1. Member Since 19th Mar, 2012
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Aragon


Quoth the raven: "CAW CAW CAW CAW CAW CAW CAW CAW CAW"


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  • Tuesday
    This Is A Normal Blog About Cherry Blossoms, Drugs, And How Tea Plus Coffee Equals High Heels

    [21/01/2015 19:21:48] Mr Numbers: Oh my god but you act like such a dumbarse.

    [21/01/2015 19:22:02] Mr Numbers: On purpose, mind, it belies what I feel is a very deceptive intelligence.

    You know, sometimes you hear something a friend says, and it makes you think. In this case, this quote, alongside a comment I made on a story y’all should seriously read, made me think about things that look like things but in reality are different things. In a story, that’s what people usually call symbolism. That’s always a cool thing to think about, isn’t it?

    Also, just in case—Mr Dumbers here is wrong. I don’t act like an idiot to deceive ya. I’m merely pretty f*king dumb. Ockham’s Razor, people.

    Anyway! We’re not talking about my lack of brains here. We’re talking about cheap tricks to deceive the reader. Well, actually I am talking about this, and you’re just reading my words and probably dancing or some sh*t like that, but let’s just ignore that detail.

    What do I mean with “deceive”? Well, that’s a stupid question. Like, the word is right there. I mean deceive. I swear to God, y’all should stop asking that kind of thing.

    There’s this thing in publicity called “preloading”. It’s a way to indirectly tell the customer what to think when they see the product (think of it as a more developed “show, don’t tell” rule). It’s why when you see a yogurt commercial, a pretty lady eats the yogurt and goes “hmmmmmmmmm!” but nobody goes “HOLY F*CKING SH*T THIS YOGURT IS BETTER THAN JESUS AND IT ALSO MAKES ME POOP HOW COOL IS THAT”. Preloading is all about subtlety, about being deceptive, so to speak. Almost subliminal, but not quite, because the message is obvious. It’s about sending sings to the customers, and forcing them to assume stuff.

    Stories have that too. There are many things that immediately make the reader think a couple things about the character of the story. You might know it or you might not, but whenever you write, you’re preloading your readers.

    Am I making sense? I doubt it. Who cares. This is just a very long intro anyway. What I wanted to list here as just all the little things that plague a story and what they mean, at least for me. Have in mind this is not purely subjective—I’ve seen many authors (both in and out of this site) who use this kind of thing exactly like me, and sometimes they don’t even do it consciously.

    I’m talking about things like…


    Tea: I’ve written a lot about ponies drinking tea, because I’m as original as a red-and-black-alicorn joke. However, this is not just because I like tea. Tea is a social beverage, something like the pusillanimous cousin of coffee. You don’t drink tea when you want to avoid falling asleep—you drink tea when you’re with people.

    In other words—whenever there’s tea somewhere, the character drinking it is probably either British/Indian/Chinese or a very social person. You don’t drink tea on your own unless you’re very very sad or very very cold, so there’s probably going to be a conversation whenever tea arises. And it’s going to be an adult conversation, because if you ever see a kid drinking tea like that you should kick the little bastard in the face and then throw the body into the river. That’s not a kid, that’s an alien.

    Or, again, a British/Indian/Chinese kid. If that’s the case, please don’t kick the kid unless it’s being an asshole.

    Long story short: tea means society, conversations. Sometimes elegance, too, and sassiness. No wonders I always picture Rarity drinking tea, even though we’ve never seen her doing that in the show. But you know who else drinks tea? Celestia. Who is not sassy at all, but shut up the point still works. I’ll use my own stories as an example here: ponies drink tea and they talk, always.

    Coffee: Coffee is a bitter drink (important later), and it has three different meanings, depending on when it appears. A character drinking coffee in the morning is going to be seen as either a professional, centered character who doesn’t fool around and probably wears a tie, or a very sleepy fella. Sleepiness here usually meaning unprofessional, weirdly enough. So it kind of depends on how you portray a character.

    Want an example? Chances are, if a fic shows Octavia drinking coffee in the mornings, she’ll drink it while reading the newspaper and having breakfast in the kitchen, her attention focused on something else. Man, what a responsible mare. I’d let her take care of my finances.

    However, Vinyl is going to show up sleepy as hell, with the worst bed hair you’ve ever seen, her attention completely focused on the coffee because she can’t really think yet and desperately needs the caffeine to wake up. She’s a f*cking mess, that’s what she is. My, she probably has a hangover.

    You might say the coffee is not important here, to which I say seriously shut up. You can show this exact same thing without the coffee, but the coffee is an easy yet efficient way to do it, and f*cking everybody does it already.

    What if the coffee appears in the afternoon? Then it’s a little more metaphoric. Coffee, as I said before, is bitter. That, for some reason, makes it melancholic. Seriously, check it out—if the character is having a coffee with a friend or something, they’re going to start remembering and the atmosphere will get very thoughtful, maybe even philosophic. Even if they add sugar, it’s still going to be like that. Coffee is also romantic, because apparently kissing somebody whose mouth tastes like coffee is hot? I have no idea.

    I guess it also has to do with its flavor—coffee is bitter, but it can be sweet if you add sugar or cream. That sounds like a very angsty, teenagerish description of what “romantic love” is. And with “teenagerish” I mean “lame”, but hey, I don’t make the rules.

    Coffee during the night has just one meaning: f*ck sleep, I’ll get some sleep when I’m dead. Expect the character to be either a student or a very desperate person. Coffee during the night equals work, and probably a tedious one.

    See how this is going? This kind of thing is obvious, but it does carry a message. You don’t need to explain any of this—just show the character in any of those situations, and people start to assume. Which can be kind of useful.

    High heels or a tie: This is harder to use in a ponyfic, because last time I checked there’s no way a pony can wear high heels at all. But, hey, there are humanizations out there, aren’t they?

    A character who wears high heels (if it’s a girl) or a tie (both sexes) tends to be elegant and professional. It’s a mix between tea and coffee, and I just realized how weird that is. Coffee plus tea equals high heels. Man, that’s a quote for the ages.

    Mind you—they have to be worn in a casual way. Don’t make a fuss out of them. Just say that the character wears that, because it likes to do so. Mention the click-clack of her shoes whenever she walks. Show him playing with his tie whenever he’s bored.

    More than anything, high heels and ties give perhaps a feeling of adulthood. Real adulthood, mind you, not just an old age. It’s about responsibility, about being down-to-earth. Lipstick, loafers, white shirts, and the like are more or less the same. That’s one mature character right there.

    Also, you just imagined fanon-Octavia, probably. If you’re not being original and just imitating the usual stiff grey pony, any humanization of her will probably be like that.

    Perfume: Usually a fake person, as long as the character wears too much of it. If it’s just a faint smell, and it’s all whimsical ‘n shit, then the character who notices it is just falling in love.  

    But if the character just bathes in Channel? Yeeah that’s not trustworthy. Perfume hides part of you, right? So there’s that.

    Also, sometimes authors make a character smell like something, but without perfume. For example, Applejack smells like apples. That counts as the whole “falling in love” thingy, at least 90% of the time.

    Snow: Okay, two things: First, the author has watched far too much anime. What a f*cking weeabo.

    If you say that’s not true, then you’ve seen things that are inspired by Asian culture in general (probably Japan more than China, but I’m not exactly sure).

    Second, it means purity, death, loneliness, and sometimes beauty. Usually in that order. Seriously, originality is not something you should avoid, people. WHY HELLO SNOWDROP HOW’S IT GOING GOOD OKAY GOOD SAY HELLO TO ELSA NEXT TIME YOU SEE HER.

    Numbers: The character is smart. Look, it’s talking about numbers. Either he’s asocial, or he’s smart. Usually both.

    Numbers are impersonal and scary—saying “you’re just a number” means something like “you’re nor human”. And probably “I’m a nazi”, too. Too many numbers in one fic, especially when they involve a character, tend to point at a robotic, intellectual, not-very-good-with-people character.

    (Twilight is a good example for that, although it’s not an exact fit.)

    Food: If a character is eating food, then it probably means the character is f*cking hungry. Not everything has to be deep, sorry.

    Cherry blossoms: Oh, for heaven’s sake, read some Marvel instead of all that mango. Plus, no good anime has ever used cherry blossoms in an actual good symbolic way ‘cept for Free!, and that one is an exception because it’s a series that zooms to the protagonists’ crotches almost constantly, and plays it absolutely straight.  

    Well. Actually, it plays it in a very gay way, but you feel me.

    Drugs and alcohol: Ah-hah! This is the one that made me think of writing this blog that nobody will read. Before I say anything else in here, mind that I absolutely do not advise you to do drugs or drink too much alcohol. Get away from that stuff. It’s bad.

    Alcohol, if you’re of age, is okay, as long as you don’t overdo it. Also, keep this in mind: I’m talking about characters here. Fictional things. If a real person is like this, it’s not cool or interesting. It’s a tragedy. It means the person needs help. Don’t be an ass about this.

    Okay. Responsible thingy out. Let’s go to the cool stuff.

    Alcohol and drugs (drugs being more or less the “extreme” version of alcohol) tend to demonstrate self-destruction, or at least a desire to do so. Now, this is the interesting part—it doesn’t need to be bad self-destruction. Oh, it can be, of course, but alcohol and drugs can be presented under a positive or a negative light.

    Under the negative light, you get the usual stuff—alcohol and drugs can destroy you, after all, so a character that willingly takes those is pretty definitely a self-destructive person/pony/chameleon/semidemon/whatever the hell you’re writing. Maybe it’s self-destructive because its life is way too hard and the poor thing is already broken, maybe it’s just this kind of sick self-destruction, where the character doesn’t want to f*ck himself up to hell and beyond, but it can’t help it. Maybe it’s a sign of a sick character, and the addiction is a tragedy. This kind of stuff is pretty heavy, after all.

    But more or less, negative light on alcohol or drugs tend to mean that the character, for one reason or another, wants to stop existing. Sure, it might not think that, but subconsciously that’s what it’s searching. This can be very useful for writing a complex character, actually—it’s not suicidal, but the reader (and you, probably) will get the feeling that the character wants to die. That, if played well, can give birth to an amazing character. People is usually all about being alive, and when somebody unconsciously decides to stop being? That’s some next-level stuff. It’s also something extremely complicated to write.

    But what about a positive light? Then, self-destruction doesn’t mean the character wants to die. It means that the character is willing to shorten its life as long as it has a good life. It’s the old “better to live fully than to live longer” motto, the go-to rock ’n roll attitude, the easy way out when you want to introduce a rebel, young character. It’s about having a hell of a time at the party without caring for the hangover that comes afterwards.

    Because the hangover comes—both literally and figuratively. Characters that do drugs or drink alcohol in this sense (as a way to show that they have fun and don’t care for the future) tend to suffer consequences. And what’s more—the reader wants to see those consequences. Don’t chicken out here. A character like this needs to have something bad happening to him because of what he’s done (it doesn’t need to be related to the alcohol or the drugs, of course). The readers expect that, and it’s a perfect example of a character arc. Showing the initial attitude, the “party” (as in, the moment where the character shows its “live now, worry later” personality), the aftermath, and then the character learning from it? That’s a YA novel right there. That’s a timeless classic, too.

    I mean, I could be talking about Crime and Punishment. Or I could be talking about Pipsqueak’s Day Off. You don’t know. But I just mentioned two stories that use this sign (Raskolnikov drinks a lot of vodka, Pipsqueak driks bourbon and takes salts) and follow the same arc (both have a “party” with serious consequences, both have to deal with it, both fall in love in the process) and couldn’t be more different.

    Also yes, I just compared Crime and Punishment to Pipsqueak’s Day Off. I love that fic. F*cking fight me.

    So overall, what I mean here is that drugs and alcohol, if used well in a story, can give birth to some pretty awesome characters and a killer story.

    Man.

    I’m so responsible.

    Seriously though don’t even think about doing that stuff in real life. I’ve seen how it goes. It’s not pretty. And it ruins your life. And afterwards you smell like poop.


    Holy magnolias, this is one long noodle, quoting RBob. Better to stop now. Nobody’ll read this, but mneh, who cares. I might ramble about this stuff later on, because I find this topic pretty interesting, and there are more easy preloading symbols out there that I’d like to talk about.

    Then again, nobody will give a fudge about this, so bah.

    17 comments · 137 views
  • 1w, 4d
    I Can't Believe I'm Writing This One

    23 comments · 321 views
  • 1w, 6d
    Betcha People Mistake This For A Serious Blog Post At First

    I remember it perfectly. When I was five years old, my father asked my grandfather if he was doing a good job at raising me. That afternoon, I’d been trying to fulfill my dream of becoming a carrot and live with no responsibilities via smashing my head against the walls, because I was the fucking dumbest kid you’ve ever seen. “What do I do with the kid, Dad?” my father had asked, holding me in his arms.

    Well, okay, he wasn’t using his arms, only his hands. Holding me in his hands. Okay, holding my neck with his hands, and pressing gently, no doubt because he really loved me. And maybe he didn’t really say “kid”. To be honest, the terms that came out of his mouth were “little fucker”. But, you know, the overall picture is more or less the same.

    Anyway, so he asked “What do I do with the little fucker, Daddy-o?” while lovingly trying to choke me to death. “I mean, I’m fucking choking this human wreckage I’m legally forced to call ‘son’, but it’s not working.”

    And my grandfather looked at him, straight into his eyes, and whispered something I’ll never forget. “If you love your children, let them go. If they come back, they’ll come back stronger. If they don’t, well, then fuck’em. You can make more of the little bastards. In fact, I’d recommend you to let that one go as fast as possible.”

    “Fuck, Daddy-o, what do you think I’ve been trying to do all this time? What I wanted to know is, do I use cyanide, or…?”

    The rest of the conversation is blurry, because I was kind of suffocating, but I’m sure they just repeated again and again just how much they loved me. My childhood was so awesome. OH GOD DAD PLEASE LOVE ME.

    Anyway, that message always resonated with me. “If you love’em, let them go.” That’s some folky wisdom right there. So I thought, why not do that? I sadly don’t have any kids, because my genitals are so cool every woman I try to impregnate freezes solid and shatters immediately, but I can use that advice metaphorically, can’t I?

    So, I’ll let my metaphorical children go. And if they come back, they’ll come back stronger.

    Of course, with “let go” I mean “publish a little bit about them in here.”

    And with “children” I mean “Original Characters.” And I’ll also talk about a story!

    And with “love” I rather obviously mean “fuck you I’m not doing some bad running gag where I say something random here”.

    Ladies and gentlemen (oh, who am I kidding: sexy ladies and more sexy ladies), let me show you the amazing characters I make up whenever I’m bored or trying to avoid suicidal thoughts!


    Fucking Nobody: Who is this pony? Fucking Nobody! Nobody gives a crap about him, which means he has horrible self-esteem issues! He’s Fucking Nobody, so he’ll be a virgin forever! He has no friends, because he’s Fucking Nobody! Who gives a crap about how he looks like? He’s Fucking Nobody! He’s literally the least important, least interesting character you’ve ever seen. Not even you give a fuck about him. Fucking Nobody!

    Pig Norant: He’s not even a pig. He’s just fucking dumb. Kind of fat and smelly, too.

    Doctor Amedy: When he was born, he came butt first, and his butt was so big his mother died in childbirth. He lost an eye with a horrible, traumatizing hamster-in-your-mouth-what-the-fuck-how-did-it-ever-get-in-there-I-mean-what-the-fuck-do-you-do-in-your-free-time-are-you-kiding-me accident. His son became a hilarious little clown that got his legs crushed by a car full of hilarious little clowns. Now he’s the funniest clown ever, because he has no legs, and Equestria is filled with assholes. Dr. Amedy’s life is filled with disgraces, and everypony laughs at them, because, well. They’re pretty damn funny.

    Night Mare: she’s a scary prostitute.

    Yeah.

    I got nothing.

    I Don’t Fucking Know, Just Write Whatever Comes To Mind: look, Idon’t’s parents weren’t exactly good at coming up with names, okay? And they just happened to cross roads with the most literal-minded bureaucrat in the world. Not her fault. She’s actually a pretty nice mare, although her childhood was understandably difficult. Some kids made fun of her because of her freckles.

    Tonfa King: One of the best ninjas in Equestria, absolute master of the tonfas. Married to a very obese mare. He rocks her world in bed.

    Golden Shower: Yeah, somehow Idon’t’s parents weren’t the worse at making names. I’m really, really sorry.

    Sergeant McKickAss: Her father wanted an awesome soldier, so obviously this mare became a pretty boring accountant. She had an adventure with Golden Shower, but left him with a broken heart when she realized he wasn’t as kinky as it sounded. God I’m so sorry for this stuff please don’t unfollow me I swear I can’t change.

    Dancing Queen: YOUNG AND SWEET, ONLY SEVENTEEN. Her father died alone. She’ll always blame herself for that. She let him down in his last moments, and she’ll never rest again. During the night, his face appears in front of her, and the look in his eyes is not anger, but disappointment. She knows she’s broken. She’ll never be whole again. FEEL THE BEAT OF THE TAMBOURINE.

    Ode Dipus: What a dyslexic motherfucker.

    Schaden Freud: German psychologist. Well, maybe not German per se, but whatever Equestria’s equivalent to Germany you can think about. He’s the psychologist who worked with Ode Dipus. And he laughed at him all the time.

    Blergh: Look, babies are ugly, okay.

    Bleeeeeeergh: Oh, honey! They’re twins!




    Aaaand that’s it, I think. Man, sometimes I look at how many followers I have, and I gasp at the amount of people who should seriously know better.


    Also, the reason why this blog is tagged: You know when you have an old story and it suddenly gets a lot of attention? It’s weird. The weird thing is, this same story got featured by the Seattle’s Angles not that long ago. I’m absolutely sure that it got attention because of that, though, so maybe it’s not that weird? I’m talking, of course, about my one and only dark fic.

    Anyway, so Chris reviewed it, and he didn’t really like it, which I understand. The pictures wasn’t something he could dig, but he said the prose was okay. PresentPerfect also said it was pretty okay, and lauded both the pics and the words because PresentPerfect is, in the end, not that bright when it comes to art.

    But then we have the best fucking live reading any story of mine has had. Like, I’ve had some really awesome readings, and I feel like an ass for saying this one is better, but damn this thing is so cool. It’s short, less than ten minutes, and yet it has, like, sound effects? And an awesome VA for the characters? And the narrator is creepy? And the music is amazing?

    I tell you: watch that thing. It’s incredible.

    Wait. This can’t be the end of the blog post. This has to be funny. Let me try a joke:

    “Hey, Pinkie! What’s your favorite number?”

    “Well, you know three?”

    “Yes.”

    “Lil’ bit more than that.”








    God, I’m lame. I’M SO LAME. OH GOD DAD WHY DON’T YOU LOVE ME. NONE OF THIS WOULD HAVE HAPPENED IF I WAS A CARROT, I FUCKING KNEW THAT WAS THE ANSWER TO EVERYTHING.

    18 comments · 225 views
  • 3w, 4d
    This Is The Most Heartwarming Thing I've Ever Written

    “Aragón!” Mother said, opening the door and hugging the man who stood at the other side tightly. “You came! For a second, I was afraid you wouldn’t appear this year!”

    “Uh-huh.” Aragón didn’t know if he should return the hug, so he just patted his mother on the back. “Totes. Heya, Mom.”

    “Oh, I’m so glad to see you!” Mother hugged him even tighter. “How are you? Are you eating well? Do you have any girlfriend? Did you finally stop watching that horrible sh—”

    Suddenly, silence.

    Mother squinted. She was still pressing Aragón against her. “Please tell me you’re carrying a banana in your pocket. Please.

    “What?”  Aragón frowned. “No. Why would I carry a banana in my pocket? That’s a boner.”

    “EW! EEEEEEEEEEEEEEW!” Mother pushed Aragón away and shivered. “DEAR FUCKING LORD, SON! WHAT THE HELL IS YOUR PROBLEM! I DON’T SEE YOU FOR YEARS, AND YOU WELCOME ME WITH THAT?!

    “Uh?” Aragón blinked. “Ah! Oh God, not because of you!” He took a step back and pressed a hand against his chest. “Are you crazy?! Have you seen you?” He flicked his hair to the side. “I’m way out of your league, woman!”

    “YOU’RE POPPING A GIANT ERECTION WHILE HUGGING YOUR MOTHER YOU BASTARD!”

    “Yes, but that’s just because I saw my reflection on a window outside.” Aragón rolled his eyes. “Geez.  Calm the hell down. I’m not that sick yet.” Then he closed the door behind him and sighed. “Happy new year and all that, by the way. Are the others here?”

    “I swear to God, I knew I should’ve ab—hm?” Mother scratched her cheek. “Yeah, your siblings are here, of course.”

    “Cool!” Aragón walked to the hall and waved at his three siblings, all sitting on the sofa. “Hey, Miguel! Long time no see!”

    “Yo.”

    “Glad to meet again, María!”

    “Heya.”

    “Lookin’ as fine as ever, Captain Steel DickPuncher!”

    ME PUNCHES DICKS.

    “Ah, hah, hah.” Aragón crossed his arms and nodded. “Good old Captain Steel DickPuncher. Never change.”

    ME DO NOTHING BUT PUNCH DICKS.

    “Son?” An old man with a coffee mug in his hand entered the hall through the other door. The coffee mug said My Son is a Huge Disappointment but At Least He has Good Taste in Coffee Mugs.“Oh, fuck. You’re still alive?”

    “Dad!” Aragón smiled and walked towards the man, arms stretched out. “Give me a hug!”

    “Fuck no.” Dad sipped from his mug. “The day I show you any affection, hell freezes over.”

    ME CAN PUNCH HIS DICK IF YOU WANT, DAD.

    “No, no.” Dad waved a hand. “Don’t bother, Captain Steel DickPuncher. He’s not worth the effort.”

    “Aw, come on, Dad.” Aragón rested his back against a wall and smirked at him. “You know you like me, deep inside.”

    “Yes. Deep inside my asshole.”

    “Uh-huh.”

    “Because you’re a little shit.”

    “Yeah, I got it when you said it the first time.”

    ME CRAVES PUNCHING DICKS.

    “So. Little shit.” Dad arched an eyebrow at Aragón. “Why the everloving shit are you here, and how can I make you go away as fast as possible?”

    Aragón smirked even harder. “Hah. See? You’re willing to talk instead of using the shotgun! That means you love me now!”

    “No, it means I learned my lesson last year.” Dad squinted. “You’re awfully good at dodging bullets.”

    “Literally everybody who’s ever met me tried to shoot me at least twice after seeing me for the first time,” Aragón replied, shrugging. “Practice makes perfection, as they say. Anyway, as you might have guessed, I’m here for a reason.”

    “Really?” Mother entered the hall too and stood by Dad’s side. “I thought you were here just to ruin your father’s holidays.”

    “He did that the moment he was born,” Dad muttered. “All holidays, ever. Retroactively.”

    “I agree that was also my intention,” Aragón agreed, agreeing with an agreeing agreement. HE AGREED. “But I mostly came here to ask for advice.”

    Dad huffed. “I suggest drowning yourself in holy water. While on fire.”

    “You didn’t even hear what I was having trouble with.”

    “I know. That’s still my suggestion.”

    “No, you see… It’s just, I feel like I’m lacking something big.” Aragón licked his lips and grabbed his elbows. It made him look sexy yet troubled. “Like… Well, you know, we’re in 2015 now.”

    “Indeed.”

    “Yes.”

    ME FEELS THIS CONVERSATION LACKS PUNCHED DICKS.

    “And, like, I really feel like I should say something.” Aragón scratched the back of his head. He still looked constipated. “Something good, you know? Something that makes a difference.”

    Silence.

    Dad frowned. “The fuck are you talking about?”

    “A blog post.”

    A collective groan filled the room. Even Captain Steel DickPuncher did it.

    “Are you seriously seeing your family for the first time in five years just to asks us about that shitty website?” Mother asked, massaging her temples. “What in God’s name did we do wrong while raising you? Was it the beating? We beat you too often?”

    “Or we didn’t beat you often enough,” Dad muttered. “Personally, I think we’re still in time to solve that issue.”

    ME AGREES. ME CALLS DIBS ON HIS DICK.

    “Third time I hear that line today,” Aragón muttered. “Anyway, yes. It’s about that website again. You see, I want to post something to celebrate the new year, but it’s my hundredth blog post, and—”

    “We don’t care.”

    “—and I want it to be as special as possible, because, well, it’s a big thing.” Aragón shook his head. “I don’t wanna waste it with some, I don’t know, some ‘Aragón visits his family for Christmas’ bullshit, you know?”

    “We seriously don’t care.

    “So what should I do?” Aragón made a pout. “Do you have any idea?”

    Dad sipped from his coffee mug. ”Travel back in time and open your own head with a baseball bat.”

    “I thought of talking about my latest story,” Aragón continued, “but there’s really not much to talk about it. Sure, it had some mid success; it turned into the fourth story of mine with over a thousand likes…” He frowned. “But there’s not that much into it, really. I just wrote it on a whim, and that’s that.”

    “The fact that you’re popping a boner while talking to me about this bullshit makes me want to claw your insides out with my own hands and stuff you with formaldehyde.”

    “So you don’t want to talk about your own story?” Mother asked.

    “Nah. Like, I can’t say a thing about it, really.” Aragón shrugged. “Usually I’d do it, but… Nah. There’s better stuff out there, after all.”

    ME REMEMBERS THE FIRST TIME ME PUNCHED A DICK. IT WAS BEAUTIFUL. THERE WAS A DICK, AND THERE WERE PUNCHES, AND THERE WAS ME, AND IT WAS MAGICAL. ME IS AFRAIND OF BEING MONOTHEMATIC.

    “Yeah.” Aragón nodded. “And—can you believe this?—not written by me!” Aragón chuckled. “There’s this guy I know, one big bastard, who—”

    “If you know him, he’s automatically scum,” Dad said. “Everybody who’s ever had any contact with you should be obliterated. Including myself. This entire universe is stained by your presence. And you still have a boner. Why do you have a boner. Why are you torturing me like this.”

    “Well. Yes.” Aragón nodded. “Yes, he is. And he has this story of his, you know? One he published not so long ago. I could talk about that one.”

    Mother arched an eyebrow. “What would that accomplish?”

    “Well, I’m fairly  sure it would accomplish absolutely nothing.” Aragón shrugged. “My followers would think I’m a sell out trying to brown-nose someone who’s far better than me, and that guy would think I’m trying to get in his pants.”

    “And you aren’t?”

    “Of course I am!” Aragón said. “Why would read his stories otherwise? I’ve been trying to tap that ass for ages. I did every single trick in my book,” he added, biting his lips. “I’ve sent him flocks of my own hair, I’ve licked his eyeballs while he was sleeping, I’ve sexually assaulted his dog… And still, nothing! And I seriously doubt talking about that latest story of his would do anything good.”

    DID YOU TRY TO PUNCH HIS DICK.

    “That goes without saying, Captain Steel DickPuncher.”

    ME JUST WANTED TO BE SURE.

    “Well, then don’t talk about his fucking story,” Dad said. “See? Problem solved. I’m a genius. Get the fuck out.”

    “But I wanna talk about that story!” Aragón said. “It’s funny, and it’s about Twilight dancing, and my followers might like it, and—”

    “Wait.” Dad raised a hand to interrupt Aragón. “Wait. Wait, wait, wait, wait. People follow you?!”

    “Yeah!” Aragón nodded. “Almost one thousand people follow me, actually!”

    Silence.

    “WHAT?!”

    “Yeah! Isn’t it amazing?”

    “HOW ON EARTH CAN ANYBODY BE DUMB ENOUGH TO WILLINGLY SPEND ANY TIME WITH YOU?!”

    “Because they can’t see my face!” Aragón said. “A shame, though, seeing how hot I am.”

    “THE MERE IDEA OF PEOPLE BEING NEAR YOU ON AN INTELLECTUAL LEVEL DISGUSTS ME!”

    “But they like me!”

    “THAT IS THE WORST SENTENCE I’VE EVER HEARD! OH GOD FOR SOME REASON I HATE YOU EVEN MORE NOW! I DIDN’T EVEN KNOW THAT WAS POSSIBLE!”

    “Aw, Dad.” Aragón smiled. “You’re such a softie.”

    “SHUT UP! LEAVE ME ALONE!”

    “Oh, dear, you’re making a fuss out of nothing!” Mother waved a hand. “You don’t hate him that much, do you? I mean, you’ve talked with him with over five minutes, and you’ve only threatened his life a couple times! That means you like him!”

    “Oh my God!” Aragón’s smile was brighter than the sun. “Mother’s right! You love me!”

    “THERE AREN’T ENOUGH WORDS IN THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE TO EXPLAIN HOW WRONG YOU ARE!”

    “You like me!” Aragón repeated. “Look! I’m so happy I developed a second penis and popped another boner!”

    AIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!

    AIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!

    ME LIKES THIS DEVELOPMENT BECAUSE IT MEANS ONE MORE DICK TO PUNCH.

    29 comments · 329 views
  • 6w, 14h
    This Is So Fucking Lame, I Love It

    14 comments · 270 views
  • 7w, 13h
    There's a Dick Joke Subtly Hidden in This Blog

    You write too many blog posts.

    I clench my fist. My frown deepens. The computer screen looks back at me, and it seems like it’s laughing at me. Kind of hard for something without a mouth, but… Look, I’m just being poetic here, okay. Of course it doesn’t look like it’s laughing. It’s a fucking screen. It looks square, and that’s it.

    You write too many blog posts.

    I bare my teeth, just like a dog in front of the mirror. Dogs do that because when they see their reflection, they think there’s a different dog in front of them. God, dogs are retarded. I hate them so much. Like, they’re cute and all but come fucking on, they eat their own poop. Like, they look forward to eating their own poop! You can’t justify that!

    Oh, who am I kidding, I like dogs. They’re so adorable, the little assholes. But I still think they’re fucking stupid.

    You write too many blog posts.

    Wait, what. Oh. Oh, right, shit. For a second I forgot I’m doing this noir-esque narration of what’s going through my mind. Okay, let’s get my mojo back. I was angry, wasn’t I? Yeeah that sounds right. Ahem.

    I sneer at the computer screen and cross my arms. I don’t write too many blog posts, I say. Or, like, I think it? I’m pretty sure I’m not actually talking. I’m just, well, narrating.

    Hah. Narrating. See that, asshole voice that’s accusing me of writing too many blogs? I can use italics too. Hah, hah. Fuck you. Man, I love italics. It’s like, they give whatever you’re writing this special tone, you know? Very cool. Hip as shit. Hip as shit. See? It’s so cool.

    You write too many blog posts.

    Oh, cut me some slack! I don’t write too many blog posts, you twat! I wrote exactly the right amount of blog posts! Not all my followers read them. But some do. Some are maybe looking a little forward to them. That makes them worth it.

    You write too many blog posts.

    Fuck you, Asshole Voice. Just… Just fuck you, and fuck your repetition, and fuck the insecurity you represent. I can write anything I want. I can do whatever I choose to do. And they read them, don’t they?

    You’re annoying them.

    Oh, now you’re doing that? They read them. I’m telling you, if they thought they’re annoying, they’ll ignore them. But they don’t. They keep reading. Maybe most of them won’t read the entire thing, but I don’t care.

    And you know what? Because I’m good at this shit. Because I’m confident in my ability to actually make them go “oh, another blog post? By him? Guess I’ll check it out." Because you DON’T FUCKING MATTER. Oh, sorry, was that too bold for you?

    Did you just make a pun.

    No. Yes. Maybe. Shut up.

    You planned this entire fucking blog just so you could say that, didn’t you.

    Look, maybe I did that. So what? I’m sure it was worth it!

    You’re getting cocky. You’re getting confident. You’re assuming your readers won’t leave you if you keep doing this kind of bullshit.

    Oh, no, no. I know what I’m doing. You see, I know I’m getting cocky lately. I’m working on a lot of stories, but they take time, and people are not seeing results. That’s why I write blog posts. But that makes me look like an egotistical asshole.

    Well. Yes. Yes, it does.

    But, cockiness aside, people always root for the underdog. I just need to make them feel like I’m a total fucking loser, and they’ll immediately think I’m cool again. That’s why I hired a mime to hit me in the face with his flaccid penis as I write this.

    Wait. What.

    I smile. Oh, you weren’t expecting this, were you, asshole voice? I caught you by surprise. Yeah, I still believe in my readers.

    What the fuck are you talking about.

    I’m ready to answer. I lean on my seat, my hands on the keyboard.

    And then, the mime, the fucking mime who’s been doing god knows what all this time, he fucking remembers he’s here.

    With a single thrust his hips come right next to my head. Almost in slow motion I see his flaccid penis drawing an arch in the air, gracefully landing on my cheek, the tip of that French’s baguette softly rubbing against my lip.

    The mime looks at me and smiles, his schlong still there, and oh my fucking god did a fucking mime just fucking slap me with his dick. Did. Did that just happen.

    This wasn’t a good idea.

    Oh my God he’s not moving. Like, the fucking dick is still there. THE MIME IS SMILING.

    DUDE WHAT THE FUCK.

    I DON’T KNOW IT’S LIKE THE DICK IS GLUED TO MY FACE OR SOMETHING. OH FOR FUCK’S SAKE THE MIME IS STILL LAUGHING.

    HOLY CRAP DUDE DO SOMETHING.

    I’M TRYING! OH GOD I THINK THE MIME SUPERGLUED HIS DICK TO MY FACE.

    WHY DID YOU EVEN HIRE THAT FUCKING MIME, THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE ALL DEEP AND SHIT.

    I DON’T KNOW, MAN! HEAT OF THE MOMENT!

    YOU DON’T ASK A FRENCH MUTE TO DICKSLAP YOU IN THE HEAT OF THE MOMENT!

    WELL MAYBE WE SHOULDN’T DWELL IN THE PAST SO MUCH!

    YOU HAVE A DICK IN YOUR FACE!

    I FUCKING KNOW THAT, THANK YOU VERY MUCH!

    TELL THE MIME TO GO AWAY OR SOMETHING!

    YEAH HE’S NOT ANSWER---wait. Oh, for fuck’s sake.

    What?

    He’s answering, but, like, he’s answering in a mime way. He’s mimicking some shit. Oh God I don’t have time for this.

    But what is he saying?

    I don’t know. I think he says he’s trapped in an invisible box. God, I hate mimes.

    Then why the fuck did you hire one?

    Because I wanted to be an underdog! Seemed like a good idea!

    You get more and more pathetic by the hour.

    Come on, man! I’m just not good at being deep, okay?

    Yeah, sure. You know what? I’m out of here. Go fuck yourself.

    Uh. I already did that.

    …What?

    Yeah. In a previous blog post. And then I had a foursome with myself, too.

    Oh.

    You seriously write too many blog posts.

    OH, COME ON!

    32 comments · 253 views
  • 7w, 5d
    Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell FUCK

    Well ain't Christmas just the best fucking season ever. Oh, wait. It's not.

    At least for me, I don't know about you. Maybe you're like, this starry-eyed whimsical kind of person who believes in the Spirit of Christmas© and how its A Time for the Family©, and if that's the case then look, more power to you. That's pretty awesome. You go, girl.

    But in my case, Christmas means having to visit all the members of my family, and I'm pretty sure my family is like, the retarded cousin of the Mafia, because this is not normal. Like, I love them and all that jazz but fucking Christ, man. It's not like they hate each other, it's that they're midly annoyed by each other.

    Which is far worse, because at least when you hate somebody else you're like, clenching fists, and swearing revenges, and maybe falling in love with some random daughter out there and having a dashing adventure while discovering love and rock'n roll. Annoyance means that they go "yeeeah your Uncle Ruffalo is cool, but you can't really trust him! Once he asked me if he could borrow your uncle's donkey, and I said, yes, and when he turned it back the donkey had been raped! Raped! Who the fucks rapes a donkey?!" And no offense, but I've heard that same stupid story a hundred times already. They never let anything go, and whenever they get offended they make amends with petty revenges (like raping the other's parrot, for example), which offends the other, who also gets a petty revenge, and OH MY GOD THIS NEVER STOPS.

    Like, think I'm exaggerating? My 92 y/o grandma is explaining me in excruciating detail RIGHT NOW how my mother's mother once told her the dress she was wearing was pretty when clearly, it wasn't. What a fiend. I'm writing this while nodding and saying "sure, grandma", and she won't shut up, and oh dear Lord please kill me already.


    So yeah. Hate Christmas. Like, it's the worst time of the year for me -- on top of everything I just said, I hurt my arm again (it's a chronic injury, so there's little I can do about it -- it gets worse like once a year or so) so I can't even write as much as I'd want to. And man, I really want to write.

    For starters, I'm still working on that heist fic, and I'm actually really close to the ending, so not being able to finish it in one go sucks a lot. I'm also working on a collab with Pearple Prose (if you know that guy, you'll know a collab with him will end up being pretty high-quality-ish, because even though he's a lazy bastard, he knows what he's doing) and then a completely different collab with MrNumbers (if you know that guy, you'll know a collab including me and him is doomed to be absolutely fucking stupid, and thus GLORIOUS).

    So that's three stories. But wait! There's more!

    RainbowBob came one day to Skype and, out of the fucking blue, gave me a pep talk so inspiring my scrotum turned into a keytar and I started playing Take On Me with the neighbour's bulldog. That was fucking weird. But yeah, he WAIT A FUCKING SECOND WHAT IS MY GRANDMA DOING BRB

    Okay back. Turns out she's bored so she randomly started cleaning the house. I made her sit down again, because holy shit, grandma, you're 92. Calm down. Wait she's talking about how some random cousin once stole a chicken. That'll keep her busy.

    What was I saying? Oh, yeah. RainbowBob and I had a little talk, in which he showed me two things: First, I'm leagues behind him (I already knew that). Second, in real life he's not a sentient sponge (that was a surprise). And then he told me I should go back to original fiction. And so I did!

    So I'm working on four different stories at the same time, not counting college work. All of that, with a hurt arm and my family yapping in my ear. Sigh.

    But hey, at least this ind of stress is giving me a lot of inspiration. I doubt I'll ever get to write down all the ideas that come to mind lately (Example: Ice Cool, the OC whose problem is that he's way too fucking awesome to have any kind of meaningful relationship or fulfilling life. His father was a shark, which is cool. His mother was two sharks which is so much cooler. He's in absolute despair and seeks help, but nobody can help because they're too busy high-fiving him.) But, look, at least I know the well is not dry yet.

    So yeah. Go me. Now, if you excuse me, I gotta talk with my granny and insult a lot of people I have never met in my life. Seeing how old the woman is, chances are they're all dead by now. Sigh.

    14 comments · 230 views
  • 8w, 3d
    This Is The Kind Of Crap I Imagine When my E-reader Runs Out of Battery In The Train

    Poof!

    “Aragón.” A black figure appears right in front of me. Black as in clothes, not as in racism. “We need to talk.”

    “Woah!” I almost spill the coffee I was drinking, and take a step back. “Holy fucknuggets, what the hell are you?!”

    “I’m your – wait. Fucknuggets?”

    “Eh, what can I say, I’m a romantic.” I arch an eyebrow as I shoot the figure a better look. It’s kind of exactly like me, but apparently way more emo. He looks like he buys stuff at Hot Topic. “So, uh, seriously: what the hell are you and how are you in my house?”

    “I’m your dark side,” the figure says. “Your inner demon. I’m the voice that whispers to you at night, the blackness that makes you wonder how blood tastes.”

    “Oh. So you’re, like, the part that desperately tries to look cool and edgy and appears like an idiot instead.”

    “Pretty much.” The figure crosses his arms and locks eyes with me. “And we need to talk.”

    “Oh God, no!” I press a hand against my chest. “Oh God, please don’t tell me you’re breaking up with me!”

    Silence.

    The figure blinks. “What.”

    “Please don’t break up with me! I can change!”

    “What the everloving fuck are you talking about.”

    “I still love you, Edgy Aragón!” I grab my clone by the neck of his shirt and get my face as close to his as possible. “We can sort this out!”

    “Argh!” The figure pushes me away and turns around, coughing. “Aaaargh! Christ on a bike, man! Don’t get that close to me!”

    “Woah, hey.” I frown. “That’s not a nice react---wait. Bad breath?”

    “Bad breath doesn’t even start to describe it!” he says, still coughing. “What the shit, dude?! What did you eat, a goat’s asshole?!”

    “Uuuh.” I scratch the back of my neck. “Sorry. Y’see, I tried to give some spare change to a hobo I found in the street but I accidentally ended up giving him a blowjob instead.”

    WHAT?!

    “Look, I’m not good at random acts of kindness, okay?”

    YOU’RE FUCKING SICK!

    I make a pout. “Is that the reason you’re breaking up with me?”

    “I’M NOT BREAKING UP WITH YOU, YOU EEJIT!”

    “Oh.” I blink. “Oh. Okay, that’s pretty good. Amazingly good, actually.” I eye him a little harder. “Because, not gonna lie here – you’re pretty hot.”

    “YOU FUCKING COCKWI---what.”

    “I mean, I’d tap that.” I cock my head to the side and look at his butt. “I’d totally tap that. Say, are you free this Friday, by any chance?”

    Silence.

    ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME RIGHT NOW?!

    “Look, we both know you know it.” I shrug. “Why fumble around when we can go straight to the point?”

    “I DON’T WANT FUCKING ANYTHING WITH YOU!”

    “What?” I frown. “Weren’t you, like, a part of me? That means you share my thoughts.” I look at his butt again. “And my buttcheeks. You also share my buttcheeks. I love my buttcheeks. Which means you also love them.” I raise my eyes to his face and wiggle my eyebrows. “Right?”

    Silence.

    The figure squints. “Shit,” he says.


    Twenty minutes later, we walk out of the bedroom with ruffled hair and more sweaty than before. “Well,” I say,  stretching my arms, “that was surprisingly disappointing!”

    “I can’t believe I just did this,” the figure mutters, not looking at me.

    “I mean, if this is how I am in bed, no wonders all my hookups leave the country after sleeping with me!”

    “I seriously can’t believe I fucked up my holy mission this badly.”

    “Like, do I always cry this much?” I look at the figure. “Because after a point it got pretty annoying.”

    “This was supposed to make you realize the error of your ways,” the figure continues. “You were going to become a better person after this. Instead, we just spent twenty minutes having the worst sex of my metaphorical life.”

    “Oh yeah! That’s how it rolls with this guy!” I say, grinning and pointing at myself. “Surprises everywhere!”

    Poof! Poof!

    Two red figures appear in front of us. “We need to talk,” they say, talking at the same time.

    “Argh!” I take a step backwards.  Then I notice they’re also identical to me. “What the hell?! What are you two supposed to represent?!”

    “Your lust and inner demons,” they reply.

    “What?” I frown. “How many of those I have, exactly?”

    “No, no. You don’t get it,” the figure on the left says. Then he points at the Edgy Aragón I just fucked. “I’m his.”

    Silence. The Edgy Aragón’s jaw almost hits the floor.

    I blink and scratch my back again. “Really? My inner demons have inner demons on their own? Man, I have issues.”


    Also wooo the Royal Guard featured Today Is A Good Day to Die, I'm on a roll!

    20 comments · 235 views
  • 9w, 3d
    "Very Special Somepony" Sounds A Little Dumb

    ”Twilight…” Pinkie swallowed her heart beatings so fast she could hardly hear herself. Her legs were trembling a little. She felt cold. “Would you…?”

    “Yes?” Twilight asked, her voice soft as a puppy among towels. “Pinkie?”

    “Would you…” Pinkie shook her head, and finally managed to make eye contact with Twilight. “Would you be my special somepony?”

    My God, that last line is bullshit. I’m not the only one who thinks that, right? As in, dear fucking hell, people – that’s just wrong.

    I’m used to every single ponyism out there, except for this one. I get why the show couldn’t use “Valentine” in this context, but… Look, “very special somepony” makes everypony sound like they’re seven years old. Yes, I’m aware that I used “everypony” unironically in that last sentence, thus making myself sound like a seven years old. To that, I say shut the hell up.

    And seriously, we need some other way to say “would you be my valentine?” because right now every single fic that tries to pull that fucking “very special somepony” stuff out ends up being either corny or ridiculous. Literally anything is better. Here, let me try:

    ”Twilight.” Pinkie grabbed Twilight’s tail and gave it a gentle pull, causing her friend to stop and turn towards her. “I have something to ask you.”

    Twilight blinked. “You…” She looked at the calendar, and smiled. “You do, huh?”

    “Yes.” Pinkie smiled back, and took a deep breath. “Twilight Sparkle…”

    “Yes?”

    “Twilight Sparkle…!”

    “Yes?!”

    “TWILIGHT SPARKLE…!”

    “YES?!”

    WILL YOU BE MY LIL’ FUCKNUGGET?

    FUCK YES I’LL BE YOUR LIL’ FUCKNUGGET!

    “GOOD, LET’S PLAY ROCK ‘N ROLL WITH THIS ELECTRIC GUITAR I PULLED OUT OF MY ASS!”

    “FUCK YES TO THAT TOO!”

    Then the door of the library opened, only to show Spike behind it. “OH MY SHIT, TWILIGHT!” he screamed, “THE ENTIRE FUCKING TOWN IS ON FUCKING FIRE!”

    “I DECLARE MYSELF UTTERLY FLABBERGASTED BY THAT INFORMATION!” Twilight replied. “IS IT BAD?!”

    “WHAT THE EVERLOVING SHITASS ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT, IT’S CHILD-FUCKINGLY AWESOME! THERE’S FIRE AND LAVA EVERYWHERE!”

    “OH MY BOWELS!” Pinkie screamed. “LET’S GO OUTSIDE AND PLAY ROCK WITH THIS OTHER GUITAR I PULLED OUT OF MY ASS!”

    “THAT SOUNDS CUNTASTIC, PINKIE!” Twilight roared.

    “EVERYPONY IS DYING BUT IT DOESN’T MATTER BECAUSE IT’S SO METAL!” Spike ululated.

    “I CAN TALK FOR SOME REASON!” Owlowiscious yammalammadingdonged.

    “YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAH!”

    “YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAH!”

    YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAH!”

    Man. This is how all love scenes should go. I would so read a romance fic that played like that.




    Also, hey, I got reviewed by the Seattles Angels! And this blog post has probably alienated all the new followers I got because of that, huh. Eh. Clickitty here.

    26 comments · 335 views
  • 9w, 5d
    Sometimes Life is Just Hard

    Y'know, I consider myself pretty well-versed when it comes to English. Sure, I can't rhyme for fuck, and sure, it's been three years and I still can't pronounce the word 'schedule' correctly, and sure, my accent is probably pretty funny. But I can talk in English with little to zero trouble, and me grammar is well. Usually. Now and then I fuck up, but, you know. Normal stuff.

    But then, shit like this happens. You wake up, believe it's just going to be another day, and then you turn on your computer and surf the internet. And it hits you. It fucking hits you.

    There's this thing about learning a language by yourself -- you're kind of forced to talk like the comics/books you read. Or the shows you watch. This implies I can talk a lot about friendship but very little about finances, for example. And this also means that now and then, a word I thought was legal and perfectly normal in everyday English turns out to be something not only absolutely wrong, but MOTHERFUCKING "STAR WARS-PREQUELS" WRONG. STAR WARS PREQUELS, PEOPLE.

    WHY THE FUCK DID NOBODY TELL ME THAT THE WORD "YOUNGLINGS" WAS MADE UP BY GEORGE LUCAS. WHAT THE EVERLOVING FUCK, PEOPLE. I'VE BEEN USING THAT WORD FOR GOD KNOWS HOW LONG AND NOW IT TURNS OUT I WAS QUOTING MOTHERFUCKING OBI-WAN KENOBI.

    EVERYBODY WILL THINK I'M AN IDIOT.

    GOD FRIGGING DAMMIT.

    I SERIOUSLY BELIEVED THAT WAS AN ABSOLUTELY NORMAL WORD AND TURNS OUT I WAS TALKING SPACEWANKIAN FOR "CHILDREN" LIKE THE BIGGEST DORK THAT EVER WALKED THE PLANET.

    I'VE USED THAT WORD IN FORMAL ESSAYS.

    GOD FUCKING DAMMIT PISS ON A SANDWICH, I'M SO ANGRY AT MYSELF RIGHT NOW I'M A FUCKING IDIOT.

    32 comments · 283 views
  • 14w, 3d
    Birthday, so new story

    Today I turn twenty years old, so here you have a brand new story. Comedy, two-parter, over 10k words written in one go!

    Night Light and Cadance, let's see what you think. It's already submitted, chapter two will be posted in a couple days.

    I hope you like it!

    10 comments · 158 views
  • 15w, 1d
    The End Of An Era

    21 comments · 359 views
  • 15w, 6d
    Octavia Harmony, Selbi, Lucky Roll, Present Perfect, Chris, Singularity Dream, SuperTrampoline, and Eight Hundred Followers!

    Chat Number One

    Aragón: Oh, hey

    Aragón: 800 followers!

    Octavia Harmony: You should write a blog post.

    Octavia Harmony: To celebrate.

    Aragón: That sounds like an idea

    Aragón: But I don’t know what to write

    Octavia Harmony: Something funny?

    Aragón: Yeah but what

    Aragón: Like, I have no idea

    Aragón: I’ll go ask Selbi

    Chat Number Two

    Selbi: Post nude pics.

    Aragón: I don’t believe that would be tasteful

    Selbi: Who cares about taste

    Selbi: Give us some sugar

    Aragón: I was thinking about something like a joke, not a pic of my fabulous genitals, thank you

    Selbi: Okay, first of all

    Selbi: I’ve seen your genitals

    Selbi: And, fuck, you’re absolutely right

    Selbi: They’re fabulous

    Selbi: Share that gift with the world

    Chat Number One

    Octavia Harmony: He’s kind of right, actually.

    Octavia Harmony: A tasteful picture of you posing nude would be an amazing way to commemorate your 800 followers thing.

    Octavia Harmony: Don’t forget to show your genitals, tho.

    Octavia Harmony: They’re absolutely fantastic.

    Aragón: …Wait, how do you know I made that joke with Selbi?

    Octavia Harmony: What joke?

    Octavia Harmony: I’m talking about your nether regions.

    Octavia Harmony: Selbi showed them to me.

    Aragón: …

    Aragón: …

    Aragón: …

    Aragón: What.

    Chat Number Two

    Aragón: WHAT THE EVERLOVING HELL

    Aragón: YOU REALLY HAVE PICTURES OF ME NAKED?!

    Selbi: Yes.

    Selbi: You want some?

    Selbi: Just kidding I’m not gonna share them.

    Aragón: I THOUGHT YOU WERE JOKING

    Selbi: Why would I joke about your genitals.

    Aragón: HOW THE HELL DID YOU EVEN GET THOSE

    Selbi: What.

    Selbi: Your genitals?

    Aragón: THE PHOTOGRAPHS YOU MINDLESS POTATO

    Selbi: Well, do you remember how you stayed at my place for a whole week this summer?

    Selbi: I have cameras.

    Selbi: And you like to sleep naked.

    Aragón: GODDAMMIT

    Selbi: Do the math.

    Selbi: Not like I complain tho.

    Selbi: I would sleep naked if I were you too.

    Selbi: I mean, dayum, son.

    Aragón: THAT IS SO ILLEGAL I DON’T EVEN KNOW WHAT TO SAY

    Selbi: Hey what if I am the one posting pictures of you naked in a blog? That would be funny.

    Aragón: NO

    Chat Number One

    Octavia Harmony: I’m not going to lie to you: that WOULD be funny.

    Octavia Harmony: And you don’t even need to post a blog if he does that.

    Octavia Harmony: Everybody will be too busy staring at your mighty buttocks to care about your followers count.

    Octavia Harmony: I mean

    Octavia Harmony: Dayum, son.

    Aragón: WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS TO ME, TAY

    Octavia Harmony: Because dayum son.

    Chat Number Three

    Aragón: THEY’RE TALKING ABOUT MY BUTT

    Aragón: AND MY FRONT BUTT

    Aragón: AND SELBI SAYS HE’S GOING TO POST PICTURES

    Aragón: WHAT DO I DO

    Lucky Roll: what the hell is a front butt

    Lucky Roll: are you implying you have a butt on your face

    Lucky Roll: because that’s actually pretty sexy

    Lucky Roll: are you doing anything this Saturday

    Aragón: LUCKY THIS IS SERIOUS

    Lucky Roll: I’m serious too

    Aragón: MY PRIVACY IS IN DANGER

    Lucky Roll: dude just let Selbi do whatever he wants

    Lucky Roll: what’s the worst that could happen

    Aragón: WE WOULD ALL DIE

    Lucky Roll: what

    Lucky Roll: like, we all explode?

    Lucky Roll: for looking at pictures of you?

    Lucky Roll: what are you, the lost ark of indiana jones?

    Aragón: It’s called the Ark of the Covenant

    Aragón: BUT THAT’S NOT IMPORTANT

    Aragón: DUDE SAY SOMETHING

    Aragón: SELBI IS SERIOUSLY ATTACKING ME RIGHT NOW

    Chat Number Four

    Lucky Roll: yo selbi

    Selbi: What.

    Lucky Roll: good job

    Selbi: Thanks.

    Chat Number Three

    Lucky Roll: well I tried everything I could and I failed

    Lucky Roll: just like your mom

    Lucky Roll: when she raised you

    Lucky Roll: hahah

    Lucky Roll: I’m so funny

    Lucky Roll: anyway you’re screwed bro

    Aragón: GODDAMMIT

    Chat Number Five

    Aragón: PRESENT PERFECT

    Aragón: SELBI IS BEING A PERV AGAIN

    Aragón: AND HE SAYS HE’S GONNA POST NUDE PICS OF ME

    PresentPerfect: How the everloving fuck are you even talking to me.

    PresentPerfect: Who are you.

    PresentPerfect: And most important, why do you think I care.

    Aragón: BECAUSE SELBI IS BEING MEAN

    PresentPerfect: How did you get my skype.

    Aragón: I’M ARAGÓN I REALLY LIKE YOUR REVIEWS PLEASE HELP ME

    PresentPerfect: Wait a second.

    PresentPerfect: Aragón?

    PresentPerfect: The nude guy?

    PresentPerfect: Holy crap.

    Chat Number Six

    PresentPerfect: Dude.

    PresentPerfect: The moment you post that stuff, send me a link.

    PresentPerfect: That guys’ buttocks are amazing.

    Selbi: I know, right?

    Chat Number Five

    PresentPerfect: Yeah not helping you. Go away.

    Aragón: GODDAMMIT

    Chat Number Eight

    Aragón: SUPERTRAMPOLINE

    Aragón: MY DEAR FRIEND

    Aragón: I NEED YOUR HELP

    SuperTrampoline: I hate you so much I wish I could go back in time to abort you and then kick you while in fetus form and then feed you to my cat.

    Aragón: Woah holy crap okay sorry

    SuperTrampoline: Yeah, run away.

    SuperTrampoline: You fucking disgrace.

    Chat Number Five

    Aragón: Woah, SuperTrampoline has issues, man

    PresentPerfect: Okay why the hell are you still talking to me.

    Aragón: BECAUSE I LOVE YOU

    PresentPerfect: Oh my fuck.

    Chat Number Nine

    Aragón: CHRIS

    Chris: No.

    Aragón: GODDAMMIT

    Chat Number Ten

    Aragón: I NEED HELP WITH SELBI

    SingularityDream: Oh?

    Aragón: HE WANTS TO POST NUDE PICS

    SingularityDream: Who are you again?

    Aragón: ARAGÓN

    Aragón: YOU KNOW

    Aragón: THE FUNNY GUY

    SingularityDream: Never heard of it.

    Aragón: AUTHOR OF A COUPLE STORIES THAT HAVE BEEN IN THE FEATURED BOX

    SingularityDream: I honestly don’t know who you are.

    Aragón: Sigh.

    Aragón: The guy who farted so hard he cried in that Christmas party

    SingularityDream: Oh.

    SingularityDream: …

    SingularityDream: Yeah this conversation was better when I didn’t know who you are.

    Chat Number One

    Aragón: NOBODY IS HELPING ME

    Aragón: WE ARE ALL GOING TO DIE

    Octavia Harmony: I don’t remember you having basilisk eyes for genitals.

    Aragón: GODAMMIT TAY IT’S A FIGURE OF SPEECH

    Octavia Harmony: Hey, you called me “Tay”.

    Octavia Harmony: That’s so cute.

    Chat Number Two

    Aragón: SELBI I’LL DO WHATEVER YOU WANT BUT PLEASE DON’T POST THOSE PICS

    Selbi: You do realize I posted those, like, fucking forever ago, right?

    Aragón: …

    Aragón: GODDAMMIT

    Chat Number Eight

    SuperTrampoline: Okay I’ll tell you this:

    SuperTrampoline: You’re one sexy motherfucker.

    SuperTrampoline: Still a motherfucker, though.

    SuperTrampoline: Goddammit I hate you so much.

    Aragón: I’LL NEVER GET MARRIED NOW

    SuperTrampoline: Also are those basilisk eyes in your tights, or it’s just me?

    Chat Number One

    Octavia Harmony: Well, at least the photos are artistic.

    Aragón: DON’T LOOK AT THEM

    Octavia Harmony: Uh. Too late. I’m getting the third one tattooed on my back.

    Chat Number Three

    Lucky Roll: wow

    Lucky Roll: say it’s not gay if I say no homo right

    Aragón: MY LIFE IS RUINED

    Lucky Roll: exactly

    Aragón: SELBI COMMITED AN INTERNATIONAL CRIME WITH THIS

    Lucky Roll: honestly I doubt anybody’s going to care about it

    Lucky Roll: I mean

    Lucky Roll: everybody is too busy staring at your ass

    Aragón: I’LL NEVER BE ABLE TO LOOK AT MYSELF IN THE MIRROR AGAIN

    Lucky Roll: also is that a tattoo of the lost ark on your right buttcheek

    Lucky Roll: what the hell is wrong with you man






















    Chat Number Nine

    Chris: Hey.

    Chris: Now that I think about it…

    Chris: He never made a blog post for his followers.

    Chris: Man, what a horrible human being.

    Chris: …

    Chris: …

    Chris: …

    Chris: Dayum, son, though.

    28 comments · 306 views
  • 17w, 5d
    Weird Lollipop, Ends with a Lame Twist

    “Dear Celestia, this week has been tiring.”

    “Eeeyup.”

    “At least it’s over now.” Cheerilee played absent-mindedly with the straw on her drink and sighed. “I can’t believe how weird it’s been, you know? I mean, for crying out loud, even Discord got involved, and it was by far the simplest part of the whole week.” She snorted. “Go figure.”

    “…Discord?”

    Silence.

    Something in Big Mac’s voice forced Cheerilee to raise her eyes and look at him.

    They were at Sugarcube Corner, of course—it was the de-facto place to go on a date on Ponyville, if only because there were literally no other pubs to go. With all the princesses and Elements of Harmony and Everfree Forests and whatnot it was easy to forget that, from a purely objective point of view, Ponyville was quite the lame town. Lame enough to have only one pub, and that pub also worked as a bakery, because when Ponyville went lame it went all the way through.

    “Roll that by me again?” she said, looking right into Big Mac’s eyes. “Please?”

    “Hmmm.” Big Mac looked away.  “…Nope.”

    “You know, even if your coat is red, I can tell if you’re flustered.” Cheerilee pointed at his face. “You’re doing the eyelids thing.”

    “Ah’m not doing anythin’.”

    “Whenever you get embarrased, you flutter your eyelids.” Cheerilee batted her eyelids with her best Rarity impersonation. “See? Like this. Only more feminine.”

    “Ah—That’s—” Big Mac coughed. “That’s not true.”

    “You’re doing it again.”

    “Ah’m not!”

    “Hmm.” Cheerilee tried to hide her smirk as she took a sip of her drink through the straw. “You know, for a second there you sounded mad.”

    “Ah’m not mad.”

    “I know you aren’t. But you sounded like you don’t like Discord at all.” Cheerilee got closer to the table and poked Big Mac’s muzzle with a hoof. “And now you’re flustered.”

    Big Mac sighed and took another gulp of his cider. Cheerilee saw how his shoulders dropped down a little. “Ah don’t like Discord.”

    “I already guessed so,” Cheerilee said. Then she bit her lip. “That’s… unusual.”

    Big Mac frowned.

    “I mean, don’t get me wrong. You’re allowed not to like ponies. Or, um, draconequus. It’s just…” Cheerilee put her lips around the straw and took a little sip. “You’re pretty good at hiding that kind of thing.”

    Big Mac smirked. “Ah have a good poker face.”

    “Talking to you is similar to talking to a wall now and then, yes.”

    “Uh.”

    “A very charismatic wall, don’t get me wrong.”

    “Uh-huh.”

    They stood in silence for a couple minutes, only disturbed by the rest of Sugarcube Corner’s clientele, both Cheerilee and Big Mac doing nothing but drink their drinks and enjoying each other’s company.

    And then, surprisingly enough, Big Mac was the one who broke said silence, coughing in a somewhat awkward way. “He… he turned me into a dog,” he said.

    Cheerilee blinked.

    “Roll that by me again?”

    “Discord,” Big Mac explained. He was avoiding her eyes, and his eyelids were batting like crazy. Cheerilee was surprised he wasn’t flying away like a very strange pegasus. “He, hm, turned me into a dog. When he attacked. Before my sis n’ her friends turned him to stone again.”

    “A… A dog?”

    Big Mac sighed, still looking to the side. “Eeyup.”

    “He turned you into a dog.”

    “That’s what Ah said.”

    Cheerilee squinted. “Like, with fur and…?”

    “What? No!” Big Mac bit his lip. His eyelids reminded Cheerilee of a hummingbird’s wings. “He, um, made me act like a dog.” He sighed, and finally looked at Cheerilee with a mortified expression. “Barking, digging for bones…” His words turned to an undecipherable mumble.

    “Care to repeat the last part?”

    “Ah… licked some ponies’ faces,” Big Mac said. “Apparently, Ah’m a very friendly dog.”

    Silence.

    “You… You licked ponies’ faces.”

    “Eeeyup.”

    “Like, you licked-licked their faces.”

    “You’re implyin’ there are more than one way to lick a face.”

    “I mean, with your mouth?!”

    “Mostly their cheeks.” Big Mac coughed. “Sometimes, um, the whole face. Ah had to apologize to Twilight afterwards.”

    “…Oh.” Cheerilee lowered her gaze to her drink. “I… didn’t know you turned into a dog.”

    “Hm.”

    Silence.

    Cheerilee made a little pout. “…You’ve never licked my face.”

    “Eeyu—what?” Big Mac frowned. “Wait a minute. What?”

    “I-I mean, it’s not like… I’m just saying!” Cheerilee raised both her front hooves in front of her face, red crepting to her face. “I just was, I mean, well…!” She bit her lip. “Well, you’ve never done that!”

    “Ah’ve never—Why would Ah do such a thing?!

    I don’t know!

    “Ah don’t go around licking ponies’ faces!”

    “Yeah, well, now you don’t, apparently!” Cheerilee licked her lips, still looking at her drink. “I mean, nothing wrong with that, I guess, it’s just—”

    “Ah don’t even like licking faces!” Big Mac said, his voice a little louder than usual. “That’s what dogs do!”

    “Yes, yes, I got that!” Cheerilee huffed. “Geez. I was just, you know, pointing that out!”

    Big Mac massaged his forehead with a hoof. “You were pointin’ out that Ah’ve never licked your face like a dog.”

    “It’s not like it’s not a lie!”

    Why would Ah lick your face on the first place?!

    “Well, it’s not like you have to do that, now!” Cheerilee said, crossing her legs. “You don’t need to bother anymore!”

    “Wait, you want me to lick your face?!”

    “What?! No!” Cheerilee snorted. “Why would I want that?! That’s dumb. I mean, it’s just, that, well.” She coughed. Her cheeks were completely pink by now. “If you just happened to lick my face, that would be… Well, I like dogs!”

    “Ah’m not a dog!”

    “But you were!

    Big Mac grunted something that Cheerilee, again, didn’t catch, and pressed his hoof against his forehead. “Ah really don’t like Discord.”

    “Hmph.” Cheerilee lowered her eyes back at her drink once more, and took a sip through the straw. “He wasn’t that bad.”

    Silence.

    “…Why did you need to talk with him?” Big Mac finally asked, once his eyelids stopped moving on their own, his voice calm and low again.

    “Oh, well. Sweetie Belle accidentally turned the entire class into stone.”

    “Oh.”

    “And then she broke them.” Cheerilee rolled her eyes. “She’s an amazing filly, but really, thank Celestia she’s pretty.”

    Big Mac arched an eyebrow.

    “Yeah.” Cheerilee shrugged. “It’s a long story. I had to look for him, and ask Twilight about it, and… Overall? Crazy week.”

    “Ah’m sure Ah’ll love to hear all about it,” Big Mac said, getting up, “but first Ah need to go to the bathroom, if you don’t mind.”

    “Oh, of course I don’t.” Cheerilee waved a hoof at him. “Go, go, go. I don’t want you to interrupt me in the middle of my story later.”

    He chuckled, and then walked away. Cheerilee followed him with her gaze until he disappeared, and then raised her hoof and looked at the . “Um, excuse me? Pinkie Pie? Are you the—”

    “Yes?”

    Cheerilee blinked at the pink pony, who wasn’t there a second ago. “Uh. How did you—?”

    “I like to hide under tables and spy our customers!”

    Silence.

    “What the—”

    “Yeah, I’m a creep.” Pinkie Pie shot her a grin. “What did you want?”

    “Uh.” Cheerile blinked. “Uh… Ah. Yes. Flutterrshy is friends with Discord now, right?”

    “Yes indeedily!”

    “Do you think Fluttershy would help me get Discord to turn somepony into a dog if I asked?”

    Pinkie frowned. “Uh. I guess?”

    Cheerilee nodded. “Good.” Then she took a sip of her drink. “Good.”

    Silence.

    "So, um, are the foals okay?"

    "Twist is missing a leg, but I honestly don't think anypony's going to notice. She's not the most popular foal in town."

    "Who the hay is Twist."

    "My thoughts exactly."

    16 comments · 267 views
  • 17w, 6d
    Yo, people. Strangely enough, this blog post doesn't include ramblings about mimes or crap like that.

    So!  Today I've finished the fifth chapter of my current project, that heist fic I'm always talkinga bout. You know the one. In case you don't know it, it's, uh, well. A heist fanfic. That kind of gives you all the info you need.

    In case you want more details: it's an adventure and also a comedy (I know, I know. Me, writing a comedy? That's impossible!), and it's also a multi-chapter thing. It's been a while since I wrote anything that wasn't a one-shot, so I'm kind of happy about it! However, seeing how I plan on writing everything before posting a single line here in fimfic, that means I'm not really getting any feedback on it. I'm fairly sure it doesn't suck, but hey, maybe the This-Story-Suck-Fairies visited me on my sleep and I didn't notice. There's no real way to know.

    This is where you guys enter the picture! I would really like to have some prereaders to help me with the story. Have in mind that I wrote prereaders -- I already have proofreaders, so this would be exclusively an opinion thing. So if you think you're good with reviews or stuff like pointing how bad a story is, and most importantly, why that story is bad the way it is, I would really like your help!

    However, my personal secretary tells me I should probably ask for some kind of portfolio or proof that you are, in fact, good at prereading. As in, I'm not asking for any random guy to tell me something like "yeah cool story brah gg". I'm asking for actual advice here. So, like, I want you to say "yeah cool story brah gg" but with more words. And, like, complicated words. Y'know. Be fancy. That would be awesome.

    That's it! Sorry for the short blog post. And thank you! Now, Aragón out. Peace.

    9 comments · 164 views
  • 19w, 5d
    I Hate Writer's Block -- Teenager Silver Spoon Preview, Only Not Really A Preview So Fear No Spoilers I Guess

    Right now I'm in a mixture between busy as hell and completely unable to write, due to stress, probably. This is frustrating, due to the fact that I'm approaching the climax of a story I've been working on for months. I consider that fic to be my most solid work yet, and the last chaters can't be anything but good, so I'm currently in a "write 1000 words/delete 1000 words" loop and I can't seem to get out of it. I'll probably start brainstorming from point zero again, or at least ask somebody for help in this particular bit, because I'm stuck.

    On the other hand, it's been ages since I uploaded anything, and I feel horrible about that. I like to be constant with my writing. Seeing this, and seeing how I have a couple one-shots in my Drive that I don't know if I should finish (and if I do, I'll have to rewrite a big part of them), I'm going to show you a scene of a story I like to call Teenspoon for now. As per now, it's the only scene of the fic I believe is worthy of being posted, so if I ever rewrite it, I'll build it around this one. Have in mind it's not proofread yet, so you'll experience it in all its horrible glory. Sorry!

    It might even help me get out of the stress-induced block, so if any of you like this, tell me and I'll try to rest from that long-ass fic I talked about in the first paragraph. If you believe it's not worthy, tell me. The prereaders told me this particular story wasn't really good and I believed them -- this scene is probably the only exception, so yeah. Tell me.

    If any of you think you would like a collab with me with this story or with any other comedy, also tell me, because I've been in the mood for a collab for like six months as per now.




    “You smoked in front of your teacher? In the middle of the class? And then you threatened him?!

    Silver Spoon, wearing sunglasses and a thick leather jacket, red lipstick on her lips, rolled her eyes and rested her back against the chair. She would have liked to rest her legs on the desk in front of her, because the pose would have been as cool as can be, but the headmistress was already resting her hooves on it, so there was no use. “I didn’t threaten him,” she explained. “I was making a statement, okay?”

    “Yes.” The headmistress’s frown didn’t disappear. “A statement. Sure you did. But that’s not the only reason why you are here, is it?”

    The room was small and cozy. The walls were mint green, the window was big and let the sunlight get in the room without trouble, the desk was big and dark,  and there were so many file cabinets in there one could hardly walk in. It looked exactly like any other headmistress’ office ever. Silver had never been there before.

    “Well,” she said, smiling a little, “I think I’m here for being myself, Miss.”

    “Uh-huh. Being yourself.” The headmistress, that brown mare with a yellow mane, sighed. “Being yourself and refusing to listen to your teacher’s orders…”

    “He wasn’t exactly polite about that.”

    “...insulting him without reason…”

    “I wasn’t insulting him! I was just quoting Match Box. You know, the protagonist of the MatchBox Twenty books?. That’s how he talks to his father, it’s not my fault that—”

    “...yelling in class…”

    “He was interrupting me, of course I had to yell.”

    “...insulting your classmates…”

    “Twist pointed out that I was quoting books. It’s not my fault she’s a nerd.”

    “...throwing chalk to your classmates…”

    “She said I was a nerd! What a nerd.”

    “...refusing to leave the room when everypony asked you to do so…”

    “Not everypony. Snails was too busy staring at my legs.”

    “...kicking your classmate in the face, causing him minor injuries…”

    “Yeah, he stared at my legs a little too much.”

    “...and then kicking everypony else when they told you that shouting ‘Rebellion!’ was stupid. Including Snails, again. Especially Snails.”

    Silence.

    “I am not apologizing for that last one.”

    You didn’t apologize for anything yet!

    “Yeah but I’m especially not apologizing for that one.”

    “Look.” The headmistress’s frown became bigger, somehow. “I’m trying not to lose my cool here, Silver Spoon, but you’re acting as a delinquent. You’ve disrupted the class, caused uncalled mayhem, and disrespected not only your teacher and your teacher’s family, but also your classmates. Especially Snails. I can’t stress enough how much you’ve disrespected Snails.”

    “I don’t like ponies staring at my legs without my permission.”

    The headmistress sighed. “What is happening, Silver Spoon? You’re not like… like this.” She pointed at her jacket. “I know you. You’re not a perfect student, but you’re not a bully. You’re not a… a…”

    Silver smiled. She searched in her pocket for another cigarette, but her teacher had confiscated them. “A rebel?” she asked.

    “A troublemaker,” the headmistress said. “One day you’re perfectly normal, and the next one you appear wearing lipstick and smoking and insulting your teachers? What is wrong with you? What the hay is happening here?”

    “Nothing, Miss.” Silver shrugged. “Nothing is happening. Nothing ever happens. And that’s the problem, don’t you think?”

    “Don’t try to go smart on me.”

    Silver bared her teeth. “What happens,” she said, “is that I’m tired. I’ve been following everypony’s orders all my life, but yesterday I realized that I don’t need to. You said that I wasn’t acting like this before? Shame on me for that.” She shrugged. “I was older then, but I’m younger than that now. I’m not changing. You’ve changed.”

    Silence.

    “You do realize you’re not making any sense, right? Look, I don’t know what—wait. Are you on drugs?”

    “What?!” Silver frowned. “No!”

    “Because you sound like you’re on drugs.”

    “No, I don’t!”

    “You know that drugs are illegal, right? That it’s my duty as your tutor and as an adult to bring you to the police if you—”

    “I am not taking drugs!”

    “Oh dear, I can’t believe one of my students…”

    “I said I’m not doing that!” Silver rolled her eyes. “I was trying to be poetic, okay? Excuse me for spicing up the conversation a little!”

    Silence.

    “...Is ‘poetic’ some kind of slang for ‘junkie’ or—?”

    “I read a book yesterday and it made me think,” Silver interrupted. “Simple as that, okay? No drugs whatsoever. I realized that I wasn’t… acting like I would like to act. All perfect and princess-like and… And normal. I wasn’t acting like a foal, I was trying to act like an adult.” She crossed her legs and frowned. “And that’s just stupid. I’m young. I should act like a youngling. Everypony should do that.”

    Silence.

    “So you’re acting like the protagonist of a book.”

    Silver shook her head. “Not exactly. I’m acting like I think I should act after reading that book.”

    The headmistress blinked. “Silver Spoon, I’m afraid you’re still not making any sense. You think you should act like this?” She sighed and rested her back against her chair. “Faux leather? Lipstick? Cigarettes? Do you think you look cooler doing this or something? What am I missing?”

    “I—”

    “Because you do realize that you’re acting in a way that makes it very easy for me to expel you, right? You attacked a teacher in the middle of the class, after taunting him by smoking in his presence.” She shook her head. “The only reason why you are here talking to me instead of talking to the police is because—”

    “Police?!” Silver frowned. “I can’t be arrested! I did nothing!”

    “Do I need to repeat again that you attacked a teacher? Because I can do that if I want. You attacked a teacher.” The headmistress clapped. “There. See? I just said it! I’m so good at educating ponies.”

    “But I…! That’s not enough for me to go to jail!” Silver frowned. “Uh. It isn’t, right?”

    “Silver Spoon, you’re not a child anymore. You’re almost an adult.” The headmistress sighed. “You are responsible for your actions, and you attacked a figure of authority that was legally supposed to take care of you. The school is not going to present charges, and your teacher agreed that you are not like this. He assured me that you were a… Well.” She licked her lips. “That you were not a total monster, that’s it. It’s… I guess he said you were nice.”

    Silence.

    “I mean, he implied it. Kind of. He said you’re not that horrible.”

    “Uh-huh.” Silver rolled her eyes. “Not that horrible.”

    “Yes. Is something happening at your house, Silver Spoon?” The headmistress crossed her legs and gave her a sympathetic look. “Did… Did your parents argue? Did you see something that left a mark on you, or…?”

    “I am not doing this because I’m traumatized.”

    “I’m just saying. I know that a divorce is a hard thing to go through, but…”

    “My parents are not getting divorced.”

    “Are you sure?”

    “Yes.”

    “Because that’s exactly what anypony would say if her parents were getting a divorce.”

    Silver sighed. “I am doing this because it’s my choice, okay? Nothing forced me to change. I realized I wanted to be a rebel, and…”

    “You’re rebelling against the world,” the headmistress interrupted. “Look, Silver Spoon, that’s normal for a pony your age. You are confused, you don’t know what to do with your life, so you shut yourself to—”

    “I’m not shutting myself!” Silver frowned. “What the hay are you talking about now?!”

    “A student came here looking like she wants a free pass straight to jail, that’s what I’m talking about.” The headmistress waved a hoof. “You’re ‘a rebel’, you want to fight authority, you try to look cool by being a bad girl. I get that. I’m trying to empathise with you here.”

    “No, you are not!” Silver said. “You are being condescending, treating me like if I had done something wrong!”

    “Like attacking a teacher?”

    “Like if I had done something wrong apart from that!

    “Silver Spoon…”

    “No!” Silver got up from her chair and glared at the headmistress. “You’re patronizing me! I come here in a new outfit and the teacher’s first reaction is to act all offended and send me here! I try to explain that I changed my personality because I realized I wasn’t being who I am, and what do you do? You assume I’m taking drugs or that I have troubles at home!”

    “Your teacher’s first reaction wasn’t to send you here.” The headmistress eyes got colder. “You walked into the class with a serious attitude, and then you lighted a cigarette and blew the smoke at him. After that, you proceeded to insult and physically attack everypony who tried to tell you to calm down.”

    Silver shook her head. “I—That’s not what I’m talking about! I’m not the problem! You are! You are treating me like—”

    “Like a pony that randomly chose to antagonize the entire high school for no reason? Silver Spoon, I’m trying to understand why is this happening, but you’re not making any sense. You read a book, and next thing we know you smoke? What kind of book did you read anyway?”

    “See?” Silver sighed. “You assume that something forced me to act this way. Now it’s the book’s fault. Can’t you at least try to imagine that what I did, I did it because I wanted to? I chose to dress like this and to act like this myself. I’m not trying to ‘look cooler’, I’m just trying to be myself.

    “Well, that sounds pretty nice, but at the end of the day you’re not acting like you should, so I’m afraid I will call your parents.” The headmistress shrugged. “I tried to reason with you, but that’s clearly not what you want. Be grateful we’re not presenting charges. Now go home, you’re expelled for the rest of the day.”

    Silver bared her teeth. “See?! I try to explain you what I’m going through, and you dismiss everything!”

    What you are going through? Dear Celestia.” She sighed. “Silver Spoon…”

    “Silver.”

    Silence.

    “What?”

    “I’m not ‘Silver Spoon’. I’m ‘Silver’ now.” Silver walked to the door, dodging the multiple file cabinets on her way. “That’s my new name. It represents the new me.”

    The headmistress rolled her eyes so hard that they were completely white for a couple seconds, but Silver didn’t care. She opened the door and walked away from that room without saying a word. Right before doing so, however, she could clearly hear the headmistress muttering the word “Teenagers” with a mixture between contempt and tiredness in her voice.


    “Well Ah don’t know what were you expectin’, but you brought this onto yourself.”

    Silver said nothing at first. She had been sitting in that bench outside the schoolyard for an hour now, doing nothing but think and smoke. She just got the cigarette out of her mouth and expelled the white smoke, looking at the forms it made in the wind with a thoughtful expression. The bitterness in her tongue made her think about how time worked. Then she sighed and turned around to see who was talking to her.

    Apple Bloom, Sweetie Belle, Scootaloo, and Twist were there, smiling a little. “What are you doing here?” Silver asked. “Are you skipping class?”

    “No.”

    “Yeah, of course we are.” Scootaloo rolled her eyes and sat at Silver’s right. “It’s Music. Nopony enjoys Music.”

    “I enjoy Music!”

    “Nopony except Sweetie Belle enjoys Music,” Scootaloo said. “And even Sweetie Belle agreed to skip that class, so I don’t know why we are having this argument in the first place.”

    “The fact that it’s boring doesn’t mean it’s not enjoyable.”

    “It’s weird to see you skipping class,” Silver said, looking back at  her cigarette.

    “Well it’s weirder to come here dressed up as Match Box.” Twist poked Silver’s jacket. “Although the color is wrong. It’s supposed to be half a shade darker.”

    Silver raised an eyebrow. “Nerd.”

    “You are the one dressed up as a book character and I am the nerd?”

    “Yes.”

    “Eyup.”

    “No offense, Twist.”

    “Anyway,” Scootaloo said, “I gotta say that’s a cool outfit. Also you’re nuts. But cool outfit anyway.”

    “Thanks.”

    “Yeah, cool as a lake in winter,” Apple Bloom said, sitting at Silver’s left. “Doesn’t really fit you, don’t you think?”

    “Hey!”

    “Black goes well with grey,” Sweetie Belle said. “It fits her!”

    “Yeah, still don’t fit’er.” Apple Bloom looked back at Silver. “Being without Diamond Tiara really got into your head, hmm?”

    “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Silver said, taking another breath of her cigarette. “And I’m still wondering why are you here.”

    “We’re a little bit worried about you,” Sweetie Belle said, smiling. “You’ve been—”

    “Hey, I’m not worried,” Twist interrupted. “I just came here to laugh at her. Plus, she’s dressed as Match Box. You don’t usually see ponies cosplaying in this town, y’see.”

    Silence.

    “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

    “The heck is ‘cosplayin’?”

    “Are you serious?” Twist frowned. “None of you know? Have you ever joined a fandom?”

    “Now, I don’t know if you’re insulting us in some weird tongue or if you’re just a really big nerd,” Scootaloo said. “But I’m kind of going for the latter. You’re a big nerd. Stop being such a nerd. Nerd.”

    “Oh, come on!”

    “No offense. Anyway, Silver, what the heck got into your head? That’s what we were wondering,” Scootaloo said, poking Silver’s mane to call her attention. “You went from princess to beast in one day.”

    Silver frowned. “I’m not a beast, thank you very much.”

    “Snails thinks otherwise.”

    “Snails didn’t act like a gentlecolt, so I taught him a lesson. He’ll get better.”

    “Yeah, but bucking Snail’s face? That’s not your style.” Apple Bloom shook her head. “Silver Spoon, we—”

    “Just Silver.”

    Silence.

    “Beg pardon?”

    “I’m not Silver Spoon anymore.” Silver threw the cigarette away and took her sunglasses off. “I’m just Silver now.”

    Sweetie Belle blinked. “Just Silver?”

    “Yes.”

    “I don’t get it.”

    “It represents the new me.”

    “Why? Are you becoming a lawpony? You’re smoking and wearing that jacket and kicking ponies because you want to—”

    “Yeah we’re not doin’ this.” Apple Bloom smiled at Sweetie Belle. “Thank you for your input.”

    “Aw, come on! It was funny!”

    “Yeah no it wasn’t. Silver,” Scootaloo said, “we’re worried about you. Kind of. I’m also interested in that jacket, but the general feeling here is worry so I want you to concentrate on that. We can talk about the jacket later.”

    “As I said,” Twist said, “I’m here for simple entertainment. I care more about my glasses than I care about Silver Spoon here.”

    “Silver.”

    “About Silver here.” Twist raised an eyebrow. “No offense, by the way.”

    “None taken.”

    “Sweetie Belle skipped Music class because she was worried about you,” Apple Bloom said. “Now, me? Ah think anypony can do whatever she wants, and as long as she’s having fun and nopony gets serious injuries it’s not a big deal. Scoots just thinks that jacket’s lookin’ fine. But Sweetie Belle? She thinks you might be goin’ through something weird to act like this, and she believes that we have to help anypony in need. She’s dumb like that.” She smirked. “So why don’t you just humor us and tell us what’s itching you?”

    “Please?” Sweetie Belle put her head between Apple Bloom and looked at Silver. The corners of her mouth were down, her ears were flat against her head and her pupils were bigger than Silver’s hooves. Her eyes were sparkling a little. “Pleeaaase? We just want to help you!”

    Silver frowned. “Stop doing that.”

    “Pleeaaaseeee?”

    “Are you giving me the puppy eyes? Because I’m not falling for that.”

    “Ssssshhhh.” Scootaloo put a leg over Silver’s shoulders. “No talking. Just look at the cute puppy and start talking.”

    “Pleeeaaaseeee?”

    “Your voice is high-pitched.”

    “No talking. Just look at Sweetie Belle.” Apple Bloom frowned. “Well, and then talk, Ah guess. But talk about what we want you to talk.”

    “Come on, we know we can help you somehow! I skipped Music class for youuuuuuuuuuu.”

    “You’re creeping me out a little.” Twist poked Sweetie Belle’s mane. “How are you doing that with your eyes?”

    “Years of practice.” Scootaloo nudged Silver. “Come on, how can you say no to that face? Look at her.”

    “I—”

    “I said look at her.”

    Silver frowned. “You’re being very creepy.”

    “Come on! Look at the puppy! You don’t want her to cry, do you?” Scootaloo winked at Sweetie Belle, whose put became even bigger. “You don’t right? Nopony wants Sweetie to cry. She’s too cute for that, hm?”

    “You three ate lead when you were babies, right?”

    “Don’t insult the puppy. Good ponies never insult puppies.”

    “I don’t know what kind of effect are you looking for when you refer to your friend as a dog?” Silver got up from the bench, and Scootaloo almost fell on her face when she did so. “But you know what? It’s not working. At all.”

    “Aw, don’t be a party pooper!” Sweetie Belle’s eyes came back to normal as she crossed her legs. “Stop being such a jerk and tell us what’s happening!”

    “Yeah, and Sweetie Belle’s puppy eyes always work.”

    “I’m pretty sure that depends entirely on the victim,” Twist said. “You aim it at stallions, right?”

    “Mostly.”

    “Figures.”

    “Look, nothing is happening, okay?” Silver sighed and frowned at her classmates. “That’s kind of the whole point here.”

    Silence.

    “Well,” Twist said, “that made no sense, but you go, girl. That’s as good as any other explanation.”

    “How many years have we been in this town, girls?” Silver asked. “And how many interesting things have happened?”

    “Well there was the whole Nightmare Moon incident.”

    “And Discord.”

    “And Cerberus.”

    “Twilight losing her cool and breaking havoc.”

    “Spike losing his cool and breaking havoc.”

    “There were those freaky flying balls that ate everything too, right?”

    “And when the Everfree itself invaded Ponyville.”

    “Yeah, and when Ah got that old sickness that could’ve killed the entire town.”

    “Exactly.” Silver frowned. “Absolutely nothing.

    Silence.

    “Ah’m pretty sure you miscounted there.”

    “We’re not supposed to live like this!” Silver kicked the ground. “Nothing has changed since the day we were born. Same town, same friends, same life. Same everything!

    “Well, this is a small town,” Twist said. “Everything always stays the same.”

    “Yes, but do we need to be like this too?” Silver frowned and looked at her hooves. “I just…  I don’t think this is right.”

    Nopony said a word for a couple seconds. Slowly, Sweetie Belle sat down on the place Silver had been occupying. “Huh?”

    “I finished a very long book series yesterday, okay?” Silver sighed. “It… made me think.”

    “Woah. Thinking? That’s new.”

    “Twist. Shut up.”

    “Well excuse me if I’m unimpressed because Princess Freedom Fighter here finished a book yesterday and that made her think. Hah! I do that every day! Which one, Silver Spoon? How To Correctly Braid Your Mane And Other Mentally Challenging Things For Pretty Ladies?”

    Silver raised an eyebrow. “I read Match Box Twenty.

    Silence.

    “Oh. Yeah it was kind of obvious now that I think about it.”

    “Are you going to keep on bugging me or I can finish my epiphany?” Silver said. “Because I can give you a couple minutes if you need them.”

    “Uh.” Twist looked at Sweetie Belle. “Can I go on, or…?”

    “No. No, you can’t.”

    “Bugger. You sure?”

    “Completely.”

    “Because I can  say something about her breath. Or her glasses. Didn’t you wear glasses, by the way? Like, normal ones. Are those sunglasses reading glasses too or…?”

    “I’m wearing lenses.”

    “Wow, classy.”

    “Girls. Really. Shut up.” Apple Bloom snorted and nodded at Silver. “We skipped class for this, so you better talk, youn’ lady.”

    Silver bit her lip. “Well… I don’t know. I finished that books I had been reading for… How long? Five years? Seven?” She sighed. “And yet I finished them, and it feels like I had started them yesterday. And… And that’s it? That’s a huge part of my life that went on and ended, and then I’m supposed to continue like if nothing had happened? Time never stops, apparently. We think we’ll be young forever, but we won’t. We’ll rot and die and then everything will be over, and we have done nothing with our life.” She looked at the girls, frowning. “Do you realize that? Do you realize that we’re not really living? That if you died tomorrow, your whole life would have been meaningless?”

    Silence.

    “Uh…” Scootaloo turned to Sweetie Belle and Apple Bloom, who shrugged. “So. You’re… afraid of dying?”

    “I’m afraid of doing nothing,” Silver said. “I’m afraid of looking back when I’m old and tired and see that I haven’t done anything. We’re teenagers. We’re young, we’re fresh, we’re free.” Silver shook her head. “And we need to do something! Run until we can’t move! Drink until our body can’t hold it anymore! Destroy everything around us and laugh until our lungs hurt! Get in a fight, burn a forest, kiss a changeling! Do something worthy! Change the world, make everypony remember you!” She laughed. “Live! That’s all I want to do!”

    Silence.

    “Okay.” Twist sighed and massaged her temples. “Okay. On the one hoof, I think I get you. Rebellion, life your life, yaddah yaddah. On the other hoof, though, you’re completely bonkers. Like, wow. Now I get why you’re always following Diamond Tiara’s hoofsteps. If the first thing you do on your own is this then I’m surprised you’re not wearing a tinfoil hat and setting fire to your eyeballs every time Diamond Tiara has to go to the bathroom.”

    “Now, Twist?” Apple Bloom glared at the earth pony. “That was mean.”

    “Yeah, not cool.” Scootaloo stuck out her tongue. “I’m with Silver on this one, I think. Life is nothing and then you die. We don’t want to do that, right?”

    “Well I don’t wanna die,” Sweetie Belle said. “If that’s what you mean. I’m not sure I want to kiss a changeling though. Sounds a little icky.”

    “Yeah I don’t really dig changelings. Remember when they kidnapped us?”

    “That was a doozy.”

    “You’ve been kidnapped by changelings?” Silver raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

    “It was a pretty weird weekend, yeah.”

    “Huh.” Silver shrugged. “Still. You were young then. I’m talking about now. Everything that happened was, well, something that happened to you, right? Nothing that you did yourselves.” Silver smirked. “That’s what being a rebel means. Living life at its fullest, having a purpose, not letting them get near you and boss you around. Doing things by your own will.”

    “‘Them’?”

    “In the books they talk about the bad guys,” Twist said. “Here she’s talking about society. I guess that’s the reason why you put on that number on the class?”

    Silver avoided her eyes. “Maybe.”

    “Well, congratulations. You totally changed the world. Ponykind will remember you forever as ‘that girl who kicked Snails’ face and then smoked a cigarette.’ Truly a defining moment of modern history. Sing me an autograph already, babe.”

    “Shut up.” Silver frowned. “We’re all dying anyway, right? So why bother with rules? Why should I go out of my way to please society? Why can’t I do whatever I want?” She pointed at the high school. “Why do I need to come here anyway? So they can teach me things? I would learn the same on my own if they gave me enough time! Let me live an adventure and I’ll get everything! Life is the only school we need!”

    “Yeah, I’m pretty sure you don’t learn equations sleeping under a bridge.” Twist rolled her eyes. “I mean, yes, you’re a romantic. Good for you. Read some philosophy and come back to me when you’re not completely nuts, thank you very much.”

    “Twist!”

    “What? I’m being honest! She’s getting an existential crisis, only she’s not really doing that because she doesn’t know about existentialism!” Twist crossed her legs. “Silver, you know what’s my advice here? Calm down. Read a book about philosophy. Mature. At the moment you’re some kind of weird mixture between a foal that’s been suffering oxygen deprivation and an mare that’s eaten the wrong mushrooms.” Her expression softened a little, her frown disappearing and her mouth shifting into a little smile. “You’re just confused and weirded out. I think you’re missing Diamond Tiara, and that—”

    “No.” Silver took a step towards Twitch, who didn’t move. “No, that’s not what’s happening. And you’re just like the headmistress. Nothing is wrong with me. I’m just thinking, but as you can’t understand what I say, you think it’s wrong by default! You’re just like them!”

    “Lil’ Mad to Match Box, chapter thirteen, book number forty-six.” Twitch raised an eyebrow. “Quoting those books won’t work on me, thanks.”

    Nerd.

    “I heard you, Scoots.”

    “Sorry.”

    “Don’t worry.”

    “I’m not just quoting the books,” Silver said. “I mean those words. Who cares if I’m using the book? What matters is the message!”

    “Uh-huh. Well, yeah, I guess. The only problem here is that if you’re not even able to voice those thoughts on your own I highly doubt you’ve really… thought about them.” Twist shook her head. “Matchbox Twenty are bestsellers, Silver Spoon. You’re not exactly being original.”

    “Who cares about originality!” Silver said. “Those books helped me realize what was missing in my life, okay?! Shut up!”

    “Weren’t you a fan of those things too, Twist?” Sweetie Belle asked. “I mean, you’ve obviously read them.”

    “I’m not a fan of everything I read,” Twist replied. “And yeah I enjoyed those books. I wouldn’t call myself a fanatic however.”

    “Hey, I thought that the thrill had been finishing the series,” Apple Bloom said. “Them books babble ‘bout rebellion and stuff? Because if that’s the case I kinda see why are you acting like this. They brainwashed you, didn’t they?”

    “No!”

    “Yeah.”

    “Uh-huh.”

    “I still think that’s a cool jacket.”

    “Scoots.” Apple Bloom glared at her. “Not the right moment.”

    “I just believe the jacket is not getting enough attention.”

    Twist sighed. “Silver Spoon—”

    “And stop calling me that! I said it’s just ‘Silver’ now!”

    “Yeah, whatever.”

    “No, don’t ‘whatever’ me, you freak of nature!” Silver bared her teeth at Twist, who took a step back at the sudden yell. “Stop acting like a little know-it-all that can fix my entire life with a couple smart-sounding sentences! You’re not better than anyone else just because you’ve read the freaking dictionary, you’re just nerdier!”

    “Uuuh—”

    “At least they came here because they were worried!” Silver pointed at the ex-Cutie Mark Crusaders, who flinched a little. “But what the heck are you doing here?! You wanted to be ‘entertained’, you say? Well, I hope I’m putting a good show then!”

    Twist blinked. “Silver Spoon, that was a joke, I didn’t want to—”

    “THAT’S NOT MY STUPID NAME!”

    Twist ducked and covered her face with her hooves. Scootaloo, Apple Bloom, and Sweetie Belle cried something in unison.

    And then Silver stopped. She realized that she was holding a hoof in the air, almost as if she had been going to punch Twist on her stupid nerdy face. Frowning, she lowered it.

    “That’s not my stupid name,” she repeated. “So stop using it. And stop patronizing me.”

    Silence.

    “Silver…” Sweetie Belle’s soft voice came from behind her, but Silver didn’t turn around. “You know, she didn’t mean no harm. And… I don’t think you need to do all those things to live, right? As long as you’re happy, there’s no reason why you should burn down a forest or get in a fight…”

    “That’s what you think,” Silver said. She sighed again, and then started walking.

    “Hey! Where are you going?!”

    “Music class is going to end soon,” Silver said, still not turning around. With a smooth movement, she put on her sunglasses and took a new cigarette out of her pocket. “You should go back in there.”

    “Yeah, you didn’t answer our question,” Apple Bloom said. “Where in tarnation…?”

    “To Ponyville,” Silver said. “To the town square. I’m tired of ponies being condescending. I’m going to be a rebel, I’m going to live, and everypony better take me damn seriously, or else they will burn down.”


    6 comments · 193 views
  • 21w, 2d
    Equestria's Miscellaneous and Pointless Bits of Data as Recollected by Canterlot's Archive

    · Twilight Velvet (Twilight Sparkle's mom) is a writer, but she's definitely not doing it for the art. She doesn't really care about the money either, to be honest. And nopony really knows what her cutie mark means (I mean, seriously. Three stars? That has to be the blandest cutie mark ever), so it's not like writing is her talent. She doesn't even like it that much, let's be honest. We would love to ask her why is she a writer, but she's too busy writing to answer our questions.

    · Night Light (Twilight Sparkle's father) doesn't have a job. Not like he wants one anyway.

    · When you talk about "Guards", you talk about Canterlot's Royal Guards. When you talk about "guards", you're talking about everypony else who works on guarding stuff. If you talk about guars, you're probably talking about cyamopsis psoraloides and are probably either a botanist or a nerd. Either way, somepony's gonna break your glasses at some point.

    · Nopony ever talks about Applejack's parents; they just assume they're dead. That includes the Apple Family, and as a result, the Apple Family Reunion in which they finally decided to appear for no reason whatsoever was kind of awkward. It's hard to talk with somepony whose inheritance you already spent. Fortunately, their sudden nondeadness was easy to solve: they just needed an axe, a lil' bit of rope, a shovel, a clear patch in one of the fields, and a promise never to speak about it ever again.

    · The Cutie Mark Crusaders' special talents are painfully obvious, but nopony is ever going to tell them so because everypony needs to be a jerk now and then, and little kids are the perfect target, let's be honest.

    · The actual Equestrian word for "niece" is surprisingly similar to the ancient word for "dessert". Luna was quite surprised when she met Cadance for the first time and it turned out she wasn't made of eggs, milk, flour, sugar, and butter. She tried to eat her anyway, because Luna's nopony to ditch modern cuisine away. Celestia still laughs about it. Cadence still has nightmares. Shining Armor still wonders if the whole deal arousing him is good or bad.

    · One of the best philosophers Equestria ever had was actually a pig. Had an early death due to the fact he was always smoking his back out, tho. Francis Bacon, he was named.

    · There's a perfectly good and logical reason why ponies keep obviously intelligent races like cows or sheep as slaves. They're jerks. See the Cutie Mark Crusaders' entry for more information.

    · Silver Spoon's special talent is never to starve. Diamond Tiara's is never to be hatless. This is quite convenient for Silver Spoon. Whenever she runs into monetary problems, she just eats one of her best friends' hats.

    · Celestia's special talent is not to raise the sun. Everypony with enough magic power can do that. Her special talent is to be hot. And kind of radioactive, too.

    · Likewise, Luna's special talent is to make little children believe she's made of cheese and attract wolves.

    · Spike doesn't have wings because Twilight already fills the winged-librarian-in-Ponyville quota. Contrary to what some ponies believe, the Pony Universe likes its things to be as organized and logical as possible, thank you very much.

    · Related to that last point, the Pony Universe doesn't have enthropy. They have chaos. The difference is that chaos is more spicy and has kind of an aftertaste.

    · Fancy Pants doesn't wear pants because he doesn't believe in fate. Also he thinks his buttocks are too great to be hidden under trousers. Mostly the fate thing, tho.

    · Rarity drinks tea seven times a day. She's the only known pony elegant enough to lift her pinky while doing so, which is a great feat when you have hooves. The trick is to ask her first and giving her a balloon or something so she's entertained while being raised.

    · Soarin is such a good flier because he's too dumb to realize he's ignoring the laws of physics. Also because they tell him he'll have pie if he finishes the race first.

    · Discord is not Celestia's opposite. He's the archnemesis of the Tree of Harmony. Which kind of explains why he's such a jerk: you try to hold a healthy cycle of reprisal and retaliaton for a couple millenia with a thing whose only worries are A) how to properly photosynthezise the light on his cave and B) how to properly photosynthesize the light on his cave a little bit more, and then you'll see what we mean.

    · The Canterlot Archive has a lot of free time. Like. Seriously. Gosh.




    Someone's been reading Terry Pratchett a lot lately, as you can see. Also I haven't slept for thirty hours. And I just finished a 11k words long chapter for that heist fic I'm always talking about. So, uh, excuse the pointlessness. I had to relax a little somehow, y'see.

    21 comments · 253 views
Apr
27th
2013

Well, for some reason it's just not advancing the approval queue. It's been there for more than 48 hours now, so... Huh. It's not being denied, it's just that it hasn't been seen yet.

So, eh, I'm going to post the link here, just in case someone wants to, you know, read it. It should go up someday, but till then, I don't want the few readers I have to wait too much.

So, here you go!

LINK TO THE STORY

Aragon · 63 views · Report
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