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Jun
6th
2019

Oh No · 4:07am Jun 6th, 2019

Courtesy of Scampy

[Adult story embed hidden]

I'm just gonna copypasta the Author's Notes from the first chapter cuz I'm lazy and bonkers:



You don't want to read this fanfic.

No, seriously, you don't. And that's perfectly fine. It's quite alright if you just downvote it and swish on by. And I'm not saying that just to be a drama queen. This story will not have anything that will appeal to anyone who is not me. That's why there's no "Porn" tag. And as for the tags that do exist... it'll be lucky if we get to any of them (the juicy ones, at least) within this century. The story--if you can even call it that--will have a pace that would put Shellstrings to shame. Anyone here remember Shellstrings? I seriously doubt it, because having clicked on that fic even once back in 2016 would mean that all your sperm would have died and thus nothing could have foolhardily tempted you to click this first chapter so you'd end up reading this unnecessarily long and self-deprecating author's note.

And here's another necessary confession: I wrote this chapter and the four to follow back in December of 2018, about six months prior to upload. So not only is the fic long, pedantic, and meandering--but it's also a phantom text lost from time and mental locomotion. It'll be pure luck if I summon the strength to continue the dayum thing... which isn't that much of a hard sell for something that's already 28k words into a pretentious sissy manifesto.

So, it begs the question. Why even upload this thing? Odds are, despite all of my melancholic meta gargling in this author's note, the tags and synopsis alone will doom the story to never even remotely gracing the feature box. Which is fine. It doesn't deserve the feature box. It doesn't deserve your eyeballs.

I'm putting this story up because I want to... and I will go insane if I don't. Then again, I'll go insane because I do. So, long story short, I'm just insane. You too would be insane if your "epic comeback" of 2019 was to write super-niche softcore fetish fics about the fandom's least favorite character featured minimally in the lesser of two televised cartoon horse programs.

But, still, I gotta do it... because so much of this year--and so much of me--has been a whole lot of not accomplishing things. And I believe... or at least I want to believe that that's the crux of it all. Inaction. Fear. Doubt. Acceptance of the rigor mortis quo.

What you see in these first six chapters is me at the height of believing in myself--or in a concept I was willing to sell--back in December of 2018 when I had plans. I had plans... for many many things. I was so confident in these plans that I put this story on hold to work on other stuff, because I thought I'd be offering up a cornucopia of smut upon the ringing of 2019's New Year bell. I didn't leave this fic because I lost faith in it... but rather cuz I had too much faith in something nebulous and with no anchor that just... never fell through.

And then I hit a slump--as I knew I would. But although I knew I would hit that slump, I still didn't prepare for it. And stuff like this fic lingered in obscurity... among everything I've ever pretended to value about my Sturgeon's Law-Abiding potential as of late.

And then just a few days ago, I dusted the documents off and re-read these huge, monumental, sissy-stained chapters of a melancholic Flash Sentry being cuddled back to the light--with the hopes of the sparkling dicks to come(sic). Tonally, these chapters work. That still doesn't make them "good," per se, but they still blend... they still gel... they still hold promise of a grand narrative that explores sissification and pet-play smut from a rigorously introspective angle.

In other words, I would very much like to see this story go somewhere--anywhere. I doubt it ever will, and every corner I turn is drenched in regret, shame, and lethargy. And for all of those reasons, I must quote an ancient poet being quoted by a contemporary superior:

Maybe some good will come of this. Maybe some motivation to melt the glacial plot and flood the seaside cities of hesitance... or some other 2012-worthy Skirstian metaphor. No, if you're actually reading this, please don't comment and upvote just to placate some pathetic lemur beyond the curtain. I've long despised the very notion of Author's Notes, because they always seem egregiously conceited and whiny... so naturally here I am in 2019 writing one that's longer than the subreddits complaining over Game of Thrones' finale.

I've been... off for a very long time now. Or, perhaps, I've always been off but the last few years have punched enough holes in me that the Dr. Pepper has completely drained empty and what's left is the whiffle ball neckbeard whimpering in the wind. A lot of y'all have likely noticed it... perhaps by not noticing it. Because I've vanished. I've drifted off into shadows--like an asshole. And let's face the music: the reality of depressed people is that they're generally assholes. Depressed people aren't entirely deserving of the unmitigated lurve, coddling, and platitudes that social media aspires to propagandize. Generally, many of us just sit around, grow fat, and unfairly defecate on those around us whom we've previously pretended to appreciate because the act of burning bridges seals us in a cocoon opaque enough to mimic the comfortably looming malaise in our heads that we quietly know we deserve.

But something's gotta come out of all of this. At least... something more focused and poignant than the popcorn farts I've lazily plopped forth over the past six months. An even bigger mistake than attempting to re-brand yourself as a producer of NSFW material is to half-ass it. As of now, that's all I've ever done. At some point in time, a flow was broken... a flow that never was. And even if all the silly sissy epics that would have potentially trickled from those naughty tributaries harbored a titanic complement of downvotes, at least they would have exhibited confidence which--in the end--is the best a fanfic writer could ever hope to possess.

Since 2016, I've harbored so many goddamn different and varied "Flash Sentry vicariously lives out feminization fantasy X" in my head that it's virtually driven me insane. It's a vicious cycle, really. I'd conceive of one idea, but then would think of a bunch of other kinks/tags/concepts that wouldn't gel with it... so I would conceive of another... but then that idea would strike me as unsellably niche... so I would go back to the original idea and tweak it and keep tweaking it until (Nietzschedammit) it turned into yet another idea... and suddenly I have too many different-but-similar smut concepts being spun on turgid rods while the backstage performer is too anxious and self-doubting to hop into the limelight and choose a single plate to save while allowing the others to shatter into a million gazillion pieces which they already are anyways.

F'naaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaand the entire time the stage performer knows that everyone yawning in the audience is waiting patiently although somewhat angrily for the main attraction that keeps receding away... all because this flighty and limp-legged amateur keeps insisting that someday, somehow, he'll make the spinning dream rotary-blade itself off the stage and into a sea of fireworks overhead.

And as the clock ticks on--six months in a bleary-eyed blink--one can't help but look over his shoulder at the collapse of the universe. There's so much going to waste. You've got a show that's ending. You've got a fandom that's self-cannibalizing. You've even got people who are fucking dying.

Really, when you think about it, maybe we should all just be... impulsively slapping up fics that aren't really worth anything but their affirmative weight in megabytes.

I did a blargh recently... in which I appealed to the good grace of the marsupial alumni to help out people in need. One of them is a close friend of mine, and as of the start of June of '19, their GoFundMe budget has been completely secured. I'm pretty dayum sure this wouldn't have happened had I not made that blargh. I also have a dayum good inclination on who a few of those "anonymous" contributors were. And... let's face it. I owe them. I owe you all. More than I can ever pretend to say.

That'll be for another blargh, methinks... as if this isn't one on its own (or is it). But, long story short, I've been walking circles in the wilderness for an interminable fart in time... and this story is the manifestation of one of the many sins that has had me exiled here for a full forty years... or at least until Moses freaks out over a stone. Maybe it'll help me--if not for being born than at least for being killed. Fanfics--you gotta admit--fulfill their purpose in both directions, both felicitous and fatalistic.

Except for one, at least. And--as I've already confessed, to my undying shame and contempt--I owe people. I owe people big.

But I also owe things to myself as well. Here's one such sacrifice. Let's hope the earth doesn't swallow too many former slaves into the desert as recompense.

Forever yours,
-a certifiably not-insane lemur

Comments ( 17 )

But, still, I gotta do it... because so much of this year--and so much of me--has been a whole lot of notaccomplishing things. And I believe... or at least I want to believe that that's the crux of it all. Inaction. Fear. Doubt. Acceptance of the rigor mortis quo.

This is such a difficult thing to overcome, and you're doing so by publishing this. I'm super fricking proud of you.

I'm probably not going to read that fic in the forseeable future, but I have always admired the fact that, through thick and thin, you always seem to go 110% into whatever weird shit you're getting into. I followed you almost five years ago now from that one scootaloo fic you did that was really fucked up and it still stays in my mind as one of the best MLP fanfics I have ever read on this entire fucking site. I still need to binge-read austaeoh. I don't think there is anybody in this fandom anything like you, Skirts.

Godspeed.

After reading this, I wanna talk about some stuff you expressed. Perhaps you won’t read it, but I don’t care honestly. (It’s also long goddamit).

I only “”met”” you last year via posting princessy stuff on the Lemur Cave discord. We didn’t have any conversations but that didn’t matter, I only joined that pinky side because we shared common things. And despite not talking (which was unnecessary), I even learned some stuff you liked.

When you started posting more sissy 2019 stuff, I read it because i liked it. Not because I had to. However, I’m not gonna read this story, again, not because you’re telling me, It’s just not for my liking.

I'm putting this story up because I want to... and I will go insane if I don't. Then again, I'll go insane because I do. So, long story short, I'm just insane. You too would be insane if your "epic comeback" of 2019 was to write super-niche softcore fetish fics about the fandom's least favorite character featured minimally in the lesser of two televised cartoon horse programs.

I respect the fact that you posted this story even if you don’t like it. I just don’t feel like you’d have to. Why? like you said, it’s about a show that it’s coming to an end.

But, still, I gotta do it... because so much of this year--and so much of me--has been a whole lot of not accomplishing things. And I believe... or at least I want to believe that that's the crux of it all. Inaction. Fear. Doubt. Acceptance of the rigor mortis quo.

You’re very hard on yourself Skirts. You don’t have to accomplish anything at this time. Only do what you like.
Putting on yourself things like a 2019 comeback before getting to it it’s a big weight to take. Because not making it it’s a big disappointment as well. I can only cheer you up when you try to do things. Also get happy when you try to come back from your lethargic self. Because you try, but sometimes only to not drown in that vicious cycle.

I've drifted off into shadows--like an asshole. And let's face the music: the reality of depressed people is that they're generally assholes. Depressed people aren't entirely deserving of the unmitigated lurve, coddling, and platitudes that social media aspires to propagandize.

Being depressed and off is a state that sucks, and it’s worse when the person inflicts it itself by putting some things that you have to do in order to feel like you’re doing something. And not because you like it.

I personally don’t think that you are that person you claim to be. And I don’t think you should do things because you have to, neither for you or for us. Maybe it is how you felt today, reason why you wrote this, and it’ll be different by tomorrow. Idk. Just rambling at this point.

This took longer than I expected. But anyways, just cheer up, Skirts. Don’t be insane, that’s silly. Don’t feel like you owe people, that’ll make you think hard on yourself.

You do you, dood. Enjoy yourself.

66.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m2ut3fHEkg1ro4mbjo1_400.gif

We’re here for ya. :heart:

Hap

As much as want to see more of the stuff I like, I'm glad that you are writing the stuff you want/need to write. I doubt I'm going to read this story in particular, but I'm sure lots of folks will, and I'm sure they'll appreciate it. Regardless, you write for you.

Godspeed.

PresentPerfect
Author Interviewer

I remember Shellstrings. <.<

And you're right. I don't want to read this story! In fact, I was vaguely on board until the description hit "7 foot Amazon" and then I had to clench my tiny fists and shake them at the heavens. But you have given me permission not to feel bad about this, and I thank you for that. :) I hope this story goes the way you need it to.

It's ok, skirts. You do you.

All the stuff about depression isn't so easy to fix with a few words in a blog comment. But try not to feel bad about writing the things you want to write, or feel you need to write. Or about being who you are.

Really, when you think about it, maybe we should all just be... impulsively slapping up fics

That's all we should do: The same thing we do since 2010/2011. Or whenever we started to write ponyfics between then and today.
Just because My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic ends doesn't mean we should stop writing fics for it. We have enough material for a lifetime. The ride never ends.

This story will not have anything that will appeal to anyone who is not me.

ARE YOU SURE ABOUT THAT

I'm happy you're doing it for you, dude. All the hugs.

are you wilding my bonkers right now?

Man, I am really not sure what to say to the above. You bravely put a lot out there, and I really respect you for that. The feeling you describe is something I have been fighting with intensely for the last few years, and it has felt like I have been failing to move forward in that span of time so I know how difficult it is to shake that off. I feel that doing SOMETHNIG, be it a fic like this, or anything else for that matter, is the first step in dealing with it. We understand Skirts, and we hope that you are taking care of yourself.

I've been down the depression road, I know it is not easy. Take the time you need, maybe you should even see a therapist if you can afford it, just don't try to force it away, that will only make it worse.

After reading this blog out of curiosity, I kind of feel bad about my comment on your story... Regardless of whether or not my guilt is warranted. I can sympathize with wanting to write fetish material for oneself, no matter what others may think. It takes a brave person to do such a thing, and I salute you for it.

Probably not gonna read this, but I object to that depressed statement halfway through this author's note. It all depends on what you do about your depression. I have chronic nightmares, anxiety, flat-line moods, and the need to isolate myself all the damn time, but I don't. I rarely bring it up, and when I do, it's usually to prove some sort of point. My point is that like me, and thus like you, the truth of the matter is getting up everyday despite it all and still trying to make the most of it. You only truly fail if you give up, and just become a drag to yourself and those around you. There are many depressed people I know who work tirelessly to improve themselves, and I don't think those who are are always asses for the sake of being asses. Life's an ass, and that can make people asses, but you just gotta wipe that ass to make it clean. Many people do, and that's the difference between the assholes and those who make something of their sorry selves.

I guarantee under layers of fat and Dr. Pepper is someone with aspirations and the need to make something of themselves. Don't wait on those needs, cause they will never come to you. You have to work for what you want, and you have to make something of yourself. Also, writing for someone other than yourself, if you aren't paid, is a one way street to disappointmentville. Don't do it.

Just keep going, skirts. We'll always be there for you through thick and thin :heart:

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