Pony, Meet Human
First Pony View
A My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic fan fic
By Suomibrony
Chapter 4
Pony, Meet Human
With caution marking my steps, I wandered from my home. The concrete walls and wooden doors were effective insulation, presenting my hoofsteps with an environment where they could echo pristinely. The floor was harder than in my home, and I was astonished at how audible my steps were. My subconscious still perceived my forelegs as arms that should have had dextrous digits, and I was naturally bewildered as I experimentally tapped my hoof on the floor a few times.
I pitched my neck down and raised my leg to get a closer look at my hoof, gazing at it in a strange mixture of awe, disbelief, and delight. When one has spent more than twenty years as a human guy, a dramatic but temporary change like this was a challenge to comprehend.
Deciding to just roll with it, my next task was to focus my magic on closing the door as gently as I could. With the beams of sunlight denied entry into the corridor, only the faint, stubborn orange glow of the button for the lights to my left remained.
I was now beyond the safety of my home.
Along with the emerging concern for my dream's authenticity, the multitudes of scents entering my nose were making me nauseated. It'd only take a moment before I'd fully adjust to my acute sense of smell, but to fight my own doubts would require more than time.
“Remember, this is a dream!” I told myself, my nervousness detectible in my own tone.
I started as the corridor became bathed in the pale yellow that was cast by the ceiling-mounted lights, soon followed by a low droning entering my ears. Another human was using the elevator. I hoped that whoever it was wouldn't venture to my floor, not with the way I was looking. The paranoid side of my mind chucked out a few chilling concepts to my mouth, from where they slipped intermittently.
“What if I'm wrong . . . ? What if this isn't a dream . . . ? What if this is real . . .?”
A few seconds passed, and I heard the elevator come to a stop at the floor it was called to, then resume its journey. Listening attentively to the machinery moving the mobile room, I approached the corner cautiously, stopping so I could peek my head around to see the elevator door to my immediate right. The gray monolith of steel with a rectangular column for a window stood tall and imposingly, much like everything else around me. The sensation of diminutiveness it instilled in me wasn't helping the instinctive fear that caused me to hold my head low. I didn't want to be wrong, I really didn't, but if I was—
The droning came to a halt, and as the door opened, so did my respiration. Intending to bolt back into my home, I rotated around in an instant, but in my anxiety, I had completely forgotten the door was closed. Too disarrayed to utilize my magic, I stared at the door in agape consternation. In desperation, I curled down to a small pile on the floor, the trapped air furtively exiting through my nostrils as I did my best to hide myself in plain sight.
An unsettling silence soon befell the corridor: a few steps emitted from behind me, but no keys jingled, no home door opened. Nothing. The hairs on my back stood up like spikes, and the air became sealed in my lungs again. I was petrified; not even my eyes were blinking. At any moment, whoever was near me would grab me and—
“You, uh, okay there?”
It was the voice of a male, and he sounded concerned and confused, a stark contrast to what I had feared to receive. My dread left me with a sigh, my apprehension vanished, and my breathing returned to normal.
“Did something happen to you?” He might have misunderstood my sigh as a sign of grief, although he wasn't entirely wrong.
Apart from a couple of positive moments to break the pattern, this entire morning had been plagued by very stressful incidents: the shock of being a pony, the denial of my sex and the difficulties accepting it, the paranoia of my dream being the genuine reality, ridiculous theories I almost believed in, unwanted mannerisms, implausible memories.
Again, to my disappointment, I had discovered that my belief in my dream being genuine was dangerously flimsy, demonstrated exemplarily by my recent, but thankfully short, panic of encountering a fellow human being. I had expected to be treated as an alien at worst and had prepared to meet hollow caricatures at best.
“Do you need any help?” He was undeterred by my silence, forcing me to abandon my deliberation. With newfound faith in my dream, my confidence made a remarkable recovery. At long last and in spite of everything I had gone through, it was time to have fun!
“Um, I'm . . . fine.” I mimicked Fluttershy's unassuming tone. Only the tiny smile I had betrayed my internal snickering.
“Come on,” he encouraged softly. “I'm pretty sure something bothers you.”
He didn't know it, but he was right; however, I wasn't about to pour my heart out to the imaginary man. Why would I? That wasn't the joy I was looking for, if it even could count as something enjoyable. I craved to let loose in this fundamentally unreal playground, and its population would serve as my playthings.
“I, um, only had a rough morning,” I summed up my emotionally tumultuous experience, anticipating the topic to be changed.
“Look, if you want to talk about it—”
“No, I don't,” I curtly interrupted the insistent man, the brief burst of irritation carrying to my tone. He might've been genuinely worried for me, but I wasn't. I desired to have a merry time, not blabber about my immediate past, let alone think about it. I looked toward the future now. However, my gruff reply was uncalled for.
“I, uh, I'm . . . it's nothing,” I said in an apologetic tone, fine tuning it to match the tender pegasus whilst I began to lift myself from the floor. “Just one of those mornings when—”
“When your hair refuses to fall into place?” he interjected with a lighthearted comment.
I produced a small laugh to compliment his jape, straightening my forelegs to bring myself to a sitting stance. “Oh, yes, I think you nailed the head on that,” I replied through my smile and glanced up at what little I could see of my unkempt mane.
“Hit the nail on the head,” he corrected with mirth in his tone, embarrassing me to some degree. Delaying for a moment to allow my blush to fade (at least I think I had a blush), I raised myself onto all fours and finally turned to face him; instead, shock and surprise filled me as I ended up looking at his forest green plaid shirt and dark blue jeans.
The middle-aged man stood perhaps about a meter from me, yet I had to pitch my head to make eye contact with his sparsely-haired counterpart. It's one thing to have estimated my height to be in the range of one meter, but it's an entirely another thing when he was twice as tall as I was. As a human, I would've been as tall as him, but now as a pony, I was so . . . tiny.
“To be honest,” he said as I backed by a few steps, “if something's on your mind, I'm all ears . . .”
“I-I, um, I, uh . . .” I mumbled, my sights falling on his unimpressive brown shoes as my mind tried to overcome our size differences. Retrieving some of my composure, I decided I didn't want him to suspect I was about to unload a boulder off my shoulders, so I hastily opened my mouth to say pretty much anything I could think of. Poor choice on my part.
“I, uh, yes, um . . .” I stammered at the giant, drawing a puzzled expression out of him. I gawked in silence for a few seconds until my brain finally surmounted the disparity and constructed a sentence for me. A small smile of relief emerged on me as I spoke it without much thought. “Well, yeah, many things are on my mind.” Almost immediately following my reply did it dawn to me I had only dug my knees deeper.
“Good to hear! So what's nagging you?” he said with an expectant yet kind tone, his relaxed visage a contrast to the blank expression that successfully concealed my shock. Rather than roll out my inner issues, I began to process a method out of the unpleasant situation that wasn't a hasty goodbye and a rapid dash into the elevator. I deemed I could turn this conversation into something else than an impromptu psychotherapy session. As I pondered for a solution, my vision drifted around aimlessly, eventually halting on the gray plastic shopping bag he carried in his fisted left hand. It was bulging with wares, and I inspected it intricately for an idea.
“Well I, uh, have this . . . um.” I stalled for time as my brain worked its synapses. In sudden revelation, something I hadn't considered at all ventured into my thoughts. “I, uh, have a very, very, serious question.” I spoke quietly, and my sights detached from the bag and rolled down to my forelegs. It was a very serious question I had conjured. Very serious. Terrifyingly serious.
“Shoot,” the man said casually.
I hesitated for a second, eyeing my forehooves with a mix of fear and desperation. “What do you see?” I whispered timidly. It was a question aimed as much at him as it was to myself.
‘I see a pony's forelegs,’ I answered the question. ‘But that's what I see. I could be crazy and only hallucinating myself as a pony. This man could open my eyes to the truth and free me from my supposed psychosis.’
“Pardon?” he said to my surprise, and I returned my eyes on him to see he had cocked an eyebrow. Despite my unease, I repeated my question as calmly as possible, small beads of perspiration beginning to meander between the hairs of my coat. I hoped it was my coat. Hoped hard. Hoped very hard. I was, frankly, scared out of my mind. The longer the uncertainty of my shape prevailed, the more stressed I'd become . . . and I had a low tolerance for stress.
“Well, I see you right here in front of me,” he said after a small pause, now with a smirk on his countenance. I suspected he was trying to camouflage his confusion . . . or worse, his mirth! He behaved like a human, not like a shoddy copy of one. If this was the genuine reality, and there were actually two humans present, I'd become quite mad. Mainly, it was because I'd be literally mad, but it was also because a voice in my head would come forth to scream 'Objection!' in fury if I wasn't a pony. It was very apparent that the possibility of suffering a highly humiliating experience had already chipped at my sanity. Swallowing hard first, I presented the unusually calm man a trembling question:
“Can you please be more specific?”
His brows contracted, perplexed, yet his smirk was intact.
“Well, uh . . . I see you, standing on all fours.”
“On all fours!?” I echoed the words with dread, my barely collected exterior deteriorating rapidly as I was becoming more and more stressed. Whether he was intentionally daft or not made no difference to me any longer. I had given him the benefit of doubt, but now, that had worn down to a thin membrane that would falter at any moment.
I glanced over my shoulder and tossed my tail. I believed it was my tail. What else could it have been? Was my mind deceiving me so convincingly I could feel the muscle that controlled my tail, the hooves at the end of my limbs, and the hairs on my slender frame?
“Yeah, on all fours,” he bounded the words back, looking like he couldn't possibly understand how serious I was. In fact, I couldn't understand how he could be so dense! It was as if he had deliberately lied to me! No! My senses couldn't possibly be tricking me! To believe I was currently a human, contrary to all the evidence I had, was unthinkable! I knew what I saw, I knew what I felt, I knew what I sounded like.
I was a young mare, not a human! Why couldn't the despicable scoundrel tell me that!?
‘Oh no,’ I snapped out of my ferocious insisting, ‘This stress is driving me insane!’ I cast a quick but nervous glance at the waiting man, then eyed my legs with the same look. ‘No, I'm not insane!’ I asserted. ‘I only want to believe I'm a pony because being told that I'm a human who is deluded into regarding himself as a mare would be so horribly humiliating that it would completely shatter my mind and I'd succumb to a primitive defensive reaction known as intense anger!’ That emotion then began to work into my thoughts, and my brows contorted. ‘Which, by the way, is already winding up to full gear. Oh yes, it is.’ Anger felt good, I noted. Humiliation would bring me anguish, but anger would please me.
With my panic converting into blind rage at a rapid rate, I realized I had two choices left how to deal with it. One was easy, the other was rational. Reluctantly, I decided to go for the difficult option, which was to cool myself in spite of the intensely aggravating situation. I knew that if I was calm, I could save myself from falling into my own paranoid theory, a theory I was more than willing to believe due to it being the most realistic explanation for everything that I had experienced up to now, but I was too perturbed. Somehow, I had to prove to myself I was in a lucid dream and not completely bonkers . . . and this man would be of the utmost importance in achieving that objective.
As a concession to my angrier side, I gave the arguably duplicitous man a stern look as I said sarcastically, “Thank you kindly for the astute observation.” Without removing my glare from his continually puzzled expression, I spoke again, but without the sarcasm. “Do you mind waiting with me while I ponder my next move?” He concurred by nodding rather nonchalantly. For a moment, I thought all would be okay. I'd cool down and realize what would debunk my theory for good, and then there'd be much rejoicing. However, when he started to turn towards what I suspected was his home door, my frail tranquility didn't shatter.
It vaporized.
“Don't you dare to walk away from me!” I released a great quantity of my internal blaze, and my ears flattened back; he had become my enemy. I didn't care whether he was honestly stupid or not—or if I were a pony or not—I wanted him to suffer! Had my anger been tangible, it would've boiled titanium.
He rotated his upper body, a very confused expression on him as he futilely tried to talk some calming words into me.
“Uh, hey, take it easy now. I'm only tak—”
“Shut your pie hole!” I commanded. “I didn't give you permission to leave!” To my frustration, the voice of a young mare didn't quite convey my inner drill sergeant. Because that's what I was! I was a mar . . . No, I couldn't let that urge become vocal! My humiliation would be complete if it did.
“Er- What?” He seemed to be taken aback by my flammable behavior. “Permission? What the he—” He jittered as a resounding clack erupted in the corridor, courtesy of my forehoof striking the floor. I swear, I couldn't have produced that sound by any other available means.
“You'll stay right here with me!” I said indignantly, my voice increasing in strength as I continued to speak. “I said I have to plan my next move, and your participation in it is absolutely mandatory and nonnegotiable!” I didn't know what I'd do to him, but I'd do something to him; of that, I was convinced.
“Well, uh, but—”
“Silence!” I snapped, and his eyes spread wide open. My glare locked on him, and I launched into a vehement tirade. “Since you're obviously of limited intellect and can't comprehend why I'm so furious at you, I'm left with no choice but to explain it to you: I asked you a very simple question, and you failed to answer that question. To unshroud it further, I'm in complete disbelief at how you could be so incredibly imperceptive that it was outright impossible for you to discern what you saw before your own two eyes!” Probably due to my choice of words, he looked quite lost; I continued ranting regardless.
“How difficult can it be to tell to me what I really am!?” My tone bore a trace of incredulity and despair. “Does honesty give you an allergic reaction or something!? I mean, have you ever heard of the words 'straightforward', 'unambiguous', or 'frank'!?” My incendiary tone came back. “Well, now you have! Just so you know, those were synonyms, or in other words, they mean the same thing, but I'm fairly convinced the repetition was necessary to ensure the concept would sink into the raisin that pretends to be your brain!” Incendiary became vitriol. “But hey, you should congratulate yourself! Due to your stellar performance at being a marvelous example of striking ineptitude, your astonishing inability to entitle me with a clear answer to a basic question has spectacularly devastated my mood! I hope you are proud and content because I definitely don't share your sentiments. At! All!” Two hoof stomps emphasized the final two words.
“However, against my better judgement, I have to warn you: if you decide to do anything to worsen my mood any further, such as talk or move . . .” I paused, but only to draw in air and rear up onto my hind legs. “I'LL FORCE YOU TO REGRET IT!”
With my rant over, I slammed down my forehooves as I returned to the quadruped stance, myself wheezing in fury and eyes locked on his perturbed face.
“. . . Look, I'm not sure wha—”
“What is your major malfunction!?” I shouted piercingly, tears of rage in my eyes. “I ordered you stay put and silent, yet you persist!?” A subsequent exasperated huff aimed at the floor vented a big portion of my tempest, but my strict glare was quick to return to him. “Or do I have to imprint that vital directive into you?” I threatened. “Because I assure you, I know how to subdue you, and you'll cry like there's no tomorrow if you don't desist from being a bothersome oaf!” I audibly struck my hoof to the floor. The shocked man was wise enough not to speak again, but I wasn't done with him yet. I wiped the few drops from my eyes into my furry forearm. I hoped it was furry.
“For your information,” I said with serenity, “I regard you with nothing but unending contempt, though I suspect you know that already. That said, I fully expect you to cooperate from this moment onward. If not, then the educative imprinting shall commence.” I tapped my hoof a few more times to give him a clue. Indeed, I had conjured an arguably efficient method to incapacitate him, and I was ready to put that plan into motion when he finally nodded his silent agreement to keep his trap shut and his legs rooted to the floor.
“I'm glad that you have at last accepted your most humble and submissive position.” I said, a pleased but malignant smile on me. Right as the man seemed to relax, I shook off my calm exterior to billow an insult. “You balding baboon!” He unhinged his jaw to roll out a possible retort. Or else he was agape at hearing me insult him so suddenly; it didn't matter to me.
“Ah-ah-ah,” I reproved him whilst shaking my head, a smug smile on my lips. “No talking, no moving.” He promptly sealed his cranium cavity, and I chuckled mischievously.
“Say, isn't crying your ultimate wish?” I taunted him with insidious encouragement. “So what's stopping you from having a go at it, hm? Come on, do it! Fulfill that desire! I can help you achieve it!” It was quite obvious I was high on an exhilarating power trip of which I was not ashamed. “All right all right, I admit it,” I relented, laughing. “I do know you don't want to cry, but, well . . .” My vivacious tone became ominously serious. “I can't always be right, now can I?” He didn't say a word, his expression frozen in confused consternation. A wry smile emerged on me. “Good boy,” I said softly like he was a canine trainee.
For the time being, our one-sided play had come to an end. So had that insistent desire to declare myself a mare to him; of that, I was most appreciative. I knew my mind was that of a male human, but to have been revealed to be one in appearance while in the immediate vicinity of another human . . . I would've died out of shame.
Despite the ruckus made, no prying eyes had come to watch the commotion. Perhaps the walls and doors were just that effective at blocking sounds from accessing the abodes. Or maybe most homes, if not all homes, were vacant as it now was, seemingly, a Friday noon.
Judging by the man's slight fidgeting, he wasn't comfortable being quiet and idle near me. If I truly was a pony, which I had no desire to doubt, I should've been about as terrifying as a fluffy pillow. I was quite bemused by my success at intimidating him into submission.
Although I was poised to educate him in a rather brutish manner, deep down I wasn't the violent type, and I might come to regret the decision to attack the man. Might. My anger had attempted to coerce me to incapacitate the plaid-shirted numbskull and force tears from him by applying blunt force to his groin. Repeatedly, if necessary. Even the toughest guys will weep when their twins are being rendered into elongated disks, I surmised. Thankfully, I had never been subjected to such cringe-worthy pain. The closest to it was a minor bicycle mishap when I was a child. The top tube is unpleasantly hard, I had learned.
I had kept my waning glare on the restless man for a while, my relaxing expression concealing my indecision on whether to dismiss him and then collect myself in solitude or if I could still find a purposeful use for him. After much deliberation, I concluded it was best to keep him in my vice as he could still prove to be instrumental in verifying my equine form and lucid dream. To put it lightly, the possibility of them being refuted was highly unwelcome; however, if that were true, I had to keep myself in check and accept it with humility if possible. With my inner inferno doused, I also began to search for the significant clue that would further aid me in my quest for affirming my physical status as a pony and my mental status of wakefulness, or rather the lack thereof.
Suddenly, everything became black—although much later than I had anticipated—as the lights went out; their inbuilt timer had counted down to zero. For a brief moment, there was nothing but silence in the darkness, until I let out a little self-satisfied chuckle as I noticed (by ear) that the surmised neighbor wasn't taking his chance to escape from me. Did I really scare him into petrification? After all, I was quite sure I bore the appearance of a harmless unicorn who lacked a cutie mark and proficiency in his own telek— Wait! That was it! That was what I had failed to see earlier! If I could utilize telekinesis and generate a supportive reaction from the man, then my favored theory would receive the crucial backing it so greatly needed!
“I pressed the button!” I exclaimed with pride and in mild awe as the lights came on. A partially visible tin can in his bag drew my immediate attention, and I deftly employed my telekinesis to quickly but gingerly carry the metallic object to the ceiling. Without doubt, this display of magic would cert—
“You goddamn horn-headed mule!” His enraged shout caught me by surprise, and my eyes snapped open. The item dropped, but I regained my senses and saved the cylindrical container from its harsh meeting with the floor in the nick of time.
“What's wrong with you!?” he demanded, his face turning red. “Is this a funny game to you!? I'm not a toy you can play with, and I really don't care what kind of sorcery you— Arrrgh—!” He abruptly hunched, his free hand clutching his chest as he groaned with a fierce grimace.
Before I could deliver a proportional response for his insubordination, I became concerned for his health. Regardless of whether he was real or not, I couldn't retain a good conscience if he died of a heart attack before my eyes; my idea of fun didn't entail accidental or purposeful death. I closed the small gap and came to stand almost next to him, a pang of intense guilt and concern coursing in me.
“I-I'm terribly sorry, I really am!” I apologized. “Will you be okay? Do you need help?” I offered. Although I couldn't entirely shake the feeling I was talking to an illusion, I did my best to show sincere concern for him.
“Urgh! I have . . . a heart condition . . .” he strained to talk, coughing throatily. His shopping bag slipped from his hand and came to an upright position next to his feet. My concern for him ascended to a higher level. “But no . . . I'll be fine,” he tried to reassure me weakly as his posture began to fall.
“No, you won't be fine! Please, you can't die!” I protested, then looked about at the doors in my vicinity as my sweat glands began to work in overdrive. “I-I should get you some immediate he-AAAGH!” My startled yelp was due to him abruptly wrapping his hands around my forelegs and hoisting me up. Next thing I knew, I had my back and forelegs pressed against the wall, my hind legs dangling in the air and his furious face so close I could feel his pungent exhales brush my facial fur.
He had a feral look in his eyes, like he was seconds away from tearing into his captured prey. I dared not to talk nor break eye contact, let alone attempt to free myself. Dream or not, pony or not, I considered my well-being to be more valuable than an act of brave defiance.
As he continued to glare at me like an animal, I quickly theorized that he may have feigned the heart problem in order to seize and then subjugate me to whatever cruel retribution he was now concocting in that raisin of his. I also surmised that either he was stronger than his figure implied, or I was lighter than I had estimated. Or both. It didn't really matter. What mattered was that I had to think of a way to survive this sticky situation, preferably unscathed.
His deeply unsettling glower going on and on with no end in sight to my restrained predicament, I finally devised an unorthodox scheme to dissuade the brute from potentially inflicting bodily harm upon me. Namely, I took advantage of my appearance, and by that, I mean I did my best to display pleadingly big eyes and a sad pout, even whined a tiny whimper in hopes of melting his icy heart. It felt . . . wrong . . . to go for that angle, but desperate times called for desperate measures.
For a moment, he was unresponsive to my imploringly apologetic and wounded look, but when he drew a vicious smile on himself, my apprehension returned to my countenance.
“Good girl,” he murmured sinisterly.
Without warning, he released his grip and I gasped in shock. My unprepared body almost collapsed completely when my hooves landed back on the floor. Only my hind legs took the fall less graciously, and I slipped onto my haunches, thankfully without injury.
Trembling and breathless, but also relieved the extremely tense situation was over, I watched as he then took hold of his bag and approached the rightmost door of the two that were to my right. He opened the door without as much as looking behind himself, and once inside his own dwelling, he drew the door shut so fiercely I was certain a pressure wave rebounded more than once in the corridor.
With the door sealed, my subdued aggravation announced its grouching comeback. “That oversized orangutang. Of all things possible, he chose to call me a gi—!” My intonation caught up to me and cancelled my aggravation's performance. My mood passed through momentary confusion before reaching impassivity.
“Oh . . . right. I guess I am . . . ” I said flatly, omitting the final but obvious part of the statement, followed by a nonchalant shrug—or at least that was what I tried to do. Since I was supporting myself on my hindquarters and forelegs, I didn't shift my shoulders and forelegs in a normal shrug. On the contrary, my entire body slouched. Again, I became briefly perplexed.
Moving on to more meaningful matters than being bemused by bungled body language, I reviewed the interaction I had with the man in search for clear signs of my presence in a fictional world. First and foremost, I wasn't seen as something alien but as a person who bore the shape of a pony. A real human would've not started a peaceful conversation with me; they would've done the contrary, maybe gasped in shock, but definitely not socialized with me like I was a common sight. At any rate, the dullard had eventually, albeit disparagingly, affirmed I was a unicorn.
Secondly, I had utilized magic—telekinesis to be precise—in the presence of the berk, no less, taking his precious tin can and introducing it to the ceiling in a most gentle manner, which was apparently the final straw for him. I should've just launched the tin can at his weak spot upon being assaulted by his verbal volley, but the situation took an unexpected turn before I had the chance to counterattack. With the entire ordeal over, I could've also taken a moment to review my own (mis)behavior, but all things considered, that was now unnecessary. To sum up, he indirectly called me a pony, and he lost his temper when I applied magic to his belongings, not to mention he called me a gi . . . yeah.
“Finally,” I said in tranquil joy, my forehooves doing the best imitation of fingers placed vertically flat on each other. “I have absolutely nothing to worry about. This is a lucid dream, and nothing but a lucid dream.” I raised one foreleg up in glee. “Dream confirmed!” I cried out in imitation of MythBusters. Pity I couldn't replicate Jamie's or Adam's voice. Kari's, then? Maybe. I wanted to bounce up and down in circles like an automated spring whilst cheering in a most unmanly way, but the constrictive nature of my male gender rules persuaded me to tone down my celebration by a great margin.
As I began to lift myself up, my left hind leg nudged a mystery object. In curiosity, I oriented myself to get a look at what it was, and to my surprise, it was the sealed and undamaged tin can.
I was quite sure its owner wouldn't mind if I were to procure it for myself. He definitely hadn't noticed its absence yet. Therefore, I was hasty to inspect the label. I would've been disappointed if it was tuna, ground beef, or some other indigestible dead animal. To my joy, the blue-tinted label featured images of pineapples. That was all the information I needed, and I became spellbound, which I ultimately broke free from when a sizable bead of saliva squeezed itself past my lips. The elevator had to wait; a meal to consume was now my fate!
Feeling a tad unsafe where I was, I ventured to the corridor's opposite end where I would be as far away from the nasty neighbor's door as possible. If he still existed, that is. Being a fictional creation, he could've vanished like ash into the wind the moment he closed the door.
I had distanced myself from the produce by a dozen meters upon relocating myself, but a magical moment brought us together again. I was quick to note that my magic's range had increased, but I had more pressing matters to attend to than researching my telekinesis.
I gave my surroundings a quick look, priming my ears to be alert for the sounds of opening doors, just in case. Justin Case. I'm sure somepony out there had that name. I mean, some human. I had assumed my contemplations to be free from the 'ponyisms', but it seems I was wrong. Sure, it was fun once in a while, but to have it be constantly present both in speech and mind?
Seriously? Seriously.
Regardless, I was now alone with the delicacy. My beaming expression couldn't possibly tell how strongly I imagined the taste of the golden sweets in my mouth. With my magic lifting the pull tab, the can's top opened and detached with a satisfying rip and snap. The loot was in plain sight, and my joyful smile turned to a grin. I licked my chops, restraining myself to simply gaze at the exposed fruits and teasing my appetite all the while. Ultimately, the unshackled scent of the fruit ventured into my nostrils, and I was at liberty to deal with the appropriated food.
The can wasn't wide enough for me to simply dive my muzzle into it, so I had to blindly levitate the rings to my mouth. That didn't hinder me at all from eating the fantastically flavored fruit and then drinking the delightful nectar in unashamed ardor. Never in my life had ordinary pineapple slices and juice tasted so incredibly good, although I noticed a slight tang of sorts in them. I attributed that sensation to my equine taste buds; however, I had for some reason begun to experience difficulties in thinking. Difficulties in thought? Thought difficulties? Never mind.
Once I was done with the goods, I found something funny. Not a physical object, but a mental concept. It was funny. I think it was elation. Yeah, that was it! Pure elation. It was so powerful I started to giggle in a very girly-girly way. Very unlike me, really, but that didn't bother me much now. In this dream, I could do whatever I wanted and be whatever I wanted. So what if I behaved out of character? Or was that in-character? I had this not-really-a-thought in my head that said, 'Yo filly, you've been a pony ever since you were born.' I responded with my yes-really-a-thought, 'Sure, whatever, let's go with that, because while you are über wrong, I don't care to argue since I'll wake up eventually, and then I will be a dude again, so boo-yah!' Besides, who'd judge me? This was a dream, not a court of law. My dream. It's mine. All mine. Mine mine mine, down down down! Silly black-feathered waterfowl. Daffy Duck deserved what was coming to him.
So, anyway, every negative thought, feeling, and memory was replaced with pure euphoria. Well, not exactly, but that thought sounded nice. That thought that I thought. It was nice. Sounded nice. I didn't say it, so it didn't sound literally, but figuratively. I think. Yes, I could think, and all by myself. How about that?
Then out of nowhere this familiar tune exploded (BOOM!) into existence inside my head, and I wanted to bounce to it hyper-energetically. It had beepyish sounds and synthezetors. Okay, I knew the word, but I didn't care to think it right, and the music wasn't really playing in my head like there was a physical radio inside. Also, Zetor was a tractor, but whatever, I was having a laugh. Wait? Having a laugh? Like I held it physically? Never mind. Since I was obviously very happy, I launched up into the air and onto my legs, my cheery grin as wide as something that's very wide and grinny. And cheery. Simultaneously, I had realized something very extremely fascinating.
“Ohmygoshthisisasupergreatfeeling!” I spoke very rapidly and in a tone matching Pinkie Pie's. I think it was a close match, if not a precise match. Not match match, but the other match. The one that doesn't burn. And pitch as in voice, not that viscous dark substance and not airplane attitude. Would be kinda cool to be an airplane, though. I'd be a Cessna 152! Then I'd fly free like an airplane, though I wouldn't be able to fly upside down. Gravity-assisted fuel system would mean engine goes 'I pass out now,' and wings unfit to support themselves when inverted would be all 'adios amiga!'. Or was that 'adios amigo!' instead? Never mind! Because I'd be wingless and falling and crashing, I'd be a very very sad Cessna 152. And very hurt.
So I drifted, I mean, my mind drifted. Drifting is what cocky teens dream of doing with their repurposed front-wheel drive family sedans, which are oh-really 35% faster than normal because they have shiny rims, suspension so low they can't drive over speedbumps, and the gaudiest spoiler that money could buy. Psh!
Anyhow, my mind drifted to . . . what? Was it pineapples? Oh yeah, it was pineapples! I began to wonder if Pinkie ever baked pineapple sweets, like pineapple muffins, pineapple cake, pineapple donuts, and lots of more pineapply yummy stuff! Why did I wonder that? I didn't know. I had never met Pinkie Pie. Well, I thought I hadn't, because if I did, I'd know. Unless I forgot. Which I didn't. So I knew I hadn't forgotten I hadn't met Pinkie and . . . Wait, what? Yes. No, I meant, no. No to what? I didn't know. Know what? I didn't know I knew I didn't know what? I didn't know what what? What was what what? Never mind! It was happy time in honor of happy time! “Yay.”
Hey, I know what I could do now! I mean, I had honed the tone, but now, I had the correct voice for it, too! “Yay.” It was perfect! I was in stitches! Not literally but figuratively, because if I was literally in stitches, then that would've meant I was . . . in stitches? Injured and stitched? Inside stitches? Never mind! Off to the elevator, I was! Happy time!
“Yay.”
More stitches!
So I utilized my horribly and regrettably impaired magic (Boo-hoo!) to open the big, boring, heavy, steel door like it didn't even exist. Probably it didn't, dream thingy whatnot, yeah that! I zipped inside and I had already pressed the button for the bottom floor a trillion zillion bazillion madeupnumberillion times before the door closed because I was superduperquickfast!
That beepy happy music was still playing, which I could totally turn off on a whim because it was imaginary music. Yeah, really! Music off, then on, off, on, off, on, off, on. Then I got a little agitated because I hated skipping music. Anyway, I rocked back and forth to the tune, but that was because I was a poor dancer. I couldn't remember the lyrics too well, either.
“We look for relaxation; so the only explanation!”
“. . . and music everywhere!”
“Watch the yellow screen!”
“Go-go-go-go-go . . . ”
“. . . here they come!”
“And drop the bomb!”
I met Jim! I kissed him! Did he like it? I know he did! I mean, I think he did. He wasn't the talkative type, so I couldn't tell really. Kinda weird that he looked different from what I remembered him to look like, and I'm not even sure he was named Jim. Or that I knew him to begin with. This dream was so weird. I think I had a wonky memory again, and that was confusing me. Or else, the eeeehvuuuhl dream lord had changed him, too! Dumb dream lord, playing with my memories and Jim! Oh, wait, I wasn't supposed to fight the dream lord because I had surrendered to him. Oopsie daisy!
Anyway, it was very nice (very nice!) Jim was in my dream. Pity me and him couldn't wander together in this dream. It would've been difficult since I was a pony now. That sparked a weird memory, but it was too confusing and made no sense.
Maybe if I wasn't a pony, then maybe me and Jim could've been together? Maybe. I could've been a chain link fence, instead. That would've made this a super duper lame dream. Anyhow, I had to go without Jim. I was sure he understood my decision. He didn't say anything at all about it, though. So typical of him.
So where was I going, then? Out into the world wide world, of course! I'd be on the beaches and on the hills! Some important but grumpy old man in history said something about fighting on the beaches and hills. Strange, grumpy old man. I bet he was incontinent and very fighty. I didn't go to beaches or hills, though, but to a meadow.
Grass wasn't tasty, so I didn't eat much of it. I tried to find some of the tasty plants I ate when I was a foal. Wait? How did I know they were tasty? I only saw memories of me eating them but knew not what they tasted like, only that I ate them because they were tasty. Wait, what? How did that make any sense? Confound these phony pony memories; they were driving me into confusion!
I tried to find the tasty plants regardless, but when I didn't find any, I became sad for 3.14 seconds. The next digit was what now? Digit of pie? What? Pies weren't digits! Were they? Never mind! More fun time! “Yay.” Stitches!
Where . . . Where did . . . the time . . . go?
Not sure . . . where I've . . . gone to either . . .
Stuck here . . .
Couldn't climb out . . . River . . . Scary water . . . Woozy head . . .
Tried to . . . think where . . . I had been . . . Very spotty . . .
Were . . . the pineapples . . . special pineapples? Had a . . . weird taste . . .
Saw more . . . memories . . . pony memories . . . Phony pony . . . memories . . .
Like copies . . . of my . . . memories . . . but . . . just . . . as real . . . and . . . very . . . pony . . .
They . . . confuse . . . me . . .
So . . . tired . . . now . . .
Yay . . . Stitchy . . .
Stats
Page generated in 0.041 seconds
Total duration
936 users online
1,093,768 hits today, 1,504,386 yesterday
FIMFiction
My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic Fanfiction
Designed and coded by knighty & Xaquseg - © 2011-2023
Follow & Support Us
Support us
SubStar
Chat!
Discord
Follow us
Twitter
MLP: Friendship is Magic® - © 2023 Hasbro Inc.®
Fimfiction is in no way affiliated with or endorsed by Hasbro Inc.®
Um...
I, I don't...
Er...
Just...
Just keep going, please. I'm really confused at the moment. This is good. Confusing, but good.
I encourage you to provide more details on the circumstances that has bestowed you with confusion :)
23722
Okay, well...
Mostly the whole scene with the random guy in the hallway. I mean, the MC just started spontaneously mouthing off to him, threatening him, then in the blink of an eye the whole scene does a 180 and the guy has the MC against the wall. And then he just leaves. Then MC eats the pineapples and starts having some kinda Pinkie Pie-esque trip out (must be some pretty awesome pineapple).
Like I said, it's not bad. Just kinda... disorienting.
Clearly, pony biochemistry has some wrinkles we were unaware of...
This story is a trip and a half, and I mean that in a good way. It's like Kafka's Metamorphosis as written by Pinkie Pie.
The MC flamed at the guy because she (using feminine pronouns for convenience) suffered a mental breakdown. She had endured many stressful events over the span of a relatively short time, which had put her on the edge. When she not only began to doubt she was in a dream, but also deluded to think she was a mare, she couldn't take it any more. In fear of being horribly humiliated and with her mind unhinged, she defended her pride in a very primitive and unwise way: by becoming furious. Remember, she is a she only outwardly. Inside the head of the mare is a male. It goes against his principles to show weakness in the presence of another human. Compound that with the fear that she was hallucinating the entire being-a-pony deal, and it pretty much broke the overstressed brain. This was all told from the MC's point of view. Some things she doesn't admit, does misintrepret or fail to realize entirely. The MC tries to retain a collected mind in spite of everything that is laid upon her. However, cracks in her composure formed as her faculties began to bend under the stress. When the brain no longer thinks rationally, the crucial details must be related to the narration. The same goes for the later pineapple episode, though that's taken to a more extreme range.
The part where the guy turns the tables on her is rather interesting. You'd think he'd pummel the small equine to a pulp the first chance he got? I bet he wanted to, but he had his reasons not to. Since this story is told from the POV of the MC, many things are left untold and some left for the readers to infer. We don't know what goes inside the guy's head. However, I feel obliged to try to show the matter form his POV.
He came across a pony, curled into a heap on the floor. He had displayed compassion, but was a bit tactless too. Then, as he became the target of the abrupt verbal assault of the pony, it confused him, but also humiliated him. He was being chewed out by a small, seemingly harmless and cute being and didn't man up to stop her. Why? That I won't tell. Eventually, however, he lost his temper. The heart attack was a ploy of his to trick the MC into dropping her guard. Now it was his turn to be mad, but as much as he wanted to, he didn't unleash a physical beating on the restrained unicorn. Instead he glared at her incessantly, waiting for her composure to shatter. When she finally submitted, he felt fair justice had been served.
The pineapples though . . . I'd love to spill the beans on that one, but I'd prefer it to be revealed in a future chapter.
I apologize if these explanations were dissatisfactoryl; it's currently night and I'm not thinking clearly
interesting
This is still the best first-person Human to Pony fic ever in terms of realism. Everything's extremely vivid and I can't wait to read more. The main character is totally believable, both in physical and mental attributes. The only thing I can't believe is how well this is written!
That's so very kind of you, Derpmind
I'm tracking this one, as the second r63 fic that I know of (after "a twist in the tail", which is a different beast than this "scenery porn" story - and that's not an insult). It's quite interesting - slow, meandering, purposeful. there's no Michaelbaysplosions here, but I find I'm not missing them.
63434
I'm glad you like it
I intentionally chose the slow approach, and I even joked with few of my friends how the first chapter is five pages dedicated to meticulously detail a guy waking up and journeying to the restroom
The slow pace, I believe, permits the character to contemplate and experience more than if the story leaped by days or weeks with each chapter, and the first person narrative makes the character easier to relate with than a third-person narrative would. It's quite psychological in a way, and unlike most stories where a human turns into a pony, this guy doesn't adapt to it instantly. Once that twist turned up, oh boy, did he not want to adapt then! However, he eventually did, but only because he didn't want to squander his dream due to a dislike for his body. Of course, many might already suspect that he's only blinding himself from the awful truth.
I probably won't turn this fic into a larger-than-life adventure tale with action and heroism, but keep it as a continual diary of sorts of the inexplicably human-turned-pony as he encounters the challenges of being a pony. A slice of life of sorts, but I'll keep the adventure tag for now, as it is an adventure for him to be a pony. Until it becomes mundane, the typical way of life or him. There will be joy, sorrow, fear and bewilderment along the long road he travels. He has character flaws which arise to bring him pain and failure, but he also has his good moments to show that he's not a misery magnet. All in all, I want him to be believable by showing that he isn't endowed with a silver tongue, remarkable strength, a ever-coherent mind or a magnificent power. He doesn't even have a cutie mark and is inexperienced at telekinesis! He is just some (un)lucky brony who has become a pony, and he will contemplate on all the things that are now different for him.
This fic was inspired by TCB stories, I admit, but in those the ponyfied person is always aware of the choice they make, so there's no major shock once they've changed. I also do not deny that this was a self-insert initally, but those usually turn into shameless Gary-Stu's stories where a human goes to Equestria, befriends the mane cast, turns out to be a mythical warrior prophesied to defeat a thousand-year old evil with epic magic and yadda yadda yadda. That minor rant, however, made me think of 'Trough the eye's of another pony'. I apologize deeply if I offend those who enjoy 'Trough the eye's of another pony'. I've read ten chapters of it and found it to be very well written, but I never found myself liking Firewall. His conceited yet casual attitude grated me to no end, and the moments where his flaws shone or he was humiliated were few. Nevertheless, I kept reading the story, hoping I would come to like in him -- or at least tolerate him -- but when I had read ten chapters and was still cringing internally at Firewall's antics, culminating in him discovering he could gallop at high velocity whilst enveloped in shell of fire he himself could generate at will, he became insufferable to me and I closed the tab with a dejected obscenity. I guess this is a part of me that is sometimes present in the main character of my story. He tries valiantly to overcome an obstacle, but when he forfeits his resolve, he's left beside himself with disappointment.
Again, I must present a sincere apology to those who like Firewall and 'Trough the eye's of another pony's'. My opinion is merely my opinion, and you have every right to disregard it and continue to be fond of Firewall and 'Trough the eye's of another pony'. To reiterate: I'm very sorry, I truly am sorry that I couldn't come to love and embrace Firewall. Please don't kill me
To return back to this fan fic: yes, this was a self-insert in the way that I pondered what would it be if I'd wake up as a pony. Naturally, I realized that once I'd walk out my home door I'd be labeled as an alien and my life would turn into a sad grimdark story. It goes without saying that I desired to avert those tags when I decided to push the main character out his home door. I also started to change the character from myself far earlier by... yeah, you can guess it
. However, that actually makes this story so much more different, and dare I say it, captivating. It's like 'A Twist In The Tail', but told from the main character's point of view and not set in the TCB universe. Speaking of that story, I'm not sure if I will turn this toward romance so... well... quickly. No offense intended; it was merely an observation. Midnight Glenn was in heat, so she was eager to jump a stallion's bones. Now it's been a while since I read the first chapters of 'A Twist In The Tail' and thus I have lost the exact stages of events Midnight Glenn went trough. I have similar plans for this character though, but those plans will progress at a much slower rate. Since this fic is an almost lethargic-paced first-person narrative, the process will be much more vibrant but also demanding. There won't be a skip of days or weeks in the plot line. Nope, I intend to record every hour the character is awake. It's rather ambitious I know, and I sincerely hope won't to deviate from that course. At any rate, the turn of events will undoubtly test his mind. Or should I say, test her mind?
Whoa, long post. I absolutely love it when I ignite that spark in myself!
63615
...THAT is a long post.
Yeah, I treat this story as entirely different to 'Twist'. Mine is what I'd call adventure and slice of life. This isn't, this is a methodical and thorough examination of one simple fact - man turns into filly. Mine's character-driven, this is event-driven, they're two different beasts.
Twist started off silly, went a bit romantic, and then when I came back to it, moved somewhat away from that and towards introspection even whilst around them was happening things of great import. I kind of wanted, in my own way, to have their internal battle reflect their external - I hope you continue reading, but it's pretty long. It changes pace once you get past part 3 and the two initial 'minisodes'. I'm currently writing a continuation of this continuation - 'community service' with something similar attacked in a slightly different way.
What happened to Glenn was a mixture of sauce and silly - he takes the potion, but wakes up as a filly. He expected to be a pony, but not a female one. Coming to terms with that, finding there is a way out, asking herself if she wants it, searching for what it means - it's a different slice of life to this story, which is far more intensely psychological (and the first-pony view for a start is different).
Midnight started off as a self-insert, of sorts - it's not me me, but the character is based on me. I basically wrote it to have fun.
Yeah, I treat this story as entirely different to 'Twist'. Mine is what I'd call adventure and slice of life. This isn't, this is a methodical and thorough examination of one simple fact - man turns into filly. Mine's character-driven, this is event-driven, they're two different beasts.
Pretty much so. I strive to create a very introspective, thoughtful story. You could say it's an extreme elaboration of "what if...", where I dig deep into the character and uncover as many thoughts and emotions I can possibly find. Notice how he became paralyzed in fear when he discovered he's become a pony? Any person who'd suddenly find themselves as something so different and without any explanation would react in the same manner. Also note how he placated his nerves by deducing he's in a dream? It's the only sensible explanation to him. The prospect that he had really become a filly is so impossible to him that he eventually theorized he'd gone insane and was merely imagining himself as a filly. Ironically, that belief momentarily drove him insane. In contrast, he had moments when he thought he hds truly become a pony and rather logically feared that he'd end up as a lab animal once he'd step out into the cruel world. Last but not least, he was infuriated when he learned that his body was that of a filly, and later, when he accepted it, he was nearly brought to tears. While he doesn't admit it, to him being a filly, even though it's only in appearance, is an abject humiliation, an affront to his person. He's not a macho guy, but he is a guy who prefers to be a guy. Rather curiously, when he resigned from his deception and accepted that he's a filly, he had to fight his grief. He holds the view that guys cry only about extremely serious things, and so shedding tears over the fact that he had the body of a filly was a different form of serious to him. Of course, his belief of being in a dream dampened that emotion by some margin, but the point is that he refused to submit to what he viewed as an intrinsically feminine weakness. You could say that he admitted to being a filly, but had he cried, he would've been one in mind as well. Later, he actually did cry, though by that time he was so stressed by all the toubles he had faced that the mirror incident broke him. Suddenly talking like a native Equestrian pony and declaring to always have been one can do that, plus seeing an assortment of pony memories can do that.
Anyway, I do my best to keep the character rooted in reality by pondering what a person would do if they were placed in the situation the character himself finds in. Any person who'd suddenly wake up as a filly/colt wouldn't go "Woo, I'm a pony now! Awesome!". Well, maybe some would, but the indifferent reality would inevitably kick them hard.
Twist started off silly, went a bit romantic, and then when I came back to it, moved somewhat away from that and towards introspection even whilst around them was happening things of great import. I kind of wanted, in my own way, to have their internal battle reflect their external - I hope you continue reading, but it's pretty long. It changes pace once you get past part 3 and the two initial 'minisodes'. I'm currently writing a continuation of this continuation - 'community service' with something similar attacked in a slightly different way.
I've read 'A Twist In The Tail' and have it tracked too, and I guess having over 40,000 words makes it long, though, mine's half of that with only four chapters. The fifth will push it up to 30,000 once me and my pre-reader have ironed it out. Regardless, I'll continue to read your fan fic as it updates and I'll take notes on things that I think I need to explore in my own. One thing I've adapted into my fan fic is Midnight Glenn inspecting her body and noting the *ahem* features with a mixture of pleasure and vexation. The main character (who I assure you has a name) will do a similar inspection in a coming chapter, although I do say that imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, it won't be a direct carbon copy of the scene.
What happened to Glenn was a mixture of sauce and silly - he takes the potion, but wakes up as a filly. He expected to be a pony, but not a female one. Coming to terms with that, finding there is a way out, asking herself if she wants it, searching for what it means - it's a different slice of life to this story, which is far more intensely psychological (and the first-pony view for a start is different).
Iit's still a very thought-provoking tale. Obviously Midnight Glenn was being torn by very profound desires quite soon after arriving in Ponyville. On one hoof (yeah), there's the 'he' who wants to be restored, and on the other is 'she' who wants to stay true to Vertigo. I think that the moment where Midnight Glenn changed to a 'he' was perhaps one of the most serious ones in your story. To be what you are or what you believe to be, and the dilemma of how to discern them, it was -- and is -- very fascinating. I wonder how Edge will fare though, as she seems to be rather cool with her situation. Perhaps it's because she knows she can count 'her' days down, or because the company she's with don't permit her to be introspective and instead keep her on the... edge. I had to use that pun somehow
Midnight started off as a self-insert, of sorts - it's not me me, but the character is based on me. I basically wrote it to have fun.
Since you have the same profile name, it's not a big stretch of imagination to make the connection. He's become Twilight's chew toy, it seems. Poor you, I mean, Midnight Shadow
, ponified by his own accord, was hit on by Raindow Dash, kidnapped, became a Cheerilee's bumbling pupil and of course Twilight has a strained tolerate-hate relationship with him. Then he flipped the sexes of (almost) everypony in town, had drunken sex as a mare and inadvertably changed Twilight to a stallion. Oh and had a dream of being pregnant. All in all, a character played for laughs. Who started off as you. How much of you is in that character, may I ask? 5%?
In a way, you're toying with yourself. I can't remember everything though, but he started as a guy by the name of, uh, I forgot
Edit (23rd dec) Standardized the chapter titles and made some few edits. Please, my little readers, tell me if you spot errors or inconsistencies. Just because I have published the chapters doesn't mean they're now free from faults.
... Freakin Firefox crashed just as I was about to upload my comment. Piece of crap.
*Sigh* Better get to rewriting it.
Now as I was saying before my browser crash...
This story is certainly among one of the most unique I have come across. Perhaps one of THE best in terms of quality, which baffles me to no end as to why this didn't earn first page. One has to wonder weather romance will be involved for the poor mare in there, meeting some male ponified stallion that was formerly female... That will be uncountable an awkward scene to write, and put our hero through hell as we know it.
Well, you certainly project her in the likeness of Pinke Pie. Hell, one would think that Pinke Pie broke the fifth wall,
infiltrated her head and turned her into what she is now. At the moment, I can see your OC slowly but surely turning Firewall into Cupcakes.
If I had the skills and patience, I would draw it up right now. I suppose I [could/i] write it down... But in comparison, my writing skills would absolutely butcher everything you have formulated.
Another story? *Sigh* There goes another tab into the Firefox. My Fox right now is literally begging for me to end it's life. At the moment, it's family is begging me to stop this suicidal task. The browser has at least 239 tabs opened for the moment since November, yet I ignore their pleas, sacrificing each browser that crashes. To put it mildly, I have committed slaughter on about eight foxes so far, each scream of agony sweeter than the last.
By the way, you vivid imagery brings up this to mind.
img.ponibooru.org/_images/14ab9e4f478957018f5cda6f56b5583d/24153%20-%20artist%3Aumeh%20brony%20comic%20ponified%20transformation.jpg
fc03.deviantart.net/fs71/f/2011/148/d/6/the_art_of_the_dress__by_glockens-d3hercn.jpg
th09.deviantart.net/fs70/PRE/i/2012/012/9/e/magic_therapy___mlp_tf_by_lazardo-d4m332n.jpg
What was the heck was the what the what the what?
But, seriously, this is getting weird.
His being a filly in physical appearance only, in physical form, and a male in mind . . . would that not make him an FtM transsexual? Eventually, after the shock of being a competely different species, I would expect him to have much more to grapple with as far as the change of body sex goes. While he may be able to come to terms with it conceptually (intellectually), there is the whole underlying body-map and sense of self -- his innate sense of being, mind you (which I'm sure is being thrown through a tumult right now, what with the whole species thing) -- that should still be male, and should cause quite a bit of gender dysphoria.
That is, unless you are going under the premise that his most fundamental sense of self in regards to his gender has been changed as well (as I found rather easy to assume was the case with Midnight's A Twist in the Tail, considering the ponification serum is well known within many interpretations of the Conversion Bureau universe to change the most core aspects of a person's being, including their mind (which would explain why Glen was so able to come to terms with her reality, because she was female, and had started to accept it). . . of course, I've only read the first three chapters of the story, and that was admittedly a long time ago (It was never updated past that in the original TCB compilation post on EqD, which is what I was following for updates at the time.), so Midnight could have easily changed or clarified his interpretation of just how Glen's gender functions.), which would mean that he really has become a filly in gender, and has to grapple with it conceptually (intellectually) due to the fact that her human self was male, and she feels she should still be, as that is who she was.
Either could present a rather interesting case, depending on where you want to take it, but I do hope you provide a realistic interpretation for the whole gender thing, as you are doing with the rest of the story.
Its a good story but i just can't read it. Its not the grammar or anything like that its just a bit too different like the 1st person view and very, VERY in depth descriptions, as well as being quite a bit too slow for me.
However it is a good story and you should continue writing it, however i can't bring myself to read more.
Suomi? FINLAND FOREVER!!!!!!
Just now i realized something. In dreams clock can't show time.
They show gibberish (you try watching at your watch in dream). That is the way to find if it is dream or not.
And in "Bar Karma" it was described.
For someone who thought it is still a dream before reading a comment: SPOILERS.
Or maybe not, reading next chapter in 3, 2, 1...
Oi! Wut jus' hap'nd?
I think the pineapples were laced with cocaine. LOTS OF COCAINE.
uhh. what? is he in a dream or what? is he a pony in a human world? :S i got confused when he started to have a major acid trip off the pineapples.
>I wish for details on your confusion at this point(Obviously paraphrased, to lazy and tired to quote atm)
Certinally!
1. How was a pony, a filly mind you, threatening enough to scare a full grown man.
2. What the hell was in those pineapples? Crack?
3. Why did the man, a MAN, threaten a girl. Assuming he see's her as a girl, and not a pony.
4. The most confusing? The very cryptic ...blah blah....blah blah blah....
That fourth one actually gave me shivers.
You sir, are an amazing writer. At least from my current view on the story. You deserve that feature for the first 4 chapters alone. Really excited to see the rest.
Ooh, he's (she's) gone Pinkie Pie
...You lost me. This chapter just didn't get my attention like the first three.
I understood it, sure, but wat. Just wat.
Sorry, man, but this is one fic I won't be finishing.
888868 Same here, and I read this months ago.
Wow. That whole identity crisis part at the end there reminds me of a story I wrote during class... I had a time travel incident gone-wrong, and I wound up in Equestria as my OC.
...S/he's still on Earth, then? Fine. I guess my previous comment means f*** all now.
ummmmmmmm
i like this fanfic and im gonna try and find more human to pony fanfics~ im hooked and who would not want to be a pony? or a stallion, if i was given the choice i would say yes definitely even if my gender had to change and id have to go through the same thing as the MC, and one quick question..... ummmmm why does the MC kiss Jim? Jim's a guy right? he is a guy, is he like becoming a full girl pony now or something? if so i guess ....
its cute
Earlier chapter mentioned Pegasus. I'm really confused.
It's official being insane is awesome!!!
Well... I hope the protagonist remembers to appologize to that guy, I guess!
Man, I wasn't expecting all of that from the first encounter.
I'm starting to wonder if the protagonist was originally this happy as well though. Maybe he merged with his parallel counterpart, which would mean he's still himself just as two people. Right?
Well, now I'm being confusing.
... WTF?
The Illogic has encroached upon her mind.
Uh- oh. I know when shits about to hit the fan when I see it.
I think I know what the cutiemark of this pony will be...
upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/d/d8/Bar_magnet.jpg
Get it? Because bipolar... Yeah, I'm the only one laughing at that.
" The elevator had to wait; a meal to
consume was now my fate! "
The last part, a meal to consume was now my fate, it sounds like she is the meal being consumed. A meal to consume - was now MY fate.
So pineapples make her high?
So he is either high or his memories are being erased.
Hurr durr.
Eat pineapples -> Become elated-> GO PINKIE! images2.wikia.nocookie.net/__cb20130522223744/mlp/images/9/94/FANMADE_mlp-pinkie-pie-happy.gif
2718023 no i laugh with you on that.
Well, You've taken LSD laced pineapples. Congrats. At least your not trapped in some really gay 80s band music video, being followed by a midget clown and a crazy ho.
Hmm... Those pineapples seem to have just a bit too much sugar in them.
Also, how the hell does a human see a pony and engage in a conversation with them without so much as a comment? Obviously he recognized the pony species because he called the protagonist a horned mule. I guess because magic? Or because this is some sort of coma dream? Obviously whatever caused the man to ignore the elephant in the room did not cause him to ignore the telekinesis. I'm thoroughly confused.
Bitches be trippin
Goddamn. I got to get me some of them pineapples.
"Drifting is what cocky teens dream of doing with their repurposed front-wheel drive family sedans, which are oh-really 35% faster than normal because they have shiny rims, suspension so low they can't drive over speedbumps, and the gaudiest spoiler that money could buy. Psh!"
Not sure if sarcasm...
First of all, front-wheel drive family sedans CAN NOT drift. "Drifting" is making the rear end of the car slide due to a loss of traction on the lateral direction. That's impossible on a car with no connection of rear wheels to drivetrain. There are ways to make a FWD car go sideways, but that's near impossible (and ABSOLUTELY impossible for cocky teens or anybody else with average or even slightly-better-than-average driving skills) and is "ass dragging", not drifting (a slight oversteer doesn't count as well, unless you're a clown). But if you're a driving genius/absurdly persistent/braindead and want your FWD car to drift for real, family sedan is in no way an option (and you must be either professional Japanese drifter or The Stig).
Secondly, drift has already evolved from the way to show how badass your driving is into a sport. I highly doubt that D1GP's or Formula Drift's participants are cocky teens on family sedans.
(I don't even know why I'm writing this, considering that author won't care anymore; thus making my registration for writing a single post completely pointless)
Well,
a problem I felt was overshadowed by the second half of this chapter was the sympathy for your heroine. (Yes I'm going with female pronouns, I hope that's alright.) The way she acted was very mean spirited. I get that her judgement is tainted by her denial about her apparent reality being a dream, with the possibility that her actions would have no repercussions, and was under a lot of stress. But giving her comeuppance for what she had done doesn't exactly solve the problem. When you punish a character for what they have done, rather than redeeming their situation, that is used as the basis for a villain. (though maybe she meets him again and makes up, I don't know yet) I was very confused and frustrated by her overly wordy and heavy handed brow beating. In fact the whole thing is overly wordy and heavy handed. Even in the supposed action scene. Your pacing should quicken, but instead the language keeps it's analytically mundane pattern. The diction is just... bizarre. Where some credit is due however is the realism of her emotional journey, however confusing and unsympathetic it may become. I am convinced that a mentally tortured individual is living through these events, and is slowly learning more about the "dream". That's what I liked about it going in. It kept you guessing and it was fun to react with her about what was going on.
Then the pineapples kick in. Good lord, what happened here? I'm tempted to say that it's actually kind of brilliant to shock the reader by breaking the methodical speech pattern and completely going off the deep end. But I think that comes with more consequences than it's worth. Okay, what does work about it? Well, it does remind the viewer that despite it being told in the first person they are witnessing these events, not living them. So the reader is forced to consider their own opinion. Unfortunately, my problem with suddenly emulating Pinkie Pie out of nowhere and going off the wall with your focus neglects any remorse she should have felt for her treatment of the man. I mean she betrays his empathy, goes into a mental breakdown, berates and patronizes him with astonishing callous, gets into a fight, steals his food, and then starts going giddy and high into lala land like nothing is wrong. That sounds like a sociopath. Her biggest fear so far was to be humiliated and find out that she was crazy. Well that did sort of happen. I hope she sheds some light on this Jim person, and whatever "stitchy" is supposed to mean.
Don't take my little dictum to heart. In fact, there's a point for everything and everyone when you need to stop taking something seriously.
i got lost so many times
What the brown?
5063462 She was drunk. I think. I'm not sure.