you had left to say. You weren’t in the wrong. You didn’t need to apologise. 

Sometimes you thought you saw the typing bubble appear, but it would disappear just as quickly.

You’re refreshed by the time you step back into the trailer on Monday morning, feeling almost chirpy, that is until you see that Colson’s arrived before you, and Corey’s nowhere around.

It’s not the same as last time, there’s no anger, no hostility in the way he’s regarding you, just a surprising pensiveness. He’s lounging in his makeup chair, watching as you put down your things and start rifling through the collection of makeup on the counter.

“Where’s Corey?” You ask, carefully neutral.

“Said he’s getting coffee.”

“That’s kind of him.” 

There’s a long pause that follow, and when you finally look at him, Colson seems to be considering you seriously.

“Do you have to be here?” Despite the words that are said, they don’t feel like an attack, instead they feel like a genuine question, bordering on concerned.

“It’s my job,” you start, but he smiles a little, and something in your heart eases.

“Yeah, no, I know, but you don’t always have to arrive this early, do you? I wouldn’t if I had the choice,” he snickers, and you sit back on one of the other chairs scattered about the edge of the room, waiting for Corey to get back, playing with a makeup sponge.

“Well you don’t, and neither does Corey, and...” hesitating a little, you fidget, avoiding his gaze, “it didn’t seem fair.” You shrug, laughing a little awkwardly, “leaving you here with him all that time.” Though you’re trying to clarify by means of a joke, he sees through it clearly, expression quickly morphing into a grin.

“So he was right.”

“About what?” You ask, looking at him with surprise and confusion written all over your face; this wasn’t the reaction you were expecting. 

“Corey’s pretty convinced you just like spending time with me,” you can feel yourself getting flustered, looking down at your fidgeting fingers.

“He’s such a snitch.” You mutter, and Colson actually laughs, and though you feel your anxiety holding tight in your chest, you force your next words from your mouth; “yes, okay, if we’re going full middle-school about this, I enjoy your company. A lot.” You pause for a moment. “Are we good?”

“Yeah, of course; I’m sorry I was a dick last week,” he actually gets serious for a moment, tone surprisingly humble as he speaks, “I just- there’s like this long history of people shitting on me and not taking me seriously, so it touched a nerve, but I should know you better than that, right? Like we’ve spent enough time together that I should know you’re not some entitled dick.” 

It’s enough to make you smile.

“Corey gave you a talking to, didn’t he?” You teased, and Colson rolled his eyes.

“Practically the moment you left; turns out those girls have had a few complaints from HR, situations like yours,” he sighs, before grinning a little, “but yeah, we’re good.” 

It’s as if a sudden elation comes over you, and you have to work to not let it show on your face, else you’re pretty sure you’re going to embarrass yourself at how happy that makes you. 

“And of course I take you seriously,” you hear yourself saying as you turn to rearrange the makeup on the counter, though you both know he can still see your pleased grin in the mirror, “I take all actors seriously, and you’re wonderful to work with-”

“Oh, so I’m wonderful now?” He snickers, though it’s not unkind, and you accidentally knock over a bottle in your embarrassment.

“Wonderful to work with,” you clarify, but he still takes the win, just as Corey finally walks in with three mugs of corner store coffee in hand.

“You were right, and she thinks I’m wonderful.” Colson practically preens, and Corey makes a face, before turning that face on you.

“I take it back; you’re the worst client I’ve had.” You deadpan, and Colson can’t help but laugh.

“No way, you’re not living this down,” he muses, smiling fondly at you. “I’m gonna tell everyone-”

“Christ, tell me you’ve at least asked her out,” Corey sighs, putting down the coffees, and that shuts Colson up quickly, “or do I need to go on another twenty minute coffee run to give you two some space?” He doesn’t even wait for an answer, just heads towards the door, announcing that he’s going to get a spare airbrush head from the other makeup trailer and that you have ten minutes.

“Sorry about him.” You say into the silence that follows in the wake of Corey’s departure. Colson’s surprisingly tight-lipped, avoiding looking at you. “He makes a lot of assumptions.” You add, getting to your feet and crossing to where the coffees sat in their little, cardboard carry-tray. Each cup has a name, and you take both yours and Colson’s, heading over to him with an expression that you hope is something akin to a friendly smile, and not a grimace of embarrassment.

“He’s right though,” Colson reaches out for his coffee when you offer it; his fingers brush your as he meets your gaze and it feels like a moment. “You wanna grab dinner or something after today?” 

Mind whirling, part of you thinks he’s made a mistake, that he hadn’t meant to say it, another part worries about what the rest of the cast and crew will think, and part of you is worried it’s a joke. But you’re so sick of doubt.

“Yeah, actually I’d love to.”

The morning passes in a breeze, passes much more easily than it’s seemed to for the past month, and there’s butterflies in your stomach the entire time. There’s an electricity in the air during filming, though you’re pretty sure you’re the only one who can feel it. He’s wearing the wig with the undercut, sitting behind the drums up on the risers for most of the day, wearing only a pair of underwear, boots, and suspenders; it’s quiet a look. Somehow he’s still managed to sneak his phone up there because you’re zoning out at the side of the set, and he takes a photo of you, sending it to you; your eyes are glassy by you’re grinning to yourself, and once you get it, you look to him, and he’s grinning as if he’s waiting for your reaction. You roll your eyes at him, but you’re still smiling; you’ve missed this.

“You’re actually kind of sweet, aren’t you?” After filming wraps for the day, you’re crammed into a booth of the only restaurant open in town past ten. You’ve just ordered, and he’s leaning back, regarding you with amusement.

“I don’t know why that surprises people, most of my asshole act is just, you know, an act, for show or whatever,” he shrugs a little, smirking, “most of it; sometimes I am just an asshole.”

“I don’t know your asshole act,” you remind, smiling a little; there’s butterflies in your stomach but they’re excited rather than nervous, relishing in the way he’s smiling at you, “but I guess I should have know you better anyways; after all, we’ve spent enough time together, haven’t we?”