♫ Derp DERP ♫ Derp DERP ♫ Derp DERP ♫ Derp DERP ♫
CANTERLOT SCIENTISTS SCRAMBLE TO SEAL CONTAINMENT BREACH TO PASTRY DIMENSION
This is what the front page to the Ponyville Gazette read.
At least... that's what somepony would have read, hadn't the headline been washed over by an opaque layer of oatmeal flakes and breadcrumbs as the crumpled newspaper drifted flimsily down the heart of Main Street, Ponyville.
Rarity watched the scant remains of the periodical swim past her. The afternoon air was pungent with the starchy aroma of bread and blueberries, with just a pinch of cinnamon. This had little to do with the fashionista's deadpan expression and a great deal more correlated with the deluge of muffins roaring down the town streets with the consistency of a brown avalanche. Songbirds hid—shivering and clustered—in the nearby trees as their usual spring song was punctuated by the sporadic percussion of freshly-baked muffins raining down from the heavens. Off in the distances, mountains rose and fell—only they weren't mountains. The occasional runoff of their lightly-frosted promontories foretold the substance of the morphing geology. Within seconds, the ocean of oats would crash against the foundations of Canterlot Mountain in the distance—from which there echoed an endless alarm, fading into fragmented whispers as the otherworldly monsoon overtook the heartland of Equestria.
“They really shouldn't have split the trilogy among three stage directors,” somepony's voice cracked.
Rarity sighed out her nostrils. She sat atop a gazebo rooftop—with her soft limbs folded beneath her like a cat—as the muffin level rose ever so dangerously close to her makeshift pedestal. Off in the distance, beyond what was once the central park of Ponyville, she could spot a family of earth ponies huddled upon the flimsy edge of a restaurant's awning. Hooves were folded in prayer, and the sound of foalish whimpers gave harmony to the oatmealish bass all around them.
“Rarity, are you listening to me?!”
Clenching her teeth slightly, Rarity looked towards her side with a dispassionate expression. “I thought there were only two stage directors, darling.”
Rainbow Dash hovered in the open air besides the gazebo. The river rapids of muffins ran just inches beneath her dangling blue fetlocks. “Well... more like two and a half, if you think about it!”
“What's to think about?” Rarity droned. “You can't have half a pony.”
“What I mean was—”
“Although, I suppose...” Rarity floofed her mane, casually glancing over at Ponyville Bank as a heavy wave of oatmeal knocked the building loose from its foundations with a loud metallic groan. “You could chop a pony in half. But which half of the pony would constitute as the essential portion of the thinking, sentient entity?”
“Rarity—”
“Which part of us does the soul latch onto, hmmm?” Rarity's eyelashes fluttered. Muffins splattered against the gazebo rooftop around her. Blueberry stains blanketed the window of a nearby pawn shop that was sinking deeper... deeper. “The brain? The heart? The spleen? The mane? My money's on the last one, for what it's worth—”
“J.J. Apples directed the first stageplay,” Rainbow Dash forced. “Running Jockey directed the second, and after that went to Tartarus—they forced the third stageplay back onto J.J. again!” The pegasus frowned. “And we all know what happened! Both ponies got so wrapped up in wanting to one-up one another that the overall vision of the trilogy got royally bucked!”
“Although, I do suppose...” Rarity tapped her powdery chin as she gazed up into the pastry precipitation. “...if one's soul was to split as well as her body, then perhaps they could be re-constituted into separate sentient units in the afterlife. Would the essence of “me” be entirely lost if I was to—say—metamorphosize into cherubic horselets in heaven?”
“Rarity!!!” Rainbow's teeth showed as she planted her hooves to her hips. “This is super... super serious!” She flung a fetlock through the cinnamon-scented air. “I've been looking forward to the thespian adaptation of Daring Do and the Stolen Stars all my adult life! The moment that I heard they were gonna to turn the play into a trilogy—a trilogy, Rarity—I nearly imploded with anticipation! And now look at me! Look at the world! Look at Equestria!” Rainbow Dash spun about, her eyes filling with the undulating reflection of the Oatmealpocalypse. A loathsome sigh escaped her muzzle, and she shook her head with downcast eyes. “I should have known that this was a tragedy in the making. Ever since A.K. Yearling sold the play rights to the Disneigh Theatre Company, it was doomed from the start...”
Suddenly...~
There was a rhythmic bass noise...
Like some long-forgotten titan sawing away at a purgatorial cello hidden deep underground...
As if summoned, a large mass emerged from beneath the muffins, moving against current. A dorsal fin rose out of the starchy muck—fuzzy and gray. A blond horsetail flicked up and down, and soon the slicing fin receded... but the mass made its way to the heart of town, gliding with dark purpose towards the post office.
“I know far too well...” Rarity eventually breathed. “It's just so much to take in.” She pivoted her sleepy face in Rainbow's direction. “Is there even a heaven? Or an afterlife, period?” She smoothed her mane back and used a burst of telekinesis to deflect a falling muffin or two. “I've spent countless nights lying wide awake... dreaming of the splendid gowns I would be sewing with immaculate threads in the realm thereafter. But what if my soul—multiplicitous or not—was sent to a far less desirable realm? After all, if one extreme must be allowed to exist, then one could say of its opposite, yes? Or is that a rather plebeian philosophy...?”
“Just think about it...” Rainbow Dash lowered her flank down to the gazebo roof's edge, giving her wings a rest. “Imagine if they kept A.K. on as... as... … … as a creative consultant!” She briefly smiled, crossing her lower legs as she swung her bright eyes towards Rarity. “So what if Yearling's Daring Do Prequel Trilogy was kind of a goofy train wreck? It was still entertaining to read! And—on top of that—she had a grand unifying vision for how the three-part-story unfolded! Now just imagine if they had something like goin' for the stage version of Stolen Stars!”
“I imagine I would have to learn a thing or two about spikes, leather, and cloven hooves.” Rarity's head turned towards the sound of distant rumblings. The large mass beneath the muffins was repeatedly slamming into the shell of an overturned carriage. “Now, I know at least one of those things is moralistically taboo, but...” She grimaced as the carriage's roof was ripped open, exposing a herd of huddled ponies. They shrieked in terror as a great white mass leapt forward out of the river of pastries and chomped at their flailing limbs and flanks with voracious jaws. “...I'm not sure I can get used to all the goat hair,” Rarity said. “Much less the sulfur and brimstone.”
“I mean, it's not like it was all bad,” Rainbow Dash said. A loud noise clamored through the town. The cello rhythm shifted, and the mass' gray dorsal turned around completely, its leering maw in turn. A stallion was rowing a tiny raft across the muffinsoon two blocks away; he slammed his oar repeatedly against a lamppost, distracting the carnivorous beast with the vibrations he was making. “Like take for instance the first stage show, The Dare Awakens, J.J. Apples' first foray...” Rainbow Dash yawned, her eyes reflecting the beast as it swam away from the relieved family in the carriage and made a bee-line for the stallion's raft. Cello notes rose and fell with a deathly Doppler Effect. “It started out really nice. Minimalist plot—for sure—but great pacing and character development. Tons of pathos all around...”
“Come to think of it, in a purgatorial afterlife, morality would no longer bear the weight of future karma for the souls sequestered...” Rarity examined her hooves in thought. A massive dorsal fin sliced past her and Rainbow, making for the stallion—who was rapidly paddling his raft towards the second story balcony of a hotel where several wide-eyed ponies reached out towards him, shouting neighs of encouragement while staring at the pursuing beast in abject terror. “Which means I can get a leg-up on many fashion techniques that I had hitherto considered unnecessarily risque.”
“But that second play! Ponyfeathers!” Rainbow Dash cursed. “The Last Doo!” She gnashed her teeth as she glared daggers across the street. The stallion rowed his raft up to the hotel and leapt for dear life. Two mares grabbed ahold of the pony's front limbs and struggled to pull him up. Muffins parted ways like a splash and—with a lion's roar—the jaws of the beast reared up after him, its razor sharp teeth biting just inches beneath his fetlocks. The stallion wept the Princesses' names out loud as he helplessly dangled above a horribly violent death, his hooves kicking against the gray lips of the ravenous leviathan. “I mean—what was Running Jockey even thinking?!”
“See-through saddles...” Rarity was fanning herself, blushing naughtily. “Oh—goodness—could you imagine getting away with such a travesty?”
“He was trying to ruin the franchise! That's what he was trying to do!”
“What material would I even use? Silk? Lace? Chiffon?”
“'Oh look at me! I'm a big shot stage director! I'm going to make a big political statement with the fantasy narrative!'”
“Cotton? No. Besides that is exceedingly flammable.”
“Well, you coulda done all that without having an older, cynical Daring Do nearly friggin' murder her apprentice nephew in bed just because he was the grandfoal of Caballeron!”
“Because that's the rub, yes? Eternal flames in an eternal realm of pure punishment? Hmm?”
“It's no wonder that the third stageplay sucked so badly. Poor JJ had to pick up the ball that Jockey dropped... and it was a ball that was dropped down a friggin' five hundred foot well full of centipedes!”
“But I suspect that's simply just the pony afterlife. It's different for various cultures.” Rarity shifted her weight and squinted skyward. “Hippogriffs' are the most interesting. For some reason, their purgatory involves an alarming number of power lines...”
At long last, one mare on the hotel balcony stood up from trying to help the stallion. The other ponies pleaded desperately with her, but it was too late. After several deep breath, the mare crossed her chest twice with a holy gesture, then dove wildly into the muffintastrophe. Within seconds, she was wrestling with the beast. The stallion gasped as the jaws receded from him. The other ponies pulled him up and whimpered in despair as they watched their brave friend roll violently in the pastry river. Blonde hair, gray fins, and white bubbles flickered under an ambivalent sun.
“Look, let's be real for just a brief moment...” Rainbow Dash gestured at Rarity. “... … ...the series would still have been imperfect if J.J. did all the stage directing.”
“You know what would help?” Rarity brightened. “A trip to Tartarus! That's still a temporal realm, but surely—so close to the center of the earth—there are purgatorial vibes that I could learn from its overall aesthetic!”
“I mean... just look at the main character that was cast to replace Daring Do.” Rainbow was already rolling her eyes. “Now I know that A.K. Yearling had absolutely nothing to do with this shift in the plot...”
“Hey! Girls!” A voice chirped along the winds. Far across the street, a pink pink body dove clear off the rooftop of Sugarcube Corner and swam effortlessly through the stream of muffins. With each breaststroke, Pinkie Pie's bright smile broke the breadcrumb surface, and her voice pierced the glazed oatmeal splattering on either side of her prow-like muzzle. “I just got some good news! You'll never guess what it is!”
The cello music stopped altogether. With a flicker of fur and bubbles, the beast ditched its wrestling opponent and dove deep into the edible current. The mare that had leapt upon the monster broke the surface, sputtering for air. Covered in sweat and crumbs, she moved with the current and pony-paddled towards the nearest low-hanging tree branch while her relieved friends cheered her on.
“Come onnnn!” Pinkie Pie huffed, puffed, and swam faster for the gazebo. “Rare-Rare! Dashie! Guess!”
A low bass rhythm...
Slow at first...
Then increasing in tempo... … …
...and the massive dorsal fin returned, slicing its way through the muffin on an intercept course with Pinkie Pie.
“She's a fantastic, inspiring, lovable mare,” Rainbow Dash said, staring out into the muffin-filled street. She then looked at Rarity once again. “On paper.” The pegasus' frown returned. “But as soon as she appeared on stage, it was obvious what an absolutely-detestable Mary Sue she was!”
Cello music reverberated. Its most intense vibrations yet. The dorsal fin shifted, riding up directly behind Pinkie's tail.
“Limbo!” Rarity slapped the edge of the gazebo while smiling bright. “Of course! Where the Pony of Shadows was once imprisoned! Why—that place must be empty and barren! Completely safe for a fashion vacation, as t'were. I should ask Twilight Sparkle to cast a spell and send me there for a weekend! Although...” Her eyes drifted off the gazebo, past Pinkie, and into the distant oatmeal eddies. “...I faintly recall her saying that she was busy with something today.”
“Duaaaaah...!” Pinkie finally reached the gazebo, clasping its edge and grinning a crescent moon up at the feminine pair. “Alright! I'll just tell you!” The cello music reached a dissonant pitch. “The first set of my vinyl collection of Pretty Prissy Princesses just came in!” The dorsal sank behind her. “Her Royal Highness Prance-a-Lotte!” The muffin waves went eerily calm all around her. “And the best part is—she's waterproof!”
Rarity huffed. “Well, I suppose I could get Starlight to teleport me there. But—hmmf—you know how that might go.”
“Sooooooo...” Pinkie waggled her eyebrows as she propped her chin against a sly hoof. “...who wants to be the first pony to dip them in whipped cream?”
CHOMP!
A massive set of jaws exploded out of the muffins behind Pinkie and seized onto her lower half. The gray maw then proceeded to thrash her left and right like an alligator with its prey.
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!” Pinkie Pie howled in absolute torment. “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!” She tried gasping onto the gazebo, a lamppost, a tree—anything—but could only wail in incessant horror, adding to the deep bass cacophony of the holocaustal moment. “HELP ME! PLEASE GODDESS! SOMEPONY HELP ME!”
Muffins... blueberries... and copious tufts of pink fur rained across the top of the balcony.
Rainbow Dash shuddered. “Okay... I know I must seem like a real jerk for just sitting here and talking so much smack about it... but...” She turned from the fray to face Rarity. “...being a fan of Daring Do's work isn't exclusively a passive thing, y'know?”
“AAAAAAAUGH IT HURTS!”
“Maybe I could ask Trixie to make a portal to limbo...” Rarity was already grimacing. “...good heavens, no.”
“OH GODDESS IT HURTS SO MUCCCCCH!!!”
“And if maybe the main character actually suffered through multiple trials and tribulations to get to a moment of exhibiting heroic strength, then she'd be much more relate-able! She wouldn't be such a Mary Sue!”
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-HAAAAA-HAAAAAAAAAAUGHHHH!!!”
“No, it'd definitely have to be Twilight. That or the Pillars of Friendship. Together... yes... they just might be able to send me on my way and I'll think of the most perfect fabric to survive the fires of sedition's eternal punishment.”
Another roar, and the beast's job slammed Pinkie repeatedly into the gazebo's side.
“AAAAAUGH!”
THUNK!
“AAAAAUGH!!”
TH-THUNK!
“AAAAAUGH!!!”
CRUNCH!
The foundation of the gazebo cracked.
The entire thing sank half a foot.
Rarity and Rainbow Dash lurched—now just millimeters away from the surging surface of the muffin river.
Their eyes went wide as Pinkie was dragged under—her screams drowning in cello and cinnamon.
“Wait...!” Rainbow Dash raised a hoof. “...did you hear that?” She blinked hard. “...that rumor the other day about how they'll be bringing A.K. Yearling back on as a creative consultant for a future stage production?”
“I don't understand why I'm just sitting here... rambling on and on about the final destination of my soul...” Rarity slowly stood up. “...when I could be packing! But—a lot of thought must go into it!” She tapped her chin once more. “Only so many suitcases that one can thread through the needle of the Beyond. I've been a very good pony, but I have left some clients unhappy. Do you suppose I should pack for both warm and comfortable weather?”
“If you ask me, that's the best news I've heard for Daring Do in forever.” Rainbow rolled her eyes. “That... and the fact that they fired the writers of Gallop of Thrones from even touching the next thespian trilogy. Pffffft... thank Celestia...”
SPLASSSSH!
“GUAAAAAAH!” Bruised, scraped, and nicked in several places—a thoroughly breathless Pinkie Pie emerged from the pastry depths. She threw her upper body across the edge of the gazebo and gazed wide-eyed in opposite directions. “Skrkkkkkkkkkkkttt—KAFF-KAFF-KAFF!” She coughed. “GUHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” She wheezed, spasming all over. “HCRKKKKKKTT!” She sputtered, shook, convulsed... then relaxed with a calm smile cozying across her two folded forelimbs. “So, like I said...” The mare grinned, blowing a tattered tuft of fuchsia mane hair out from over her scraped brow. “...whipped cream, donut glaze, molasses—it's all on the house! Who wants to join me in testing the Pretty Princesses' vinyl surfaces?” A wink. “After all, I gotta test 'em well in advance of my two-week vacation to the Northern Drool Caves of Yakyakistan!”
“I've got nothing to worry about,” Rarity said with a calm smile. She fluffed her perfect mane and lovingly inhaled the blueberry sugary scent in the air. “Just put one delicate hoof before the other—like all fashion field trips!”
“And—even if Daring Do stageplays suck under Disneigh from here on out...” Rainbow shrugged with a smirk. “...there'll always be The Manedelorian.”
“Pfffft... come on, girls...!” A smiling Pinkie Pie shrugged, bobbing backwards in the muffin flood. “...don't make me resort to hot glue!”
CHOMP!
The blond creature's jaws dragged Pinkie under once again.
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA—Bllbllblbllblblbllblblbbllbbb!”
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Skirts: should read.
Cover art: should not read.
Coin: lands on edge.
Also, what do the New York Giants have to do with this?
thumbs.gfycat.com/ClearBothGelding-size_restricted.gif
This fic feels like it was written on the second cuil level.
10103198
At the very least.
I hate this story and I hate everything.
11/10, best fic ever
My Little Pony: G5
Looks good.
Non. No. You got it all wrong. You need to go to this group: Sharktavia
10103198
10103204
My research suggests the fifth; nothing is connected, but nothing except Pinkie Pie is a true reality warp and she doesn't count.
10103244
eh, 5.5 Cuils. While Pinkie doesn't count as a full cuil, her presence generally mandates at least a partial cuil.
Wat
Wow, I realy want to leave a comment but I just can't find the words.
So many references!
So random!
Thumbs up! Favorite!
At this point I’ve come to accept Skirts’ creations no longer qualify as shitposts.
This is Skirtsposting at its best.
10103198
Thank you for reminding me of cuil.
7847174
Speaking of Sharks and Skirts:
camo.fimfiction.net/KlhWGe3VJinhRfgms4F6uHEocuORoF0cz8y8w7oWa2s?url=https%3A%2F%2Fs-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com%2F736x%2Ff2%2F0d%2F1f%2Ff20d1f02dbd772381812bf6861e51ed6.jpg
This site really need a 'meh' rating.
not 'up', not 'down'. Just 'meh'.
10103175
Coin then vibrates mulidimensionally.
...I can now tasre colors. They're spicy.
There comes a point in some stories where I can't tell which character is supposed to be the sanest of the group.
Where as this story leave me unable to tell what even is sane or insane.
So thank you... and curse you! *Places hat on head and walks out, only to slam into the still-closed, non-existent door.*
I have several questions.
I have several more questions.
This was a very strange evolution of Sharktavia, though I wholeheartedly approve of Best Pony as a muffin elemental far from home. (You didn't think the Great Gray Derp was the mailmare, did you? It's just her fellow countryshark.)
Wonderfully surreal throughout, and I do have to agree with Dash on pretty much every point. Thank you for this.
10103198
10103421
10103783
Cuil?
Are you on drugs?
10104180
A really weird unit of measurement.
Are... Are we not going to discuss the deeply introspective nature of this... Fanfic? Essay? Fever dream? It brings this picture to mind:
cdn-img.fimfiction.net/story/gj6o-1432483374-101769-medium
Also
Not calling this "The HORSE Awakens" is a crime against puns
10104388 The better question to ask is which drugs is Shortskirts NOT on.
10104520
Fair point.
I think Shirtskirts and Argenbarger had a horrible mutant spawn together, and then it wrote this.
10104522 It's a much shorter list. We gots ta save the bytes!
... Skirts, I’m certain I’ve said this to you before, but why rewrite a hit. Ahem.
Have you been running lines of scratch-n-sniff pony pictures again?
10104180
Cuil was a search engine launched in 2008 to a bunch of fanfare. It didn't work very well. The baffling results inspired some nonsense that had a more lasting impact than the site, which shut down two years later.
For the record, I really liked that in the last play, it turns out Ahuizotl was just a clone Caballeron created with the Dark Side of Archeology.
Me the Entire story
What...what the HELL did I just read?!
What ... What did I just read?
No, it's perfectly clear in retrospect. Scootaloo's parents sold her because they loved her
Um. Okay then.
I am not sure what I just read.
But it was fine.
I think.
Classic Pinkie shenanigans to break up the monotony. Very well-written.
Don't see it that often. Which is why when I read through this fic, I'm left quite satisfied.
Well, if I were essentially indestructible, I suppose I'd be oblivious rather more often.
I'm glad I finally caught up on Doctor Who
Bravo! I rate this 12.3 cucumbers out of watermelon, even after value-added tax is taken into account. Note: This comment menaces with spikes of watercress (for your pleasure).
When you've tried the dramatic, the whimsical, and the sordid, and everything seems lackluster, you can try the bizarre, and treat it as you would a signpost.
That is, you stop, read it, and follow its directions. Of course, don't tell that to Dennis Nedry.
Skirts, you should look up Buttered Side Down.
What the...
Somepony has been possessed by Discord. This is going in the Angel Midnight Hall of Famous Favourites (my favourites folder) for sheer randomness.
Also, I recently created a piece of art for somepony that you might like to use. Don't mind if you keep it as cover art as long as you link back to the deviantart page. It's here. Hope you like it!
So uh...yeah.