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Anthony “Ant” Tenna; beloved TV show host with the best quality picture you’ve ever seen on a CRTV.
Spamton G. Spamton; self-proclaimed big shot mailman with a keen eye for stardom (and money-making).
From the start they were bound to get along one way or another, them each having something the other wanted. Tenna had fame and riches, and Spamton had an irresistible charm that the CRT simply couldn’t get enough of. No matter how livid the mailman made the much taller man, all he has to do is put on that signature smile and sweet talk the CRT until he’s once again wrapped around his puppet-jointed fingers. It was cruel really, especially since Spamton knew full well what he was doing to his partner, but he had no intentions on stopping. It was just too much fun seeing the usually confident show host crumble under his words.
Despite the happy-go-lucky appearance of the beloved duo in front of an audience, they often found themselves backstage with anger seeping through their artificial teeth (usually due to Spamton’s incessant behavior). How many times had they done this? Too many for either of them to count at this point. It was a constant cycle of humiliation and resolve; Tenna always ending up with the former.
“WHY?” The louder he got, the more static came through his speakers as his voice box reached new peaks. “Why do you ALWAYS insist on making a fool out of me? And in front of my employees no less!” Tenna’s roughly fifteen foot frame paced around their shared dressing room as he continued to ramble on about Spamton’s constant distasteful behavior. The more he ranted, the heavier and more frequent his footsteps became; the room shaking slightly and occasional miscellaneous items falling from their assigned spots with every increasingly irritated step he took. Jumbles of static and colors actively warped across his screen, almost as if they were in tune with his emotions.
As the TV’s meltdown progressed indefinitely, the much smaller mailman sat practically unbothered in the old and oversized (and yet surprisingly comfortable) red satin couch that occupied a big portion of the dressing room. (Everything’s bigger on TV, so why not make everything bigger for TV?) Smoke slowly poured out from Spamton’s lips as he took long, drawn out pulls from his brand sponsorship cigar. To him, it was quite entertaining watching his partner become so pent up with anger over something he did. Was it wrong? Absolutely. Did he feel guilty? Definitely not. His ego, which would be more than thrice his size if it had a physical form, thrived way too much from these interactions.
However, no matter how much Spamton enjoyed tormenting the CRT for his own personal amusement, part of him still felt something for his flamboyant co-host; it was a completely unnatural feeling for him, an almost… loving feeling. He’s never been the type of puppet to commit to anything relationship-wise, and despite acting like a real asshole all of the time, maybe — just maybe — he actually did want some sort of serious relationship with the TV; something long-term, something for the future. Just the thought alone made his stomach churn with disgust, mainly towards himself; he was supposed to be a limited time deal kind of guy, but unfortunately he couldn’t help what his mechanical heart wanted. No matter how much he tried, he just couldn’t make it go away.
The two already have some sort of unspoken, unofficial relationship that’s painfully obvious to those around the studio. Spamton has always been the one stopping labels from being put on them, and Tenna would rather sit in his own delusions than leave the mailman over this fact. He made Tenna’s wires tangle and his robotic body overheat in a way no one else ever had, and he couldn’t bear to lose the Darkner who had stolen his circuitry. The CRT knew he’d never get the future he wanted with Spamton, so he takes what he can get in the moment. It’s not an ideal arrangement, but why fix what isn’t broken? That line had been used time and time again to justify Spamton’s lack of commitment, but now all he could think about was: what if..?
With one last drag from his cigar, he blew out the smoke with a sigh. “Look [[ BABYDOLL, ONLY $9.99! ]], I’m-“
Before Spamton could even finish his sentence, the room shook once more, much harder this time as the CRT stopped pacing and stomped his foot down with all the anger he could muster. “DO. NOT. START.” The staticky colors that raced across Tenna’s screen all faded together into a single deep red almost instantly, his fists clenched hard at his sides as he glared daggers at the mailman. “I am SICK of your excuses! Don’t say a damn word to me, Spamton.” He snarled, his razor sharp fangs visible for a brief moment. He never called Spamton by his first name, it was usually “Mr. Big Shot” or some other cute nickname that Tenna came up with (which would immediately be shut down, ‘cute’ just wasn’t the mailman’s style). Hearing his first name come from the other’s mouth caught Spamton severely off guard; Tenna was serious this time, and Spamton wouldn’t be able to easily charm his way out of this one.
The smoke of the still lit cigar continued spreading around the room as Tenna went on, “Have you ever been able to say at least one nice thing about me that wasn’t tainted with one of your shady salesman tactics? You butter me up just to humiliate me, over and over again. I don’t even know how many times we’ve had this conversation!” Tenna’s pacing had now been replaced by subconscious, frustrated hand movements that seemingly went along with what he was saying.
His (lack of) eyes twitched as his words began to come out with shaky breathes. “And no matter how many times you break my heart, fuck me over, I still…” The red of his screen faded slightly as small sparks glitched across his screen; a sign of distress, a sign that he was about to breakdown. Spamton knew the signs all too well, but he refrained from stepping in for fear of making it worse; the TV was like this because of him, after all. Instead, he put out his cigar in the nearby ashtray and sat up in his spot on the couch, waiting for Tenna to let him talk, to let him in. Spamton had comforted the show host plenty of times, but this time was different, this time he actually had to truly mean it. It sounds almost impossible for a salesman who’s constantly trying to make a quick buck to be sincere, but what other choice did he have? As much as he hated being sharing his own feelings, he had already dug himself too deep. It was either be honest and potentially shatter his ego, or lose his very beloved co-host; neither of them wanted the latter.
“I still…” Tenna’s voice box closed up as digital tears started to form on his screen, his form slowly shrinking from an overbearing fifteen feet, to ten feet, to five. Soon enough, he was just about the size of the mailman (though he was still an inch or two taller). “I… I still… c-come back to you.” He dropped to his knees in the middle of the room with a barely audible thud as he put his head in his hands, body curled in on itself and antennas drooping. Tenna’s now small frame began to shake and tears made their way down his screen and through the gaps of his gloved fingers.
The two men sat in silence for a few moments, the only sounds in the room being Tenna’s quiet sobs and the slight clinking of metal, before he continued, “I don’t.. know why I do, but I…” His voice sounded smaller than his appearance, “I j-just… can’t.. anymore, S-Spamton..” Sniffles could be heard as Tenna tried to compose himself, doing his best to wipe away tears with the sleeves of his suit jacket — unfortunately, they kept coming.
“I can’t keep coming back, can’t keep getting hurt..” Tenna spoke out between sobs, “..can’t keep being used..”
That one really stung; partially because it was true, and partially because Spamton knew what was about to come out of his own mouth.
Without Tenna realizing, Spamton had gotten off the couch a while ago and made his way towards the CRT, stopping just shy of a couple feet in front of him. Every part of him was screaming to leave, to get the hell out of that trashy studio and move onto a new, bigger deal, but the mailman’s mouth felt like it was moving on it’s own as he spoke in a soft yet slight raspy voice, “[[ TRASH HE- ]],” He quickly stopped himself from using the potentially degrading nickname, “Tenna.” Spamton never called Tenna by his actual name either, this was new to both of them.
“Y’know I’m not the [[ BEST DEALS!!! ]] at this kinda stuff..” He tried reaching a hand out to the TV, only for it to get slapped away almost instantly. Despite not having eyes, Tenna was now staring deeply at Spamton with a mixture of disdain and dejection. Taking the hint, he continued with a sigh, “We both know I’m [ Not Good ] at [ Relationships ], but… you do know I [[ HYPERLINK BLOCKED ]] you, right?” The tension in the room grew thicker by the second as awkwardness hung in the air; neither of them were prepared for the mailman to actually admit to his feelings, especially not now.
Tenna scoffed at the attempted sentiment, “Yeah, s-sure you do… can’t even say the damn thing right..” He chuckled slightly at his own statement, and at himself for how pathetic he was being all because of someone who he believed didn’t care whatsoever, “…do you expect me to believe anything you say..?”
Could Spamton blame the guy for not trusting him? Most of what he’s ever done in his life is lie and put on fake charm to get his way, but this time was different. It had to be different. “You don’t have to [ Believe Me ], just [ Listen ] to me.” He had a certain hint of sincerity in his voice that had never been there before, Tenna’s (again, lack of) ears perked up as he started taking the mailman a little more seriously. “I get it, I’m not a [[ GREAT PRICES IN YOUR AREA, SHOP NOW! ]] guy. Hell, I’m fucking horrible,” Spamton chuckled lightly as he sat on the floor about two feet in front of Tenna, their eyes level with each other, “You have all the right in the [[ WORLDWIDE SHIPPING ]] to [ Hate Me ]… but I do.. care about you.” The words felt like venom on his tongue as he went against everything he believed in one sentence. His face flushed red with a sense of embarrassment and unnatural regret, but it was too late to turn back now.
Spamton sighed heavily once more, his gaze actively avoided contact with the CRT’s before continuing, “You don’t [ Deserve Me ], I know that. A [[ BIG SHOT ]] like you can do [[ ANYTHING AND EVERYTHING MUST GO!! ]], with or without me.” Tenna’s tears had dried up by this point, some residue left on his usually spotless screen, and without realizing it he had been staring at Spamton in awe and disbelief of his honesty. “But, despite everything, I actually want something… serious.. with you.”
Hearing the mailman speak without being interrupted by an audio clip made Tenna’s wired heart skip a beat. It was a rare occurrence, so when it did happen he made sure to savor it; however, he was still quite hesitant to trust the other. This was all such a sudden change in Spamton’s attitude, what if it was just another ploy to keep the CRT wrapped around his finger? With another tiny sniffle and a quick sleeve wipe across his screen, Tenna gained a small amount of his confidence back, “And how do I know.. that you’re being truthful? That you’re not just tricking me..?”
Unfortunately, Spamton had no real answer for this. If he was Tenna, of course he wouldn’t trust himself! But he still needed to try somehow; he couldn’t bear to lose his co-host, his partner. “You don’t know, and I.. I’m.. so, sorry. But,” The mailman locked eyes with the TV despite his previous refrain, he was trying to come off as serious and genuine as he could. “I’ll do [ Whatever It Takes ] to prove it to you, [ I Promise ].”
Tenna had two choices; believe the mailman, make amends and carry on with their relationship, or leave right there and then. The obvious answer would be to leave, all past and present red flags were just too much to ignore — but Tenna never did like it when someone took his eyes off him, especially not Spamton’s. However, he didn’t exactly know how the mailman could prove his confession. The two stared at each other for what felt like hours, but was only actually a few minutes, before the TV felt a lightbulb go off in his head — quite literally, his screen flashed a bright light for a brief moment as he came to his conclusion. Tenna’s antennas were still drooping and slightly covered parts of his now faded pink screen, “Say you love me.”
It was a simple request, one that anyone with a working voice box could complete. There was only one issue; Spamton physically couldn’t say that. Expressing feelings has never been his strong suit, and having no control over the voice clips that came through his mouth didn’t help. Whenever he tried, more often than not it was replaced by the very loud, very annoying sound of ‘hyperlink blocked’.
The mailman was taken aback by the request, not expecting Tenna to be so upfront about it. Usually, the show host got too flustered in the moment to properly talk about the subject of love in their relationship, but the stern expression on his screen showed no sign of backing down. Spamton let out a nervous laugh as he scratched at the back of his head, “I don’t know what you’re [ Talking About ]! I-I say [ That ] all the [[ TIMESHARES NEAR YOU ]].”
“No, you don’t.” Tenna’s response was almost immediate, which caught Spamton off guard once again, “I want you to actually
say it. None of that.. ‘hyperlink blocked’ or random, annoying advertising..”
“Please just.. say you love me..”
This is usually the part where Spamton would say “[[ @!$% ]] THIS!” and storm out of the room with his head held high. If it were anyone else in front of him, he’d prioritize his ego and salesmanship and just move on to the next best business partner he could obtain. Except it wasn’t just anyone, it was Tenna. In front of him was his longest partner to date, in both business and relations. The man he’d stayed up late with just talking about nonsense, the man who had spent more nights in his bed than he’d like to admit, the man who actually made the mailman feel something that wasn’t fake. He had grown so close and comfortable with Tenna that he’d even gifted him one of his own Pipis, which is something he has never even thought about doing until he met the CRT. This entire time Spamton had been trying to justify these actions by making himself believe that he was just doing it for all the perks of being close to the famous Mr. “Ant” Tenna and having so much power in the industry; but he couldn’t keep hiding from reality. He loved the man in front of him, denying it wasn’t even a choice anymore, and regardless of if he physically could say it or not, he still had to try. All he could do was try, and the future of their relationship lied in his hands. Spamton took a deep breath and sighed.
“I.. I [[ HYPERLINK BLOCKED ]] you.”
“..I [[ LOVE IS IN THE AIR! ]] you..” Spamton groaned in response to the wretched noise, irritation already starting to set in. “I-I can [ Say It ], I know I can..”
“I [[ VALENTINES DA— ]]..”
“I [[ LOVERS— ]].. Ugh..”
“…[[ HYPERLINK BLOCKED ]]… [[ HYPERLI— ]]… DAMMIT!” The mailman’s face grew hot in frustration as he cursed himself for being born a walking advertisement. He had a short fuse to begin with, and he was becoming more irritated each time he attempted the phrase. However, the strong emotion simply made it harder for him to achieve his goal. It would be much easier for Spamton to focus on the word ‘love’ if he was in a calmer state.
The mailman sighed hard at his own verbal incompetence. In front of him he could see tears start to form at the edge of Tenna’s screen once more, any feeling of hope he had now completely drained from his robotic form. For the first time in his life, Spamton actually thought his heart broke a little at the sight. ‘I have to do this. For him.’
Without a second thought, Spamton swiftly threw himself forward and pulled the other into an embrace. Whenever he had rough times around the studio, at the end of the day he’d always find himself seeking any physical contact with Tenna — he’d never admit it out loud, but it made him forget about the stresses of the industry and anything else going on around him. It was one of the few times he’d ever find himself truly at ease.
Tenna flinched at the sudden gesture before feeling Spamton’s arms wrapped around his form. His screen flushed another pale shade of pink; the CRT had always loved how warm the mailman felt against him, even in moments like this where a happy ending felt impossible.
Spamton leaned into Tenna’s body as he steadied his breathing, focusing on the concept of his feelings as best he could.
‘Tenna..’
‘Love..’
‘..love..’
He spoke just above a whisper, loud enough for Tenna to hear but just quiet enough to be a little intimate.
‘..I..’
“..I..”
‘..love..’
“..[[ L- ]]..“
He tensed and caught himself, repressing the advertisement as much as he could. The setback was frustrating, but now wasn’t the time to beat himself up. He relaxed before continuing,
‘..love..’
“..lo..love..”
‘..you.’
“..you.”
Astonishment flashed on the mailman’s face hearing himself speak the words he never thought he could.
“..I love you..”
A relieved grin came over Spamton’s face as he pulled away slightly from the hug to get a good look at the CRT.
“See? I told you I could—“ He stopped mid sentence, his grin leaving as soon as it came and replaced by a look of worry. “H-Hey? You alright, [[ BIG SHOT ]]?”
Tenna’s screen had gone completely dark, not a single pixel in sight, and his mechanical body was stiff from shock. The only sound that could be heard from him was the growing whirring of fans inside his head, smoke slowly forming from the vents on both sides. “D-Did I do somethin’? You, uh.. don’t seem too happy—“
As if on queue, Spamton suddenly felt his entire body lift off the ground in one swift motion. Tenna had grown back to his full size in almost an instant, and he had his now much smaller partner held tightly in his arms as he spun them both around in excitement. Both of his antennas were perked straight up and his screen now shined the brightest Spamton had ever seen. “YOU REALLY DO MEAN IT!” Tenna could barely contain his enthusiasm, screen tinted with a bright pink and a smile that could reach the moon. Barely giving the mailman time to process this, Tenna then began planting kisses all over Spamton’s face in quick succession — a cartoon-ish ‘smooch’ noise accompanied every peck. Childish giggles escaped the TV’s voice box between each tiny kiss; it was as if he was a kid on Christmas morning, and man was that feeling contagious.
“Hey! S-Stop that, [[ TRASH HEAP ]]!” Despite his protests, Spamton wasn’t actually doing anything to stop the barrage of smooches; both of their faces were equally flushed at this point. Their laughs intertwined in the air as the previously tense atmosphere was replaced by a warm, loving one.
Tenna then placed one final kiss on the mailman’s lips, this one more drawn out and passionate than any of the rest. Spamton could tell just how much this all meant to Tenna, and it warmed his usually cold heart; why hadn’t he done this sooner?
Their lips danced for a few seconds before Tenna pulled away once more, his smile still just as wide and flashy as before. “You love me! You really do love me!!” Spamton was still being firmly, yet softly, held in Tenna’s large hands. The CRT’s excitement died down a little as he started to realize what he’d been doing this entire time, a feeling of embarrassment washing over him as he continued, “I.. I love you, a lot, and I just h-hope you feel the same—“
He was cut off by the feeling himself — mostly his head — being pulled into a loving embrace. Spamton’s touch was always so soft and warm against Tenna’s hard metal framework; yet another thing that caused his heart to flutter.
“I do, I do [ Feel The Same ],”
“I love you too, [[ TRASH HEAP ]].”