“Hi!” Twilight said with as broad a grin as her soulless, pallid lips would allow. “It’s wonderful to meet you!” she added with an attempt at a friendly chirp that turned into some sort of bruised, mangled croak, like a frog with a hacking cough choking on a smaller frog.
“Yes,” Adagio said, “it is.” Her smile, small and measured, was so wicked and sexy it slapped Twilight on the cheek and made her think yes, mommy, hit me harder. She struck a pose, and it was like the universe realized she hadn’t been complimented enough that day; a sudden breeze gave her hair a delicious flutter, and a cloud in the grey stretch of sky above popped like an obese balloon to give her a glowy golden backlight.
Twilight contemplated for a great length of time what to say to that. She arrived at something like “Whupphew,” which was a noise that shot her a -_- look like a petulant, edgy teenager shooing its parent away before going on a joyride with its rambunctious friends.
Adagio brought her pose to an end so that she could cover her face with her palm. “What exactly am I doing here?” she asked through clenched teeth.
“Oh, right!” Twilight reached behind herself and held up the bottle that held her soul. “I need you to drink me!”
“Ah, yes, that’s right.” Adagio sucked in a breath, with the composure of someone who was a hair’s breadth away from pummeling the stupid out of someone. “Why don’t we go inside, and you can… tell me what’s happened?”
Before Twilight could answer, her house swooned, teetering subtly in place and spitroasting Twilight’s head with creaky wood sounds thrust into each ear.
She cocked her head. “Is that…?”
Adagio shrugged. “A lot of things want me inside them.” She pushed past Twilight into the house, patting her on the shoulder as she slipped by. “You’ll get used to it.”
If shoulders could orgasm, Twilight’s would have done just that just then.
“… so I borrowed King Sombra’s Diabolical Glossary of Grisly Delights from Sunset, hoping to do some light reading, and then yesterday I was making pancakes and I read a recipe from the wrong book.” Twilight held up the bottle that held her soul. It was black and shiny, and the violet-ish fluid inside pulsated like there was a heart somewhere in there. “And I didn’t catch my mistake until after I’d extracted my soul and put it in this bottle, but then I didn’t know how to get it out.”
Adagio took a thoughtful nibble of one of the aforementioned pancakes, which bled and screamed. Adagio wiped her lips with a paper towel afterwards, which she then primly threw at Twilight’s left eye. “I see,” she said with a wise nod. “So you want my help in getting your soul out of that bottle,” she said.
“Exactly!” Twilight said. “I was actually pretty lucky to find you. It, uh, it took a little bit of digging, but if my theory’s correct, you’re one of the few people who could help me get my soul back.”
Adagio nodded again. “Now,” she said, “why exactly might that be?”
“Quite simple,” Twilight said, holding up a spindly, shriveled finger—which she brought down to point at Adagio. “You, you see, have magic, er…” she cleared her throat and hacked out a butchered cough of a word.
Adagio arched an eyebrow. “I beg your pardon?”
“Breasts,” Twilight said, gesturing flaccidly to Adagio’s. “You have magic breasts.”
A moment of silence fell over the room.
Adagio glanced down, tugging at the collar of her shirt so she could peek down it. “Hmm,” she hmmed.
Twilight’s heart failed to sink, as it was already beating at the bottom of an abyssal hellscape, but it did its damnedest. “My source was quite specific,” she said.
“You have a source.”
“Yes.”
“On the… magicness.”
“Yes.”
“Of my breasts.”
“Yes.”
Adagio hoisted her shirt up. A power inage made all Twilight’s lamps flare up at once to provide dramatic lighting for clarity suitable for admiration and worship. “By which you mean these things,” Adagio said, slipping a hand into her bra to grope herself.
“Yes.”
“Hmm.” Adagio pulled her shirt back down. “Who is your… ‘source,’ exactly?”
“Well…” Twilight’s eyes darted from side to side. “Is there any chance we could talk about this afterwards? I’m maaaybe a little keen to—” part of her palm flaked off and immolated in a tiny flare of violet flame; where it was, light vanished in a hole in her flesh like it was a miniature black hole “—have you drink me so you can osmose my soul through your magic breasts.”
“No. No, there is not.”
“Why.”
They were standing in Twilight’s basement, in front of a glass cube propped up on stilts and encircled by ladders and platforms, housing a nude Sunset Shimmer who was furiously masturbating.
Twilight held up a finger. “Research,” she said.
“I… see,” Adagio said, with the distinct look of One Who Does Not See. “Clarify.”
“Normal people, you see,” Twilight said, adjusting her glasses, “masturbate.”
“Correct.”
“And I, as a normal person—”
Adagio shot Twilight a Look.
“—must therefore also masturbate. But that takes time.” Twilight gestured to the cube. “So I have to be efficient, and to that end, I acquired a specimen to observe and research. To—ahem—document useful techniques.”
“By putting Sunset in a cube. And watching her touch herself.”
“Oh, that’s not Sunset,” Twilight said. “That is an artificial duplicate of Sunset. A clone, if you will.”
Adagio blinked.
“Well, I couldn’t put the real Sunset in a cube. That would be wrong.”
“So you made this one.”
“Yes.”
“Who was… born into slavery, instead of having it thrust upon her.”
“I don’t really like that word. I prefer ‘involuntary subject.’ But yes. This is my source. She was actually how I found out about you in the first place.”
“Do I want to know what she told you?”
Twilight paused and hurried over to a machine on a table. “Well, if you do, I’ve been keeping logs on what she’s thinking while, you know…”
Before Adagio could stop her, Twilight pressed a button and a screen lit up, and information in the form of light and sound thrust itself into Adagio’s unsuspecting, innocent mind.
Adagio, who was the very model of a nubile maiden, swooned, awash in the weight of the despair her checkered past left atop her slender shoulders. “Oh, alas,” she cried out from atop her lonely tower, “the evil magic has tainted me! What a fool I was, to go down such a dark, joyless path!”
She blinked, and suddenly there was a boulder falling from the sky, rank with symbolism and leaving a trail of metaphors in its wake. She shrieked, recoiling in fear from the manifestation of her fears and her past. “No!” she cried out. “I can’t possibly escape my cripplingly checkered history!”
And then Sunset Shimmer roundhouse kicked the bejeezus out of that boulder, and it went flying into the sun and exploded. She landed in a crouch, hair billowing, and as she rose the wind picked up and rustled the leaves of a nearby tree in just the right way to make it blare out a rockin’ power metal song. Like with a lot of things, Sunset didn’t stop to think about how that worked very long, so it was totally kickass and stuff.
And Adagio gasped! “Gasp! Sunset Shimmer!” she cried out, hurrying over to throw her arms around Sunset’s neck and make a big grandiose twirly hug thing. “Of course, I should have known! You moved on from your past, didn’t you?” She locked eyes with Sunset’s, and hers were big and wide a teary and adorasexy. “Do you think you could help me do the same thing?”
Sunset just nodded sagely, because they both knew, deep down, what the answer was—it was getting Adagio to ask it that had really been the point.
“Oh, thank you, Sunset! But there’s just one problem, you see…” Adagio wriggled in place, which meant her breasts got extra-cozy with Sunset’s. “Remnants of my evil magic, they’ve—they’ve—” She wrenched her head away, clapping her hand to her brow “—my breasts are plagued by evil magic, Sunset!”
Sunset nodded again. Everybody knew that, right after the vocal folds, a siren’s breasts were her most magical body part. Kindergarten stuff, really.
“Don’t worry,” she said, reaching with comforting hands for the Dagilicious bosom in front of her, “I know a fancy magic thingy to massage the evil out of you.”
“You would do that?!” Adagio cried. “For me? Even after all I’ve done?”
“Of course,” Sunset said.
Adagio wept with joy, hopped right out of her dress, and then Sunset massaged her breasts until the evil magic inside was expelled—and also she got a fantastic orgasm courtesy of the humungous horsecock dildo Sunset had brought with her—and then they got married and lived happily ever after and lesbianed the heck out of each other all the dang time.
“Question.”
“Yes?”
“Did it ever occur to you that maybe—just possibly—Sunset’s sexual fantasies were not entirely grounded in reality?”
Twilight cocked her head, which almost fell off. “I have to admit, I was a little skeptical after you didn’t do the greeting-twerk Sunset said was custom of sirens, but…”
“And did you not also consider,” Adagio continued, “that it was probably easier for you to drink your soul yourself?”
“Oh, I did,” Twilight said. “I just thought there was a non-zero chance you actually did have magic breasts, and, well…” She realized in that instant the full extent of her crushing, agonizing loneliness and her wretched, miserable failure at being a functional human being.
… But if there’s one thing she learned from her friends, it’s that you could get away with anything as long as you refused to believe it. Look at Sunset—she never said she was smug and sanctimonious, so nobody gave her grief over it.
“So I realize this is sorta awkward, since there’s sort of an implied threat going here since my best friends have the rainbow laser thing, but if it’s not too much trouble…”
“Ugh—fine. But I want to punch you first.”
Twilight imagined a set of scales in her head—on one, Adagio’s boobs, on the other, a fist being shoved in her face.
“That’s fair,” she said.
“In the dick,” Adagio added.
Twilight cocked her head. “But I don’t—”
She glanced down, and poked at herself. “What. When did that—?”
Thwam.
Adagio punched Twilight in the dick—which had sprang into existence so that Adagio might punch it. With its mission complete, it vanished in a puff of dicksmoke but left Twilight doubled over with the spicy painrousal that came from Adagio’s soft, dagilicious hand touching her dick for the briefest of forceful instants. It was surprisingly awesome, sort of like being sucked off by a very passionate sledgehammer. She went like “Wehppuw” and stuff.
“Alright,” Adagio said. “Ready?”
Twilight looked up and shivered. “Actually, do you think you could do that aga—?”
“I could,” Adagio said. She gripped the hem of her shirt. “Bit busy now, though.”
Twilight watched, mesmerized as Adagio stripped off her shirt and discarded her bra.
It was easy to understand, when one gazed upon Adagio’s unbound bosom, why someone might think it was magical. Her breasts were so round and lovely and squeezable and perfect and just omg that looking at them was actually kinda painful. But in a good way. A lot of bad things sounded good when it was Adagio they were coming from. She just had that kind of face. And voice. And—well, the list went on. She was just the sort of thing where your eyes might bleed if you looked at her for too long, but it seemed a fair trade.
So Twilight reached out—
And her shoelaces, a bundle of wires on the floor, and a floodlight across the room all decided she wasn’t worthy. Light blinded her, she tripped, and her face exploded into flecks of charred papery Twilightbits all over Adagio’s boobs.
Adagio groaned. “Took you long enough.”
She looked towards the bottle containing Twilight’s soul and did a long, deep think.
Eventually, she popped the top open and gently poured a little splash of the violet, evil-ish liquid inside onto one of her boobs. She watched for a moment as a Twilight’s soul joined the many others trapped inside her tits, then threw the rest of the bottle at Sunset’s head and walked off humming a chipper tune to herself.
