#tm115 - dragon pulse | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

celestialholz · 1 year

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ok you already know what TF is going on!!!!

tm 45 venoshock (evil). tm 146 grass pledge (gay). tm 95 leech life (divorce snail). tm 156 outrage (eviler). tm 115 dragon pulse (because if nobody else does it i will).....tm100 dragon dance (🥰). do not feel obligated to do them all these are just a compilation of the concepts we talked abt

Oh Austro, darling. I'm about to murder you in cold blood. ;) A tale in three parts for you, my good pal. The last one of these three was also requested by dear @xfriki26, and the other two here will be under a read more to respect space. Cross-posted to AO3 here as chapters five, six and seven respectively, welcome to a miniature saga of just about every genre going, which we shall begin with by killing y'all stone dead with:

TM115: Dragon Pulse

Beep.

Brassius thinks he may be going mad. He’d thought that a multitude of times during his ice-cold, static darkness, but this is a different form of insanity: a hammering, a fractured, desolate, desperate despair.

Beep.

He wants the beeping to shut up almost as deeply as he cherishes its rhythm, its sheer brilliance. He could wax artistic lyrical on how fervently he cherishes the machine that affixes his sun to its true orbit at his side, paint it in the yellows and oranges of joy and the purple of dragons for its remarkable cleverness – wide, tender brush-strokes, gentle gratitude poured into every trembling sweep.

Beep.

How ironic, he muses darkly, that Hassel’s heart should be the thing to fail – that loyal, stalwart, core of sunshine, that is so achingly full of acceptance and understanding and vibrance, that had dragged his beloved back from the depths of the shadows.

Between them, now, they can barely make a decently functioning pulmonary system. The breath of life, the heart of the matter – both irreparably scarred, merely patched over with bandages and craft glue and hope and the most blinding, frantic adoration. They’ve operated upon his love, as though he is a mere tapestry, sown and stitched and patched -

Hassel is not meant to be fixed. He should never be broken in the first place. He’d thought they understood one another very well, after fifteen years together. You stand tall, querido; I fall, me. Not you. Never, ever you, because how am I supposed to -

He chokes back a panicked breath, squeezes dull, greyed eyes closed. He doesn’t have contingency for this – he was never supposed to make any. This isn’t his role. And perhaps that makes him the world’s most selfish bastard, perhaps he’s awful and leech-like and unworthy of such light, but perhaps he’s also saved because he would swap them, swap them every single damn time – you already have my lungs, take my wretched heart as well, it’s better than watching this –

Beep.

… He hasn’t even gotten around to asking him to marry him, after all this time. They’d had forever - what was the rush? The gap in Hassel’s family is glaring, he doesn’t want to invoke painful memories of people who would never wish to attend, and they are husbands in all but name nevertheless, promise rings long since sculptured from crystals and worn against their hearts anyway.

He hadn’t expected this. He hadn’t expected the chance to be possibly lost for all time -

Beep.

Gods, how the hell does he deal with this every time it happens in reverse? How many hours has his world watched his own slowly fade away?

“It doesn’t matter,” Hassel had told him once, tears glistening in warm, adoring eyes. “It simply doesn’t matter. You are worth every moment of the agony, darling. You coming back each time is the only thing that counts.”

He tries, physically shaking, to hold such sentiments against his core, because his dragon’s always been entirely right. He is damaged goods too, now – he can empathise, now. And later, when muted sun meets frosty moon once again, all will be harmonious in the celestial sphere. The stars do not lament; they celebrate a joyous reunion, the return of gravity to a uncertain universe, an essential dual orbit.

Beep.

His role, flipped, is now to support – to shine himself, to endure, to treasure a recovery Hassel will make. You will make it. I need you. Always have done. And I will look after you, smotheringly, achingly. Oh, you’ll hate it, even though I will see the smile in your beautiful gaze and understand that you love it.

He breathes a quivering laugh, stumbling across his own tongue.

… Well, it is night-time. It’s his shift anyway.

Beep.

He clings to his sunshine’s hand as though it’s all that tethers him to the earth, tears streaming down his cheeks.

“Come back to me,” he pleads, infinitely soft. “Come back and be my husband, won’t you dearest?”

Beep.

TM146: Grass Pledge

Beep.

“… Br…”

Brassius snaps awake from a light doze on their fifth night in the hospital, as though bidden by hope alone, to find a weak Hassel staring straight at him. Sunlight stabs at his frozen heart, piercing its outer shell instantly, and he breaks, fragments of ice shattering down around him.

“D-dear,” he whispers, heat pooling immediately in his gaze. “You’re here, you’re back -”

“Mm,” his beloved murmurs, coughing softly. “Just… just about…”

Water is poured by trembling hands, held to lips, tipped up ever so gently even as Hassel blurs before him, rendered briefly invisible by tears and heat and relief and gods, thank you -

"Br..." Hassel clears a now lubricated throat, and Brassius immediately meets his gaze - sunshine swathed by shadows, the darker moments before sunrise. As deeply grateful as he is to see the light, he curses its lack of luminence.

"Yes, my love?"

"... You okay?" He coughs again, and despite the sun's dimness, his concern is clear as day. "You... are too pale."

Brassius stares at him for a second, aghast, before dissolving spontaneously into tearful laughter, exasperation and absolute joy, and he's trembling, and dear heavens, why would it matter what he looks like -

"The sun came back out," he tells him eventually, as a weak hand clings to his as tight as it can, as he's watched with soft worry. "I'd been beginning to think it would never stop raining. I'll... I'll be fine, now."

"Good," Hassel murmurs, reassured; even as his eyes droop closed once more, and a thread of anxiety rushes back up his lover's spine, a gentle thumb runs against his in silent promise. Alright, now. "Wouldn't do... for us both to be old and broken, d-darling."

"You are no such thing," Brassius protests immediately, heart rebelling against the mere thought. "Look at you, querido. Sunshine incarnate."

Hassel murmurs a small laugh, cherishing the water that he's once more offered.

"Funny, you say that," he whispers after a further drink, a wonder held in his gaze. "I only... see one source of light, here."

Even as he's tenderly kissed, even after he drifts back off to much-needed rest, inspiration strikes his beloved, a sparkling of genius.

Oh, you clever, wonderful, miracle of a man. You conductor of moonlight. Where the sun meets the moon...

He makes plans, as he falls asleep himself: gentle, loving, delightful schemes, tears slipping beneath closed lids as he nods off.

/////////////

He prepares quietly, when they get home; sets the stage as Hassel recovers, buys the equipment, purchases the perfect jewellery, bides his time. Doting on his beloved is by far the more pressing matter, and thus it takes him weeks, but eventually...

They finish a homemade casserole lovingly prepared, just as day begins to shift; just as it begins to turn to night, he asks his beloved to head outside with him, into the garden that overlooks the shimmering beauty of the East Paldean Sea.

"My dear, where on earth are we g -"

Hassel stops instantly at the sight before him; at the ring boxes, at the arch strung over with vines and lights, at the strands of green and purple cord that sit between it all, tearful eyes slowly drawing to his nervous partner's.

"Is that...?" he swallows a sob, utterly rapt.

"It is," Brassius confirms, eyes scanning him, gauging his thoughts, reading softly a man he knows the soul of better than his own. "Should you wish it to be, anyway -"

He gets no further for a long minute, damp kisses pressed to his lips, over and over.

"'Should I wish it,'" he repeats, laughing shakily in disbelief. "And at dusk, no less. Where the sun meets the moon, you brilliant, brilliant individual."

Brassius chuckles, similarly breaking. "You'll forgive me my poetry, I'm sure."

"I will forgive you anything, my darling." He chokes down tears, conscious of time, conscious of his lover's artistic vision. He can cry later, and he will - oh, he will. He doubts he'll stop for hours.

"So, you will, then -"

"Yes, I will," Hassel tells him clearly, fondly, adoringly, trembling hand coming to a precious, flushed cheek. "Arceus himself could drag neither of us away, despite his best efforts."

They marry, as the warmth of ambient sunset glazes over them; hands wrapped in cord of alternate colours, the draconic for the biological and vice versa; they whisper nonsense vows, straight from their cores, babbled and pure and perfect; they adopt glistening emeralds or dazzling violets as the moon takes reign, and there are tears enough to proclaim the sea that spectates them flooded.

"Why now?" Hassel asks his husband afterwards, tears still glistening in his eyes, his forehead gently pressed upon his beloved's. "All these years..."

"I thought we had forever," Brassius tells him simply, voice thoroughly raspy by this point, clinging tightly to him, as though he might fall to his doom should he ever let go.

"We do, my love," comes the replying whisper, the utter certainty. "I'm sorry, for frightening you so deeply..."

Brassius sobs into him, believing him with his whole heart, and shakes his head.

"You were worth every moment of the agony, dearest," he promises him truthfully, burying himself into soft folds of fabric, and the softest man of all.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*

TM100: Dragon Dance

It’s difficult to practice for a celebration, when one’s heart or lungs have had their cracks filled in as though via liquid sunshine; an astral kintsugiri leaves one less willing than they might have been to put their beloved through physical stress.

“Well,” Hassel notes tiredly as they take seats together, “come the moment, darling husband, we could just vibe with it.”

Brassius glances at him, bewilderment strewn through his grey gaze.

“You know, as in do our collective best, dependent on our emotions at the time?” Hassel’s expression creases in thought. “I think that’s what my students mean by it, anyway…”

The pair burst into soft laughter, hands automatically finding one another’s and gripping on tight.

“Everything will be wonderful, querido,” Brassius whispers, “because you will be there, and I will be right there with you.”

Hassel takes a gentle breath, and melts into his side, stinging eyes closing as he smiles warmly.

“Indeed,” he murmurs, content. “That’s all I’ve ever needed.”

“And I.”

Hassel kisses him, swallowing his tremulous voice, assuaging his lingering anxiety.

/////////

It is beautiful if mad, their celebratory dance. They don’t say vows – they already have, the words for them and them alone, sparkling in the intimacy of the dusk. They simply host a small gathering, fairy lights strung up across their whole garden now, Grass types mingling between fauna, guests somewhere between buffet tables, wine refills and comfortable garden furniture. Lilligant develops a quiet, blushing crush on Katy’s dear Heracross, who flexes happily for his smitten acquaintance; a far too competitive Breloom attempts to spar with a far too competitive Staraptor, who promptly and triumphantly puts the bird to sleep the moment he gets too feisty; Flapple doesn’t leave the side of her fathers, chirruping happily as a laughing Hassel feeds her cake with a wink and an indulgent promise that she’s only allowed a little.

“Have a heart, kid,” Larry announces dryly, as he plucks her phone from a whining Iono, who has been attempting to livestream the event. She tries to snatch it from the air, which goes about well as such a height difference might imply.

“Awww! Just tryna share the joy!”

“Enjoy it, instead. Live in the moment. Pick up tips for the future, when someone feels like putting up with you for long enough.”

“Hey!”

He smirks down at his pseudo-daughter, his face softening. “Trust me,” he mutters, glancing warmly at Katy, who’s giggling at her Heracross. “If I can find them, anyone can.”

It’s endearingly awkward and inaccurate when their dance comes, when they take centre stage; steps misaligned at points, gentle amusement tripping from their lips. Shoes are stepped on, but the twirls are dramatic, and the audience appreciates their stars nevertheless, cheers, sobs and applause raising from their friends.

“Doing well, my love?” Brassius whispers as he swept up from their bowed finale, being drawn into a gentle, loving kiss.

“Doing perfectly, my darling,” Hassel promises tearfully after a moment, nuzzling his forehead to his husband’s. “And you?”

“Can’t complain,” he teases, and they both burst out laughing until tears stream down their faces in utter joy. Breath is briefly pulled from lungs, exhaustion reigns, but nothing ruins their harmony, their victory, their perfectly imperfect wedding reception.

They may have to take tomorrow slow; they may have to take the rest of their lives at an easier pace, a gentle stroll into forever instead of a sprinting wildness - but take it together they will, every step of the way.

Got a request for The Technical Festival, which celebrates Ephemeralart and Vanillacupcakes through the medium of TMs? Take a look here; my askbox is open!

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