Three Hundred · 3:01am Aug 5th, 2018
IN WHICH IN WHICH IN WHICH
I was going through my archives and realized I hadn't finished my latest blog-only shipfic insanity. So I figured, "It's Saturday night; I have no Hammond organ; may as well finish this." If you're of legal age, please click to read my latest crap!
Every fifty blogposts, as many of my followers are aware, I write a low-effort shipping related story, usually under a thousand words -- although this latest one is ~1300 -- and definitely not up to my usual standard of quality. The plots are usually so out there that they can't be taken seriously as canon, yet often DO foreshadow things about the worlds I've created. I regret that most of the hints I drop in these bizarre non-canon shipfics have not yet paid off. I hope they do before I completely lose it.
It's always been my desire to reward my readers and followers who pay attention. Despite my recent mental spiralling, I do care about y'all and want to do the best job I can in what I publish. After all, it is my goal to publish at least one story professionally before I die (obviously nothing Pony-related), just so I can say, "I'm a writer because I have been paid for something I wrote." I'm legally allowed to call myself a published artist for this reason -- fifteen years ago, I was paid to draw editorial cartoons -- it wasn't a lot, but it was something. Funny thing is, I assumed it was a volunteer position. Imagine my shock when I got that first paycheck in the mail. Good shock, but still a shock.
Anyway. Credit where it's due -- I cribbed one line from a T.J.Pones comic. "Little Duckies" is what Henry VIII is known to have called the bosom of Anne Boleyn. The rest comes from the dankest recesses of my fevered mind.
For my followers who usually write M-rated stories, you have my sincere apologies. Also, MilesPrower06, if you're reading this, I apologize for using your name in the beginning, it's just… you have written about your partner in your own blogs (which I do read), so your situation happened to fit the scene best. I have no animosity whatsoever toward you -- indeed, you're one of the writers who spurred me to get into this horeswords thing to begin with.
To everyone else, Enjoy!
Oh! One last thing… This may be the last blog post I write for awhile, as I need to edit a couple of finished stories that have been sitting in my queue for months or longer. And, honestly, after three hundred of these things (Author Notes included), I'm running out of things to say.
THREE HUNDRED
The Emissary tried to reason with me as we walked. “You are aware, no doubt, of the power of the Readership. They are so vast they trample all in their wake. So voracious in their consumption of horsewords no man or woman can sate them.”
“Aye,” I replied.
The Emissary continued. “All the godly Readership requires is this: a simple offering of Sunset×Rarity, a token of your submission to the will of the Readership.”
As his request rambled around my brain, I sighed. “So the mission. Well, that’s a bit of a problem. See, rumour has it MilesPrower06 already turned you down. And if that philosopher and… man-lover… has found that kind of nerve, then—”
“We gotta be diplomatic here,” Apple Bloom cautioned me.
Undaunted, I kept going. “And of course, I have a reputation to consider.”
The Emissary gave me a stink-eye. “Choose your next words carefully, Soufrière. They may be your last… as a horsewords writer.”
His own words rattled through my mind as the wind picked up around me. Why I was outside on such a hot day was beyond anyone’s understanding. Still, I already knew what my answer would be to the Readership; I merely needed to steel my guts to be able to say it to their exalted Emissary.
“Sunset… and Rarity,” I mumbled before reaching into my belt to grab a fountain pen and thrust it in the Emissary’s face. To say his expression turned to one of shock would be a tremendous understatement.
“Madman…” he said. “You’re a madman!”
“Sunset and Rarity. You’ll find plenty of both down there,” I allowed my head to gesture to my archive behind him while keeping my pen at the ready.
“No writer… NO WRITER, Brony or Casual, threatens a messenger!” the Emissary reminded me. Unfortunately for him, I was already in a foul mood.
“You bring inanity and political infighting to my comment section,” I reminded him. “You insult my plot choices. You threaten me with unfollows and downvotes. Oh, I’ve chosen my words carefully, Reader. Perhaps you should have done the same.”
At this point, the Readers’ Emissary knew he was screwed, but he tried to reason.
“This is blasphemy. This is madness!!” he pleaded.
Yeah, I wasn’t taking it that day. “Madness? …THIS! IS! PONY!!”
I then proceeded to kick him in the junk, whereupon he fell into my archive of dozens of stories and hundreds of blogposts, never to return. Apple Bloom, as she was often wont, stared at me with those sad eyes and shook her head.
“You’re really gonna do it, aren’t ya?” she asked.
I nodded. “Eeyup.”
Twilight Sparkle adjusted her glasses as she sat on the park bench next to Flash Sentry, her cheeks rapidly reddening as Flash moved his hand to her inner thigh.
“But we… hardly know each other!” Twilight said.
Flash shrugged. “Maybe, but I seriously doubt you’re that different from the other one, so let’s just do it.”
Twilight considered this. “Well, the other Twilight is going to be dead soon, so I may as well move in on her territory, starting with you, I guess. You’ll have to pardon me, as I’m kind of new to this ‘love’ thing, but I’ll try my best.”
“But, didn’t you get it on with Sunset last time?”
Twilight chuckled. “Did you really think that was canon to this writer’s world?”
“I really don’t know anymore,” Flash replied with a shrug.
At that, Twilight adopted a half-lidded look that was almost a cross between a satisfied smile and a sneer. “I just realized… Our relationship will anger many. …This pleases me.”
“Uh… okay?” said Flash.
However, before he could finish, Twilight wrapped him in an embrace and gave him the most intense kiss he had ever or would ever experience. The proverbial electricity shot through his very being until his ‘little Flash’ became quite excited indeed. Instinctively, he moved his hands up to Twilight’s head and undid her bun, allowing her long hair to cascade down her back. Then, using a trick Sunset had taught him, he slipped his hands under Twilight’s shirt and, with a few flicks of his fingers, undid her bra. As gravity caused it to slip downward, he turner her slightly so he could cop a feel on those, as his brain would call them, ‘little duckies’.
Twilight did not complain. Indeed, she moaned in ecstasy as she shifted her thighs to hide the rapidly escalating temperature in her loins.
Then, Flash began kissing her neck and sternum. Within a few seconds, he broke one arm out of the embrace and sent it straight up her skirt.
Why did she have to wear a skirt that day? Well, most of her wardrobe – as was the case for the majority of girls in the city – consisted mainly of skirts. Still, she had no desire whatsoever to complain about this boy’s groping. Indeed, she enjoyed the sensation and the attention. Some switch seemed to click on deep within her brain. Were she still in her usual analytical state, she would have been horrified to watch herself behaving like the horny teen she had become. But that Twilight was away from the proverbial office for the moment, so the remainder of her had zero qualms about thrusting her own hand down Flash’s pants to tickle his member.
As the police report would later recount in… glorious detail… Flash Sentry jumped Twilight, knocking her to the ground, whereupon they stripped off each other’s clothes and proceeded to, well, fuck like bonobos. Their rapidly escalating body temperatures had a noticeable effect on the immediately surrounding area. So did the smell of, uh, intermingling fluids. They were in the middle of a public area but neither of them cared, albeit for different reasons.
Women in the vicinity averted their eyes in disgust; those with children covered the wee ones’ eyes. Men (and a couple of women) pulled out their smartphones and began filming the spectacle. Most of them would later be arrested for possession of child pornography despite no one really knowing whether both parties were of legal age because no one bothered to tell the writer – a technicality yes, but that’s the “justice” system for you – but such is a story for another day which I will never tell, because I don’t want to.
After he had allowed his heart rate and breathing to stabilize somewhat, Flash, still sweating like a stuck pig, said breathily to his partner. “Wow… you are better than the other Twilight.”
“Well,” said Twilight in between breaths, “what she doesn’t understand is that actions speak louder than words. I doubt that nasty whore Sunset gets it either.”
Flash cocked his head, but his eyes rolled back as Twilight gave head to his cock. “You… ah! …calling my ex a whore? Mmn! That’s…”
Twilight sighed as she disengaged and smacked her lips. “Not right? Please. Sunset Shimmer is the literal worst,” Twilight cooed. “She ruined my life and, unlike with everyone else, has no idea she even did it.” She looked Flash square in his eyes. “Come here.”
Grabbing his cheeks, she planted the biggest, sloppiest kiss on him she could. His eyes closed in ecstasy as she also used her toes to tickle his slowly deflating schlong to keep it upright.
“One thing Sunset did get right about you, Flash, my love, is…”
She then proceeded to shift her weight and slam Flash’s head against a nearby rock, knocking him out cold.
“…You’re oh so gullible,” Twilight concluded.
She put her ear to his mouth to make sure the unconscious boy was still breathing. He was. This was ideal. After all, she had no desire to be a murderer… just yet. She thought about what to say next as her first and last lover (aside from her right hand) lay bleeding on the grass.
“Miss Goody-Two-Horseshoes Princess would never have had the guts to go all the way with you, Flash. That was fun. Thank you,” she finally told him, before wiping down his body and the immediate area with an alcohol cloth and walking away from the scene still completely nude, carrying her clothes with her.
And there we go. Catch y'all on the flip-side.
Peace out!
Shoot, I thought that conversation was starting to sound familiar. Makes sense, what with the number and all. Well done!
4914505
The reference was inevitable. Luckily, I found the iconic scene in its entirety on Youtube and simply had to adapt the entire thing. I wouldn't have been doing it justice otherwise.
As for the rest, I'll leave it up to you and others to figure out which bits are bread crumbs that lead to loaves and fishes or whatever in future stories.
4914523
As far as breadcrumbs go, this line in particular certainly stood out to me.
That was incredibly silly.
Some say that on a quiet night you can hear the screams of some tormented soul coming from Soufriere's archives.
4914961
That would be me.
4914758
Hellz to the yeah! Did you expect anything less/more? I warned you I was going to do this.