A|N: If you've seen my other works, you'd know I'm a huge fan of Swatch. I also happen to favor Spamton as well. I wanted to add a perspective on their (non-romantic) relationship that is (Imo) ignored in most popular fanworks nowadays. Happy reading!
They hated each other because they were almost exactly the same.
Where Swatch stood, tall in their own rights and strong enough to tear the hardest shelled fruit at the seams, Spamton hunched and couldn't lift a hand to fight even the smallest of fates. A shadow of arguably one of the most perfect darkners besides Queen herself.
Where Swatch had been guided under their lightner's light, given the blueprints to a wonderful creation, Spamton's eyes had burned. Yet they never complained, simply giving him flack about disrupting the "natural order" of things. As if Gods should hurt their inferiors whenever they pleased. As if those inferiors couldn't become Gods themself if they truly amounted to nothing.
Deep in Swatch's SOUL, they understood. They really, really did. But that didn't excuse the contamination of the only piece of art that'd been blessed by heaven itself. Especially not by someone like him. Someone who'd been foolish enough to view the greater world above him and be crushed under its weight. Why had it been so hard for him to accept that there was a clear hierarchy between light and shadow?
And why was it so easy for them to lie back like it didn't bother them? Like the strings of fate weren't choking them, or maybe they just didn't feel it in their warm complex while it came upon him in the literal garbage he called home.
And why had it broken him? Swatch refused to believe that someone could just...snap like that. Could be an upstart businessman one minute and the next babbling about the universe and burning and their god's "abandonment". They didn't want a reality where that could happen to anyone so they conceived a dream where he'd somehow deserved it. Somehow got his "just desserts" for being curious because they couldn't bear the idea that anyone could have picked up that rotary phone. That they could've gotten picked to do some rotten being's bidding instead of flourishing under their wonderful lightner.
They stood two different darkners walking different paths yet still managing to cross towards the end. Two walking offenses, a lazy blowhard and a humble worker. Two people who'd interacted with deities themself and came out alive, but all one wanted was for the other to accept it while the man in question wanted them to struggle against the chains as he did.
A simple conversation would do them both good if they weren't filled with instant antagination at the other's perceived aggression. Swatch couldn't handle Spamton's inherent contamination that seeped out into his mannerisms, making him a nervous loud-mouthed mess that spewed blasphemy, and Spamton would rather be burned into a pit of acid than have to listen to that hypocrite blab about their feelings. So what he'd attempted to steal their "precious little machine"? So what they had everything he ever wanted and still had the nerve to complain? So goddamn what his SOUL still yearned for the days they could've been called friends?
Friends. Funny. It's not like he'd thrown them out on the streets, or regularly attacked them for so much as showing up unannounced, or sold his goddamn products without so much as a please or thank you. It's not like they had violated something so dear to him it seemed alien, locked away where he wouldn't be able to see all the blood and tears he'd put into it.
They each held a broken mirror to the other, cracked with a longing for the past, reflecting a future shadowed by the cruel game of chance. To Spamton a time he'd give his SOUL to go back to, where he could've been a big shot with his family and friends as himself. Without anyone puppeteering him around. A perfect darkner from the get-go.
To Swatch, a nightmare. A future where they could've been used and discarded like alley trash. Like him. Where they could've lost their family and their friends and their status and been forced to live with a knowledge so horrible they'd risk death to escape it. But it'd be too late. You couldn't escape the hands of time or unsee the bigger picture in your small world.
Maybe, in another timeline, in another world, in another life, they could've been close. Liberally. Their glaring faults would always remain, but maybe they could bridge that if they hadn't ever hurt each other so. If they'd just been open to listen to the other and stop anything bad from ever having happened.
But they were too different, too stubborn, too determined to go their own path far from the other, ignoring that they'd end up at the same block each time. The same fact that no matter what they were or what they did they were still so small compared to the larger than life lightners.
And even if the world would be frozen over, they refused to share that.
They were so alike it made them sick to think about for too long, so they didn't. And that would be that until the day they turned to stone.