• Published 22nd Jun 2013
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Ponified Without Consent - Daemon of Decay



In a world without bacon, five humans find themselves trapped... grazing on mother bucking dandelions. Friendship is magic. Too bad none of these jerks are friends.

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Chapter 1 - I Just Don't Know What Went Wrong

Chapter 1 - I Just Don't Know What Went Wrong



I’ve always hated mornings. I’ve also always hated morning people. It wasn’t enough that they wouldn't let me sleep in and enjoy one of the few pleasant parts of life. No, they had to make those self-righteous comments about getting a start on the day, as if I was somehow wasting my life by savoring how comfortable my bed was. I mean, sure, I was wasting my day spending it in bed, but they should just fuck off and let me do what I want. I don’t go up to them and complain about their cheery personalities and upbeat attitudes and their successful lives. Well, not often, at any rate.

Still, that doesn’t excuse them throwing ‘carpe diem’ in my face, leaving me unable to wring the last few hours of enjoyment from the day before I’m forced to rise like a zombie and set about the tasks necessary to keep my heart beating. Mornings are the worst part of the day because they mark the end of everything that is enjoyable in life and the beginning of everything that is terrible. Everything fun – like drinking, sex, hanging out, and drinking – all take place at night, when the dark can hide our shameful activities from those judgmental assholes that seem to dominate the world. Work, exercise, chores – they all start with the rising of the sun.

Hangovers as well, something that was made abundantly clear when I tried to open my eyes and felt hot pokers being driven into my sockets. Hangovers and I were no strangers – our mutual friend alcohol being my constant companion ever since I was old enough to drive – so I was quick to act out my standard treatment for Post-Fun Trauma: go back to sleep. Which shouldn’t have been too hard. My bed was soft, warm, and particularly inviting. I felt like I was wearing a glorious velvet snuggie. I just wanted to let my normal preference for sleep take me away to the land of dreams, where the beer and vodka ran like rainwater, and everything had tits.

Fate had other ideas. One of those morning people I so despised was doing their best to drive me out of my much deserved slumber. It was hard to make out what they were saying, their voice distant and muffled, but I could still hear them practicing their yodeling. The land of beer and breasts was denied to me. Nobody ever has sympathy for people who drink, as long as you’re a functional drunk. Sometimes I wondered if it would be worth just throwing a booze-fueled fit so everyone would think I have an actual problem. I know my friends, and none of those assholes would want to stage an intervention. All I needed was to get into some angry fights, maybe soil myself in public, and they would leave me alone. At the very least, they wouldn’t be trying to wake me up on a Saturday. Can’t a guy be allowed to be lazy on his day off?

They called out again, and for the life of me it sounded like my mother was trying to wake me up for school. My body went into automatic mode, and I almost mumbled back “just five more minutes” before I caught myself. What the hell – why would my mother be trying to wake me up? I haven’t lived with my parents since high school. Hearing the obviously female voice call out a little louder was enough to force my bleary, tear-filled eyes to reopen and face the harsh light of the rising sun. I had two possibilities. One: that I had somehow gotten so plastered that I had ended up back at my folks’ house. Two: that I had hooked up with someone last night who was making breakfast or some shit, and I couldn’t even remember their name, or what they looked like. Oh god, what if she’s a fatty? I mean, I’m not the best looking guy in the world, but I have standards. Fairly low standards, I’ll be the first to admit, but Derek don’t ride cattle, if you catch my drift.

Trying my best to clear my vision and make sense of my surroundings, I made a move to get out of bed. My arms felt odd and didn’t move like I intended them to. Considering how often I ended up black-out drunk, a little physical discomfort was never unexpected. Still, I didn’t feel right. It was hard to describe: I felt smaller than normal, if that makes any sense – as if my body was squished into a more compact ball. Another burst of fear went through me as I suddenly realized I may have been the plaything for Ms. King Kong. Could sex with a fatty cause physical damage? Is that why I couldn’t feel my fingers?

I made my way through the sea of blankets towards the edge of my bed, a little more desperate to get up. I wasn’t going to leave a stranger awake in my apartment. I didn’t care if she was the sweetest girl ever with a heart of gold; fat people are as liable to steal what little I have as anyone else. Plus, I wanted to be on my feet in case she came back and was feeling a little amorous. I have a red blanket in my closet, and I’ve seen how matadors can use them to fend off larger animals. Sure, most of my knowledge of bullfighting is as blurry as the rest of my time in Spain, but it was something to focus on – a need that became much more driving once I heard the creak of something large making its way up the stairs.

“Hun, are you okay?” the she-beast called out as she made her way closer to the door, the deep drawl of her southern accent like nails on a chalkboard. It sounded vaguely familiar, but that wasn’t saying much – having spent most of my life in east and central Texas, I had grown used to how the backwood yokels spoke. My eyes widened in alarm. Oh god, I didn’t just bang a big girl – I ended up tagging a trailer-trash tubby! My legs kicked with more determination. I wasn’t just fighting to protect myself now: I was fighting to protect what little of my social image was still intact. If one of my friends showed up and found some redneck land-whale in my apartment, I would never live it down.

“Sugar, it’s time to get up,” she said from just outside my door, and my heart lept into my throat. I was right at the edge of the bed. My legs were beginning to respond, but I needed to stall her.

As I swung my legs out over the edge of the bed I finally managed to speak. “Ahm fine, ahm... what the fuck happened t’ mah voice?” The shock at hearing how squeaky I sounded to my hungover ears was only dwarfed by how country my voice was. It was enough to freeze me solid as my brain struggled to fight its way through the layer of booze still untouched by my poor liver. Going rigid in shock was an understandable response to suddenly finding yourself sounding like a prepubescent little farm girl whose family tree didn’t have too many branches.

The problem was timing. A girlish shriek escaped my lips as I tumbled out of a bed that seemed far too high. Whatever meat-mountain I had slept with last night heard the impact of Derek meeting floor, and was worried enough that she burst in through the door just in time to watch me bounce face-first off the wooden planks. Whatever she said to me was lost beneath the burst of raw pain that shot through by body.

Head injuries are never something to be taken lightly, even on the best of days. When you combine a blow to the head with your standard “I can’t remember last night” hangover, you end up with a concoction cruel enough to make suicide an attractive option. I had a headache powerful enough to break sheetrock with. With my ears ringing and my skull throbbing, I did my best to roll over onto my back. Everything was blurry, swimming in and out of focus like the bartender on a good night out. My nose was wet; I smelled copper. A large, orange shape pushed its way into my inverted field of vision, calling out to me again, her words sounding like they were echoing down a long metal tube. Staring up at her I finally managed to respond to her incoherent mumbling. “Please... don’t step on me.”

“What?”

Evidently, my change in tone was enough to startle her as well. Or maybe I had offended her? I didn’t care: all I could think about was the huge orange horse-faced monstrosity above me crushing me beneath her flabby bulk. I may be into a lot of kinky shit, but that ain’t one of them.

It was at that moment that one of the details of my guest finally resolved itself: her horse face. As I blinked away more of the tears, my mind was finally able to process the fact that she was not just ugly – she had a literal horse’s face. As in a muzzle, pointed ears, and a mane.

And a hat.

My body froze yet again as more information slowly penetrated my thick skull. Recognition teased my senses as I finally realized that the female above me wasn’t orange because of some terribly cheap spray-on tan, but was honest to god orange colored. She wasn’t as fat as I had feared, either; it had just looked like that from my inverted view, when instead she had four legs. Four legs that ended in hooves.

I don’t consider myself an idiot. I’m a damn sight smarter than nearly everyone else I have to put up with. But I’m not ashamed at how long it took my brain to connect the dots. It was obvious in retrospect, of course, but in retrospect I’m not dealing with a hangover, headache, bloody nose, and my senses trying to tell me that there is an orange horse in my room – wearing a hat.

Indeed, I consider it a mark of pride that I was able to handle that revelation with such dignity and self-control.

I believe my exact words were “Holy fuckin’ shit, there’s a horse in mah room!” I tried to escape from the huge beast, an act of self-preservation made all the more difficult by my stumpy, non-responsive limbs. I couldn’t feel my fingers as I rolled over and tried to backpedal away from the brightly-colored animal, my legs kicking to find purchase on the rough wooden floor. It wasn’t like I had anywhere to go: I was stuck between the wall and the bed, and the horse was blocking my only exit. I just knew I had to put some distance between us, to get some space, to do anything to protect myself.

That mindless fear only increased when the horse took a few steps closer, my sudden claustrophobia becoming a consuming icy claw squeezing my chest until I couldn’t breathe. My back was pressed up firmly against the wall, trapped in a canyon with some mindless animal drawing closer. I felt like crying, or pissing myself, or both. I didn’t want to die. I was going to die. Oh god, I was going to die!

The horse was staring at me with a look of concern in its freakishly oversized eyes. “Apple Bloom, what in tarnation has gotten into you?”

Those words made everything finally click for me. For the third time that morning – it was starting to become a recurring theme in my life – my entire body froze up as recognition dawned. It was so impossible, so insane, that my mind kept rejecting it out of hand. Sure, I might be a boozy man-child who liked children’s cartoons, but this... no. No! I wasn’t going to accept it.

The horse drew closer, her look of familial concern only deepening my resolve to reject what I was seeing. “Apple Bloom, come on now, you’re scarin’ me. What’s the matter? Did you have a bad dream?”

I was staring at a character from a cartoon show, and I was not going to accept it without a fight. “Go away,” I squeaked, closing my eyes firmly shut as I rejected what my senses were telling me.

The horse paused. “What?”

“Ah said, go away. You’re not real.”

Another pause. “What?”

“Ah said, you ain’t real. This... this is not real. This is just some kind of alcohol-fueled dream. Maybe ah came back home a-and put on an episode and passed out drunk on th’ couch. Ahm still asleep, and this is just some inner fantasy trying to play out in my mind.”

A third pause, this one even longer than the others. “Apple Bloom, what in tarnation are you talkin’ about?”

“You’re not Applejack! That’s impossible!” I shouted back with as much conviction as I could muster, doing my best to sound resolute and strong, but only sounding weak and frightened, even to my ears. “This is... just some drunk Brony fantasy, wakin’ up in Equestria!”

The non-Applejack drew closer, and I flinched when she put a hand – hoof – on my shoulder. “Okay, you need to calm down now, sis. You just had some sorta weird dream–”

“That’s what ahm sayin’!” I interrupted like a petulant child, finally opening my eyes. “This is all some sorta dream! You can’t be real!” Staring up into the non-Applejack’s big green eyes, I felt my angry defiance melting away beneath the concern I saw there. My senses were betraying me. I could see her, hear her, and feel her. Hell, I could even smell her – although it was hard to discern, considering how overwhelmingly noxious the scent of apples was.

“The dream is over now, Apple Bloom,” she said, the large mare towering over me. Part of me was obviously curious about the size difference – I had always assumed that even full grown mares wouldn’t be that much bigger than humans. As I thought about it, it wasn’t too frightening a situation. After all, what sort of Brony hasn’t fantasized about the cliche “human in Equestria” setup? I guess my shock had more to do with the sheer vividness of the dream. My heartbeat began to drop to normal levels, and I couldn’t help but feel a sense of calm settle over me at her kind words and friendly, downright loving demeanor. I held back a sniffle.

Which is when the other shoe dropped. “A-Apple Bloom...?” I whispered as I tilted my head downwards to look at myself. It suddenly made sense: my awkward physical movements, why I couldn’t feel my fingers, why I sounded like some inbred redneck, why Applejack was towering over me, and why she kept calling me by her sister’s name. I stared down at my creamy yellow body in abject horror. I held up my arms before my face. My hands were gone. My hands were gone. I blinked. Slowly, with a whimper of protest, I glanced past my malformed arms and checked between my legs. I think Applejack screamed something right before my eyes rolled back up into my head and everything went dark.



Rarity stood holding a bar of soap with her magic and glaring down at her sister. She had been sat upright next to the sink in one of the upstairs bathrooms at the Carousel boutique. I had my arms—sorry, still not used to it—useless marshmallow nubs, crossed over my chest with a defiant scowl. To be fair, it really hadn’t been my day so far. It’s not everyday that you wake up as a squishy little mush ball with a squeaky voice, but it could be worse. I mean, I could be in hell getting my flesh peeled off in strips then fried and served back to me. That would be much worse...

Maybe.

“Open up,” Rarity said.

“How ‘bout you go to Hell, you prissy little fuc—” Before I could finish my expertly crafted retort, she had taken advantage of my open mouth and had wedged a large bar of soap in between my teeth.

You know what? On second thought, I might enjoy my flesh bacon more than this. I don’t know if you’ve ever had full blown soap bars in your mouth, but it’s probably the second worst thing I’ve ever tasted, first place being glow stick fluid. What? I wanted to see if my tongue glowed. It totally did. Where was I...? Ah yes, searing my taste buds, of course. How could I forget?

If I’m being fair though, I totally deserved it. You see, anyone who’s known me makes certain compensations, particularly for my creative mouth. When I woke up this morning as a cotton candy haired filly, I felt entitled to some self expression of the frustrated kind. That’s not too much to ask, is it? Well, Rarity didn’t think so, but then again she didn’t know that I wasn’t her sister at all. What did I say again? Something about a lecherous pig whore and Luna’s nipples, I think. Anyhow, it was a pretty special morning...

I had found myself staring at two giant marshmallow limbs held right in front of my face at what I can assume to be eight in the morning. I was only thirsty, and when your hands suddenly don’t feel like they’re there when you reach for a glass of water, it confuses your poor, half awake mind quite a bit. I held my hooves in front of me, watching as they kept completely still while I tried moving my fingers.

“Dear god, if Jeremy slipped me some shit, I am either going to have to ask where he got it or deck him in the face,” I mumbled to myself as I looked around. “Depends how this trip goes.”

Sweetie Belle's room was probably what one would expect. It was a moderately small space with a vanity lying across the room from the bed and a large, rectangular window set to the right which let the morning light seep in. There was what looked like the door to a walk-in closet to my left, and the walls were painted pink. Pretty tame and comfortable, minus the pink. That kinda grated on me a little but I can’t really complain when I considered my bed spanned multiple body lengths for me.

The door creaked open, immediately grabbing my attention just as Rarity walked in with a big smile on her face. It was pretty weird experiencing everything with such uncanny vividness.

“Hello, Sweetie darling, I just wanted to see how you were feel...” Rarity paused as she noticed my wide eyed, frozen stare. “Um, are you alright, dear?”

“Still not sure what to think I suppose...” I said in an airy voice.

Rarity moved over to the window, still eyeing me as she went, and opened the curtains before turning back to me with a concerned look. “Well, how is the magic feeling today? I know those first few days can be a little weird.”

“Mm hm,” I mumbled. Getting over seeing a real life My Little Pony character right in front of me was actually proving quite the challenge. No matter how I looked at it, it all just seemed way too real to be some sort of amped up LSD trip. I had plenty of druggie friends, sure, but I never did any of it, so why would this be happening?

Rarity moved to the side of my bed and propped herself up next to me. “Sweetie Belle, are you okay? I was just wondering how the magic development was going? You’re not ill are you?” Rarity said.

I lowered my brow. “Magic development? What are you talking about?”

She raised an eyebrow. “I thought Twilight talked to you about this. You’re going through some changes that are going to make you feel a little uncomfortable.”

I was frozen in place with my eyes shot wide and mouth hanging open. There’s no fucking way... she didn’t mean...

“I remember when I went through it as a filly.” Rarity gave a light giggle. “My magic was quite unstable and I really was nervous when I noticed—”

“Nope!” I shoved my hooves up over my ears. “Nope nope nope nope nope. Don’t need to hear it.”

Rarity glowered at me. “Sweetie Belle, this is important!” she said, speaking loud enough for her voice to penetrate. “Your magic is going to fluctuate a lot while you go through a lot of these developments and you need to stay calm.”

I think I’m going to cry right now. I am worst pony stuck with other worst pony, talking about girl pony puberty, which I’m apparently going through. I think I just died a little on the inside just now. Here, let me check my pulse. Yup, that part’s gone. Bye bye, woo see ya. Hope you enjoyed your time here with me. May the black souls of undeath have pity, for yours was my better half cast away by the cruelest of circumstances. To add to all of this, my horn even started to tickle and hurt for some reason.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. “You know what?” I moved my hooves off my head as slow as possible. “Rarity, would you do me a favor?”

“Anything for my wittle sis,” she said nuzzling my cheek.

I stiffened up as her nose rubbed against me. “Fucking kill me, please.”

Rarity jolted back. “What?”

“No seriously,” I said with a complete straight face. “I don’t even care anymore. Splatter my guts as best you can.”

Rarity looked at me with her head turned to the side. “Sweetie, this is uncharacteristic of you.” She closed her eyes and shrugged before smiling. “Well, if it’ll make you feel better.”

My eyes shot wide open. “What? Really? Rarity, I was just being an ass. I didn’t think you would really—”

Before I could finish my sentence Rarity had wrapped her hooves around me and pulled me close to her chest, snuggling against my fur.

What the...?

“Rarity...what are you doing?”

My ‘sister’ backed away and looked at me with her bright purple eyes. “I’m doing exactly what you asked, dear,” she said with a loving smile.

I gave her a bemused look. “I told you to kill me.”

“Right.” She ruffled my mane with an outstretched hoof. “You told me to hug you.”

What the fuuuuuuuh?! I started to feel my heart race a little. How could she not hear what I was saying! It was clear as day. Don’t tell me the show is...

“Rarity!” I exclaimed, getting to my feet. “I want you to die!”

She quirked a brow at me. “Sweetie Belle, I can’t fly. I’m a unicorn.”

Shiiiiii... I have to try something else! “Punch me in the face,” I said.

Rarity reached out and touched my snout. “Why did you want me to touch your face now?” she said.

I felt my eye twitch and I shoved her hoof away. “I want a plague to decimate every last denizen of Equestria and watch as the vultures pick apart the flesh of the mutilated corpses one by one until there is nothing left but the scattered bones of the dead lying across the scarred and barren earth.”

Rarity giggled. “Well, I’m hoping for good weather too, but Rainbow Dash says we have to have rain at least a few times a week,” she answered.

“I-I-I...” I stood there, stalk still, stuttering incoherently as it all sunk in. There was no way it could be true, but it was staring me right in the face in the form of a blissfully ignorant unicorn.

The show was censoring me.

Now, allow me to explain. I’m a pretty different individual. I’m not evil or some serial killer or anything, but since as far back as I can remember I’ve just had this thing for action, violence, gore, and adrenaline. You see, I’m fairly convinced that when life was rolling my character stats for morality and taste, it must have gotten a critical fail on its d1000. Again, I’m not morbid or depressed or anything. I’m just twisted as hell—but I think it’s all pretty damn hilarious. For a guy like me, adding ‘My Little Pony’ to the list of things I love alongside general, grim debauchery was the last thing I was expecting, but that’s how it happened. Never let it be said that I’m dishonest. But I digress. The point of all of this is that I kind of have the need to express that itch when it occurs. That bloodlust needs to get out in some form or it just sits under the surface and pressurizes. So now I was not only stuck in Equestria as one of the fucking Cutie Mark Annoyances, but I couldn’t even abuse it by being myself. I think another part of me died just now. There he goes. Enjoy yourself in hell. Another to fuel the flames.

Rarity’s eyes turned up and eyed my forehead. “Oh dear.” She bit her lip and took a few steps back. “Darling, I know these changes may be a lot to take in but you have to be careful. Your magic reserves are going to be quite a bit more than you can handle right now.”

Oh! Well that’s just fucking great! I’m on an acid trip to Equestria as marshmallow butt and I’m going through magic mood swings, and I probably can’t do anything fun!

“Rarity,” I started.

“Yes?”

“So, what you’re saying is—” I put a hoof up. “Right now, I’m stuck here in Equestria—”

“Well, that’s an odd way of putting it, but yes. I don’t imagine you’ll be leaving soon.”

“—as fucking Sweetie Belle.”

“Yes? I’m afraid I don’t follow, and why did you refer to yourself in third person as ‘loving Sweetie Bell’?”

I was starting to feel brutally dizzy, and my head was really starting to hurt. “And worst of all, I’m censored.”

Rarity gulped, seeming fixated on something above my head. “Sweetie, please calm down dear.”

“And goddammit, my head hurts! Apparently I’m allowed to feel pain, but I’m pretty sure I can’t do anything fun here. Dammit, what I would give for a fist fight.”

Rarity backed even further away. “Remember your breathing exercises! You need to settle down.”

“I swear I could just explo—” Just then, I noticed a purple spark pop across the room. “What the...” I turned my eyes up and gasped. Magic sparks were pouring out of my horn like an overloading transformer, steadily increasing in speed and frequency as an ominous light increased at the epicenter. My pupils shrank to small dots and my mouth went slack. “Oh, God...”


Outside, a grey pegasus with bubble cutie marks had just finished with her daily mail route and was on her way to Sugarcube Corner. She whistled and giggled as she flew, taking her time to glide from side to side and enjoy the rest of her day.

“Hey, Derpy!”

Derpy stopped mid flight and turned to see Rainbow Dash flying to catch up to her. “Hey, Dash. How’s it goin’,” Derpy said with her usual carefree and happy demeanor.

Dash smiled back. “I’m doing ok. I actually wanted to ask how the latest repairs are going for Flitter and Cloudchasers’s home.” Her expression turned to concern. “You really need to learn to be more careful Derpy.”

Derpy rubbed her forearm and looked to the side. “Well I try, but sometimes stuff just happens and you can’t really help it, Dash. Everyone has accidents—I just don’t know what goes wrong,” Derpy said, giving a final shrug before looking back at Dash.

Dash crossed her hooves and rolled her eyes. “Ugh, look, it’s not that hard. Nopony has luck bad enough to destroy a house. C’mon.” Dash hovered and landed on top of the Carousel Boutique with a clop of her hooves. “See?” she said, puffing out her chest. “No problem.”

The windows of the boutique exploded with a thunderous boom, shaking the surrounding area and sending fine glass pieces sailing away over the rooftops. Rainbow Dash gasped and stumbled as the force of the blast sent her sprawling. “Oh my gosh! What the heck was—” She looked up to see Derpy giving her a stern look, her arms crossed.

“See what I told you,” Derpy said.

“What!?” Dash’s eyes shot open as she jolted into the air. “Are you kidding? That wasn’t me!” Derpy slowly blinked as she hovered in midair, her mismatched eyes silent and judging. “Derpy, I—”

“What happened?” Both mares glanced down to see Berry Punch, with a shocked expression on her face as she stared at the broken windows of the Carousel Boutique.

“Dash blew out the windows,” Derpy said.

Dash snapped back to the other pegasus. “What? Derpy! No, I just—”

“Dash, what the heck? What were you doing?” Berry Punch said with narrowed eyes.

“I—no—it just,” Dash stammered as she gestured back and forth between herself, Derpy, and the blown out building.

Big Mac walked up to the scene, evidently attracted by the commotion and glanced at the shattered glass then to Berry Punch.

“Rainbow Dash shattered the windows and doesn’t seem to want to admit it,” Berry Punch said with a shrug.

“I did not!” Dash yelled with an echo from up in the sky, her lip pouting and arms crossed.

Big Mac nodded. “Eeyup.” Rainbow Dash’s mouth dropped.

Carrot Top joined the trio on the ground with the same curiosity the others had started with. “Wha—?”

“It was Rainbow Dash,” Derpy said, still hovering a few feet over the roof buildings with a look of disapproval. She tsk’d and moved her head back and forth. “I warned you, Dash, but you didn’t listen.”

Rainbow Dash snapped back and forth between the gathering crowd and Derpy. “Hey! No! That’s not how it happened,” she said defensively.

Carrot Top stomped her hoof. “Seriously, Dash? Be more careful!”

Rainbow Dash threw her hooves up into the air. “This is ridiculous!” She zoomed down, landing right in front of a growing crowd with a glare. “I don’t know how it happened! It just did, okay?”

Derpy descended next to Dash with a sagely look. “So what you mean to say is: you just don’t know what went wrong?”

One of Dash’s eyes twitched.