Your one stop shop for all MLP-related transformation needs. Writefags, lurkers, and drawfags alike are all welcome.
Any type of transformation into or from ponies, dragons, gryphons, minotaurs, changelings, or any other beings from the MLP:FiM universe is fair game.
Previously on PTFG,
CRUNCHTIME & PEER PRESSURE: http://pastebin.com/SLiRMr3v http://pastebin.com/RC8RP70F
A Buggy Holiday & A Strange New Year's Eve: http://pastebin.com/6DT4tXbg http://pastebin.com/qpukKfEz
Adapt and Overcome: http://pastebin.com/5Pks2TTE
A story: http://pastebin.com/6T3TyA2N
Story archive and additional links and materials:
Unrated TF image dump thread:
Below are some suggested writing prompts.
>A pill of questionable legality is now available. Taking one results, over the course of a minute or so, in a complete transformation into a little pony lasting twelve hours. The caveats are twofold: First there is no way to predict in the appearance that will result, pegasus, unicorn or earth pony; stallion or mare. Secondly taking two pills within a day renders the transformation permanent.
>Twilight is giving you a choice: To become a copy of a pony from her world in every sense except for memories and be paired with another anon, or to be said other anon. She has to see how humans react to being ponies and the mating potential of humans and ponies.. you know, for science.
AiE Going Native:
>Somehow anon managed to get stuck in Equestria. It seems that the magic in the world around them is catching up to their mundane body, and in amusing ways. Watch as anon adjusts and makes sense of the new world and soon to be new body.
Official /soc/-type chatter's in #ptfg on irc.rizon.net
It's nicely written. It'll be great when it gets to the ponies and TF stage.
Since you wanted errors pointed out, I believe that shit-eating should be hyphenated.
You could go for precious stones for a subterranean hive's drones, or perhaps go with numerical designations. Short two syllable names made from a consistent pool of syllables can work. Maybe look at stories in the bugpone thread, for ideas on this sort of thing
>You're Fem Nonymous.
>And you've just succeeded in your mission.
>Rhythmic snoring on your back.
>The new drone is asleep.
>And you feel proud.
>You've did quite a good bit of work.
>And she looks marvelous.
>Almost like a Queen, but just a step down.
>This noble changeling, a new cast, a new being.
>Buzzing catches your attention.
>Chrysalis, flying on the horizon.
>Closer and closer to you.
>She lands in front of you.
>You bow and smile.
"I try my best. Did you take care of the others?"
>"Yes, they're under the process as we speak, just to your specifications."
"Thank you! How are we going to bring her back though?" You ask and look at the changeling sleeping on your back.
>"I'll carry her. From what you've captured, we have everything to launch our attack."
"When do we tackle them?"
>"Once the first vehicles roll out. We'll start the war."
>Chrysalis picks up the sleeping changeling g from your back.
>Well, she tries to.
>She clang herself to your chest, not moving an inch.
>"Looks like you've made a bond. Well, you'll be flying with her."
"Yeah. I doubt either of us will be able to wake her up."
>"I expect a report tomorrow. Along with a name for this new kind of a drone."
"Right! Meet you in the throne room."
>Around thirty minutes later, you're sitting in the throne room.
>And your new drone is sleeping on Chrysi's bed.
Very short 'fo today. Too tired and busy.
Pastebin updated: http://pastebin.com/qpukKfEz
May deliver more.
Depends whether I'll have time to do more.
A Story, part II http://pastebin.com/H2cx3jY0
Same as last time, if you see something wrong point it out.
[Spoiler]unfortunately still no pony, but next chapter...there is guaranteed pony.[/spoiler]
Nice. Looking forward to more and ponies.
>I was sure that I could have booked it out of there before the horseshoe rusted away, but what I be? Alone. More alonely than I was when I entered this building.
>but what I be?
/r/ing a story or art work where anon gets turned into a little filly and when he finally gets turned back into a human he is stuck as a female.
I like that idea (and picture) a whole lot. Especially if something like pic related were involved.
For the next five minutes anyone you touch will become a pony.
What do you do?
Counter question. Everyone you touch in the next five minutes will become a catbutt, feather fluff front. What do you do?
I may not have asked for it, but I certainly wanted it. Your thousands of hours in Paint are well appreciated.
>Gain the ability to fly.
>None of the downsides associated with having hooves in a world built for hands.
That power I would use on myself. Then I'd step outside to try flight and to look for anyone who might benefit from a similar transformation. Or unwilling victims.
>That's all you could hear right now
>The horrible scratching sound that resounded around the stone walls that confined you to this miserable fate
>You were hardly fed
>Mere scraps of meat and some sort of vegetable were all that was keeping you alive
>As well as some kind of viscious, horribly sweet liquid
>What's worse is that you feel like you've been developing some kind of rash on your chest
>You lift down your moldy and damp shirt to scratch at the odd development that has been spreading its way across your body for the last few weeks
>You could barely see anything in this dimly lit cell, but you could swear that your flesh wasn't supposed to be so... Black.
>It was horrible, your cracked fingernails scratching at your dirty flesh, skin peeling off to reveal some kind of dark mass just underneath, and there was no pain to accompany it
>A horrid smell, and a disgusting "squelch" was all that signaled your brain that your skin had peeled off
>There was no blood, and as you lifted your dirty and shaking hand to watch the partially rotted flesh cling to your fingernails you panicked
>You panicked as it fell to the floor
>You panicked as your feet fucking itched
>They've been numb all of yesterday and today, but you couldn't have been bothered to pull off your mud-caked steel toed boots to check the state of them
>No doubt they would have been chafed from being stuck in those boots, but this damp, dark, musty cell has been occupying your thoughts, and you figured that if you were stuck here there would be no point in pulling off the damn things
>The scratching noise at the far end of the cell persisted, as if egging you on to tug off your shoddy footwear and to check the current health of your feet
>Your fingernails idly worked their way across your chest, peeling away at your mottled flesh, more of the black mass coming to light
>It felt odd.
>It was hard, and shiny, and oh so very smooth
>Too damn smooth
>You shook your head and slapped your face, but didn't feel anything as you tried to pull yourself back together into a semi-coherent state
>No feeling in your face
>Something felt very wrong, but yet you couldn't feel anything on your face
>You couldn't feel your skin at least, but you could feel what was underneath your disgusting caucasian flesh
>It was maddening, feeling something underneath your skin
>Hell, your entire face just felt... Wrong.
>It moved your twisted hands, if they could even be called that, up to your face, and began to itch
>The scratching noise from across the cell happily started up at the same time as you, and you just scratched and itched and peeled at the flesh on your face until you could've sworn that something was different about your nose
>It was there, it just wasn't much of a nose, more like a... Snout, or muzzle.
>Yeah, that's it.
>It was a hard, black, shiny snout sticking right out of your face!
>You laughed, and you panicked, and you scratched
>The holes in your 'arms' didn't even matter
>It didn't even matter that your entire body felt WRONG, nor did it matter that you felt shorter
>Your hair had long since fallen out, giving way for a fin on the back of your head, and your ears had becoming almost tubular
>You knew you were no longer human, but you didn't know what you were now either
>You haven't had hands in a good long while, and that horribly sweet liquid is all they fed you now
>It wasn't horrible at all, it was quite a tasty nectar.
>You picked up the latest cup with both of your black 'hooves' and eagerly drank
>You placed the cup back down by the door from which it came from, and sat back against the cool stone walls of the cell
>You could see much better now, and your field of view had increased
>There was another wall on the other side of the cell
>There was nobody there
>Stuff just disappearing, but you've been here for weeks, and been stuck in your new... Bug-like horse form for a while now
>The cell was quite comfortable now, its' confining walls and damp space soothing to your new form
>But you desired something else
>You desired company
>And then it clicked
>The scratching sound was you, just idly plucking away at your slowly decaying and horrible flesh until no more of it remained
>It didn't bother you, and you expected yourself to have gone nutso bonkers insane by now
>But you were quite okay with this
>Yet you still desired company
>As you curled up on the stone floor of your cell, you heard a voice, clear as day, but not from the outside world
>"Hello there little one."
>The voice chuckled
>"Your queen is here to help."
It's pretty simple. Transformation should be involved (or characters post-transformation) and ponies should be involved (or other creatures from that universe). Usually that means human turning into pony (or sometimes changeling, gryphon, dragon, etc).
The only other thing you need to know is that the knee does not go backwards.
Bug pone tf of course. Letting into a hive mind, but as part of it and fully embraced, all while being able to act and think independently in some sense. Coming to terms with the urge to follow the hive, the genetic need to give in.
Thanks, I feel like a star.
I don't want to judge you out loud. So I'll just silently judge you from here.
Guess I'm fired then.
>You felt your tail being pushed aside, you blushed and bit your lip.
>Had to do it sooner or later though, and Tammy would do a better job cleaning you than you could do cleaning yourself.
>”But I’ll keep it between the two of us, if you want.”
>All of a sudden you felt the cold wet wipe on your snatch, wiping away all the mess you’d made earlier.
>You shivered, cold jolts shot up and down your spine.
>It was hard not to clamp your tail back down.
>You peeked over your back, at Tammy.
>He smiled mischievously, still rubbing your nethers with that wet wipe while he hummed a little tune.
>”No problem ‘Nonny.”
>You looked away, back to staring straight ahead at the wall.
>The cold was starting to fade now, with the wipe pressed against you like that.
>It was starting to…
>Heat up again.
“Ummmm Tam. I think you got it all-AH… C-c-cleaned up…”
>”Oh, I was just thinking it needed a real DEEP cleaning, myself.”
>Before you could ask just what that was supposed to mean, you felt a weight on your back.
>Tammy’s hooves were up by your shoulders.
“TAMMY HOLY SHhmMmmMGM.”
>He’d stuffed a hoof in your mouth before you could finish, tutting just like you had before.
>”Come on now, ‘Nonny, Chad’ll hear you.”
>You could feel Tammy’s cock against your belly, twitching and bobbing around as he positioned himself on your back.
>Tammy rolled his eyes and backed his hips up a little, still muffling your speech.
>His flare slid slowly up along your tummy, before flicking up to press gently against your pussy.
>You shook your head and got Tammy’s hoof out of your mouth, then you whispered furiously back at him.
“Tammy I don’t want to fuck-AH!”
>Tammy had shuffled ahead a little, his cock pushing apart your lower lips slightly.
>Just the thought of having that whole length inside of you, filling you up.
>Making you whole.
>Why don’t we just let it happen huh?
>What’s the worst that co-
>I. DO. NOT. WANT. TO.
>You moved your rear to the side, getting your pussy out of the way of Tammy’s dick.
>Tammy snorted and frowned.
>”C’mon ‘Nonny. What’s wrong?”
>INITIATE DIVE ROLL.
>You did just that, dive rolling your way out from underneath Tammy and straight into the shelf beside you.
>Cleaning supplies rained down around you as you kicked them around trying to get as far away from Tammy.
>As far away as possible.
“NOTHING WRONG AT ALL TAM WHAT WOULD MAKE YOU THINK THAT.”
>Tammy sat down, his cock shrinking back into its sheath as he spoke, concerned.
>”Well you did an action-“
>You pressed yourself back against the wall as much as you could, gradually moving yourself along it towards the door out.
>Perking a brow, Tammy continued.
>”Dive roll, away from me. I get it, you don’t want to go all the way with me, that’s ok. Just relax? ‘Kay?”
>Tammy was smiling again, and he tossed you another wink.
>”HOW FUCKING LONG ARE YOU TWO LITTLE HORSES GOING TO BE IN THERE FOR? I JUST WANT TO EAT A FUCKING BURGER GODDAMN IT.”
>The both of you laughed a little there, hearing Chad again.
>You blushed and giggled, breaths and heartbeats slowing back down again.
“Sorry ‘Tam. You just, heh, I dunno you just scared me was all.”
>Standing up, Tammy looked concerned again, he walked over to you and set a hoof on your shoulder.
>”Heck, I should be sorry then ‘Non. I just wanted to be playful about it was all, I didn’t want to scare you. You know I’d never want to do anything to hurt you, right?”
“Yeah I know. Just this whole estrous thing is getting to me, I seriously hope this shit cuts out. And soon.”
>Tammy chuckled and stood up.
>”I kind of figured. So who are you really saving yourself for anyway? Chad?”
>Back to backing your way up to the door and hopefully out of this conversation again, you could swear most of the blood in your body was currently situated in your face.
>Tammy’s face slowly lit up, like turning the burner up on a propane stove.
>His grin spread all across his face and he jumped up in the air, yelling.
>”Ha! It is him isn’t it! I knew it! After seeing all those pictures and the way he talked and acted around you and-“
>Tammy was practically jumping for joy, determined smile set on his face as he trotted circles in front of you, gesturing wildly and tossing his mane around.
“Tammy no I’m not! There’s no fucking way, not Chad, not ever man that’s t-totally… W-weird and not-“
>”ARE YOU YELLING ABOUT ME. STOP YELLING ABOUT ME.”
“FUCK OFF CHAD. I’M BUSY HAVING A STROKE HERE.”
>You were officially pissed.
>Tammy still had that goddamn grin plastered on his muzzle as he moved up to you, poking your chest with a hoof.
>”It’s Chad. It is so TOTALLY Chad. Dang Anon I-“
“IT IS NOT CHAD.”
>”WHAT ISN’T ME? AM I STILL ME?”
Write about a man and a woman who both turn into bug horses in the middle of doing their taxes. The man is a highly successful retired Wall Street Banker turned tv sensation and the wife is a tv talk show personality and together they do the morning news along with other tv programs.
That's all for now. G'night PTFG.
More cute and cuddly snugglebug is always acceptable.
sorry couldnt get your reply from last thread
no specific pony, just a tf that ended up having hooves and muzzle.
did this later on that day as well, nondescript zebra. you can see as I started to doodle more heads, the drawing gets progressively less bland.
Alright, here goes...
>Tick tick tick
>The hands of the clock on your wall inch forward slowly, making painfully little progress.
>Work sucks. Even when you were younger, you figured you probably didn't have much to look forward to. Little did you know of course, just how soul sucking it could really be.
>Reading reports, writing reports, scrutinizing memos for every little detail. Doing your job, doing your boss's job. Day in, day out, sifting through each passive aggressive email from your boss just so you could figure out what you had done wrong this time. All so you could just barely afford to put a roof over your head and have something to eat most of the time.
>Ten minutes to go, you only had to hold out a little while-
>“Hey bud, couple of the guys were gonna stop by the bar after work, wondering if you wanted to come along? Game's canceled but at least the bar is still open... probably.”
>It was the usual invitation from one of your coworkers. He was friendly enough but you honestly just didn't feel up to it, you hadn't really since you'd started work here.
“Sorry man, I'm still just getting over this cold, the last thing I need is a hangover on top of it.”
>It wasn't exactly a lie, you'd been feeling like shit since before Christmas. It was the flu, it always got you this time of the year. Get sick just in time for the holidays, don't get better until after New Years, keep feeling like shit for at least a couple weeks after.
>”Alright, no worries then. Just stay safe out there, highway is still shut down and I heard there's supposed to be a curfew tonight.”
>Curfew? What was this? High school?
>It's true that the highway had been shut down since New Year's Day, and that was a week ago. There had been a heavy snowstorm that morning, dumping a little over a foot of snow all over the state. Normally this wouldn't have meant much, snow plows would have had everything cleared by the afternoon, but the whole state was on high alert. Some sort of terror threat or something.
>Highway shut down, half the city shut down, shitty job still open.
>Still, if there was going to be a curfew that seemed to imply that things were getting worse, not better.
>You begin to turn towards him to offer a half-assed smile and thank him for the thought...
>...and fuck, there goes your coworker, you must have been sitting there lost in thought like a retard again, why does he even put up with you anyway?
>Tick... tick... tick...
>You scan through the channels on your radio. Your favorite station has been off the air all week, it seems that all you've got to choose from is country, oldies, and the emergency broadcast service. Lovely.
>You're confined to taking the back-roads to and from work which, in addition to the snow, has been adding almost an hour to your daily commute. At least traffic has been light.
>Not that it even really matters, it's not like you really do anything outside of work but waste time anyway.
>You were being negative again, at the very least you had a home to head back to. Times had been tough the last few years, and there were times when that hadn't been such a sure thing.
>The holiday season generally did this to you. And the flu. Screw holidays, in general.
>You pull up to your apartment to find no open parking spaces, as usual. By the time you find a space it's dark. There's a light flurry of snow in the air but as much as your mood sucks, you can't help but enjoy the sight of the tiny flakes silhouetted against the street lights. At least that's one nice thing.
>Five minutes of walking finally gets you to your door. It also gets you damp shoes and damp pant cuffs. Going inside, you quickly change into something a little more dry, and comfortable, and warm.
>Sweat pants and a hoodie, the definition of style.
>Your apartment is, unfortunately, as cold as the outdoors. You can afford to put food on your table or the heater, not both. Speaking of food though you're in luck, you've still got some leftover pizza from last night.
>You walk past the sad excuse for a Christmas tree on your table that you'd bought to “get into the holiday spirit”. It's really more of a Christmas shrub. You couldn't even motivate yourself to decorate it properly, save for the six little pony ornaments hanging from the branches.
>It's tacky, but it brings a brief smile to your face. You know the thing should have gone in the dumpster by now, but you still haven't gotten around to it.
>Reaching the fridge, you throw a couple slices of cold pizza on a plate and walk over to your computer, checking your library of games for something to kill some time.
>Nope, nope, and nope.
>Almost two hundred games and you can say absolutely that you have no interest in any of them right now.
>You finish your pizza and brush your teeth before dragging yourself to your bedroom.
>You collapse on your bed, rolling on your side and slowly drifting off to sleep.
>A white coat and motherly tone, levitating a warm scarf around your neck.
>A pink, grinning snout, bubbling with joy and energy, offering you something warm to sip.
>Yellow fur and long pink hair, meekly conducting a chorus of chirps and whistles.
>Blue wings, zipping back and forth, hanging red and blue lights.
>Lavender with stripes, speaking to the crowd with clear and firm diction, “...please remain calm...”
>Orange and strong, bucking down a pine tree in the distance, the sound so far away.
>Tick........ tick........... THUMP THUMP THUMP
>You wake with a start, the sound of sirens clearly audible amidst panicked yells.
>It's like there's a light show outside your window.
>THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP
>”THIS IS THE POLICE! OPEN YOUR DOOR AND STEP OUTSIDE!”
>You jolt out of bed, your heart racing. Something is clearly wrong, very fucking wrong.
>You half-dash half-tip-toe to your window, raising a single blind to peek out.
>You count no less than six police cars outside, and even more ominously, several humvees, trucks, and what look like armored vans.
>You can see some of your neighbors being escorted around, most of them being herded onto the trucks.
>BANG BANG CRASH
>Was that your front door?
>Your bedroom door flies open and three men in fatigues pour in, two with guns drawn.
>Yep, that was your front door, but that doesn't look like the police.
>”ARE YOU THE ONLY RESIDENT IN THIS UNIT?”
>The man is standing just a few feet in front of you, rifle pointed straight at your chest.
>You're honestly about to piss yourself.
“I-I errr... w-wh-wha... I... y-yes?”
>Good job brain, now they're probably going to put you down for being retarded.
>Behind the other two you see the third man speaking into a radio.
>”DISPATCH, WE'VE GOT ONE RESIDENT, TARGET DEMOGRAPHIC, ON OUR WAY DOWN TO YOU”.
>That sounds... you don't really know what to make of that. At the very least they aren't shooting you.
>The third man steps forward, grabs you by the shoulder, and starts dragging you outside.
>You're still a little too jolted and confused to complain about the treatment, but you certainly notice that they aren't giving you time to put on your shoes.
>Your feet touch the frosty ground. Your toes start to burn from the cold almost instantly as you begin to trudge through the snow.
>Your mind swims with worry and fear. Should you be resisting? You have rights, don't you? Despite the panic, you decide now probably isn't the best time to complain about getting a lawyer.
>You're lead towards the parade of flashing lights and vehicles, straight to another woman in fatigues standing in front of an armored van. She happens to be flanked by two figures in white hazmat suits.
>The soldier who has been dragging you along shoves you forward and you catch yourself before you fall into the woman. She presses her hand against your chest to stop you from falling any farther forward, then reaches upward and grasps the bottom of your chin. Shining a flashlight to your face and tilting your head left and right.
>”Open your mouth.”
>You comply, still worried that at any second you could wind up full of holes.
>She angles the beam down your throat, takes a cursory look inside, then presses your jaw upward, closing your mouth for you.
>”Looks okay, stick him and sedate him.”
>Those were not good words.
>Those were very, very not good words.
>The two figures in hazmat suits close in from both sides as the soldier behind you grabs your arms and pins them behind your back, deftly slipping a zip tie around your wrists and tightening it before you can react.
>The figure on your right raises what could only be an injector with a frighteningly large needle to your neck.
>You stare at the woman in front of you, wide-eyed in horror as she holds her hand against your forehead, bracing you in place.
>There's a sharp sting in your neck, then a hissing sound.
>It feels like fire surging down your neck, into your chest, out your arms and down your legs.
>It burns like nothing you've ever felt before in your life.
>You barely notice the second needle being pressed against the other side of your neck.
>You scream out in pain.
>You thrash against the man holding you, desperately trying to break his grip.
>You can't break free, your chest is on fire, you're already beginning to feel light headed.
>You struggle in vain, yanking your arms apart, trying to snap the tie off.
>You cry out, your voice fading to a moan as your body goes limp.
>You can feel them lifting you into the van.
>The last thing you perceive is the sound of the rear doors slamming shut.
That sounds adorable. I can just imagine a bunch of drones playing around in little snow suits, the kind you'd put on a toddler, all puffy and stuff. All the while the queen is in a gorgeous winter ensemble trying to get them all organized and into pairs to get on the ski lifts.
I think I might just write that actually.
>Taking such low quality bait
Is this the stage we're at? The general is so full of insecure faggots that they need to show their elitism by pointing out typos?
Kinda disappointed, /ptfg/.
>Taking such low quality bait
>Responding to an intentionally irrational grammatical correction
All I want to do is piss off the stupid Anon, Anon, and it seems to be working. Let me have this.
if the people I touch became unwilling conscripts into my pony/griffon band of thralls, then i'd touch absolutely anybody I could capture.
pic semi related
>Thanks I feel like a star.
You're fucking dead to me.
>You're Fem Nonymous.
>A day passed since you're successful mission.
>You're resting your front hooves against the sill of the throne room window, standing on your hind legs.
>And breathing out clouds of cigarette smoke.
>The cigarette floats in front of you in a green mist.
>And next to you, standing Brenadotte.
>She's still freaking out, every now and then.
>But she's adjusted, quite well.
>And she has taken the role of your personal guard amazingly well.
>"Damn, I can't belive all of this happened."
"You and your men are doing great. Well, women now."
>And the fact that you've implanted blind loyalty into them, proves to be quite useful.
>"You know, I'm not really sure. Why are we doing this?"
>"Ah, no. This war. This war of yours, why are we slaughtering men?"
"This war of mine, you ask?"
>You look at Bernadette
>The cigarette between the lips of your mouth, the filter scarred by fangs.
>She looks at you.
"It's either us, or them. I doubt they'll let us be. I doubt humanity is able to coexist with anything, including itself. They'll kill their enemies, their own subjects, even themselves. They'll keep on destroying until there's nothing else. And it still won't be enough."
>"Chrysalis told you that, my Queen Nequira?"
"No. I see beyond things, unbound from the petty things as humanity. The humans will destroy themselves. And the only thing we can do to stop them is destroying them. Quite paradoxical, is it not?"
>"Preserving humanity and nature by destruction. As paradoxical as we can get."
Well. I wound up writing it. Here's the pastebin for everyone, it doesn't have any transformation in it so it wouldn't really be right to post it all here.
This. Pastebin of her story is up in the OP, under Crunchtime and Peer Pressure. She's a mare with blue eyes, a blond mane and tail, white fur and a cutie mark of a broken keyboard.
I'll do my best.
I meant to post earlier as well, but I've been getting connection errors all day.
>The night sky looms over you.
>The stars seem to sparkle and pulse, weaving patterns across the heavens.
>You're floating... no... you seem to be flying.
>The air is frosty, but the cold on your body doesn't bother you. In fact, it feels nothing but refreshing.
>Speaking of nothing, no matter how much you try to move you can't seem to see your body.
>You mange to look down. You're passing over ombre hills of green grass, the landscape pocked with lakes of crystal water, glimmering beneath the stars.
>Snow-capped mountains rise in the distance, standing like silent guardians over the landscape.
>This is absolutely breathtaking. At least, it would be if you were breathing. Shouldn't you be breathing?
>Nope, it seems like the sky is doing that for you. The whole thing seems to be expanding and contracting, moving the heavens along with it.
>All except for one star, shining brightly, immobile, directly in front of you. A single stable point amidst the undulating light show above.
>The one you're headed straight toward.
>If you're not breathing, are you dead?
>How did you die?
>You were in your home.
>A bright crack shoots across your field of vision, arcing like lightning.
>A sharp pain in your neck, a burning throughout your body. People around you, grabbing you, pulling you.
>You have a body.
>The whole world is shaking now, an earthquake?
>No it's thumping, it's thumping in you, around you.
>That's your heart.
>You're not dead, not yet at least.
>More bright cracks, propagating through out your field of vision, covering the sky, the landscape, tearing it apart, tearing you away...
>You gasp for air, your body convulsing.
>Everything around you is bright, blindingly so. Your heart hammers on in your chest, it's the only thing you can hear.
>Everything is painfully sharp, you can just make out the murmurs of human voices and the bleached outlines of figures around you.
>You're sitting in a chair, tilted slightly back, leather straps holding you in place. They're around your arms, your legs, your chest, your neck, even your forehead.
>You're having a hard time breathing, it's like your throat is closing up. You're gasping and wheezing for air.
>Your body feels hot, too hot.
>You look down at your hands, trying to grasp at the arms of your chair. Your fingers don't respond, they don't look right.
>It's almost like they're bubbling. They look lumpy, like your hands are swelling unevenly.
>Everything feels numb, it feels wrong. Your entire body feels like it's vibrating.
>”...reaction... not unusual.... others... keep monitored...”
>The figures around you are becoming a little clearer, their words becoming discernible.
>There are IVs in your arm, on your hand. You hear the rhythmic beep of a heart monitor, but it's not the only one.
>The strap around your forehead allows you a little leeway. Your body is sluggish to respond, but you manage to tilt your neck a little to your left.
>There's another chair, one beside it, behind it, in front of it.
>The room is full of these chairs, you can see at least eight just in your limited field of view.
>There's a person strapped to each chair, unconscious.
>They all look roughly the same age, teens to late twenties.
>They're all male.
>Their bodies look strange. Almost like your hand, swollen, bumpy.
>”...New York, DC, all the same... no contact...”
>There's a shifting sound in front of you. Your chair rumbles a little as someone leans over it.
>You turn your head to face whoever it is, only to be met with a clear mask and the sound of rushing air.
>”Easy there fella, back to sleep...”
>Light and dark, then light again.
>You were in a chair, then a bed, then moving.
>The world is rushing around you, too fast to interpret.
>Sometimes there are people. Poking, prodding, examining, they move you about, yet you feel nothing.
>A van, a building.
>You have no idea how long it lasts for, the sense of nothingness, emptiness.
>Then it stops.
>You're spinning. There's nothing around you, but you know that you must be spinning.
>There's a sound in your ears, a vibrating, as if someone struck you in the temple with a tuning fork and waved it around your head in circles.
>The spinning is starting to make you nauseous.
>There's a snapping sound, the entire world is bright.
>A floor, walls, a ceiling, all very close.
>Your body jolts and you roll to your side. Vertigo keeps you from doing much except falling limp. As you do so, there's a sharp pain in your back.
>Someone else must have just screamed out in pain, that wasn't your voice.
>That couldn't possibly have been your voice.
>It was high pitched, shrill.
>You aren't given much time to ponder over it, something else is happening.
>You hear the sound of a lock unlatching and the creak of a door swinging open.
>You turn your head to face the sound, an odd pink blob in front of your face moves with you.
>It looks like a mask of some kind, covering your mouth.
>You're staring out of your room at the upper torsos and faces of a man and a woman, both wearing white lab coats.
>You must be lying down, and elevated, your room seems more like a small box.
>They each carry a clipboard and pen, staring at you with a general indifference.
>”N dash one one two”
>The woman's voice is cold, uncaring. She jots something down on her clipboard.
>”Presence of cranial attachment growth negative. Positive for humerus, ulna, radius, carpus, metacarpus, and digits. Fully formed. Proper position, no visible defects.”
>The man sighs, his voice is deep, his speech slow and methodical. He's staring at you with only the vague hint of annoyance and contempt visible.
>”So, another failure then? You would have thought the men upstairs would have had a better system worked out beforehand. Standard procedure for these is still market, correct?”
>The woman nods. They both scribble on their clipboards.
>Your head is still swimming, but you've managed to regain at least some of your faculties.
>You're not sure what's happened to you, but you know that you want out. You want to get away from these people. Your pulse is pounding in your ears. You're afraid.
>You want to go home.
>You open your mouth to speak...
>...just as the door to your room is slammed shut.
>You hear the latch click, locking it in place.
>The lights flip off. You're surrounded by darkness again, with the exception of a dull light filtering in through a tiny window near the top of your door.
>You try to move yourself closer, you want to look out the window, you want to figure out where you are.
>Your limbs aren't responding, at least not in any way that you'd expect them to. You can't get any leverage with your feet or hands and you can't move your digits. They must still be swollen.
>You manage push yourself forward, wiggling your torso and flopping your legs.
>You get to the window, slamming that pink mask on your face into it.
>It hurts and you let out a yelp.
>It's high pitched.
>Your throat must be swollen too.
>But you're breathing just fine.
>What the hell is on your face?
>Don't think about it, just find a way out.
>You turn your head to get the mask out of the way, pressing the side of your face against the glass.
>You're looking at a narrow hallway, an array of low intensity lights lining it.
>Across from you sit more doors like yours, two rows high, spanning the length of the hallway.
>There are dozens of them.
>It looks like a kennel.
Thank you! I'll do my best to update regularly. Hopefully at least a couple posts worth a day.
Also, if you have any comments or suggestions I'd love to hear them. I'm quite new at this so any pointers or critiques would be appreciated.
>Tammy giggled and hollered back.
>”Yes Chad you’re still you!”
“Tammy shut the FUCK up.”
>Rolling his eyes, ears flicking around, Tammy walked right past you and opened the door.
>”Fine, but I’m not dropping this. Nuh uh.”
>He pointed up at a very befuddled and still somewhat angry Chad.
>You noted that he was stuffing Tammy’s clothes and things into the backpack he’d left with him.
>All the while, Tammy waved his hooves around mysteriously at you
>”It is your destiny Anonymous, oOoOoOoO…”
>Then Tammy proceeded to 360 moonwalk out of there.
>”Anon what THE FUCK-“
>Chad threw his hands up in confusion and frustration, then strode angrily after the moonwalking Tammy, straight into the press of the food court.
>How the fuck was Tammy even doing that anyway?
>It’s not like he’d ever been good at dancing or anything.
>You sighed and blew your mane out of your eyes before pressing on after them.
>”Wow look at that! Two ponies!”
>You’d forgotten about the crowds.
>You stared around, still following Tammy and Chad through the court.
>Again, seems you’d gotten lucky today, or people were just starting to get used to little talking horses.
>Because you weren’t getting swarmed.
>There were some pictures sure, and a few people were hollering out random questions about your personal life.
>But this was no Uni Atrium Panic Situation, thank fuck.
>”So where did you want to eat anyway?”
>Chad’s looking over his shoulder at you as he strides easily through the crowd, pretty much cutting out a path for you.
>He’s calmed down now, a little surly, but not hollering at least.
>You think for a moment.
>What would be best?
>Salad I guess.
>I mean, you’re a horse after all.
>Meat isn’t really on the top of the menu for you anymore, in fact, you don’t quite feel the same thinking about it now.
>Before, you’d start salivating at just the suggestion of steak, now there was hardly even a reaction.
”I’m… Huh. I don’t really want any meat. Not that I’d be adverse to it, I just don’t care, I guess.”
>”That sounds pretty normal. You’re an herbivore now after all. I’d recommend the salad bar, but I’ve seen security guards wearing mason rings walk past it a couple times before. Not really worth the risk.”
>You rolled your eyes.
>Chad seemed to be expecting that, he raised a finger.
>”ALSO, the salad there tastes like shit anyway. There’s an independent stand that’s way better, I know the guy who runs it. A vegan, but otherwise harmless.”
“Sounds good then, masonry paranoia crap aside.”
>Chad shrugs, casually.
>And then he shoved a pasty emo kid trying to get an autograph out of the way, casually.
>”Tammy! Get back here, we’re going to the salad joint.”
>Tammy quit his moonwalking and trotted back over to you and Chad.
>The three of you cut across the food court, taking a hard left to the stands on the edges.
>Chad does his usual, intimidating or pushing away anyone stupid enough to try and block you and Tammy off.
>Tammy pranced along happily beside you, like he’d always been a pony, and not just started being one about ten to fifteen minutes ago.
>It felt comforting actually, like status quo had been returned.
>You couldn’t help but smile, you hardly even objected when Tammy tossed in quick nuzzles every now and then.
>Maybe you’d developed something of a herd mentality.
>Hard tile beneath your hooves, the sound of your hooves clip clopping and the white noise of the crowd around you, accompanied every now and then by the cry of a particularly harried pedestrian and Chad’s generally vulgar rebuttal.
>Your ears caught it all, turning hither and thither at each sound.
>The smell was pretty strong too, you could pick out pretty much every individual restaurant and food stand.
>From the sketchy kebab place by the corridor you’d come out of, all the way down to the poutine the fat little twelve year old a few feet away from you was eating.
>Finally the three of you broke through the crowd, into the outskirts of the food court.
>The Salad Joint was before you.
>The stand was shaped like a white porcelain vinaigrette bowl, with all of the different orders of salads plastered over its sides.
>It had its own sign, stood up on twin wood pillars, a big fat joint with leaves of lettuce and tomatoes sticking out of one end.
>The words “Salad Joint” were etched in big bold green lettering across either side of it.
“It’s… Actually called the Salad Joint?”
>Tammy giggled, snatching his wallet from Chad and stepping up to order.
>”Haven’t you seen it before ‘Non?”
>Chad nodded matter of factly, digging your wallet out of his jeans pocket.
>”Here, you dropped this in the elevator.”
>Your brows shot up in surprise.
“Oh. Thanks bro.”
>You mouthed it and got in line behind Tammy.
>He’d hopped up on his hind legs, setting his fore hooves up on the counter to face the employee behind it.
>”I’ll get my regular.”
>Never before have you seen a more nervous cashier, not since that one time you’d been around for a gas station robbery.
>Hell, at least that guy knew exactly what to do.
>”Uhhhh, I’ve um… I’ve never served you before.”
>Tammy chuckled and shook his head, drawing out the awkward tension.
>”Oh shoot. I suppose you haven’t. Just get me a spinach with tomatoes and mushrooms.”
>The cashier nodded, handing the order over to the salad tosser.
>The both of them took about four double takes a piece, staring at you and Tammy like the both of you might just explode at any given moment.
>Once the salad was finished, the cashier handed it over to Tammy in a little plastic platter.
>”Here you are, uhhh… Sir, that’ll be six twenty five.”
>Tammy laughed again and mouthed the cash out of her wallet, then he picked up the platter with his mouth.
>”No, um, problem. You want a fork for that?”
>”Nfhaw, mf gud.”
>Tammy got out of your way, sitting down beside Chad while you ordered.
>You stepped up and onto your hind legs, setting your fore hooves up on the counter just like Tammy had.
>The cashier stared at you silently, obviously trying his hardest not to comment on the fact that you were a horse.
>Maybe you should try to make things a little less awkward or something…?
>You smiled and pointed up at the “Salad Joint” joint shaped sign.
“Must have been hell keeping that up there, Chad tells me you’re a vegan.”
>You have managed to double the awkwardness and confuse the cashier even more.
>”I… Have no idea who Chad is… Tom, the owner, is a vegan though.”
>The cashier sighed, painfully slowly, taking his time as though he were silently judging you the whole time he did it.
>Yeah that look said it all: “I am in a conversation with a braindead spaghetti sperg.”
>”What would you like from the Salad Joint today ma’am?”
Bed. Sleep. See you tommorow PTFG. Stay pretty, stay mare.
No real criticisms that I can really give you. Your writing is excellent, very descriptive and fairly strong. I guess I COULD say that it lacks some voice to it, like a very distinguishing tone to give it more flavour. But that'd be really picky. Keep it up.
>Tanks, boats and airships.
>Weapons, armour and ammunition.
>And you have a lot of soldiers.
>And none of you care how many millions and billions of men try to stop you.
>No one can stop the impending storm.
>You're standing upon the command deck of the main Zeppelin.
>And next to you Bernadotte.
>She's standing proudly, beaming with anticipation.
>The day D is upon us.
>The sun is setting, and once it sets, you and every single drone in the collective will wreck massive havoc.
>You and the armies.
>Hooves clap behind you.
>"Welcome, to this eve. For we start our conquest! This is a command from your Queen! We shall cross the ocean, fight the human scum and emerge victorious!"
>Cheering resonates through the airship.
>"Let's move now, on the double!"
>The drones turn to the controls.
>The sky begins to slowly zip past.
>Speedboats, and smaller ships lead the charge.
>Airships, armed to the teeth, loaded with ammo.
>Speeding onwards, to the mainland, toward the glorious battlefield that awaits you.
>"And so, the sealion crosses the ocean, and climbs atop the hill." Brenadotte says with a smirk.
>The mainland is a hour of flight away.
>But no one leaves, everyone is pushed to the windows.
>Pushed to the windows, watching with anticipation, awaiting to see the lights of the cities.
>To see the lights, lights that'll announce your death march.
>You're coming for them!
Pastebin updated. http://pastebin.com/ZfsJBPrV
The drones learnt how to ski, currently on course to hotel takeover.
I don't see how he was RPing there. And he never mentioned that he believed in the stories.
>Anon gets turned into a cow.
>"Wow Anon, looks like you're really MOOving up in the world."
"Oh haha Rainbow Dash, real funny. Twilight just turn me back already."
>"I know darling, just ignore Rainbow Dash, she's being 'udderly' ridiculous."
>You growl furiously.
>"Hey Anon, chill out, I don't have any, 'beef' with you, haha!"
>"Y'all need to cut it out! Besides, we're kind of 'milking' these jokes a bit don'tcha think?"
"Twilight, please, this is torture.."
>"Calm down Anon, don't 'have a cow'."
>Everyone is laughing at you.
"Come on guys, enough is enough."
>"Anon's right, we really should put these jokes, 'out to pasture'!"
Shamelessly stolen from a dead thread.
If she can turn my reflection into a mare then she has my vote.
>Despite everything, it felt real weird being called that.
>You nearly corrected him, the word “sir” got about halfway up before you stopped.
>Sighing, you pressed your fore hoof to your cheek and lazily leaned your head against it while you scanned the various different veggies the place had.
>You didn’t know it, but your tail was swiping back and forth as you stared.
>Huh, they had a few different cheeses too.
>You got off your hoof and pointed out each ingredient in turn.
“Oak Leaf lettuce, chopped carrots, feta cheese, slivered almonds. Toss some vinaigrette on there.”
>Nodding, you started to mouth some cash out of your wallet.
“Yeah. Some olive oil too please.”
>Chad’s food choices had rubbed off on you years ago.
>The guy putting the salads together got to it, lettuce was tossed into the plastic tray, carrots and almonds sprinkled in along with the feta.
>He got a little fancy come the vinaigrette and olive oil, twirling the bottles around before pouring them simultaneously.
>One last shuffle of it all and it was done.
>The cashier tapped a few buttons on his register.
>”That’ll be nine sixty five.”
>You gave him a ten and let him keep the change.
>Taking the plastic tray in your mouth, you lowered yourself off the counter and back on all fours
>”No problem ma’am, enjoy.”
>You turned around and trotted back to Chad, he had just got done texting something on his phone.
>His hand twitched a little when it went back to his side, like he wanted to pull a cig out of his pack.
“Fyah. Fhu nomf gomha foohrder anyfing?”
>Chad smiled a little and shook his head, chuckling as he walked back towards the center of the food court.
>You and Tammy both fell in behind him.
“Wfat r hu faffing fat?”
>Tammy seemed curious too, head tilting side to side as he smiled, bemused.
>”Sorry. It’s just… I dunno, its cute is all, two little horses carrying salad trays together like you are. I got Thot to order me some food while me and Tammy were waiting for you outside the bathroom.”
>You held your laughter.
>Instead you trotted up to Chad and ran your side against his leg as you made a pass.
“Awwww, foo crufhingk hagan?”
>You tossed him a wink and smacked his shin with your tail to boot.
>”Feah, fare hou cufhing?”
>Tammy joined in too, rubbing up alongside Chad’s legs.
>Blushing furiously and cussing away under his breath, Chad finally dug out that cigarette he was obviously craving.
>He lit it and got a few drags off before…
>”Hey, this is a no smoking zone.”
>You, Chad and Tammy all came to a dead stop.
>The three of you turned as one to stare at the guy who’d spoken up.
>Big steel toe boots, faded blue jeans, black leather belt.
>The man had a white t shirt with a red flannel shirt overtop, both tucked into his jeans.
>About six foot seven, muscled and moustached with close cut black (and somewhat greying) hair.
>It was your Dad.
>Chad grinned and puffed off of his cig, Dad cracked a smile.
>You stood stock still, not quite believing your eyes.
>”How’re things holding up old man?”
>Chad stuck out his hand and Dad shook it, growling back an answer.
>”Since when is fifty six old? You fucking brat.”
>The both of them laughed heartily, then Dad turned his gaze to you, curious.
>He seemed shocked for a moment, then that turned to thoughtfulness.
>What the hell do you even…?
>There was nothing you could say, words just refused to come out of your mouth.
>Words refused to form, period, your brain just sort of shut down.
>Dad ended on recognition.
>You set down your salad, shaking a little with your ears pinned back, and he crouched down to your level.
>”H’lo son. You’re looking… Stable.”
>Rolling your eyes at the pun, you whacked your dad’s knee with a hoof, he just laughed as usual.
>Always had a joke to spare.
“Fuck off Dad. How did you even know it was me?”
>James shrugged and mussed up your mane.
>”You think I wouldn’t recognize my son? Well...”
>Your dad looked you over, brow perked.
>”Daughter, anyway. Plus, if shit is going to happen?”
>You sighed and nodded.
“It’s going to happen to me. “
>Winking, your dad pulled you into a hug.
>You accepted graciously, relief flooded through you.
>It was okay.
>It was alright.
>Chad was nodding at you and smiling.
>He must have texted your dad about this whole mess.
>You tried to give Chad a thumbs up, but then you remembered you didn’t have the tools for it, so you mouthed the words “Thank you” instead.
>What was that soaking your fur?
>Frowning, you brought your hoof up to your face.
>Tears, you hadn’t even noticed.
>The hug ended and your Dad pulled away with a determined smile on his face.
>Everything around you seemed to vanish, your attention was solely on your father and yourself.
>”Don’t you even worry about it. I don’t care if you’re human, horse or a fucking insect. I love you. I will always have your back. Period. Y’hear?”
>You sniffled and rubbed the tears out of your eyes.
>Dad nodded and smacked you on the back.
>”Good. But telling your mother? Ha. That’s YOUR job Anon, I’m already in the doghouse.”
>Laughing and sniffling, you still rubbed at your eyes, trying to get the crying to stop.
“H-h’alright D-Dad. You fuh-fuckin wuss.”
>A minute or two passed with you still crying softly.
>Eventually your Dad set a hand against your cheek, finger rubbing up and down, whisking the tears aside.
>He looked concerned now.
>You smiled and nodded.
“Just f-fine… I’m really huuh… happy is all.”
>”I get ya. You need to talk about this or anything?”
>Shaking your head and smiling, you waved your hoof dismissively.
“Nah, n-not rig *sniff* right now.”
>”Alright. Just ask when you do.”
>The world seemed to un-blur, coming back in focus as your Dad stood up.
>Now your Dad turned to Tammy, expression thoughtful.
>Tammy set her salad down and smiled “mysteriously”.
>”And who am I?”
>Dad rubbed his chin, eyes narrowed.
>Then he smiled, slow and easy, just the way he did everything else.
>”You’re sounding… A little horse. Tammy.”
>Tammy fell back, rolling on the floor and laughing uproariously at the terrible pun.
That's my update for today. G'night PTFG.
>You recoil in horror, flailing your limbs as you try to distance yourself from the window.
>There's a scraping noise, it sounds like something hard brushing against metal.
>You continue backwards until you reach the back of your room, your rear slamming into the wall.
>Your breath is quick, ragged.
>You look down, trying to find your hands.
>Two pink stumps greet you instead, splayed out haphazardly in front of you.
>You try to move your right arm.
>The stump on the right moves instead.
>You try your left, the left stump responds in kind.
>It feels like your insides are trying to lurch out of your skin.
>Your mouth and throat are dry, you're starting to get light-headed.
>You lift your right stump slightly, then bring it down on the floor.
>There's a sharp clang, the sound echoes.
>Your eyes are starting to well up, you can feel your face scrunching.
>This can't be right, the whole world is wrong. You want to go back home, to your crappy little apartment, to your shitty job, you don't even care if you hated your boss, that all you ever did was...
>...what was it you used to do?
>Who was your boss again?
>And... where did you even live in the first place?
>Your friends, what happened to them?
>Who even were they?
>You keep drawing blanks. You're searching through all of these ideas that you remember, only to find the details missing.
>And then it hits you.
>You don't know it.
>It's on the tip of your tongue, but it's not coming out.
>Your vision blurs, your whole body feels light, tears are streaming down your face.
>You let out a sob.
>It's not your voice, even if you can't remember it, you know it's not yours.
>It's smooth, it's high.
>You aren't you anymore.
>Those people took you.
>They changed you.
>They put you in a cage.
>You're shivering, teeth clattering, the stubs you have for arms are trembling. Your body is getting weak, your vision dark.
>You barely hear the sound of your head striking the floor as you slump over.
>Reaching in, grabbing, pulling.
>Thick, calloused, strong. They're around you, fingers pressing into your sides and against your back, dragging you forward.
>The floor of your cage ends and you're left suspended in the air, your arms and legs hanging limp.
>Then there's a knee against your chest and the hands shift. One around your back and under your stomach. The other propping up your... arms? Your front stubs?
>Your eyes open, revealing the hallway and a man in a blue jumpsuit standing in front of you.
>He has something in his hands, an apparatus of looped leather straps. He's reaching for your face.
>He presses his fingers against sides of your... of your muzzle.
>You let out a yawp in protest.
>As you do so, he slides a bit into your open mouth, one of the straps encircling your muzzle. He slides the rest over the back of your head before tightening two straps on the sides.
>Your muzzle now firmly pressed closed you can only manage a muffled cry.
“Eht ho ohg mhhh!”
>You flail your limbs in protest, staring at the man in front of you with uncontrolled rage.
>He gazes at you briefly, a look of amusement on his face.
>”Sweetie, that attitude is not gonna earn you any favors.”
>If looks could kill, this man would be a bloody lump on the floor.
>He reaches for something on his belt.
>It detaches with a click.
>Thick, round, metal, a blinking red light.
>He's going for your neck.
>Your eyes widen in fear.
>It's cold and heavy as it slides around your throat. You're struggling, pushing away from it but you've got nowhere to go.
>The collar clicks around the back of your neck with a grim sense of finality.
>There's a hand on the back of your neck now, it feels like he's tugging on your hair.
>You feel a band being pulled out, it hurts, but only briefly.
>As it's pulled away, a thick sheet of wavy purple hair brushes over your face, falling across right side.
>The man in front of you signals to the one holding you, a single finger pointed toward the ground.
>You land hard on your... feet? No, hooves.
>They collapse under your weight
>Your chest hits the ground, knocking the wind out of you.
>You're in a good deal of pain, but there's something else welling up inside you.
>You want to gouge this mans eyes out, to kick and punch him until he's left bloody and broken. To do the same to his friend. To bolt down the hallway, to find a door, to get out of here.
>You find the floor with underside of your hooves, pressing down. Slowly, shakily, you lift your body up.
>You're standing now, albeit poorly balanced.
>You look up at the man, shooting daggers. You take a single, tentative step forward with your left hoof.
>He's holding something, it looks like a remo-
>A million little knives of pain circle your neck and shoot down your back, tracing every bone in your body.
>You go rigid and slump forward, striking your chin on the hard concrete floor.
>It happens again.
>You're convulsing between every jolt, screaming as loud as you possibly can into your bit.
>Then it stops.
>”On your feet now you little bitch, and don't even think of looking at me like that again.”
>He's smiling, that fucker is smiling as he looks down at you. Like you're some kind of disobedient dog that he just bested.
>There's another surge of electricity, the pain is unbearable. You feel like you're about to piss yourself.
>You can't win here. You can't even think straight with that much pain. You just need to keep cool, play along.
>You slowly lift yourself off the ground again, wincing at every little movement the man makes.
>You'd almost forgotten about the other one beside you. He bends over, wrapping a thick leather strap around your back and under your belly, pulling it tight.
>There's an uncomfortable pressure on your back, almost as if your hands were being squeezed together.
>”Now walk to me.”
>The man in front becks you, like a dog, slapping a hand on his knee.
>These people are sick. They're sick and they have you collared, gagged, and helpless.
>There's nothing you can do, resistance means pain. Excruciating pain.
>You step forward, your legs wobble and you're having trouble with your balance, but you're moving forward.
>You reach his feet.
>You don't look up, just the thought of having to look at that fucker for another second sickens you.
>There's the distinctive jangle of a chain, then a click. The man starts walking forward and you hazard a glance up.
>You're rewarded with a stiff yank as the chain goes taut, your hooves skitter around clumsily as you begin to walk along behind him.
>You walk down the hallway, down row after row of cage doors, flanked by the other man.
>A left, a right, more hallways, all filled with the same.
>Hundreds of them, maybe even thousands.
>The reality of the situation is becoming clear.
>They're going to do what they want with you. You aren't getting out. You aren't getting away. They've done this with others, they're going to do it to you.
>You're shaking again. You want to scream, to cry. But there's another thought beginning to push it's way through your head.
>You don't want to give these people the satisfaction.
>You take a final turn, instantly taken aghast at what you see.
>You're in some sort of loading bay. Directly in front of you, a line horses, of ponies, chained together by the hooves, head to tail.
>Ponies? Hooves, muzzles, pastel coats.
>They each have a tag clipped through their right ear.
>That means you're one of them then? These people made you into a little fucking horse?
>Your mind races. You find a thought, buried deep down somewhere.
>My Little Pony~...
>A song, a song from a show that you used to watch.
>The rest flees from your mind as you examine your memories.
>The tugging on your leash stops. You cautiously turn your gaze up.
>You're greeted by the big yellow plot of the mare in front of you, her turquoise tail brushing against your face.
>She clearly notices you behind her, body jolting with a start.
>You catch a glimpse of her ear, the tag hanging from it reads N-146
>She doesn't have a name, just a number.
>What was it that woman said earlier?
>That was what she called you. That's all that you are now.
>You barely notice the shackles being slipped around your fetlocks.
>You're all just standing there, like meat on a factory line.
>There's a truck pulling up to the dock at the front of your line. The carriage is long and gray with barred windows near the top. The back slides up and a platform extends, connecting to the bay.
>”What've you got for me today Fred?”
>It's a new voice, a man, old and grizzled by the sound of it. He seems to be speaking to the man in the blue jumpsuit.
>”Eight ponies, six female, two male. Twelve pegasi, nine female, three male.”
>His voice is even, unconcerned.
>There's the scratching of a pen, a signature.
>Then the lines starts moving.
>Left hoof, right hoof, fore hoof, back hoof.
>You're all moving onto the truck.
>You can almost smell the fear. The air is heavy with sound of clattering metal, ponies marching forward, shaking, sobbing.
>You cast a glance at the mare in front of you.
>She isn't shaking.
>She isn't crying.
>Airships sail the sky.
>And so do the anti air defence missiles.
>Explosions scatter the night sky, missiles exploding without even putting a dent in the plating.
>That doesn't mean that the airship doesn't shake like an undercut pig.
>But you're firing back.
>And all the airships attack the anti air defence sites.
>And another one.
>Green flames slice through the night sky, as the shells, launched from the cannons speed onwards to their targets, tracer rounds burning, lighting the sky.
>Loaded full of spores and explosives.
>The city below lights up for milliseconds, explosion sounds muffling over the screams of civilians and soldiers torn to shreds.
>And again. The city cries and rumbles, as if it was a dragon cut through by a blade, poisoned by the metal.
>Finally, after what feels like an eternity of marching, you find yourself inside the truck.
>The bed is lined with hay. It's hardly comfortable, but it feels much nicer on your hooves than concrete and metal floor.
>You're the last one in and the door quickly slams behind you. A reverberating crash echoes back and forth against the walls of the carriage.
>The sound fades, replaced by sad moans and whimpers.
>The truck begins to move, picking up speed as it turns away from the dock.
>Light filters into the carriage from the windows at the top. It's night, but the moon is glowing brightly, the occasional streetlight illuminating the dreary scene.
>Your shackles are heavy and the chains are short but you're able to walk a few paces to either side. You use this limited freedom to get a better view of the mare in front of you as she's lit up by the passing lights.
>Her coat is a warm chartreuse and she's built smaller and lighter than the rest of the ponies. Her mane and tail are short, uneven, just a bit frizzy, and the most brilliant shade of turquoise you've ever seen. She looks like the dainty sort of girl that you'd normally see giggling and surrounded by friends at a party.
>That's a particularly strange thing to think about a horse.
>She turns back and catches your stare.
>Your eyes lock with hers.
>They're a deep, crystal blue.
>You expect to see the same fear, the same helplessness that you feel.
>It's not there.
>You're both muzzled, so your eyes do all your talking for you.
>You both step to the side of the carriage. She lays down, resting against the wall. You lower yourself to the ground beside her, gently leaning into her.
>Her coat is so silky and warm, pressed against you. The sensation is unbelievable, like the softest cashmere sweater you could imagine.
>You can feel her heart beating in time with yours.
>She raises a hoof, gently wrapping it around your side.
>You look back into her eyes.
>The only thing you see is hope, and determination.
>As the death tally increases, so do your ranks.
>And once you get rid the pesky missiles, drones will fly out of the airship.
>"We've successfully destroyed all anti air defence sites. They're in chaos!" Bernadotte says, looking up at you and Chrysalis.
"Let's give them a proper warm welcome, then."
>"Commence ground combat operations! Deploy paratroopers!"
"I'm going in with them." You say.
>You don't know why.
>You just feel the lust for slaughter, your green blood pumping throughout your veins as you think about slicing their throats and breaking their necks.
>"Fine, no sense in stopping you. Just come back in one piece. Take miss Bernadotte with you."
>You thank the Queen.
>And you're galloping off to the rails.
>Rails that'll give you an initial speed boost.
>"Lowering external armour! Opening hatches."
>The ramps pull out.
>The city burns, the horizon covered in smoke, flames reflecting upon them, lighting up the sky.
>You breath in.
"The scent...It's so familiar. It smells so wrong, yet just right. The scent of women being killed on sight. The smell of babies burning to a crisp. The fragrance of the old being lined up and shot. The smell of slaughter, the bouquet of war." You think out loud.
>Yes, It smells so oddly satisfying, pulling you in deeper, deeper into the whirl of battle.
>You gear up as quickly as you can.
>You line up for the ramp.
>You step on a launching platform, bars securing your hooves in place.
>You ready your wings.
>A loud screech sound, and you're being launched.
>Air quickly pumped in, sending you forwards, blue sparks flying off.
>You're propelled forwards, and the bars on your hooves release.
>The entire platform stops, sending you out.
>You freefall, landing in a high speed, cracking asphalt around you.
>And not even a minute later, half of the squadron had landed.
>You walk though the streets.
"Just look at how it burns."
>The buildings are blazing, looking like a giant bonfire.
>"Yes, this is quite a wondrous display. But..."
>"There's a bunch of survivors. Not far off."
"Alright. I'll flank them. You go frontal."
>Your expert tactical skills, and Bernadotte's nose come in quite handy.
>Heck, you don't have a hand anymore.
>You buzz up onto the rooftops.
>The fact that you and every other single drone share a hivemind, a link between each other proves useful.
>Why are you speaking anyway?
>Anyway, you continue moving.
>You follow the instruction Bernadotte is giving you, skipping over holes in the roofs, flying some distance, and then you see them.
>A police car barricade.
>Six men, armed with pistols and rifles, defend an entrance to a building.
>Once your drones come in sight, mixed with the new batch of younglins that barely just hatched, they fill the streets.
>They start to fire.
>"Why won't they die?"
>You begin walking down the wall of the building, trotting slowly.
"Little girls, lost in the sea of flame! Look around you, it's hell come to earth. But it's only a pale shadow of what's about to come."
>You smirk, and to the largely strong surprise, finish walking down the wall.
>They start to direct fire at you.
>You raise your shield and ready your weapon.
>A black, fully automatic, twenty millimeter weapon, loaded with explosive or spore tips.
>Cannon at your hooves.
>You hear clicking.
>You smirk, drop your shield, and spray your entire clip into the men.
>Boom, boom boom.
>The city falls, just like these ragdolls of men.
>You drop down the clip.
>And the men drop down.
>Without a single scream.
>You reload, and trot on.
>There are more men inside.
That's all, folks.
And pastebin updated. Forgot first pic for delivery, link here. http://pastebin.com/ZfsJBPrV
Thank you for the feedback. I hope as the story picks up a bit and there's more interaction between characters I can work a little more voice into it.
I can say that I ended up posting quite a bit later than I had hoped to because I didn't want to end this update on an overly negative note, but I've still got to sleep from time to time.
Every coin has two sides and you can't have true light without darkness.
I'm admittedly quite new to this. Should I set one up?
No problem. This was a real powerful update, I can hear your voice coming through a lot stronger here already. You've pretty much nailed that dark tone, sort've like a shadowy grime painted over with a sickening bubblegum pink. It's great, and somewhat perturbing. I loved the determination in that one mare's eyes. You got that attitude, that personality, dead on. I LOVE strong characters like that, ones who don't give up. Honestly I feel like I should be asking YOU for feedback. You say you're new to writefagging, but are you new to writing in general?
As a side note, I'm also starting to realize that my green is probably one of the happier ones in this general. I mean jesus, I had a huggy, teary happy family reunion feelgood moment. All the while you guys are at war and in shackles. And some of the other ones I've read in the google doc are kind of... grim, like the main character has really shitty, unsupportive friends or the world is really against them in some way. Not that all that is bad, not at all. They're all at fairly well written. I guess I've just never had the heart in me for real dark stories. They always seem turn out as happy or at least bittersweet.
As for setting up a pastebin, yeah you probably should. It's easy and free. Shouldn't take you long to make an account, then you can put all your greens in pastes on that account. Real helpful for people to follow along with your stuff and the anons making the OP's and the story archive pastebins love them because it makes archiving a lot simpler.
To conclude this big wall of tl;dr, excellent work. Hope to see more. Keep it up.
>All the while you guys are at war and in shackles
Written for edgy, war-obsessed teens by edgy, war-obsessed teens. Surprised there's been no pony tf into guns at this point. Most people here are miserable bastards so I guess stories that include that appeal to them more.
You're coming on a little bit too strong man. Relax some.
Update later tonight. Updates should be more consistent now and for the next couple weeks.
I decided to have lighter approach on the new relationship between Belle and Claire. Like, a much looser pet/master type relationship than the previous part (which I'll be revising soon), and by that I mean I hate the word "Mistress" and I want Belle to be more of a companion/friend to Claire and less of a pet. Other than that, all else remains the same.
You saunter through the entrance of the restaurant with the best ‘calm’ demeanor you could muster. You suppose it was just the collective excitement of everything combined with the adrenaline still coursing your system, but you hardly have the capacity to pay it any mind right now. Coming to a stop near a very tired looking hostess, you let her know her a you’re meeting someone who’s probably already arrived. She nods and tilts her head, signaling you to head into the seating area to find them.
It takes a bit of searching, but eventually you spot a familiar head poking over the edge of a booth in a discreet corner of the restaurant. The head undoubtedly belonging to the person of interest, Eddy. Or rather, that was his nick name.
His real name was Eduardo, a Brazilian that’s been living here long past the duration of his visa. So, much like yourself, he tried to fly under the radar as best he could.
You slide into his field of view and offer a halfhearted smile before taking a seat across the table from him. Last time you saw Ed was when Anon got turned, then soon after, went missing.
“Max! Haven’t seen your face in a while.” Ed starts up, his expression seeming genuinely relieved.
“I’ll say. How ya been?”
“Not bad, just getting by, you know? Day by day.”
“I hear ya. Things have been pretty rough on my end as well.” You offer, humoring the conversation with formalities because, well, why not?
You didn’t have any serious qualms with Eddy, nor did you ever really mind his presence. He was a shitthead, you couldn’t deny, but he was better known for his “that one guy that’s pretty down to earth but always gets himself in deep shit” role. It was for that reason you always tried to keep somewhat of a distance. But with the likelihood of you spending some times behind bars yourself, you figured getting into a bit of trouble was the least of your worries.
“So this job.” You continue.
“Right, yes! The job. Uhm, it’s a big one.” His behavior seems to take a more nervous turn. You’d noticed his timid mannerisms upon sitting down, but now you suspected there was something more to this job than you may have signed up for.
“Yeahhh, So you’ve said” Your voice wears a suspicious tone, “What are we doing?”
“Well you know, like, the usual stuff. Doses and transporting and such.”
As he finishes his answer, you notice his hand slowly sliding a napkin near your end of the table. What? You look up about to question him when he raises his brows and nudges his head toward the napkin, beckoning you to take it.
You oblige, picking it up and subtly lifting it into view. There was a crudely written note on it. Hard to make out, but you managed.
“Wearing a wire. Meet me in bathroom.”
Mother fucker. You should have known. The police couldn’t find you themselves, so they were obviously going to try using anyone associated with you to do it for them. Fucking bastards. Well this is it, this is the night it all goes down.
You should have guessed it would be fucking Eddy too. Probably trying to get himself out of some stupid shit to save his own ass. You two being the pawns in this whole game, of course he’d rat out the little guys first, and of course the very first ‘little guy’ would be you!
“H-hey, excuse me for a sec, I need to use the restroom.” He mutters, promptly standing himself from the booth and making his way toward the hallway where the restrooms were. He looked back to offer you one last glance before rounding the corner out of your vision.
You fiddle with the napkin in your hand while staring off in thought for a few moments, considering your next course of action. Your heart rate was already running rampant before getting here, but now you’re certain it’s beating so fast it might just stop beating altogether.
You’re not sure why Ed wanted to meet you in private, either. To talk without being heard he’d have to take off the wire, which would be fruitless considering there’s probably a police officer or two waiting close by to come and take you away. There wasn’t much he could do or say to ease the situation, so you weren’t sure if you should even humor him by fulfilling the napkin’s request.
Though, despite the potential uselessness of doing so, you elect to stand after a minute or so of sitting in the silence before following his tracks. Upon entering the restroom, you see him leaning toward the mirror, his face covered in water as the sink ran below him.
“Ed, what the fuck is going on? A wire, really?” You contend, your voice raised.
“Look man, I know you’re pissed, but they’re after you for a lot more than just punching Ty’s face.”
This jarrs you a bit. More? What else did you do? As far as you’re concerned your involvement with the ‘doses’ was less than minimal. It would hardly warrant a manhunt like the one they seem to have out for you. Wait… and how the hell did he know about you punching Ty’s face!?
“Ed, seriously, tell me what the fuck is going on.”
He stops the water and wipes his face before raising himself to look at you.
“Look, the feds offered me a lesser sentence if I helped them catch anyone in the dosing business. I saw you on the list of people they were after, so I chose you first. There are cops surrounding the entire building, so keep you--”
Ed’s about to continue, but your anger gets the better of you and he’s cut short as you interrupt.
“Why me!? Ed, you know I have little to nothing to do with this business! Why rat me out!? Because I’m the easiest one? I swear to god I’ll rip you fucki--”
Ed returns the favor, stopping you in your tracks and taking the conversation back.
“Look! I know, it seems bad, but hear me out. I tried telling them you weren’t involved, but they think Anon’s disappearance links you to all of this. I chose you first because I knew you shouldn’t be punished.” He tries to justify.
“Then why rope me in!?”
He disregards your question and kneels down to open the small storage area below the sinks. After a bit of shuffling he emerges with a little black backpack before beginning to shuffle through that as well.
“Because,” He pauses, raising something into the air and, before you’re able to make out the object in question, thrusts it toward you, “We’re not going to jail.”
You feel a sharp stinging in your neck, almost like a stabbing, before he pulls his hand away to reveal you’d just been stuck with a needle. The plunger of the syringe fully compressed, confirming that whatever was in there had been used up.
Your eyes widen.
“WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?” You practically scream.
“Shh, Max, shut the fuck up. It was a dose.”
You can feel your stomach sink to depths unknown. A dose? A fucking dose? What the fuck was his plan? How would being colorful ponies solve any of this!?
“The cops are probably suspicious about now” Ed proceeds, “So we gotta be quick.”
“Eddy, dude, how is any of this a good idea?”
“The transformations alter DNA, even if they caught you, unless they watched it happen themselves, they couldn’t prove the pony rendition of you is really you. But luckily for us, we’re not going to get caught. The transformation takes about 12 hours, so you’ll have that time to run and hide somewhere. Find some random ass person and ask them to take you in or something, I don’t know.”
“Take me in? Look man, I’m not some pet like Anon.”
Ed pauses and looks up, surprise coloring his face.
“A pet? Anon became a pet? Aha, what the fuck?”
“It’s a long story.”
He looks down and returns his concentration to sifting through the bag.
“Whatever works. Just be someone’s pony roommate or something, no one said anything about a pet.”
“I don’t want to be some stupid horse though, man.” You whine.
He looks at the used needle lying near the sink then back at you.
“Looks like we’re past that now, huh?”
You start to worriedly tap you foot to the ground. The gravity of the situation now starting to show its weight. You weren’t sure you could actually do this. Run from cops? Despite the little hooligan you’d a reputation for being, you were never like… a criminal. And what if the transformation was too painful? You could deal with pain but the way Anon-now-Belle described it, she wanted to die. This was way too much.
“Look Ed, I can’t do this man. I can’t run like that. You said cops were surrounding the building right? How do you plan to even get past them?”
Before a verbal response is given, Ed looks up with a devious grin and tosses you a medical mask.
“You ever see a ninja disappear in a smoke bomb?”
The sound of rustling rouses you from your dark solace. A lingering grogginess blurring your vision as you smack your tired lips and attempt to scan the room. You spot Claire digging about her jewelry and makeup drawer in front of her mirror as she generally does in the mornings before work. Usually you’re awake before her, often times acting as her alarm clock by licking her face to consciousness, but it seems today you slept in for some reason. Strange...
Claire spots your movement in the mirror’s reflection and smiles.
“Someone was a sleepy pony today.” She chirps.
“H-how long was I asleep for?” You ask, a yawn quickly following suit.
“A couple hours longer than usual. You’re lucky it’s the weekend, or else my little alarm clock would be in trouble for allowing her owner to be late.”
Your ears sink. You hadn’t thought of that.
“I-I uhm, I’m s--”
She giggles and waves a hand to dismiss your response.
“It’s fine sweetheart, I’m only teasing.”
The calm tone of of your owner’s voice sends a chill of relaxation down your spine. Your head gently sinking to rest atop your forelegs before zoning off as she continued about her ritualistic morning procedures. You couldn’t help yourself from wearing a dorky grin as you mused the life you now lived. You loved it. These mornings. Waking up and being with the one person on this earth that gave you everything. That took you when you needed it most.
There was just something magical about it. Something you couldn’t quite put your hoof on. You’d had relationships in the past, and surely you, at one point or another, had experienced “love”, but this was different. It felt more solidified. Simpler.
You were someone’s cute pony, destined to obey them and love them for the rest of your life, and in return, you were given the security of knowing your existence meant something. There was never any worry as to what you’d be doing tomorrow, or next month, or in 10 years, because that was already decided. And, for some reason, it was comforting to you.
“Belle, honey” Claire’s voice pulls you from your daze, “I don’t have any plans today. Is there something you’d like to do?”
Hmm… You weren’t much for ‘doing’ things that didn’t involve lazily lounging about or being doted on. Claire was often the bearer of plans, so you were stumped.
“Not that I can think of.”
Claire rubs her chin with a finger in thought.
“How’s about we bake some sweets today?”
Your ears perk up. Oh! That sounds fun! You loved being the chef’s little helper. You weren’t very capable with these stubs that were your hooves, but you always managed to make yourself useful somehow.
“O-only if I can lick the batter off the spoons…”
Claire snickers and leans in to scritch under your chin.
You offer your own small bout of giggles as you lean into her hand. She accepts your subtle plea for rubbies and begins to run her hands along the rest of your body. Scritchy-scratching into your fur frivolously as the little pony slumps to her side. You can’t fathom a universe where you’d ever get tired of this.
THUMP. THUMP. THUMP.
A desperate banging from somewhere across the house draws the both of you to a halt. Silence lingering for a few brief seconds before it’s heard again.
“Wait here.” Claire asserts before standing and walking from the room.
You would normally obey, but your curiosity seems to take control and you tumble off the bed to follow suit, peeking around the corner into the hallway. You seem to have a clear view of Claire as she approaches the house’s front door, caution in her step as the “thumps” were a lot more violent than your average UPS man dropping off a package.
She leans down to take a small peek through the peep-hole before undoing the locks. It’s kind of funny to think, the last time something like this happened you were both surprisingly met with--
Before you could even finish the thought, the door swings open against Claire’s own will, eliciting a panicked shriek from Claire and revealing the silhouette of what was easily the figure of a man. The hairs on your back shoot up at the sight. You’re about to scamper off in panic, but the sick groaning coming from his mouth and the limp in his step seems to reveal a more terrifying reality.
THAT’S when you scamper off in panic. Well… if ‘scampering’ entailed slipping and sliding in place on the hardwood beneath you.
“MAX!?” You hear Claire scream.
You freeze. Did she just? What?
With your little heart still pounding in fear, you take the time to collect yourself before turning to gaze at the visitor once more.
Sure enough, the zombie-esque visitor was none other than your your closest friend, aside from Claire. His face and hair were drenched in sweat as his eyes wore death. Skin pale and clothes ruffled, he was not in good shape. He looked like he came straight from the morgue. Which, given his appearance, was a possibility you still hadn’t ruled out.
You’re about to trot closer when the words coming from his mouth briefly stop you.
“H-hide” He pants weakly, “I’ve gotta…”
He collapses before he’s able to finish his sentence, falling to his knees, then shortly after, his side. He takes a few heavy breaths before his eyes close and he dozes off.
“O-oh my god!” Claire is freaking out by this point, her hands trembling as she looks about the room “I-I need to call an ambulance!”
She starts beelining it for her phone on the counter.
“Wait!” You protest.
Claire stops, shooting you a surprised look.
You cast an inquisitive glance toward Max’s body as you draw near him. You knew this feeling. Max’s pain. It was familiar. The breathing, the sweating, the collapsing. You slowly trot up to his side and examine him. After quickly mulling over his body, you trot toward his head, placing a hoof in his hair and gently raising it to grab a look at his ears.
“Uhm Claire… don’t call the ambulance.”
I totally just realized I was in the middle of re-revising, literally, the very first paragraph and completely forgot.
I'm also working on the party rape green because I am still bored
>You open the doors, walking in, with a small group of drones.
>Clap, clap and clap.
>Your hooves clop against the marble flooring.
>Is this a courthouse?
>No one in the foyer.
>They're on the next floor.
>Even you can smell that.
"Do we have the spore grenades?"
>"Yes, we do. I like your idea."
>You walk up a glorious staircase of marble and wood.
>To your left are court rooms, to the right many offices.
>And you can smell their fear from everywhere.
>Muffled explosions echo through the hallway.
>They're still bombarding the city.
>"Right! You've heard her, get the spore nades ready!"
>A drone with a big box scurries in.
>You pick few up with your horn, Bernadotte doing so too.
>First pair of doors.
>Pull the pin.
>You open the doors, throwing the spore fooled smoke grenades inside the rooms.
>Sounds of suffocation, bodies dropping, sent into a series of spasms thanks to the thick black smoke that holds to the ground, pouring out the doorposts.
>And two more.
>And then the last one.
>In front of you, a door marked as a courtroom.
>You bust it open.
>Around twenty people, unarmed, scared, women and children.
>Your drones surround them in a corner.
>"What shall we do, my Queen Nequira?"
>"You'll leave them be!"
>A third voice.
>And five more men with gas masks, bulletproof vests and assault rifles.
>You turn around.
>"You monsters! How dare you attack unarmed civilians! How about you pick on someone your size."
"Are you challenging me? How amusing."
>"I'll be amused when I scrape your brain against the floor."
"Fine. Come bring it then."
>"With pleasure. Though I think your lack of fingers handicaps you."
>A green flame envelopes a circle of ground around you, moving up.
>You're standing there.
>Fem Nonnymous is standing there.
>You take a battle stance. You know how to handle yourself in a fight.
"Satisfied with the equal footing?"
>A couple drones form a circle around you.
>"Come hit it, then."
>You dash forwards
>He grips you, using his size to full advantage.
>You throw him over your back, preparing to strike a kick, but he rolls away at the last second.
>You manage to put a couple cracks into the floor.
>He charges up for a punch.
>You're not fast enough.
>Your face takes a direct hit.
>You recoil back, at the strength of his punch.
>You return to proper position, green blood oozing from your nose.
"I've had enough! Let's get serious!"
>You slide back, Bernadotte throwing your rifle.
>Fully loaded magazine.
>Point blank range.
>No way you will miss.
>He pulls out a revolver, with trained speed.
>"Seems we've caught ourselves in a predicament."
"Yes, you may have a point. I'll shoot you, and yours friends will swarm me. Close gunfight is messy."
>"And I'll shoot you, and your friends will tear me apart."
"You should back out."
I saw this (https://ipfs.io/) on /g/ and got way too excited. Now every file I had saved on PTFG is uploaded to a handy dandy web app that'll exist on the internet for the rest of eternity. Figured you ziggers might like it: https://ipfs.io/ipfs/Qma6FJuahCg53RGtHrtKRjGsUdPVGJA1VoZUXoCDe3oAL9/
I just uploaded my own saves, but I can update it to have any other files people request. I won't be picky. Because IPFS namespaces aren't working quite yet, each edit will require a totally new link, so I'll only update in batches.
Setting up a pastebin would be a good idea. Then we can link it in the google doc, and people will still be able to read it once we've moved on to the next thread (assuming you don't complete it in this one).
Keep being awesome.
Ah, yes! I've followed Blueberry Snow's work since for years and I'm incredibly honored that she wanted to do an art trade with me- I honestly did not expect her to take it as far as she did.
I'll be working on my half of the trade in the upcoming week or so.
>Dad smiled and chuckled, scratching the back of his head.
>”Well, why don’t we go an’ eat. Yer sister Thot’s waiting ain’t she? Best to get that mess over and done with.”
>Tammy nodded and got back up, grabbing his salad and falling in behind Chad.
>You reached for your tray but Dad got there first.
>”Here, lemme carry that for you.”
>Your Dad brought up the rear, sticking close to you.
>Clip clopping through the mess of people, you stared up at the chandelier overhead as you went.
>Here and there you picked out distinct shapes in the glass, abstract became concept and concept shaped into reality.
>Where there was once an indistinguishable jumble, there were now clear-cut cubes, spheres and pyramids.
>Everything looked a little brighter on this side of your life.
>Things were making sense, from the abstract of becoming something else, to the concept of changing shape into a pony and finally…
>Being the pony.
>You shook your head and giggled.
>You were getting that safe herd feeling again as you trotted on, especially since your Dad always had this meter or so radius around him where people in crowds just wouldn’t pass through.
>Looking over your back, you tossed him a smile.
>Dad winked back.
>”Hey, careful you don’t fall. You might not be able to giddy up.”
>You never looked back again.
>He just laughed and laughed, you could see Chad smirking up ahead and Tammy was barely holding onto his salad tray over the snorting and giggling.
>”You know, I always wanted a mustang. Now I don’t even need the extra garage space.”
“You know, I’m at just the right height to kick you straight in the balls?”
>Chad grinned back at your Dad.
>Your ears flopped down flat in anticipation, brow furrowing.
>”Looks like you’ve really made a foal of yourself now.”
“I will fucking end you Chad.”
>”Eh, you whinny some, you lose some.”
>Cue everyone except you losing it.
>You snorted and stamped your hooves against the tiles, tail whipping at the air.
“Jesus fucking Christ, how far away is Thot sitting?”
>Thanks to what you could only believe was an act of god, the four of you finally broke through the crowd, coming out at Thot’s table.
>She was busy texting for the nonce, stopping here and there to adjust her thin framed glasses.
>Thot had the same red hair, but she wore it straighter and longer than Tammy
>She also dressed a lot more conservatively than her sister, well, her brother at the moment, sporting a pair of jeans and an itchy looking green wool turtleneck.
>Tammy shoved his salad platter into your mouth and dashed ahead.
>Thot barely even looked up, eyes wide, before her brother Tammy was in her lap and hugging her tight.
>You shook your head in unison with Chad.
“Fahme hold, fahme hold.”
>”Might as well call nine one one now, tell them we got a fainter.”
>”Wha- WHAAAAT! But… No but! Oh my god what?!”
>You trotted up to the table and took a seat, Chad and your Dad in tow.
>Talk about a Kodak moment.
>Tammy nuzzling into his sister’s chest, Chad seated beside her chowing down furiously on a burger.
>Then you and your father sitting opposite.
>Dad was just smiling, letting things blow over with a relaxed smile on his face, sitting up straight with his legs spread and his arms crossed over his chest like he always did.
>Thot stared at you.
>Then back at her brother.
>Then at you.
>”A-Anonymous? What… Is this-“
>She pointed down at the sky blue pony in her lap.
“Tammy yeah. You know how she, he, is. Heard about the drug that I got slipped to me, decided to try it for herself.”
>And Thot was down for the count.
>Tammy hardly even payed attention, switching his focus away from nuzzling her right over to his salad, which you plopped down in front of him.
>You dug into your own salad, going slow so that you wouldn’t make a mess of your fur.
>Munch, munch, munch.
>Just out of the corner of your eye, you could see your Dad watching you curiously, smiling with one brow perked.
>Slowly, you swallowed, maintaining eye contact.
>The nutty taste, the spiciness of the fresh Oak Leaf lettuce, combined with the crunch of the carrots and the almond slivers.
>It was complemented perfectly by the salty feta and then deftly completed with the high quality balsamic vinaigrette, olive oil combo.
>The flavor of every veggie and nut was heightened so much as a pony.
>Dad boomed with laughter, slapping his knee.
>”Well shit. Lookin’ like I’m going to have to learn how to cook my greens as good as I do my meats. Wonder how a veggie burger’d turn out…”
>Chad looked up from his burger.
>”I got a shit load of veg recipes I could share with you. Especially my shepherd’s pie. Everyone loves my shepherd’s pie, the people who haven’t tried it just don’t know it yet.”
>”Sounds like a date.”
That's my update for today. Be lurkin'.
>I sat at my desk watching the clock tick by.
>numbers, comas, decimals. Red and black ink.
>The life blood of business but not my passion.
>I sighed as I could feel the headache coming on...
>I grabbed the secret flask in my drawer and popped the tin open along with the fresh bottles of acetominophen.
>I swallowed two pills and swirled it with some burbon just to take the corporate edge off
>nothing like the burburn.
Until it didn't stop.
I felt a sharp pain rocket through me. I flailed casting my paperwork everywhere, and knocking my coffee mug off my desk to the floor.
Another wave of pain sent me careening off my chair to the floor where I laid on my side heaving. I watched my hand, that just a few seconds ago was holding a pen to do budgetting started losing definition.
It flowed like wax, the change from hand to round appendage, and before long my 'hand' had grown what felt like one giant fingernail.
I could feel my shirt and pants start to give way as the change continued, my chest becoming more round and my legs now swimming in my formerly tailored work slacks.
I blacked out while the final portion of the change happened...I couldn't have been out longer than thirty seconds
>A Boss Approaches
>"You're a pony now?"
>No Shit? Like neeeeeigh bitch?
>"Pon-E is illegal around here. Best accountant or not...you're fire."
>Then I realized what that meant.
>nothing but line and tackle forever! I felt my new wings and old heart flutter at the idea
>or at least until I can find a job that is hoofdicap accessible...
Pastebin is up: http://pastebin.com/u/elephantintheroom
I'll try to push out another update tonight, though it'll probably be late, or it'll come early tomorrow.
Thank you again for the encouragement and kind words.
How much sleep do you get daily? I've looked at some of the times you've updated and posted at. You nearly went a whole week updating at 6 AM every morning. Pretty mucb from the start there was just a whole stretch of update times like that and even now you update around 2 to 3 AM in the morning. Take better care of yourself please. I like my writefags alive.
N-not that I'm actually concerned for your health or anything.
>Sunlight creeps between the bars above, casting diagonal beams across the herd of shackled ponies.
>Your eyelids are heavy as you slowly stir from rest.
>There's a delicate hoof laying against your side. It's light and you only really notice its presence as the mare sleeping beside you twitches faintly in her sleep.
>You lay there, motionless, breathing in the first little bit of peace you've felt since this all started.
>She exhales beside you, still deep in sleep, letting out the cutest little snort you could possibly imagine.
>You can feel the truck beginning to slow down. The brakes sound old and poorly maintained, letting out a vicious screech.
>Everyone awakes with a start, the carriage suddenly coming to life.
>Your friend with the blue eyes stirs and you gently lift yourself off of her side.
>There's a commotion outside, you hear several people bustling about.
>Suddenly the carriage door slides up, bathing you all in the bright morning sunlight.
>Several men are standing on the dirt outside. There's a loud clack as they begin pulling a ramp out from the back of the carriage, setting it down on the ground.
>One of the men walks up the ramp, straight towards you. He's carrying a set of tools and a long, thin metal bar.
>He stares down at you, from your position the difference in your size is readily apparent. He's tall and muscular; he looks like he could toss you around with little effort.
>His face is rough and he wears a shaggy beard and mustache, but something about his expression tells you that he's not at all like the other man in the blue jumpsuit.
>”Hey there little missy. Mah name's Jim. Ah'm gonna be taken those chains off yer feet there, then we're gonna be taken a walk inside. Now, I dun want this'ter be aneh more difficult than it need be. Ah dun think ah need to remind ya a what'cha got round yer neck, now do ah?”
>His drawl is thick, but the meaning is clear.
>You gulp, the pain from before still clear in your mind. You bite softly into your bit, letting our an audible, “mmh mmh”.
>”Good, good. Now let's geh ter work.”
>It takes less than a minute for the shackles to leave your fetlocks. The absence of the cold, heavy pressure is nothing but a relief.
>His hands are on the straps around your muzzle. You can feel the dirt rubbing into your coat as he works at it, but you're hardly going to complain. The tension drops and you feel it loosen before he slips it off, the bit coming away with an ugly glob of drool.
>There's a click as he attaches the metal rod to your collar. You look up to see him holding on to a leather strap on the other end.
>”Arright, off we go.”
>With that, you're away. He pushes you forward firmly with the bar, making you take the lead as you both descend the ramp. You cast a brief glance back at your blue eyed friend. She's not looking at you, her gaze instead falling on the landscape in front.
>You look forward, all you can see are green trees for miles and miles on end. Sharp mountains rise in the distance.
>It's all... nice. You honestly don't remember seeing much nature before all this happened, not that you could really be sure.
>Still, the air was clean and refreshing. The sun warm against your coat.
>There's a push to the left and you're headed around the front of the truck. In front of you is a building, an old converted warehouse by the looks of it.
>It's awkward at first, being guided around, but Jim keeps a comfortable pace and you're able to adjust as he directs you through an empty dirt lot towards the building.
>”Now, ah figure you've got quite a few questions there girl, an ah'm sorry it's not my place tah answer 'em. But ah can tell ya, if ya behave, dun cause no trouble, yah won't have no problems 'ere.
>His words aren't terribly reassuring, but you feel like he genuinely means them. Still, there are questions burning in your mind and you can't help but try them.
“W-what h-h-happened to me? W-what is this place? Where are we g-g-going?”
>Your voice is shaky, you didn't expect the shock of hearing yourself speak as if for the first time. The words sound totally alien as they leave your mouth and quite suddenly you feel like a stranger in your own body once again.
>”Lahk ah said, it ain't mah place tah answer all yer questions. But as fer this place, it's a market”
>A market, where things are bought and sold.
>You're a thing.
“Y-you're going to sell me?”
>”No little missy ah am not, but yer gonna be sold. Ah can tell ya this though, ya do what'chur told, ya fetch a good price, yull go to a good home, be treated well.”
>There's an air of finality to his words and it's clear that your conversation with him is over.
>You trot on ahead, entering the building and winding down a series corridors until you reach a wide, open room.
>There appear to be four pens, one in each corner of the room. They're each made up of two walls of metal fencing built roughly twice your height.
>The ground is laid with straw, just like the truck bed. There's a feeding trough and several bowls in each pen.
>You're lead into one of the pens. The door is opened, then chained shut behind you.
>Jim gives you what you assume was meant to be a reassuring nod, then turns and leaves.
>You're alone again, in another cage.
But those activities leave me isolated with my own mind, which constantly reminds me how much an awkward, worthless individual I am.
How do I detach myself from myself
If you weren't yourself, who else could you possibly be?
It's easy to think back to how you were a few years ago, the kinds of mistakes you made, the things you said and did. To remember how awkward or detached you felt around others.
But you are, right now, not the same person you were then. You can try to describe yourself by your past, where you grew up, what you've accomplished, who you've known. In the end though, those things are all gone, they've all passed.
Who you are now, the real you, is not absolutely defined by anything that you were before. You can make that you whoever you'd like, so long as you're willing to work for it and to make an honest attempt.
So, why not go for a nice jog anon?
Sup PTFG. I mentioned this before, but I've been working on another green alongside PEER PRESSURE. I've just finished the proper revisions for all that I've written of this new green so far, round 17 pages in word.
So imma post that up. Big dump coming right now.
Reminder that this isn't PEER PRESSURE.
>Your alarm is ringing.
>Beep beep beep.
>The led on the face of it is just barely illuminating your room, throwing a flashing red tint to the dusky surroundings.
>The edges of things are suffused with red, but the middles hold onto their shadows.
>Dresser, computer and desk, bed.
>You turn your head slowly and go to turn it off.
>The alarm flashes 4:45AM in your face one last time before you hit the off button.
>Back to darkness again, but you can just see by the little bit of moonlight filtering through your window.
>You push your covers and your blanket off and roll out of bed.
>Both feet down on the carpet, you let out a yawn and stretch as you get up and walk over to your dresser.
>Jeans, black leather belt, white t-shirt.
>You pull on all your clothes, then grab the other necessities from your desk.
>Strap on your knife, pocket your little rough and tough cell phone, tuck your wallet into your back pocket and hook your keys up to your belt loop by the carabiner you had them all on.
>You grab a red plaid shirt as you walk out of your room, button it up striding down the hall and into the kitchen.
>The whole place is pretty simple fare, soft colours on the walls and a few pictures of family here and there.
>You keep your house tidy, no stray objects, everything is where it is for a reason.
>Snatch your lighter off the counter and grab a bottle of water out of the fridge on your way to the mudroom.
>You reach down to the chest of winter wear reflexively, but you only manage to grab air.
>There’s something out of place.
>Your cigarette pack isn’t where it’s supposed to be.
>Eyes down, you peer in the dark.
>You spot the pack on the other side of the chest, but that’s not the only strange bit.
>There’s a piece of paper on it.
>Sighing, you take a seat on the chest, right beside your cigs and stick your steel toe boots on.
>Lace em up and brush em off, then you pick up the cigs and that random bit of paper, whatever the hell it is.
>You just want to get outside right now, get your smoke and plan things out.
>The early morning breeze whispers in your ear and slaps you on the cheek with a chill when you open the front door, carrying the tinge of frost and a whiff of smoke from the fire your neighbor’s lit in their wood stove.
>Shame you didn’t get to do much work junking wood for your neighbors this year.
>You rub your sore shoulder regretfully.
>It was the right shoulder, ‘course.
>That was the sort of luck you had.
“Fires are good money after all, of all kinds…”
>You could definitely go for a good forest fire right about now, shame the season for them was far past over.
>Clomp down the wood steps and onto your paved driveway, over to your shed.
>Eyes up, you can see the sun coming on in the sky.
>It hasn’t broken the horizon yet, but the twilight is paling and the moon has lost most of its luster.
>Everything around still has that ethereal midnight quality to it though, ghostly birch trees stretch on all around your home and your green pickup truck stands like a spectre beside your pale white shed.
>Your lawn is frosted over, ice crystals glistening faintly.
>You grasp the lock on your shed’s double door and unclip your carabiner full of keys, pick out the right one, stick it in and turn.
>Then you unlatch the top of the right one and swing it open.
>No point opening the other this early in the morning.
>You’d always thought of it as “The Shed”, but it was more like a second porch.
>It was close and cozy, no carpet or any sort of real comfortable furniture, but it had a couple of chairs inside.
>A good solid floor with space to spare for friends and beer coolers, there was even a little stove you’d installed a few years ago, to keep the place warm when you took breaks in here clearing the driveway.
>You grunted and sat down in your plastic patio chair, tossed your pack, paper and lighter down on the workbench beside you.
>Got a good twinge out of your shoulder for that one, it always started up late in the morning, never just when you got up.
>Still grunting, you poked your satellite radio to life.
>There’s a stutter and click of the speakers coming to life, the screen lights up, bright blue flooding the shed.
>”I don’t want to set the world on fiiirrrreee~ I just want to staaaaart a flame in your heeeaaaaartt~”
>The first smile of the day starts to break on your face.
>You rub your beard and tug a cigarette out of your pack, light it up.
>And then you reach around your back to flick the shed light on, left arm to avoid the pain.
>You flinch a little in the sudden brightness, blinking a bit to habituate yourself.
>Then you grab the strange paper you’d found.
>It’s a package notice, Canada Post telling you something’s been delivered and is waiting at the post office for you.
“Don’t remember orderin’ anything though.”
>You toss it aside and get back to smoking, taking a swig of water every now and then.
>Kick back and listen to tunes, watch the day come on and think.
>Have to grab groceries and ice for camp, fill up on gas too…
>Get beer of course, plus some more G2.
>Ah, you could pick up your package while you’re at it.
>No work to do down at the office, no patrols up and down the Ten Pound Road for poachers either, since you were on leave for your shoulder.
>Just you, your rifle, the camp and hopefully a deer.
>Chuckling, you butt out your cigarette and snatch up another one to light.
“I’ll find something to work on over there anyway, guaranteed. Hell, I betcha the propane’ll be out or something stupid.”
>Your thoughts went to the ceiling you’d painted.
>If anything was to go wrong, then it was that.
>The girl who’d sold you the paint down at the hardware store in town didn’t seem too knowledgeable about painting.
>But she’d assured you that it should match the old coat and that it’d hold its colour.
>Yeah, like you had any sort of luck.
>The morning passes like that, smokes and water, the light creeping up your driveway as the sun rises.
>Finally it hits about 7:30 AM and you get up.
>Grab all of your stuff and step outside again.
>The sun has officially risen, it’s looking to be a chilly but fairly nice day.
>Not too many clouds above right now, but you can see some coming over from the north.
>Might get a little dusting of snow later, but the weather reports say otherwise.
>You walk over to your pickup truck and get in, humming tunelessly.
>Stick the key in the ignition and turn the engine over, get it roaring out its morning salutations.
>You smile and pat the top of the dashboard before driving off.
>Down the driveway, onto the road.
>It’s fairly empty, which is good, don’t have to pay as much attention to the road then.
>Focus on the view, watch the valleys, mountains and tree stands whisk by.
>The whole drive is about half an hour, plenty of time for the stores to open up.
>Traffic picks up a little too as you get closer, not that Mustad is a real busy town.
>It really isn’t.
>Just a tiny little speck of life out in the woods really, has a grocery store, a gas station, a dollar store and a hardware store all right next to each other.
>There’s a Tim’s a little ways before it and a liquor store past both.
>But other than that it’s just a few houses, two churches and a Salmon Museum.
>You skip the Tim’s, you’re not really looking for coffee right now and breakfast can wait.
>You skip the Tim’s, you’re not really looking for coffee right now and breakfast can wait.
>Down in “Downtown Mustad” as you call it, you pull into the grocery store parking lot.
>You dig out your list of things to buy from the center console and get to it.
>It all goes by smoothly, and quickly.
>You’ve been doing this since you were nothing but a tyke after all, had 40 some years of practice.
>It’s running around 8:30 AM when you finish your business Downtown and drive on towards the P&L liquor store.
>Pretty unique in design, only liquor store in a big log cabin that you know of.
>Probably the most happening spot for miles that doesn’t have a cross out front.
>Paul the Moose, the store’s mascot, is out front instead in all his glory.
>Big statue of a moose, packing a comically large set of balls and wearing a hunters orange vest.
>You laughed and shook your head, thinking back to the hunting season five years ago.
>Back then, Paul didn’t get a vest.
>Paul, the owner, not the moose, never figured Paul the Moose would need one till that fateful day the Hood brothers thought they’d bagged the big one.
>Took quite a bit of work to get poor Paul’s face all fixed up, but the real Paul never stopped teasing the Hoods about it.
“Pair of good old lads now, hard to imagine...”
>You ran your hand through your hair, you knew there were more than a few gray ones in there.
“We’re all good old lads now…”
>Another shake of the head with a hearty chuckle, you pull into the parking lot and hop out of your truck.
>Easy steps to the front door, tingle of the bell when you open it up and stride inside.
>”Pay or get the fuck out.”
>You whip your head around, Paul’s sitting at the counter.
>He’s a man gone to seed, used to be the roughest and toughest around.
>Still tough, but Paul can’t get as rough anymore, beer belly caught up to him.
>Right now Paul is glaring at you, eyes narrowed with his fists clenched on the countertop.
>You match his glare, arms out to your sides and biceps bulging.
>You growl out an answer.
“How’s about I grab what I came for and then walk out? Huh?”
>Neither of you stop staring.
>Then Paul’s face breaks and he guffaws loud and hard, pounding his fist against the counter.
>You grin back and toss in a chuckle.
>”You fucker. What can I do you fer?”
>Waving your hand in the general direction of the freezer, you answer easy.
“Ah jus’ get me my usual, two cases of Premium Dry and a Gibson. Toss in a two liter of Pepsi while you’re at it.”
>Paul fetches your drinks while you mill around a little, looking at everything and nothing.
>There’s license plates all over the walls in here, old ones donated by truckers and lumber drivers alike.
>Moose heads too, most of them were catches by Paul himself.
>He’d always been a lucky fucker.
>That and a big time prime time poacher.
>Those were fond memories, running through the brush with a pack full of moose bits on your back, Paul dashing beside you whispering obscenities rapid fire about the “fuckin cocksuckin wardens on us Jesus fuck get moving James you dumb fuck”.
>That was before you became a forest ranger of course.
>Paul sets your beer and whisky down on the counter for you.
>You pull out of your reverie and saunter over to the counter to pay for the booze.
>Pay Paul and tuck your bottle of Gibson Whisky into a plastic bag.
>You put your wrist through the carrying handle so that you can take it and the two cases of beer in one trip.
>Your shoulder gives you a heady dose of pain for the effort of carrying both cases, one in either hand, but you ignore it.
>You give Paul a quick nod before walking out.
“See you round.”
>Paul smiles and shakes his head.
>”No you won’t.”
>You laugh and leave.
>Sounds like he’s taking his young lad out for a hunt then.
>And you know that neither of them got a license this year.
>You set the beer in the back and your Gibson in the front before you hop back in your truck.
>Wasn’t your problem anyway, you weren’t on duty this month.
>You’d just catch Paul some other year anyway.
>Last stop, Tim’s.
>You get the old standby, two bacon and egg on maple biscuit with a double double and a hashbrown.
>Keep on driving, eating en route to your place.
>Now I just need to pack the wheeler, the cooler and the gun…
>Satellite radio t-
>You come crashing out of your thoughts.
>Post office, you’d just driven by it.
>Sighing, you pull into the nearest driveway to get turned around.
>Rumble into the post office lot, toss it in park.
>You finish up your hashbrown and take one last sip of your coffee before snatching up your package notice to head in.
>Donna’s at the counter today.
>She smiles genially.
>Donna’s always been a nice girl.
>”Good to see ya James. How’s the shoulder treating you?”
>You smile sarcastically and rub the offending joint.
“Same as usual.”
>Donna shakes her head and tuts.
>”Shouldn’t have been lifting the things you were dummy. Big old logs. Tsk. Fer Pete’s sakes, ya’ve always worked way too hard fer your own good.”
“And I’ll never learn. Got a package apparently.”
>That brings Donna’s eyebrows up.
>You hand her your notice.
>”I see. Alright, jus’ a sec.”
>Donna walks out into the back mail room.
>You can hear some cardboard being moved around as she rummages about for your package.
>After a minute or two she comes back out with a cardboard box in hand.
>Donna stares at it a little funny before she hands it over and you can’t blame her, every inch of the damn thing is covered in tape and stickers of all kinds.
>Loads of em with “Express Shipping” in both French and English, along with “Handle With Care”.
>There’s a ton of stamps too, you feel bad for the person who got stuck paying postage on this thing.
>It’s not too big, about the size of a tissue box, a little wider maybe.
>You peer all around at it, checking every corner and face, but you can’t find a return address.
>Law enforcement instincts kick in.
“This thing was checked out right Don?”
>Donna nods and shrugs.
>”Yep. Security folks were jus’ as suspicious as you are. Ran every check on earth for it, hell, you woulda gotten it earlier ifn it weren’t for them holding on to it for a whole week.”
“Well. Have a nice one Donna.”
>”Will do. Don’t you dare work today you buffoon.”
>You smile and wave as you leave.
>The drive home goes by pretty quick, you’re a bit more intent on the road this time with the traffic picking up.
>But every now and then you can’t help but peek at that package sitting in the passenger seat.
>You pull up into your driveway and park right next to the front step so it’ll be easier getting everything in and out.
>Grab a cig and light it before you hop out with the package in hand.
>Clomp up the wood steps and into your house, eyes on the box the whole time.
>You take your boots off and set them in their usual spot beside the doormat before taking your package and walking sock footed through the kitchen and into the living room.
>Getting comfortable, you lay back in your recliner and set the box in your lap.
>A quick eye over shows that you definitely aren’t getting this open with your bare hands.
>You reach around to the knife on your belt and get it out.
>A few quick cuts and you’re well on your way, you tuck the knife back in its rightful spot.
>Your excitement is building as you tear away the tape and tug at the flaps, your smile brims with curiosity.
>Finally you get the cardboard box inside open.
>First is a silk pillow, you pull it away.
>Inside is another white silk pillow, with a glass ashtray and a folded sheaf of parchment resting on top of it.
>You marvel at the ashtray.
>It’s a fine piece of work, well-wrought and beautifully shaped like a bowl held in an eagles’ talons.
>Inside you can see feathers suspended, pure white, ashy grey and the occasional dusky blue.
>You’ve never seen anything quite like it.
>Burning with curiosity as to who sent this and why, you set the trinket aside and pick up the parchment.
>You grab your glasses from the table beside you and put them on to read the message.
>It’s written in a beautiful flowing golden script, with defined and stylized capital letters.
>”Here’s to the Hunt. Hope this little piece really adds to the camp.” –PC
>You flip the parchment over and over, looking for more messages, but there’s no such thing.
>Just that pair of vague little sentences and a signature you’ve never seen before.
>You had a thing for recognizing handwriting, this definitely wasn’t written by anyone you knew.
>No one you knew had the initials: “PC” anyway.
>Frowning, you set the page down next to your new ashtray.
>Kicking back farther in your recliner, you take a few drags off of your cigarette before tapping away the excess ashes into the feather ashtray.
>That brings a satisfied look to you.
>You shrug and get up.
“Never look a gift horse in the mouth.”
>The ashtray would be great for the camp anyway, right next to your chair.
>The paper did mention the camp after all, maybe they were just some benefactor who wanted to stay nameless?
>You head back through the kitchen, into the mudroom and down to the basement to get your thirty ought, taking it slow down the steps.
>That’s still odd though, your camp wasn’t well known at all.
>I mean sure, friends and family and all that.
>But it wasn’t like word had spread throughout the whole nation let alone the region around you.
>You flick the lights on and stride over the cement floor to your gun cabinet.
>Carabiner unclipped, you get the cabinet key out and open the thing up.
>A little bit of browsing and you pick out your thirty, take it in hand and over to the dresser where you keep its carrying case.
>There were people in Mustad who didn’t even know your camp existed, you got people walking or canoeing down the river past it every now and then who were surprised to find it there.
>Your frown deepens as you pack your gun away.
>So that discounts the benefactor theory.
>It can’t be someone you know, it just can’t.
>Not with that handwriting.
>And the ink too, who the hell did you know that would have GOLD ink.
>It was practically royal.
>You zip up the carrying case and lug it back up the steps.
>A quick peek at the stove clock shows it’s 12 PM.
>Running on time then.
>You set the gun down safely on the chest of winter wear while you go grab the bag you packed full of clothes last night from your room.
>Toss it down alongside your gun.
>You head back into your room and gather up the bits and bobs for your second satellite radio, the one you carry around.
>The radio itself is in the living room waiting for you.
>You take all of that over and pack it in the front of the truck, safe and sound.
>Then you start on everything else.
>Thoughts of who might have sent you that package come floating through your mind every now and then, but for the most part you’re focused on packing.
>You’ve already pre prepared everything to be packed anyway, so it doesn’t take long.
>Food is sorted into the coolers, beer is set on ice into their separate coolers, and hunting gear is put behind the seats.
>One way or another, everything gets put away and is ready to go.
>So you take a quick lunch and smoke break, tossing together a black forest ham and cheese on white bread.
>Tastes great with sparkling apple juice.
>It’s 12:48 when you start to get your four wheeler situated.
>Grizzly Bear was the model name, and it more than lived up to it.
>Damn thing could and did plow your driveway and the camp yard clear again and again every year.
>It was that dark forest green like your truck, and just as pristine.
>A machine that isn’t it good working order isn’t a machine at all.
>You backed your truck over to your trailer and hooked it up, then drove your wheeler up onto the back of the trailer.
>Fit like a glove.
>It took some effort and some protesting from your shoulder to get off the wheeler and back down on solid ground, but you managed.
>The pain was a bit rougher carrying jugs of gasoline over to put in the trailer though.
>By the end of the whole ordeal you had to take another break, kneading your shoulder and muttering curses as you crossed the driveway to go sit and smoke in your shed.
>Nearly done, just have to keep the pace up.
>Sitting in your stool, you chug away like a chimney listening to Willie Nelson sounding out Blue Skies.
>Idly, you scratch your beard.
>Pulling your hand away though, you notice something.
>Your thumb nail was all black.
>You frown at that at first, but then you ease up.
>Probably just stubbed it.
>What you don’t notice is that the nails on your other hand all have black spots on them too.
>Up you get.
>You turn off the radio and lock down the shed, then you head inside the house to grab the last few things you’ll need before going to the camp.
>You spare a glance at the sky while you walk across your driveway, noting that the clouds are still moving in from the north, heavy and grey.
>Looks like snow after all, especially with that chilly breeze.
>In the house, you grab a G2 to drink on the way.
>One last double-check on the list of things you need.
“Wheeler, check. Burgers, check. Steak, check. Salmon, check. Radio, check…”
>On and on, down all the way through the list.
>If you’re one thing, it’s thorough.
>Finally you come to something you’d forgotten.
“Ah. Gotta shave.”
>You’d been putting it off for a while, the new beard had really “grown” on you.
>Shaking your head and chuckling, you set your G2 back in the fridge and walked over to the bathroom to get it done.
>Looking in the mirror, you figure you’ll keep the mustache like you usually do, just needed to shave off the chin and the sides.
>You get the shaving cream out, applying it in good dollops, rubbing it in.
>Lean over the white stone sink to make sure you don’t get it all over the tiled flooring.
>You flick your razor out.
>An old fashioned one, none of that reusable nonsense.
>If you were going to get a job done, you were going to get it done proper.
>Steady and practiced, you bring the edge to your cheeks and start.
>Up and pull.
>Again and again, being sure to keep it at just the right angle.
>You take a break every now and then to let your hand quit shaking from the delicate work.
>Unfortunately, no matter how long you wait, your shoulder won’t quit stinging you.
>You press on, getting both sides finished.
>The chin and around the neck was the hardest part, things could get deadly if you made any serious mistakes.
>Ease into it, slow, deliberate movements.
>The razor passes easy down over your skin, a few times over.
>You smile and wash your face off.
>Then your brows furrow.
>There’s still something white stuck to you, so you try rinsing again, but the white spot doesn’t budge.
>Curious, and a little frustrated, you examine it closer.
>A feather, a little white downy feather.
>You try to pull it off, but it’s a no go, your skin comes right up with the feather and goes right back down when you let it go.
>It’s stuck in there, like it had grown on you.
>…Ha, yeah, right.
>Chuckling at the absurdity, you grab hold of it and tug it off.
>No real pain, you ignore the fact that your skin still came up a little with it when you pulled the feather off.
>You pat your cheeks, chin and neck down with some aftershave, then towel them off a little so the smell isn’t too strong.
>After a quick check in the mirror for any missed spots, you head on out.
>Through the hallway, you’re sure to turn the lights off in your living room
>You’re nearly about to keep on walking, but your eyes fall on the glass ashtray.
>You pick that up and take it over to the sink, a few quick rubs with a washcloth and you have the ashes from before all out.
>You admire the ashtray in the sun a little, seeing the golden rays spark the glass and send out a corona of rainbows, making the feathers inside almost glow.
>It really was a masterpiece.
>There’s a strange tingle in your back at the sight of it, a flutter.
>You roll your sore shoulder and sigh.
“Damn thing is catching up again.”
>You walk on through the kitchen, grab your G2 from the fridge and head outside where the truck is waiting.
>Jump up into the drivers’ seat and you set the glass ashtray into the glove compartment.
>The key is already in the ignition, you just turn it and get the truck in gear and rolling.
>Down the driveway, up the highway a few minutes and a left at the Foot Long Pipe Road.
>Also known as Welfare Avenue, a dirt road lined with shabby shacks in the woods, all inhabited by the laziest sons of bitches east of Parliament Hill.
>You suck down your G2 and drive easy though.
>The trailer follows along like an obedient little puppy dog and the truck radio starts belting out Tom T. Hall, Faster Horses.
>It gives a little jump for you when you hit the titular Foot Long Pipe, about halfway through.
>Eventually you get past all the ugliness and into the real woods.
>The clouds have finally come in too.
>It’s sort of surreal in a way, the sky was all a slate grey, and the clouds cast a shade on everything.
>Hardwood was what it was mostly, down these first few roads, birch on the outskirts, maple and beech going in.
>All of it steadily turned to softwood as you went on though, birch became scraggly jack pine, maple and beech was now black spruce and tall red pine.
>And then it would shift back to hardwood, again and again as you drove, till they all seemed to be there at once.
>You got to the half hour mark, three cigarettes in, when you decided to take a piss break.
>At your usual spot of course, there was a turnoff spot meant for lumber trucks here.
>You parked in it and got out to do your business, still puffing on your cig.
>You unzip and start clearing out your bladder.
>Towards the end of it, you grunt and flinch, damn thing stung a little.
“If I have cancer of all things…”
>You’re frowning all the way back to the truck.
>Your family didn’t have any sort of predisposition to cancer that you knew of, your only worry really was a heart condition.
>And the doctor had already gotten to poke you.
>No point dwelling on it then, you grab a beer from the back and get in your truck.
>On the road again.
>John Denver on the radio seemed to agree.
>”Country rooooaaaddss, take me hoooooooommeeee…”
>The rest of the trip was uneventful, couple turns, your beer went down slow and you smoked enough to stay buzzed.
>Finally you found yourself at the entrance to the camp driveway, a winding, smaller dirt road that went right through the woods.
>It was just wide enough for one truck to pass.
>You had to take it slow going, the gnarly old trees beside the road struck out with their roots at some junctures, usually when you were going up or downhill.
>Eventually you came to the camp gate, a cable strung up between two posts on either side of the road.
>Out of the truck again, you walked over to the lock, noting the cold in the air.
>Winter was coming awful quick this year, December had hardly even started.
>Quick turn of the key and you had the cable free, you picked it up and tossed it aside to drive the truck through.
>Just past the gate was the bridge.
>It was a sturdy construction, solid wood pillars and good lumber.
>A favor from a friend of yours actually.
>Beer Brook gurgled happily underneath it, carving a path through the woods and into Abel’s River just a minutes’ walk downstream.
>You drove on up over the hill and into the camp yard proper.
>A smile instantly lit up your face at the sight of it all.
“Good to be home.”
>Simple, strong, yet idyllic in some way.
>Perhaps it was the position, the camp sat at a horseshoe in Abel’s River, facing out towards it on an elevated cliff face.
>Mayhap is was just the horseshoe itself, the river and its essence.
>But somehow, someway, this place was perfect.
>It was the epitome of home, a place you could call your own.
>The camp was built out of sturdy logs, painted burgundy, and you’d been here for two years building it.
>Every single log there was hefted by you, you’d hammered together the beautiful porch out front alone, done the roof alone.
>And your son…
>Your daughter had done her share with you, when you and her had worked together you’d gotten more done in two weeks than you had with the crew of ten friends you’d brought over for a month.
>She really was a work horse now.
>Have to save that one for the next time you saw her.
>You’d built the shed behind the camp yourself, along with the stand for the water tank next to it.
>You’d built it all and the forest had done the rest.
>A collision of man and nature to form something more perfect than either could ever conceive of.
>You drew a cigarette and lit it, leaning back in your seat.
>Without even realizing you’d gotten out of the truck, you were already sitting in your lawn chair on the porch.
>Watching the river.
>It had a tempestuous temperament today, rushing calm and clear but glistening not.
>The hard gray from the clouds above seeped down through the air and soaked into the water it seemed, threw a veil over the black leafless maple trees and the already dusky softwood on the other side of the river.
>On the left, this dusk was a bit nullified by the more open view.
>The shale circular cliff face there was cold, but the open patches of tall grass on either side of the river weren’t.
>Rather it was the right side that wallowed in happy darkness, tall dark pine trees went all up around the bend, rapids rushed without any shimmer and reeds blew in silence and shadow.
>That side was where moose and deer roamed, you knew.
>The other was a favorite for birds of prey to fish, and beavers and otters loved to swim up the river towards the camp from there.
>Watching the pool made you wish it was still fishing season, it had been a real dry year on that front.
>You butted your cig out in the metal ashtray you kept on the stool by your chair and stood up.
“Time to unpack.”
That's all for that green for a while. I'll post a pastebin for it when I post up the update for PEER PRESSURE.
It's kind of weird that you've been keeping track of my post times, to be honest. Thanks for the concern though, I guess. I'm getting enough sleep.
>Never look a gift horse in the mouth.
>Your son... daughter.
You're a sly motherfucker Woofr. This guy is the father of the Anon who tf'd into Keyboard Masher, isn't he?
>You could have run.
>You should have at least tried.
>Straw crunches on the ground beneath your hooves as you pace back and forth.
>You couldn't have gotten far, surely.
>And you've still got this damn thing around your neck.
>The weight of it is always there, cold, hard, and heavy. With every step you can feel it holding you down.
>There will be a better opportunity.
>You can run away.
>You can find help, somewhere.
>What about the others?
>What about blue eyes?
>That man, Jim, he said things would be okay. He said that all you had to do was behave and you would find a good home.
>A good home? You had a home. Then they took you from it.
>You were miserable before.
>But you weren't a thing.
>The gate to your pen swings open with a screech. You were deep in thought and had completely lost track of time.
>Blue eyes trots in, guided along just as you were.
>She meets your gaze and smiles.
>Your face is getting little warm and you can't help but smile too.
>She's let off of her rod, the gate is closes behind her.
>And she's walking towards you.
>That tender smile, it's almost... playful.
>What the hell is this mare's deal?
>She's nuzzling your face, her eyes closed, speaking straight into your ear. Her voice is soft and crystalline, like a cool brook on a warm summer morning.
>You honestly can't think of anything else to say, instead closing your eyes and just enjoying the sensation of her coat on yours.
>After a few moments she pulls back, a self-assured grin plastered to her face.
>”I'm glad you're here-”
>She's... glad... you're both in a cage, abused, about to be sold?
>”-I was worried they'd keep us all separate, alone.”
>Oh. Your brain halts there for a moment.
“Look, we've got to get out of here. We can find someone who can help and they can come back for the others, but we've got to do something!”
>She listens intently, her expression unchanging.
“We can... we can rush the gate the next time it opens. We can go together, I think I remember the way out. We aren't far from the woods, we can run there, we can-”
>She's just smiling at you.
>”So, we can run away together? Make an escape? And then what?”
“I-I haven't figured that part out yet. Maybe there's someone out there that could help us, some way they could turn us back. We have to do something, who knows what's going to happen to us if we stay here?”
>”We can run for the woods, right? Hide out there, wait till it's safe. Do you think we'd make it away, that we wouldn't get caught and brought back here?”
“I don't know.”
>”Do you really think we'd find someone who could help?”
“I don't know that either.”
>”You don't know what will happen if we run, and you don't know what will happen if we stay?”
>You're starting to get frustrated. Those two things are not the same. If there's a chance you can get away, if there's a chance you can be free...
>”Were you... happy? Before all this?”
>She's looking you straight in the eyes, her expression unreadable.
>You, meanwhile, feel like you've been hit in the chest with a truck.
“I... no... I...”
>You look down, you don't know if you can even believe your own words anymore.
“...it doesn't matter, this isn't right. I can barely even remember what my life was like before this. Those people took that from me. We can't just let them just do this to us.”
>”I don't remember much either, but do you know what I do remember? I was alone, my life wasn't going anywhere, I didn't have many friends, and I wasn't sure I wanted to go on like that.”
>She's at your side, laying her head against your back. Suddenly you feel like you can't help but do the same.
>”And then I ended up here, or wherever it was we were before. I... I don't think I ever really liked myself before, I don't think I had all that many happy memories. But now... I'm different, everything is different...”
>She lifts her head off your back and turns. You're standing side by side.
>”...and it's almost like... like an adventure. Sometimes, things are bad, they're scary and you don't know what's going to happen. It seems like the world is a terrible place and nothing could possibly get better.”
>She leans in against you. It feels like you're sinking into her.
>”And then, suddenly, the clouds part and the light washes every bit of dreariness away. The world is more beautiful and wonderful than it ever was before and you cherish every moment of it because you know the bad times are over and the good times have finally come.”
>You turn to look at her and find her watching your eyes. Hers are filled with tears, but she's smiling.
>And then she kisses you.
>You're over the shock and surprise in an instant. Her lips are velvety and you can already feel her tongue searching for yours.
>You're quick to meet her, it's smooth and wet and she presses it beneath yours, pushing it up against the roof of your mouth and massaging the underside.
>She's pressing into you, pulling you deeper and deeper. There's a pressure welling up in your chest, each breath carrying butterflies upward from your stomach.
>There's... something else happening to you too. A tingling sensation... in your nethers.
>There's a soft creak as the pen gate swings open.
>Your eyes shoot open.
>Jim is standing there, face frozen in confusion. In front of him is a blonde maned dark blue pegasus.
>Their expressions match to a T.
>You recoil in surprise, your rear legs pressing together tightly in an attempt to hide your shame. You're shooting a thousand yard stare at them both. It only makes you look that much more guilty.
>Blue eyes is blushing, but she lets out a soft giggle upon seeing your reaction.
>After what feels like an eternity Jim turns around and walks out, wordless, shutting the gate behind him.
Back to our regularly scheduled programming.
>You snapped up another mouthful of salad, munching lettuce.
>Felt really natural, chewing on veg.
>Wonder how grass tastes…
>Well, not like you’d be able to find out with all this snow on the ground.
>Have to wait till spring.
>You swallowed and went down for another mouthful.
>Chad and your father were trading recipes, while Tammy devoured his salad.
>Thot was starting to come to, eyes fluttering open.
>But, really though, if you could eat grass and if it tasted good then you’d be able to save a fuckton on food.
>You’d have to be sneaky about it though, the city or the university might get you for illegal grazing.
>You nearly choked on your lettuce, giggling.
“Ha, illegal grazing…”
>You could see it now, drunken night raids on flower beds city wide, the lawn police chasing after you and for no particular reason, Chad too.
>Thot has come to.
>You gave her a bright smile and adjusted yourself in your chair, scooting your butt forward a little.
>Shaking her head, Thot perked a brow.
>You waved a hoof dismissively.
“Don’t worry about it. How are you feeling, you alright?”
>Thot nodded, a little hesitantly, eyes on her brother Tammy.
>Tammy was too busy gorging himself to really pay attention.
>”I’m fine. Are you okay? I mean aren’t you freaked out or scared or-“
>Shaking your head and laughing a little, you reached over the table and patted Thot on the shoulder with your hoof.
“I’m fine Thot. Thanks for worrying about me though.”
>She still didn’t seem sure about it all, but you knew Thot would come around eventually.
>Chad and your Dad had stopped talking, they were both intent on Thot.
>Thot pointed down at Tammy, brows furrowed.
>”And Tammy, she’ll go back to normal eventually, right?”
>You nodded and munched on some more salad.
“Haftor twelf hors.”
>Looking away from you, down at her brother Tammy, Thot extended a quivering hand to his mane.
>Thot’s ran her fingers through it.
>Her expression darkened with each pass.
>”Tammy. Don’t you ever scare me like that again.”
>Tammy sat up straight and turned his head to his sister.
>”Oh hey sis! You’re u-“
>Brother and sister stared each other in the eyes, Thot had a stern look on her face while Tammy had that same determined smile you’d seen in the janitor’s closet earlier.
>Chad was frowning, and butting out his cigarette on the table.
>”Alright Thotty. I’m sorry, really.”
>”I just THOT it’d be fun!”
>Your muzzle scrunched up at the pun, ears flopping down.
>Dad was chuckling and Chad was grinning.
>The tension disappeared, even Thot cracked a faint little smile.
>She pulled Tammy into a hug, holding him tight.
>Eventually the hug ended, and everyone went back to their business.
>Chad set all his garbage on his tray, burger finished.
>You munched up and swallowed the last bits of your salad and Tammy patted his tummy, full and finished long before you.
>Your Dad stood up and rubbed his right shoulder, lips curling downward.
>It always worried you, seeing him actually hurt even a little.
>Mostly because before Dad hurt his shoulder, you’d pretty much never seen him react to pain.
>Reciprocating saw cut into his hand?
>He hardly even flinched, just tore a strip off of his flannel shirt and wrapped it tight around the wound, then finished the job.
>It had taken you pointing out that he’d cut an artery to get him to go to the hospital.
>You’d seen him smash his hand with a hammer, seen him get trapped under a chained up moose he was gutting.
>Dad never even cried out or groaned, just sort of looked at himself in mild surprise then got right back to what he was doing.
>You’d always figured he was invincible.
>But that shoulder…
>You furrowed your brow, your ears flattened.
>Dad rolled his right shoulder and sighed.
>He wasn’t getting any younger.
>The pain seemed to subside, your Dad reached over and picked up your empty salad tray.
>”Here, I’ll get that for you… Huh. What should I start calling ya anyway?”
>You smiled, bemused.
>Dad rubbed his chin, thinking.
>”Well, son isn’t really the right thing anymore. What do Dads call their daughters?”
“Yeah, I guess. I dunno…”
>You shrugged and giggled.
“Usually honey or some nickname.”
>Your Dad was smiling wide now.
>You didn’t like it.
That is that for today.
It's a trap! Resist pony! Resist!
Here's the pastebin for the other green. Calling it Hunt. Nice and simple.
This is great stuff! I could manage that level of grim dark, especially with blue eyes showing up when she did. I'm very much enjoying your tone, and am really looking forward to learning more about the setting.
where have all the unicorns gone
I like where this is going. Was unsure how an old fella' would handle the little hoovsies, but if my suspicions are correct this will be quite good.
>>26029410 >hugs, anon. We wuv you for no readily explained reason.
And now I'm hooked. Better read all your previous stuff! = P (yay for prose too, not that I dislike green).
Pic related. You can't tell me this wasn't in your inspiration. >Zeppelins!
Surprised no mentioned it sooner, actually. Was it just unspokenly obvious?
If you drown yourself, you become a seapony. Are you sure you won't reconsider?
I love the ocean, I'd be perfectly happy being a seapony and swimming through tropical waters for the rest of my life.
I could play and tease beach goers by poking them underwater and pretending to be a shark. I could explore shipwrecks without worry, eat all the seafood I wanted, live on the sea currents, and not have to worry about any responsibilities.
So I guess I'm going to go drown myself. I'll see you all on equestria's beaches my fellow anons.
You seem to have everything worked out. It could be a nice life as a cute aquahorse. Do you not think it would get lonely in the vastness of the ocean or would you travel in a community of seapones?
I'm introverted, I wouldn't be bothered too much. If I needed company maybe I'd find some fisherpony or beach goer to talk to.
But I don't think I'd get lonely much, when the ocean is so large and there's so much to explore. And it's Equestria, so I bet there's all kinds of fantastical shit to find underwater.
Too bad that's not a sea pony. This is a sea pony.
b-but the sea ponies look like this in the
that hit me harder than it should have
>be an exhausted bugdad who just made it back to the hive outpost
>be very proud of your bugdaughter
>but too tired to use anything but the hivemind message board left open on your phone browser
>wish for cuddles
>dream of nuzzling chirps and happy little licks on your face
>be a happy bug pony
>be a kickass royal guard
>currently boosted as fuck off salt
>doing a solo patrol through some meadows
>find roaming changeling drone picking flowers
>bonk her on the head, hogtie and wait till she comes to again
>brandish spear, give the whole royal guard spiel
>dumb changeling scared shitless
>says if you're mean to her then her daddy will hurt you bad
>remove filthy bug
>laugh some more
>return to barracks
>tell friends all about disgusting changeling you killed
>friends all laugh and hit some more salt with you
>that muzzle when you know there's a bugdad out there
>that muzzle when you know he's coming back to the hive expecting cuddles
Did you regret this as you were writing it? Or immediately after you posted it?
How old does a filly need to be before she starts being slutty? Would you plan to earn a cutie mark in sluttiness?
Given these other answers, you're gonna be kept pretty busy.
>tfw master now has a gf
>tfw pone mom is a fucking communist
>tfw master has less and less time for you
>tfw pone mom resents me for pumping up the Trump
>tfw the pet life suddenly got shitty
>mfw if he ever removes my collar I'm to Rodger his dodgers
>tfw you're shitposting is recognizably unique
>“So I can call you whatever I want?”
“No that’s not wh-“
>”Be right back… Hoof Hearted.”
>Wait, that wasn’t even…
>Where was the pun?
>I mean yeah, Hoof.
>But there was nothing tying it in, Hearted was just Hearted…
>Your muzzle scrunched as you thought on it, there was no way Dad wouldn’t take advantage of a nickname.
>Was he genuinely just giving you a nice, cozy, daughter name?
>You looked up at him, confused.
>Your Dad just chuckled and headed over to the garbage bin, Chad following along behind him with his own trash.
>Tammy was laughing, Thot had a little giggle.
>You whipped your head around and stared them both down.
“What’s so funny? There wasn’t even a shitty pun in there!”
>Thot shrugged and Tammy just shook his head and smiled.
>They both got up and went to get rid of their trash too, leaving you there to ponder the great mystery of Hoof Hearted.
>You brought your hoof up and stared at it.
>Guess the frog on your hoof was kind of heart shaped.
>That’s not even punny.
>Not that Dad’s puns were funny to begin with.
>Hearts and Hooves…
“What the FUCK.”
>You hopped out of your chair and paced around angrily, stomping and clomping.
>Your tail swished about and you snorted.
>Was this just an advanced way of fucking with you?
>Maybe there really was no pun, and Dad just wanted to lead you on and torment and tease you about “not getting the joke”.
>You wouldn’t put it past him.
>He’s done worse.
>Shit like joking about you having a brother he’d never told you about…
>That had been a seriously intricate one too, he’d pretended to have these slip ups when he was talking about family for a whole fucking year before he told you he was only shitting you.
>Your eyes narrowed and you gave one last snort before jumping back into your chair.
>You huffed and crossed your fore legs over your chest.
>”You sound cute when you’re swearing, Hoof Hearted.”
>All of a sudden you felt a hand in your mane, mussing it all up.
“Damnit Dad, do you know how hard it is to keep this straight with just my hooves?”
>You turned around and frowned at him, and Chad and Tammy and Thot behind him.
>They just smiled back.
>”Sure thing, Hoof Hearted.”
>”Sorry ‘bout that, Hoof Hearted.”
>”I’ll tell him to be more careful, Hoof Hearted.”
>”Alright, Hoof Hearted.”
“ARE YOU ALL TWELVE? FUCK OFF.”
>You groaned and slumped in your chair.
>Chad and your Dad high fived while Tammy and Thot both had a giggle fit.
>Everyone sat back down around you, reigning in their laughter one by one.
>You kept your frown up for as long as it took for your Dad to mess with your mane again.
>Then you smiled.
>Mess aside, it felt nice.
>Dad’s hands were rough and calloused, but he’d always had a gentle touch.
>Your thoughts went back to Patrick, he’d had something like that too.
>But you felt it a hundred times over from your Dad.
>Dad picked your braid up in his hands, looking at it curiously.
>”Who did this up for ya?”
>Tammy spoke up.
>”Ah, I did.”
“Nice huh? I’m still trying to decide exactly what I want to do with my mane though.”
>Your Dad nodded back, letting your braid down over your shoulder and your chest.
>Then he grinned.
>”Maybe I should style it for ya, huh? I’ll give you a cut just like mine, real clean, easy to keep!”
>Dad pointed up at his buzzed head, nearly shaved completely bald.
“Even when I was still a dude I never said yes to that.”
>He winked and booped your nose.
>You rolled your eyes and looked to Chad.
“So what’s the plan anyway? We shopping or what?”
>”Yeah. I got a couple stores I wanted to stop into.”
“Cool. Me too. You guys?”
>You turned to Tammy and Thot, both of them gave you a thumbs up.
>Well, you just assumed Tammy was trying to give you a thumbs up.
>Your Dad was checking the time on his watch.
>He looked up, giving you an old smile, the one you’d seen plenty of before.
>” ‘Fraid not. Time’s getting on. I gotta get back to Mustad.”
>It was the bittersweet smile Dad always made when he had to leave.
>Dad clapped something down on the table, a money clip.
>There was just over a hundred dollars in it, at a glance.
“Dad you don’t need-“
>He cut you off, pulling you into a hug.
>”I know you hate charity. But I figure you’ll be needing some new clothes eh? Should be enough to get you more gear for the winter, along with some stuff to help you along.”
>You patted his back with a hoof.
>You felt him hug you even tighter, then you felt your hooves leave the chair as he lifted you up.
>He stared right into your eyes, expression serious, and he whispered, just for you to hear.
>”If you EVER need to talk. Call. Don’t matter if it’s two in the afternoon or two in morning. Y’hear?”
>You nodded back.
>The hug ended.
>Dad kept on smiling that going away smile at you, but you could tell that he wanted to stay.
>”I’d only cramp your style anyway. Have fun with your friends. Get drunk, take risks. Love ya.”
>He mussed up your mane one last time, then booped you on the nose.
>You smiled for him and waved as he walked away.
“Love you too, Dad.”
>Off he went, spreading the crowd with that perimeter of intimidation like he was Moses.
>You chuckled a little, under your breath.
>You’d always been a crybaby.
Done for tonight. Call your parents and tell them you love them, PTFG.
Big griffin stud.
I never regret anything.
About five minutes after posting it.
That sucks man.
Hilarious (and a real racehorse name).
Dad is a great character
which makes me all the more excited about your other story.
>Call your parents and tell them you love them, PTFG.
That'd be an odd conversation.
"Mum, dad, I love you. Also I'm a horse now."
Sorry, weekends are sort of hit and miss for me. I'll probably either update a whole lot or very little.
>One by one, the rest of the ponies from the truck filter in.
>Red pegasus mare, purple pony stallion, a white, mauve maned pony mare...
>Ten ponies all together, yourself included, cooped up in your tiny straw bedded pen. They shuffle about, low murmurs and sobs permeating the group.
>Through gaps in the fencing you can see another pen across the way, the scene there much the same.
>You approach one of the bowls you spied earlier upon entering. It's filled with water.
>You stare downward; a pair of yellow orbs beam back at you. Your wavy, purple mane wafts to the side as you turn your head, inspecting yourself.
>The mare you see staring back almost looks happy, a smile slowly creeping onto her face.
>What an odd person... pony... that mare must be.
>She couldn't really be you, could she?
>Little ripples spread across the surface of the water, obscuring the reflection.
>You're reminded of your thirst.
>The bowl you're standing over is one of three, each filled with water. It's large, black, and made of a thick plastic. The water is clear, but there are flakes of dirt and straw floating around the top.
>You're expected to drink out of this, like an animal.
>Suddenly you're not sure how thirsty you are anymore.
>That dark blue pegasus from earlier, a stallion, is standing next to you. Any misgivings he may have had over your display earlier apparently forgotten, he seems to be at the same impasse as you.
>You lean in slightly, only to recoil backward after a few inches. You know your body needs water, but your mind is shouting at you, telling you not to degrade yourself like this.
>Another pony is trotting up to the bowl, taking position on the opposite side. It's blue eyes.
>She glances from you to the stallion, her eyes showing a brief glint of understanding before she casts them downward at the bowl.
>The world is frozen around you, silent, as if watching the scene unfold.
>You believe that you catch only the briefest look of hesitation just before her muzzle plunges into the bowl.
>There's a sloshing sound as she greedily laps up the water.
>A few moments pass and she raises her head upward, again looking back toward you.
>Her muzzle is sodden, dripping with water.
>She smiles, blushing ever so slightly.
>It's warm, infectious even.
>You step forward, hoof pressed against the side of the bowl.
>Bottoms up... well, bottoms still down you suppose.
>Your muzzle pierces the surface.
>The water is cool and refreshing, though drinking like this is more than a little awkward.
>You slurp and suck at the water. It's loud and you can't help but feel a bit embarrassed.
>Your eyes open and you look up, blue eyes appears to be beaming with pride.
>After a moment you find yourself joined by the stallion.
>This is hardly something you would have found hygienic, but it seems that after being collared and corralled you're willing to part with yet another little piece of dignity you had been clinging to.
>Finally, refreshed, you withdraw from the bowl.
>The other ponies had been watching and, one by one, make their way to the bowls. It's clear that no one has had a sip to drink in quite a while.
>Your stomach grumbles and you figure that it's worth trying your luck with the feeding trough.
>You trot over, only to find it empty. The grumble turns to a sad moan.
>You're a little worried at your own disappointment, would you honestly have dipped your head into whatever slop had been in this thing?
>Yes, yes you probably would have.
>You make your way to one of the side walls, resting up against it on a soft mound of straw.
>Watching the others, you're a little surprised to find your mind prodding at you. Something isn't quite right.
>Aside from the fact that they're all talking horses, of course.
>They're missing something, all of them. Your view centers, as if by instinct, on each of their flanks.
>But you're all little horses, what did you expect?
>There's a thought slowly bubbling upward in your mind.
>It's like that show, the one you used to watch, it feels like so long ago.
>My Little Pony, My Little Pony~...
>You shake your head, as if to expel the thought. That's just a little too weird for you right now.
>You've been in here for a little over an hour now and you're surprised at how the atmosphere has seemed to change.
>The hushed murmurs are gone, the sobbing too. Instead, you can hear the other ponies chatting, even laughing on occasion.
>Eight ponies, only a short time ago cowering in fear and despair.
>Eight ponies, and one little ray of light.
>She's moving between them, speaking to each in turn. Joking, laughing, smiling, lively as the spring sun.
>Their responses aren't ever dramatic, usually just a weary smile and gentle nod. Little by little though their sadness seems to be fading away.
>The sound of a ringing bell brings you out of your train of thought.
>The pen door swings open and Jim enters; he's carrying a large, heavy bucket.
>Oh no. That can't be what you think it is.
>”Arright ladies, fellas, lunch is 'ere.”
>”Ah need every one'er ya up 'ere at yer trough, come on now, no dally'in”
>There's a hesitant shuffling as you all begin lining up at the trough. You find yourself at one of the ends.
>The apprehension in the air is palpable, you clearly aren't the only one not looking forward to eating whatever is about to be dumped into this thing. You doubt that even filet mignon would seem appealing like this.
>”Good, 'er we go. It ain't no fancy dinin, ah know, but it's the best we got.”
>With that Jim tilts the bucket over. Globs of chunky, colorless paste begin to land, each with a distasteful plop.
>It's oatmeal, at least you think it is. It's more like oatmeal's ugly toothless cousin.
>Jim walks down the line, making sure to drop enough of the goo in front of each pony. Having emptied the bucket he turns to walk out, stopping briefly to speak.
>”Go ahead'n eat'cher fill, then we need'ta be gettin y'all cleaned up an ready fer the floor.”
>And then he's gone, leaving behind a wake of anxiety and distress.
>They really did mean to sell you, and they meant to do it today.
>But you're getting out of this place, out of this pen. You'll be going to a good home.
>A good home? Did you really just think that? What about the others? What about blue eyes?
>They're going to take you out of this pen, and when they do, you'll have a chance.
>You have to try.
>Even if you don't know where you'll go, what you'll do.
>You can escape, you can be free.
>Until then you need to keep up your strength.
>You look back down at the slop, your stomach grumbling painfully.
>You glance sideways. The other ponies are all looking from side to side, then back down at the slop. It's like they're all facing the same dilemma.
>Then you catch the gaze of those familiar blue eyes. She's staring at you, it's almost like she's speaking, telling you something.
>It's as if you can hear her voice in your mind, soft and encouraging. Go ahead, it's okay.
>So you do.
>It isn't pleasant, to say the least. The taste is as bland as the texture is mushy. You'd lowered yourself into the paste as gently as possible, but it still manages to get all over your nose and muzzle.
>The others take your cue and dig in themselves, but not before you catch blue eyes giving you the slightest nod and smile.
>You heart flutters briefly and, for just a moment, you find yourself almost enjoying your meal.
Somebody actually found out? Not like it wasn't just a matter of time before someone finds out I've been referencing my favourite anime as inspiration.
Thank christ someone did.
In related news, delivery.
>The man grumbles.
>"You fuckers. We'll get you!"
>He then backs out.
>The children are crying.
>You turn back to the crowd.
>They're scared, as if you were a bunch of scary skeletons.
>You come closer, and light a cigarette.
>You're staring at them, a bunch of honorless sniveling cowards.
>You breathe a cloud of smoke out.
"We'll make it quick for them. Animals should be striken down humanly. Then again, my drones could use a lunch."
>Your sentence brews fear.
>A fear so sticky and dark that it rivals black coffee.
>The scent washes over you, your ears twitching.
>One of the old stands up.
>"Let the women and children go! This isn't honourable!"
'"Letting such a nice snack go? We all could use some fun."
>The man is standing with a stave in his hand, leant against it.
>A large scar runs down his cheek.
>He's slightly hunched over, under the weight of the years.
>His skin wrinkled, by the winds of time.
>"If you do that, you're no better than the German dogs during the war, no better than Russians in Berlin!"
>You just noticed.
>That accent, those speech patterns, the way he pronounces everything.
>Sounds just like Pip.
>Could they be related?
>He looks old enough to be Pip's parent.
>What're the chances, if he is Bernadotte's relative.
>That wouldn't change anything.
>It doesn't matter who these people are.
>Bernadotte is standing next to you.
>And she'll keep on standing there, unless you tell her.
"Fine. We'll let you go."
>The drones that blocked the entrances form up, and create a straight path for the exit.
>Either way, they'll have to walk through the spore filled hallway, they won't reach the exit.
>You should feel bad. You're letting them go, but you're killing them.
>But you don't feel bad.
>You can't feel bad for cattle going to the slaughterhouse.
>The drones begin to push the survivors, out into the grayed hallway.
>Once the first humans begin to strangle and grasp upon their necks, as if something had pushed on their throats, panic breaks loose.
>Your drones press on.
>The drones push all the people inside the spore filled, gray clouded hallway.
>But the old man had been taken aside.
>Away from the carnage.
>You know how the assimilation process works.
>Non told you that the spores exacerbate the tissue in the neck of the human, provoking an allergic reaction of a giant magnitude, provoking suffocation, and strong spasms of the entire breathing organ along with the transversal muscles.
>All of the muscles the victim controls, sent into a giant flurry of cramps.
>The allergic reaction is so strong it excites all of the lymphocytes, sending them all over the body, ending their life span in less than ten seconds flat.
>The user ends up without an immune system.
>No defence against pathogens.
>The spores had meanwhile set root in the victim's lungs, growing through the blood vessels, flesh, organs, muscle and most importantly, into the lymphatic ganglions, taking over the system.
>They penetrate painfully the subject's body, growing out in a flurry of yellowish strands from the subject's skin. Sometimes even digging into the ground, but always creating a cocoon around the subject.
>It ends up rewriting the instructions for production of immunal cells, producing the bacteria itself, the organism that'll change the being into a drone.
>The organism packs so much, that if it were to encounter a lymphocyte, the bacteria would get obliterated. That's why the spores are so important.
>And as time passes, so does the amount of infected and affected cells increase, flooding the victim's blood stream, killing red blood corpsulae in the biggest extreme, producing the black look of the blood vessels, thanks to the hemoglobin being used as food by the bacteria.
>The victim is still in heavy eclampsia, the tachycardia enhancing the spread of the change.
>Heavy breathing started by the lack of oxygen in the tissue and blood because of the lack of hemoglobin. This allows more spores inside the victim, overgrowing them more and more.
>Then the pituitary begins to produce a mix of hormones, drowning the victim inside them.
>Brain washing by their own brain.
>The organs bend under the pressure of the bacteria, changing more and more.
>They end up producing chemicals that harden up the veins and arteries, and lastly even the green acidic blood that transfers oxygen instead of the hemoglobin that's now in pieces.
>The fact that acid transfers oxygen to tissue proves to be quite damaging to cells that aren't built to endure a PH below five, end up melting, creating the