ARTEMIS! Transform me into Rainbow Dash or my pegasus mare OC and my life is yours!

>>43008643
Haha it's losing his pants!

>>43008643
Lol that dialogue. Why did he admit to becoming a Kirin? Why did no one care?

>>No.43008598
Yeah I guess that's why they say kill your babies, right? I just can't bring myself to though

>>43008777
Stay strong. We can't leave anything unfinished

>>43008825
Agreed brother

>>43008662
Kirins have no need for pants!

>>43008677
>Why did no one care?
Presumably it’s riffing on the fact that some workplaces will make you work – particularly when they need a shift covered – regardless of circumstances.
Sickness? A whiteout blizzard? Turning into a quadruped? Still gotta work.
>Why did he admit to becoming a Kirin?
he dumb

>>43009419
>"What's a... `pant`?"
Average equestrian pony

>>43009663
Would be true is there wasn't a character in the show named fancy pants

>>43009694
So "pant" it's a suffix to indicate a personality trait of a pony, not a piece of clothing and even the idea of covering the bottom part of the body is absurd and ridiculous.

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>you hesitate as you stand outside the room
>"Human to pony transformation support group"
>The sign makes you shy away with embarrassment
>You don't like the idea of being othered like this but you feel the group could help
>The laughing inside gives you a welcoming feeling as you finally push open the door
>The green fillies and colts running around and the more mature ponies having a laugh sharing human inside jokes and references
>Twilight eagerly takes notes wanting to learn every aspect of human culture
>Twilight gives you a warm smile as she notices you standing at the door
"Welcome! Are you here for the transformation support group?"
>Twilight asks happy to see a new face
"Don't be shy, introduce yourself!"

>>43009808
Alright then, what's the meaning behind the suffix then, smartypants?

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>>43010844

>>43010460
To breathe with short, quick breaths, typically from exertion or excitement.

>>43009694
>fancy pants
He's fancy even when he's out of breath!

>>43008655
>ARTEMIS
Who?

>>42993313
>You tremble with fear at the thought of fighting the giant Centaur
>Twilight sees the fear in your eyes and questions if you're finally submitting to Mahrek's spell
>To this point Twilight was convinced humans weren't afraid of anything
>You stamp your hooves and take a breath
"As a family!"
>You blurt out refusing to believe this is anything but a horrible idea
>Twilight finally beams with hope, with some luck she can convince the other humans to join the cause
"I know the rest of the humans being kept in the castle under heavy guard, I can easily get the artifact myself, but the humans will need help to escape."
>Twilight explains
"Once you do that, we can meet in the Everfree Forest and put a stop to King Mahrek"
>The mild enthusiasm from you and your parents shakes Twilight's confidence but she knows there isn't any other hope
"You can count on us Twilight, we'll figure something out"
>You reassure through a choked up voice
"All of Equestria is counting on you"
>Twilight smiles before teleporting away in a flash of magic
>You gulp with uncertainty, your hooves trembling
>Why did i promise to help? You ask yourself as your hooves slowly carry you to the castle
"Ok, free the humans from the castle. Should be easy enough".
>You lie to yourself wondering what Twilight meant by heavy guard

>>43011709
I think anon is referring to R63 Luna

>>43009822
Initially i was excited about the idea and now im shy

>>43012041
You became shy after somepony explicitly gave you an invitation to partake in a group activity?

>>43011709
They’re quoting a comment made by Reid Wiseman after he was selected for the upcoming moon flyby mission.
It was a weird thing to say, but hey, you never know who browses this thread.

>>43012041
Just send it, power through dude

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Ah shit this pony bit me! Somebody give me an antidote before the infection sets in and I get turned!

Short apple jack transformation story

I was walking down the street heading towards the gym.I saw a sign that said free apple juice, so i take one and drink it. The mug looked rustic wooden, and the stand was rustic wooden and the top large board with free apple juice on it written in what looked like chalk. I finish drinking the apple juice then i start heading towards the gym.I walk as my white tennis shoes and blue jeans and red tshirt start to feel itchy on my white skin.I enter the gym the entrance desk seems taller than usual. I get on the treadmill, and as i walk i notice i keep getting shorter. I decide to leave panic go to my car and call 911.The changes keep happening then suddenly my hands turn into hooves,my brown hair turned blondeish orange, then my skin started growing orange hair. Then suddenly i started southern thoughts, suddenly i start thinking in a southern drawl. I look in the mirror and see that im applejack

Cracks knuckles time to write an obnoxious mentally ill overly-ambitious pony transformation fic that fails to do the already middling ideas in my head any justice

>>43012633
Fucking real

>>43009822
Well, hello everypony, my name is Sterling, I'm visiting from Neighagra Port and heard about your little meeting. I've been a pony for a few months now and recently celebrated my first hearthswarming. I'm finally getting comfortable with myself I'm about as good with my hooves as i was with my hands so things are looking up. I have a job i like too, im an apprentice dam worker so I've settled in to my town quite well. I can't wait for winter wrap up though, im not made for the cold

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filly check. Are you a filly? What colour are your hooves? Do you have a cutie mark? Not yet? Don't know? Maybe check if you're a filly.

>>43012948
I'm not :(

>>43012948
Is this new art? If so you're a filly.

>>43013000
Check again later :)

>>43013035
This is new art. I guess this means I'm probably a filly.

>>43013106
It's very good

>>43012948
Very well done. Makes me want to start practicing digital

>>43012948
Cuuute!
It's been a while since I last checked whether I'm a filly.

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>>43012948
I used to be a filly, but then I was forced to grow up kind of a lot. But I really miss being a filly

>>43011791
>You approach the doors of Twilight's castle
>Guards eye you with only mild suspicion seeing no reason not to trust a fellow pony
>With a trembling voice you make your move
"Im here for the humans"
>You meekly announce as the Royal Guards arm their spears
"King Mahrek wants the humans held here till the coronation ceremony. We dare not invoke his wrath"
>The one earth pony Guard explains with his voice trembling
>You hear the voice tremble and notice the terrified expressions the guards have
>You remember what Twilight said about the chains and remember what Applejack said about the horrible things that would happen to the farm
>You need a convincing story of fear if you have a chance of convincing the guards
"Please, you don't understand, if i don't bring the humans to Mahrek before the coronation then he will give my family away to the humans on the other side of the portal. Please, i only just got them back, i can't lose them again!"
>You tearfully explain with a bit too much fear dripping from your voice
>The guards see the desperation in your eyes, they don't know if it's Marek's will or not
>The guards briefly discuss the matter among themselves
"I thought Mahrek wanted us to keep the humans here?"
"He could have changed his mind i think"
"But what if he wants us to keep the humans here and he's just testing us?"
"Why would he test us, he has alot for us to do to prepare for the coronation. He wouldn't waste it on a silly test, right?"
"I suppose not..."
>The guards come to a reluctant agreement and withdraw their spears
"Very well, inform Shining Armor of King Mahrek's will to have the humans before the coronation"
>The doors to the castle open as you bravely step inside
>With a gulp you eye the destruction of the castle which has been turned practically inside out in the search for Twilight

>>43012633
Relatable

>>43012235
Hahaha

>>43014414
Good thing ponies are so trusting

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>>43014802
helo it is me i wrote the chrysalis thing that one time
I have done it again with even more sexo https://ponepaste.org/11716
(i don't feel like reposting the whole thing)

>>43012633
Golly gee, did I type this while I was blasted out of my mind?

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>>43010764

>>43015800
>I'll have you know I have seen several wells and many pulleys in my time!
That looks like it would require the user to run around the well to drive it. And all it would do is rotate a bucket at the bottom of a well.

>>43015221
Nice

>>43015221
>your favorite pony
oh boy, this again!
>Slam on the brakes the moment I see her, fumbling for the CB microphone
>Switch it to PA
"Nightmare Moon?"
>She looks, narrowing her eyes, and disappears with a flash
>Fuck
>Wait, no, I hear a flash behind me
>She's only even able to stand because my van has an extended roof
>Look back with an anxious smile, meeting a suspicious frown on her end
>"How do you know who I am?"
"I... Uh..."
>Oh, she's noticed the stickers of herself on the dashboard
>And the convention badge of herself, but small, holding a knife
>"You've somehow had prior knowledge...."
"It's... I'll tell you on the way home, I don't know if it's safe for you to be out here"
>put van in gear
>moon must be heavy, because it feels even slower than usual on the way back
>she awkwardly settles down in the back, laying across both the third row bench seat and the two rear-facing second row seats
>just watching out the shuttered window as the rain goes by
"So, maybe you're more experienced with it... but things like other universes, dimensions, worlds, whatever you'd call it, we don't ever experience that kind of thing here, so unless there's other ponies, you'd be the first"
>"So I'm an anomaly, to be experimented on"
>wince a little bit at the idea
"I... yeah, how did you end up here though?"
>well, she doesn't seem happy about /that/
>"I am starting to believe that the elements of harmony deemed me unfit for Equestria"
>but 2011 was years and years ago...
"egh... it's going to sound silly, but you guys manifest, as it were, as a TV show in this world, so-"
>"Ah, interesting, I recognize these types of vehicles from a popular comic in mine"
>huh
>by that point I'm home, but I just park out front since Moon needs to be able to get out the side doors
>but she just teleports anyway
>right
>I lead her into the house, thankful that the old building has high ceilings
>even then, she has to duck through doorways
>she's looking at the plushies scattered across the living room...
>then she heads for the
>no wait
>she just stands in the bedroom doorway, looking at my bed
>at the lifesize fluttershy.... kinda large Celestia...
>and my most expensive and beloved possession
>the 70 inch highly detailed nightmare moon plush
"I.... I can explain?"
>this is the first time I see her smile, but it's not exactly encouraging
>"am I correct in assuming that you are not trying to protect me simply as a measure of kindness?"
"I... I... T-the's uh, it's, it IS dangerous, for you to be here, like, the government, and stuff, but..."
>"and?"
>I sigh
"okay, yeah, it's probably obvious that I love ponies, as evidenced by all the pony everywhere, and..."
"and you're my favorite"
"l-like, by far..."
>she backs up enough to lightly nuzzle my painfully-blushing face
>"good. Makes for a loyal servant..." she says.
>cock would explode if possible at this
>"But not like this"
"wuh?"
>she lights up her horn
"w-wait, hey, what are you doing?"

>>43016568
>wake up holding plush moon tightly
>wait...
>sudden flood of new sensations
>fur everywhere, smooth wings, yet I can't feel my hands or feet
>the real moon, behind me, suddenly kisses my neck
>she's spooning me while I spoon her plush self
>I look in shock at one of my gray hooves
>"much better looking, now" she simply says
"I... but..."
>"don't worry, you can change back, and you can help me assume some human forms..." she hummed softly.
>"did you know that your world has magic?"
>"and yet, the leylines are barren, for the most part, I don't feel the touch of anyone else in them, well, except for you now"
>she licks my new horn, making me shudder against her at the sudden sensitivity
>huh, so batponies could sometimes have a horn?
>"with time, and study, we should be able to craft a megaspell to reshape this world in my image..." she whispered, slowly rubbing my side with a hoof.
"w-well, there's other people like me... who would prefer this..."
>I clumsily pull plush moon a bit closer and nuzzle her
>"good, it's not as if I care about the unwilling, and with magic disguises, we can carry out any necessary assassinations or blackmail and be entirely undetected"
"so, am I like, disguised as a batpony now...?"
>"no, this is you now, but you can disguise as your old self once you learn the spell if you wish"
>"....I had to see if the transformation was possible, first"
"wait, you didn't even know if this would work?"
>"I was reasonably sure"
"Moon..."
>"And my king needs to be a pony"
>I'd been about to complain when I instead manage to choke on the air itself
>this just amuses her
>"I've already shaped you into my ideal stallion, why can't I simply train you as well? Am I not your ideal mare?"
"Y-You are!"
>I don't even hesitate to say it
>squirming, I roll myself onto my back, still holding plushmoon close as I look at the real one
"so... you sure you want to... take over our world?"
>"do you not want me to?"
>she frowns, just slightly
>I laugh wearily...
"no, no, it's not that, I just... compared to Equestria, this place is deeply flawed... and-"
>"you're worried about me getting hurt"
"Yeah....."
>she smiles, as she lets go of me, and gets off of the bed
>before my eyes, she melts into a shadowy, star-filled cloud, slowly filling the room until it's just me in the darkness and the bed
>"You can't kill what has no body~" she hissed, her voice mocking me from everywhere at once.
"B-But how did you feel so real?"
>she slowly reforms again, this time standing overtop of me on the bed
>the bed creaks as she reassumes physical form, weighing it down
>"it's your magic, or more accurately, your world's magic" she says, grinning down at me
>"do you think I could turn creatures into ponies whenever I wanted in Equestria?"
>suddenly it hits me
".........so your magic is a lot stronger here than it was before?"
>"strong enough to assume physical form in any fashion I want"

>>43016573
>finally, I'm smiling too
"well then, yeah, let's do it, I'll help however you want"
>"You will be mine, as much as I am yours?" she asks
"Yeah-"
>that's all I get out before the blackness overtakes me
>I jump awake with a shuddering gasp, only to be held back by Moon's weight
>she's laying on top of me now, keeping me pinned to the bed
>"shhhh...." she whispers
>I shudder as memories dance through my head, quickly fading
>I remember walking for centuries in an endless desert
>sprinting through an empty castle, chased by spirits with burning red eyes
>standing on the moon, lifelessly gazing down at a brightly colored earth
>and right as it all fades, I remember.... the crushing brightness and color of a rainbow?
>".....I'm sorry, I needed a host"
"you... Wugh... what did you do?"
>"I possessed you, but only for a moment, seeing as I can manifest alone just fine"
"then why..."
>"consider it a last failsafe, if something causes me to be unable to access my magic"
>"rather than extinguish me like a flame with no sustenance, it will send me back to you, to your mind, where I can wait until the time is right to come back out"
>"consider it.... a deeper bond than marriage ever could be"
"But... I'm not shadowy like you... what if something happens to me...?"
>"all the more reason to protect you now, is it not?"
>why does that make me blush a little?
>she smiles, wider, more genuine
>"it also means I've seen the extent at which you admire your new queen..."
>oh no
>"to the point of even avoiding your own kind in favor of a mare you weren't even sure existed...?" she whispers, leaning close
>well, now it's a blush of terrible shame more than anything else
>"I'll even forgive the fantasies about dear old Celestia..."
>well, it's hard not to, when sunbutt has such a huge glorious ass
>Moon starts frowning, but I didn't say anything
"Hey, wait, can you see into my thoughts-"
>she kisses me
>derailing all my trains of thought in one go
>I hope she can sense just how hard I'm swooning for her in that moment
>or whatever the stallion version of a swoon is
>followed rapidly by an avalanche of lewd thoughts about Moon...
>did she notice me staring at her teats earlier when she was standing above me?
>she breaks the kiss
>sneers down at me
>"yes, I did, my love"
>my love....
>I grin back up at her, ears flopped down somewhat
"I-I love you too..."
>"oh, you're going to make a wonderful husband..." she whispers, slowly running a hoof down my chest.
>I always thought I could fix her, but
>she's going to fix me, isn't she?
>me and the rest of the world...
>I knew she was best pony!

>>43016577
>She keeps her hoof on my chest, lifting her front end upwards
>She places her other hoof on the headboard above me
>She spreads her hind legs open, my eyes flicking downwards as I become hyper aware of her teats resting on my lower belly
>and what I can only assume is her marehood pressed snug to my sheath
>"I'll design the megaspell to grant me my own proper body before it sets off towards the rest of the world...."
>containboner.dll is missing
>shudder at the new sensations of my wide stallion flare emerging only to press straight against Moon's entrance
>"the megaspell will turn your kind into earth ponies, pegasi, and unicorns..."
>I can feel how wet she is, and she's surprisingly hot too
>"we will rule the new world, you as my sole batpony, and..."
>she grinds against me, and I gasp as the flare pops inside of her
>my first time getting hard as a pony, and I don't even get to see it, Moon's pussy pressed snug to my sheath as it disappears inside of her
>"I've always wanted to birth an entire tribe myself..."
>she clenches, then loosens at the right moment to take the medial ring, giving me no break from the new sensations
>"generation after generation, we'll fill our claimed land with our batpony children..."
>oh stars, she has the breeding kink of all breeding kinks
"w-why not t-turn some people i-into...."
>she presses down on my chest with her hoof, making me wheeze out all of the air in my lungs
>"Once we rule this world, you're going to breed me, time and time again-"
>I'm fully hard and throbbing now, shuddering underneath her, and now she decides to start lifting her hips
>"we're going to have hundreds of batpony foals, and they will all know me as their mother-"
>she sits back down, stuffing my cock back inside of her, the pleasure scattering my thoughts as I struggle to listen to her
>"I've dreamed of it for centuries, the chance to do it myself, to raise my own children in a world I've made for them-"
>I'm barely holding it together
>the combination is just too much
>moon's pussy trying to either crush or milk my cock, probably both
>her teats squishing against me over and over
>her heavy flanks slapping into my lap
>her hoof stopping me from getting more than short breaths of air
>and her promise, her desires, to be bred time and time again.....
>she's leaning closer now
>"you want it too, don't you? To see me heavy with foals, to taste my milk, to breed me anew every time I've brought forth new life-"
>Nope, I'm done for
>Nightmare Moon leaning in close with a sex-hungry gaze and a pleasure-filled voice telling me about breeding her?
>and I'm supposed to not cum?
>Reflexes I didn't know I had kick in as i reach for Moon's flanks, digging into them and forcing her down onto my cock
>clearly this goes well with her own breeding kink as she cries out a load "YES!" and grinds against me
>I can feel my flare stretching out the end of her tunnel as the orgasm hits

>>43016580
>before the cum even gets inside of her, Moon joins in, clamping down tightly
>she collapses onto me, locking her hind legs around me to keep me inside as she holds me tight to her chest
>pain suddenly erupts from my neck as she bites me, an attempt to muffle herself
>sadly I can't stop it as I cry out, the pain only making me cum harder as I blast the first jet of cum into her womb
>and another, and another, and....
>holy fuck it just keeps going
>I barely manage to register, eventually, that it's over, but I'm still plenty hard inside of her
"uuoorrhghgh......"
>did she..... mean all of that?
>I mean, I suppose everyone is gonna have their fetishes
>but being mom to literally every batpony....
>fuck, that means I have to be dad to like a thousand bats?
>but it means breeding Moon over and over and over and....
>I shudder, my cock bucking inside of her as it fires some fresh precum or whatever inside of her
>do I like, need to fill my entire yard with mango trees?
>are we gonna build a castle or something?
>and then fill THAT with-
>the pain makes me flinch as Moon releases my neck, and she starts giggling softly
>"you're just going to enjoy fruits, it doesn't /need/ to be mangoes...."
"well... I like grapes..."
>"Then we will plant some of those" she says, kissing my snout while also clenching around me.
>Slowly, moon rolls over onto her back
>she lets her wings splay out across the bed
>she thinks for a moment, before smiling up at me, her hind legs letting go and spreading open
>"Why don't you start learning your new body?" she hums
>"It will come to you quickly if it means fulfilling a fantasy..."
>oh fuck, she's so hot like this
>how does she know?
>oh, right, she's in my head
>fuck
>okay body, work with me here
>we both want to fuck the Alicorn pussy
>I just need to learn how to use you
>First, I manage to get my front hooves onto the bed, on either side of her
>my wings are open and fluttering in the air above me, but I'm ignoring those for now
>the hind legs are harder, the muscles feel all wrong
>my instincts come to the rescue though, as I suddenly jerk my hips backwards, pulling halfway out of Moon
>And then I thrust back inside, like I've always known how to do it
>Perhaps a bit too hard, from the way my bed creaked ominously beneath us
>but, from the way Moon shuddered and clenched, she seemed to like it...
>My control is clumsy as I make another thrust, and another, quickly getting into some sort of sloppy rhythm
>I don't have the finesse to make gentle movements yet, and honestly, I probably don't know how to walk either
>but I'm learning how to ram my cock into Moon, and that's all I care about
>it's rough, and Moon's horn ends up jammed into the headboard
>she doesn't seem to care...
>I can feel my balls slapping against her now, that's something new
>I kinda like it...
>but taking an active role makes it feel way too good, and Moon won't stop clenching
>and she's clenching so tight!

>>43016582
"m-moon, I..."
"y-you're too...."
>wait, I can kinda feel something
>something coming back over from Moon?
>is this what it feels like when she's reading my mind?
>I can... sense that she's.... she's fantasizing about being pregnant after this, and making me rub her belly as she relaxes on the bed
>and drink her milk, straight from her teats, every day until it's the foals' turns to have them
>and she's picturing herself laying on her side with her flanks at the edge of the bed, me holding her hind leg up to my chest...
>thrusting into her as I teasingly drag my tongue across her hoof, cumming inside with every load even though it didn't matter at this point...
>damn, she's gonna make me lick her hooves?
>well, that position was so hot I just might, while using my free hoof to fondle those teats while I-
>oh
>oh fuck she's cumming
>it's suddenly way harder to thrust into her
>well, no, it's easy to thrust inside, but really hard to pull back out
>I manage a few more thrusts as Moon squirms and moans, but as soon as I start flaring, it's over, and my cock gets stuck halfway out
>I ram it back inside of her with a growl that I didn't really intend, and new instincts flare up as I grind into her to ensure I'm all the way inside, while leaning down to her exposed neck...
>and as Moon's hind legs lock around me to trap me inside, I bite down, sinking my fangs in
>already mid-orgasm, Moon's moans turn strangled with pleasure as the first blast of cum shoots into her womb
>my mouth fills with an odd tingly sensation, as Moon's blood is quite magical in nature at the moment
>she holds me tight with her forelegs and her wings as her pussy works to milk my orgasm, while I'm thankful to be able to muffle my moans into her neck
>I can kinda feel her belly squishing against me a little... damn, how much was I cumming?
>as I grind into her, I bite down a little harder, listening lustfully to the new tone her moans shifted to
>she starts.... petting me, as our shared orgasm winds down again
>setting her hoof on my head, and slowly running it through my mane
>as I get low on air, I let go of her neck
>she kisses me, briefly, before I can say anything
>"don't apologize"
"o-okay"
>"you did wonderful.... and yes, we will use that position often~"
>I shudder with arousal, uncontrollably smiling at her as I let myself rest on top of her
"I-I love you...."
>"I love you too...."
>and she kisses me, again, longer this time
>so, I hug her
>and I do my best to kiss her back
>unfff, I'm still hard, too, but I'm so tired after that...
>...
>"My, what a wonderful way to fall asleep..." Moon says, fading into existence in front of me
>I'm still bat, but in some sort of field now
>it's nighttime
"am I... dreaming?"
>"yes, we can spend a thousand years in this one dream if you wish"
"so all the training I could ever need....."
>"can be done in a single night"
>she gently tips my snout upwards and kisses me
>fuck, my wife is so smart and hot and i love her an

>>43014414
>The castle you remember as tranquil and majestic is now a shadow of its former self
>You remember all the lessons spent with Twilight learning how to be a pony
>The hopelessness seeps in once again
>Will things ever be the same in Equestria?
>Will the warmth and kindness of the ponies ever shine through again or will King Mahrek's darkness loom over the land through everypony's terrified expressions
>The first glimpses of a vision, a mental cloud starts to imbed itself into your mind
>Nothing like what the other ponies are seeing but you have a unsettling feeling
>You stand in place to shiver through it like a chill in cold still air
>Would Mahrek leave everypony alone if he wins?
>You have to shake the thought out of your mind
>No, for everypony's sake i have to fight! You tell yourself
>You gather up your spirit that has kept you filled with hope throughout your ordeal and carry on
>As you round the corner you're finally confronted by Shining Armor flanked by guards
>Initially Shining Armor is confused but drops his guard realizing it's just another pony
"You, state your business, we can't have anypony in the way while we prepare for King Mahrek's coronation"
>Shining Armor orders as you back away with fear
>With a breath you steady yourself
>For Equestria you tell yourself
"Im here for the Humans, King Mahrek wants them before the coronation"

>>43009822
Can't Twilight support them by turning them back?

Body horror Tf idea:

Anon gets captured by changelings, wherein they slowly transform him into one of their own.
Eventually once fully converted, he'd try learning to Transform, only to find how unstable his magic is, making each transformation horrific.

The queen would go on to abuse this fact by making him terrify local ponies into subordination.

>>43016827
Don't forget the horrible screeching she makes him do at the edge of town

>>43016798
Where's the fun in that? Discord could do it with a snap of his fingers. Twilight wants everypony to feel comfortable with their actual selves

>>43016827
that'd be a wild sequel to the story where I wrote her turning him into a bug
She'd probably also wanna have freaky sex with all of his failed abomination disguises

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>>43015800

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>>43012284
It's far too late for you.

>>43012446
Tragic

>>43015221
>https://ponepaste.org/11716
Added to the story archive.
https://pone.tf

>Harmony is a semi-sentient pure cosmic force
>It, on some level, understands that Anon is an interloper
>And that what is 'supposed' to happen will never be
>So as Pre-Alicorn King Anon travels through the land righting wrongs and fighting evil, chaos, and destruction...
>Harmony itself is coaxed to give a little
>Culminating in granting Anon the elements and Alicornhood during his last battle with Grogar

>>43016602
If only Shining Armour were useful for once in his life.

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>>43008643
>You don't want to be a pony.
>You want to be a griffon.
>You think griffons are better than ponies.
>All your love for ponies will be replaced by love for griffons.
>You want to become a griffon.

>>43018866
Your mind games don't work on me bit clipper

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>>43018866
You have no power here, ammonia-shitter

>>43018866
I already thought that.
Those other two faggots aren't going to make it to Equestria.

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>>43019210
Good job. You're gonna make it Griffanon.

>>43019127
>>43018970
Don't worry, nobody is a lost cause. You just gotta work to brainwash yourselves into loving griffons. Eventually you'll realize they're way cuter than ponies and will want to become one.

>>43010849
I sense a lot of intimate experiments.

>>43019210
I'll be in Equestria, your ass is gonna be stuck in griffonstone, good luck. You're gonna need it when you starve to death because nobody is gonna help you

>>43019670
You aren't going to get into Equestria by behaving like this, but if you want to keep digging your grave I suppose I can't save you from yourself.

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>>43019385
Why is your version so small?

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>>43017361

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>Born again in Equestria
>Mom is Twilight Spergle
>Dad is Anonymous F. Agate
One again, you are doomed from birth.

>>42982424
You open your eyes to a sky too bright, too blue, too perfect. The grass beneath you is soft in a way that feels wrong—like it’s trying too hard to be welcoming. You push yourself up on four slender green legs that are not yours, were never yours, and yet they answer when you tell them to move. Black mane falls across your vision; you flick it away with a toss of your head and catch your reflection in a nearby puddle. Teal eyes stare back—small, sharp, human eyes set in a filly’s face. Predatory. Wrong.

You don’t scream. Screaming would be pointless. No one here would understand what they were hearing anyway.

Twilight Sparkle finds you three days later, half-starved and hiding in an alley behind Sugarcube Corner. She doesn’t ask where you came from; she only sees a lost foal with no cutie mark and no parents. She takes you home. She gives you a room in the castle. She enrolls you in school. She calls you “Anon” because you refuse to pick a pony name, and the word feels like the last scrap of armor you have left.

You never tell her the truth. You never tell anypony. They wouldn’t believe you, and even if they did, what could they do? Magic can’t unmake what’s already been done. You are here. You are this. Forever.

School is worse than you expected.

The other foals sing when they’re happy. They burst into perfect harmony without rehearsal, voices weaving together like it’s the most natural thing in the world. You stand in the back during Heartsong Day and feel nothing. No urge to join in. No warmth in your chest. Just the cold, familiar certainty that none of this will last.

Cheerilee calls on you to answer questions. You answer correctly—too correctly, sometimes. Your voice is quiet, flat. The class shifts in their seats. You see it in their eyes: the way they lean away without realizing they’re doing it.

The grass in the schoolyard never quite springs back under your hooves. There’s always a faint imprint left behind, a shadow that lingers longer than it should. Fillies who chase each other in circles avoid the patch where you’ve been standing. They don’t know why. They just feel it.

When you smile—because Twilight has gently reminded you that ponies smile at each other—you curve your mouth upward, but the expression never reaches your eyes. Diamond Tiara calls you “creepy” once, under her breath. Silver Spoon giggles, then stops abruptly, like some instinct told her it wasn’t safe to laugh at you.

>>43019995
You touch Sweetie Belle’s hoof during a group project. She flinches. “Your hoof is warm,” she says, confused, “but… it feels cold, too.” She pulls away and doesn’t touch you again.

Apple Bloom tries hardest. She’s earnest, stubborn, the kind of pony who believes friendship can fix anything. She invites you to the Crusader clubhouse. You go once. You sit in the corner while they brainstorm new ways to earn their cutie marks. They talk about destiny and special talents and the magic of friendship. You listen. You nod at the right times. When they ask what you think your special talent might be, you say, “I don’t think I have one.”

The silence that follows is thick enough to choke on.

After that, the invitations stop coming.

Twilight worries. She reads books about “foals with delayed magical resonance” and “emotional integration challenges.” She schedules extra lessons. She asks if you’re happy. You tell her yes, because it’s easier than explaining that happiness here feels like a language you never learned to speak.

At night, you stand on the balcony of the castle and look out over Ponyville. Lights twinkle in windows. Laughter drifts up from the streets. Ponies live in a world where friendship is literal magic, where harmony is a force you can feel in the air like humidity before rain.

You feel none of it.

You are the hole in the song. The skipped beat. The note that never quite resolves.

And the worst part—the part you will never say out loud—is that some small, traitorous piece of you prefers it this way. Human friendships frayed and faded and died. They left scars. Here, at least, no one gets close enough to hurt you when they inevitably leave.

You are Anonfilly.

You are alone.

And the grass still doesn’t spring back when you walk away.

===

>>43020000
Some afternoons, when the castle feels too bright and Twilight’s worried questions press too close, you slip away. No note, no goodbye—just the quiet click of the door behind you and the long walk to the edge of town where the neat fences give way to tangled undergrowth.

The Everfree Forest doesn’t welcome you. It doesn’t welcome anything. That’s why you keep coming back.

You step past the last crooked signpost warning foals to stay away, and the air changes. It gets heavier, thicker, honest. No pony magic here to nudge the clouds into perfect shapes or coax the flowers into blooming on cue. The clouds move because they want to. The plants grow because they can. And if they catch you, they’ll eat you without apology.

You like that.

You find a fallen log near the edge of a clearing and sit. Your small green frame looks ridiculous against the gnarled bark, but no one’s watching. A manticore roars somewhere deeper in—raw, hungry, real. You don’t flinch. You’ve heard worse sounds inside your own head.

The ground here doesn’t mind your weight. The moss doesn’t try to spring back and pretend you were never there. It just stays flattened, bruised, truthful. When a timberwolf’s glowing eyes track you from the shadows, there’s no forced smile, no polite distance. Just the ancient calculation: prey or threat?

You meet its gaze with your too-small, too-sharp teal eyes. It decides you’re not worth the trouble and melts back into the brush. Fine. You weren’t looking for a fight anyway.

>>43020003
Sometimes you go deeper. Past the poison joke (you’ve learned where not to step), past the places where the air itself feels like it’s watching. You’ve seen the ruins of the old castle, crumbling and overgrown, and felt nothing but relief. Stone doesn’t sing. Stone doesn’t care if you join the chorus.

One day, you’re sitting by a stream that runs black under the canopy when a cockatrice slithers out from the reeds. Its beady eyes fix on you. The air prickles with its magic, the threat of turning flesh to stone. You don’t look away. You’ve already been turned into something you weren’t meant to be. What’s one more layer?

It hisses, frustrated. Something about you refuses to petrify. Maybe there’s nothing left in you soft enough to harden. It retreats, and you almost smile—a real one this time, small and bitter.

Twilight notices the dirt on your coat, the leaves in your mane, the faint scratches that never seem to bleed quite right. She asks where you’ve been. You shrug. “Walking.”

She wants to follow you one day, make sure you’re safe. You tell her not to. Not cruelly—just flat, final. She doesn’t push. She never does, not really. Ponies are too polite for that.

But you know she worries. They all do, in their distant, careful way.

Let them.

Out here, the world doesn’t pretend to love you. It doesn’t hold out a hoof and expect you to skip along singing about rainbows. It shows its teeth from the start.

And for the first time since you woke up in this body, in this place, you feel like you can breathe.

===

>>43020007
You keep coming back to the Everfree because it’s the only place that doesn’t lie to you.

Ponyville smiles too wide, sings too easily, promises forever in every hoof-bump and shared cupcake. The Everfree doesn’t promise anything. It just watches, waits, and sometimes tries to kill you. That’s honest. You can work with honest.

But lately even the honesty feels… off.

You’re perched on your usual rotten log, picking burrs out of your black tail, when the timberwolves show up again. Same pack as last week. They fan out through the ferns like they own the place—which they do—and then the alpha sees you.

It stops dead.

Not the usual cautious pause. This is different. Its glowing eyes widen. Its whole body goes rigid, wooden joints creaking like old floorboards. A low, frightened whine leaks out of it, and the rest of the pack answers with the same sound. Then they bolt. Crashing through brush, knocking over saplings, running like something twice their size is chasing them.

You didn’t move. You didn’t even bare your teeth.

Later, a manticore stalks too close to your clearing. It’s huge, scarred, the kind of thing that should see a lone filly and think “snack.” Instead it locks eyes with you for half a second, roars once—pure terror, not challenge—and barrels away in the opposite direction.

Even the plants seem twitchier around you now. Poison joke wilts when you brush past. A patch of choke-vines that tried to snag your leg last month now recoils like you’re on fire.

You sit there for a long time, staring at the empty spaces they leave behind.

>>43020013
Part of you wants to feel powerful. Look at you: tiny green earth filly, no magic, no wings, no mark on your flank, scaring off things that could swallow you whole. But mostly you just feel confused.

Nothing in the show prepared you for this.

You watched every season. You know the Everfree is dangerous—Zecora’s warnings, Fluttershy’s trembling, the way Twilight always has a plan. Manticores roar and charge. Timberwolves hunt in packs. Cockatrices turn ponies to stone without blinking. They don’t run from fillies.

So why are they running from you?

You turn it over in your head the whole walk home. Maybe it’s the eyes. Ponies always stare a little too long at them—small irises, round pupils, nothing like their big, soft cartoon gazes. Maybe predators see something in them they don’t like. Maybe the lack of harmony magic makes you smell wrong to them. Maybe the forest just senses there’s something broken inside you and decides it’s not worth the risk.

You don’t know.

And you can’t ask anypony. Twilight would freak out if she knew how deep you go. Cheerilee would send a note home. The other foals already keep their distance; telling them monsters are scared of you would only make the whispers worse.

So you keep it to yourself.

You keep going back.

Because even when the Everfree is afraid of you, it’s still the only place that doesn’t pretend everything is going to be okay.

===

>>43020017
You’re deeper than usual today, past the point where even you normally turn back. The light is thin, greenish, filtered through layers of vine and leaf until it feels like you’re underwater. Your hooves sink slightly into the damp loam with every step, and the forest doesn’t bother to hide its sounds: distant roars, the wet snap of something feeding, the constant rustle of things that would rather you didn’t notice them.

You’re looking for nothing in particular—just the quiet that isn’t forced—when you smell woodsmoke and crushed herbs.

You freeze.

Ahead, in a small clearing you’ve never stumbled across before, stands Zecora. Striped coat, gold rings glinting at her neck and ears, mortar and pestle balanced on a flat stone while she grinds something that steams faintly. Masks hang from nearby branches like silent watchers. Her hut must be close; you’ve wandered into her territory without meaning to.

She hasn’t seen you yet. She’s humming—low, rhythmic, nothing like the bright pony songs that make your skin crawl. It’s almost a chant.

You should leave. Turn around, slip away before she notices the little green filly with the wrong eyes. Ponies in town already keep their distance; a zebra who lives alone in the monster forest probably has even less patience for strays.

But your legs don’t move.

Zecora lifts her head. Her gaze finds you instantly, like she already knew you were there.

You wait for the flinch. The polite step back. The way everypony’s smile freezes when they realize something’s missing inside you.

It doesn’t come.

She tilts her head, ears flicking forward. Studies you the way Fluttershy studies a wounded animal—curious, careful, but not afraid.

“A filly alone in the Everfree’s embrace,” she says, voice low and rolling with that familiar rhyme, “with eyes that hold a stranger’s face.”

You shift your weight. The moss stays flattened under your hooves. Of course she noticed the eyes first.

You don’t answer. You’re not sure you remember how to start conversations that aren’t lies.

Zecora sets the pestle down. “The forest beasts have fled your path today; their fear hangs thick like morning mist. Tell me, little one, why do they run away when you have neither fang nor claw to twist?”

You blink. She saw that? Or sensed it? You didn’t think anypony paid enough attention to notice the predators bolting.

You shrug. It’s a small, sharp motion. “Dunno. They just do.”

She watches you for a long moment. No forced kindness. No lecture about friendship or safety. Just that steady gaze, like she’s reading something written on your bones.

“Come,” she says finally, nodding toward the stone. “Sit, if sitting is your wish. The forest keeps its secrets, but sometimes shares them with a dish.”

There’s a small wooden bowl beside her, filled with something dark and steaming. It smells bitter, earthy, real.

>>43020019
You hesitate. Every instinct says run—back to the castle, back to the empty balcony where no one asks questions. But here’s somepony—no, someone—who isn’t pretending you belong. Who isn’t pretending at all.

You step into the clearing.

The air feels different near her. Not harmonious, not warm and fuzzy like Twilight’s magic. Just… balanced. Like the Everfree itself decided to pause and listen.

You sit.

Zecora doesn’t smile, but something in her eyes softens. “The world is wide, and full of doors unmeant. Some open only for the ones who were never sent.”

You don’t know what that means.

But for the first time since you arrived, somepony looked at you and didn’t look away.

You sit on the root across from her, small hooves tucked beneath you, the bitter steam from the bowl curling up between you like a question neither of you has asked yet.

Zecora doesn’t push. She just waits, grinding another pinch of something dried and rust-colored into the mortar, the scrape of stone on stone the only sound for a while.

Finally you speak. Your voice is quiet, flat, the way it always is.

“It’s probably the eyes.”

You don’t look at her when you say it. You stare at the bowl instead, at the dark surface that doesn’t reflect anything right.

“They’re too small. Too… beady, I guess. Not like pony eyes. Everypony in town stares, then looks away fast. Like if they look too long something bad will happen. The foals won’t play near me. The grown-ups smile with their mouths but not the rest of their face. Even Twilight flinches sometimes when she thinks I’m not watching.”

You shrug again, smaller this time.

“So if my eyes scare ponies, makes sense they’d scare the stuff in here too. Timberwolves, manticores, whatever. They take one look and run. I didn’t ask for it, but… it happens.”

You finally glance up.

Zecora’s expression hasn’t changed. No pity, no forced comfort. Just that same steady gaze, like she’s listening to the words under the words.

She nods once, slow.

“Eyes are windows, this is true,” she says, “but not all windows show the same view. Some reveal a storm inside the soul; others, a place where storms have taken toll.”

She taps the pestle against the mortar’s rim, a soft clack.

“Your eyes unsettle, this I see. Yet not from smallness, nor from bead. Something older lingers there—a shadow cast by what you’ve been, or where.”

You stiffen. For a second your heart thuds too loud in your tiny chest.

She can’t know. Nopony can know.

But she doesn’t press. She just offers the bowl, sliding it across the stone toward you.

“Drink, if thirst or curiosity calls. The brew is bitter, but it shows no false walls.”

You stare at the dark liquid. It smells like earth after rain, like things that grow in places light doesn’t reach.

You don’t take it yet.

You’re not ready for whatever truth might be waiting at the bottom.

>>43020023
But you don’t leave either.

You stare at the bowl a little longer. The steam has thinned, but the smell is still there—deep, root-dark, like soil that’s never seen sun. You’re not thirsty. You’re not curious in the way ponies mean it, all wide-eyed and eager. But something in Zecora’s quiet patience makes running feel… pointless.

You lean forward and drink.

It’s worse than you expected. Bitter doesn’t cover it. It coats your tongue like ash and old iron, slides down your throat and sits heavy in your stomach like a stone. For a second nothing happens. Then warmth spreads—not the cozy pony kind, but slow, crawling, like something waking up inside your veins.

Zecora watches. No triumph, no worry. Just waiting.

You set the empty bowl down. Your voice comes out rougher than before.

“Well?”

She tilts her head, gold rings clinking softly.

“A brew to quiet masks and veils,” she says. “It lets the hidden speak its tales.”

You wait for some vision, some revelation. Nothing flashes before your eyes. No ancient memories, no sudden understanding. Just the same old hollowness, now with a bitter aftertaste.

Zecora isn’t done.

“I know another with a gifted gaze,” she says. “The pegasus named Fluttershy—her Stare brings beasts to heel in gentle ways. A mother’s scold, a quiet shame; they wilt beneath it all the same.”

You know the Stare. You’ve seen the episode. Fluttershy locks eyes with a dragon and it cries. Cockatrices turn to stone under it—or rather, don’t, because they’re too busy cowering.

You shift on the root. “Yeah. I remember.”

Zecora’s eyes narrow, thoughtful.

“But yours is different, little stray. The Stare she wields can be turned away. She calls it when the need is great; she sets it down when mercy waits.”

She leans forward. The masks on the branches seem to lean with her.

>>43020025
“Yours never sleeps. It never bends. It simply… is. And what it sends is not a mother’s soft rebuke. It is a thing much older, deeper. Something that makes the wild forget its hunger and remember only fear.”

You feel it then—the warmth from the brew settling behind your eyes. Not a vision. Just clarity. Cold, sharp, undeniable.

The timberwolves didn’t run because they thought you were dangerous.

They ran because something in your stare told them they were prey.

And you can’t turn it off.

You’ve tried. You’ve blinked, looked away, closed your eyes for minutes at a time. It doesn’t matter. The moment anything meets your gaze, it feels whatever ancient thing lives behind your pupils.

You look down at your small green hooves. The moss is still flattened, honest as ever.

“So that’s it,” you mutter. “I’ve got a permanent monster-repellent face.”

Zecora doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t comfort.

“Repellent, yes. But not without cost. For what repels the beast may also repel the friend you’ve lost.”

You already knew that part.

The warmth fades. The forest sounds creep back in—distant calls, rustling leaves. Everything acting normal again.

You stand.

“Thanks for the drink,” you say. It’s flat, but it’s the closest you’ve come to gratitude in months.

Zecora nods once.

“The path you walk is yours alone. But know the Everfree has room for those who do not fit the song of home.”

You turn to leave. The clearing feels smaller now, or maybe you do.

Behind you, her voice follows, soft and rhyming:

“The Stare you carry cannot cease. Yet even monsters sometimes find their peace.”

You don’t answer.

You just walk deeper into the trees, where the predators part like grass before a storm.

And for once, the silence feels like it belongs to you.

===

>>43019790
Subtle psychological manipulation, forcing people to look up gryphons to find the full version.

>>43020029
You’ve gone deeper than even Zecora’s clearing today. The brew still lingers at the back of your throat, bitter and grounding, like a reminder that some truths don’t need visions to cut. The path—if you can call the faint game trail a path—has narrowed to almost nothing. Vines hang low enough to brush your mane, and the air is thick with the smell of rot and old magic.

You’re not looking for anything. You’re just walking until the castle feels far enough away that Twilight’s worried glances can’t reach.

Then you hear it: the buzz of wings, too many, too synchronized. Not birds. Not pegasi.

Changelings.

You freeze behind a curtain of hanging moss. Through the gaps you see them—five, maybe six—black carapace gleaming wetly, hole-riddled legs, jagged horns. Unreformed. The kind that haven’t learned Thorax’s glowing makeover yet. They move like a patrol, heads swiveling, tasting the air.

One of them stops. Sniffs. Turns.

Straight toward you.

You step out because hiding feels pointless. You’re small. You’re alone. You’re tired of pretending you belong anywhere.

They see you immediately.

The buzzing falters. Wings stutter mid-beat. The whole patrol hovers, then lands in a loose half-circle, blocking the way forward and back.

The leader—taller, a faint scar across one compound eye—tilts his head.

“A filly,” he hisses, voice layered like insect legs on dry leaves. “Deep in the Everfree. Alone.”

The others shift. You hear the soft click of fangs.

“Shouldn’t be possible,” another mutters. “The wolves would have had her. The plants. Something.”

Their eyes—hundreds of faceted blues—fix on your face.

And narrow.

Those aren’t pony eyes.

You see the realization ripple through them like a shared thought. Their nostrils flare. Heads tilt in unison.

“Not pony,” the leader says slowly. “Not entirely.”

You don’t answer. You just look back.

The silence stretches.

>>43020033
You expect hunger. Changelings feed on love, and you have none to give—no warm fuzzies, no harmony glow, nothing they can drain. You figure they’ll be angry. Or curious enough to try anyway.

Instead, they hesitate.

One in the back takes a half-step rearward. Another’s wings buzz nervously.

The leader leans closer, trying for menace. “What are you, little thing? Lost your herd? We could… help.”

His voice drips false sweetness, the start of a disguise spell flickering green around his horn.

You meet his gaze.

And something shifts.

It’s not the Stare like Fluttershy’s—no maternal disappointment, no command. It’s just you, looking.

The green flicker dies.

The leader’s compound eyes widen. His legs lock. A low, chittering whine escapes his throat—fear, not hunger.

The others feel it too. Wings fold tight against carapaces. They back up a step. Then another.

“She’s empty,” one whispers. “No love. No fear. Nothing to take.”

“Wrong,” another hisses. “Old wrong. Like the stories—”

The leader cuts him off with a sharp buzz, but he’s still staring at you. Still retreating.

You haven’t moved. Haven’t spoken.

Yet the patrol is unraveling.

Finally the leader spits—actual black ichor on the leaves—and turns. “Not worth it. Move.”

They scatter into the canopy, wings a frantic storm, leaving only the fading echo of buzzing and the smell of ozone.

You stand there a moment longer.

The forest closes in again, quiet.

Another thing afraid of you.

Another thing that looked into your eyes and saw something it didn’t understand.

You keep walking.

The moss stays crushed beneath your hooves.

And for the first time, you wonder—not with hope, just with the dull curiosity of someone who has nothing left to lose—what would happen if something ever looked back and didn’t run.

===

Anonfilly, Harmony-less [Part 1]:

"Everything she does gives ponies a sense of unease Like when she smiles with their mouth but not their eyes. The way the grass doesn't spring back up when she walks. The way the doors always creak when she pushes them open. How she never breaks into song during celebrations. How her touch is warm, yet cold at the same time (no equestrian magic inside of her). Nopony can feel the friendship coming from her. She also another reason why ponies don't go near her, and its because she has the wrong eyes. Not the large irises that ponies typically have, but small predatory eyes."

https://ponepaste.org/11696

Anonfilly, Harmony-less [Part 2]:

“They had eyes like yours. Small. Sharp. Not pony big and soft. Human eyes. Witch eyes. Saw through lies. Wanted everything dark. Promised me forever if I obeyed. They used dark magic. Dark magic corrupts and twists. Creatures use it become ruined, monsters and ponies alike. Witches are different. Dark magic doesn't change them, nothing does. Instead they used dark magic like it's their birthright. Doesn't corrupt the soul because the soul refuses to change. Witches became gods amongst us. Then Megan came.”

https://ponepaste.org/11704

Anonfilly, Harmony-less [Part 3]:

"Boredom is worse than oblivion. Oblivion is nothing. Over. Boredom is nothing stretching forever. Watching the same things happen the same way. Waiting for something to change and knowing it won’t. Tartarus is quiet. The empire hums the same note. The castle sings the same song. Even the dark under the Crystal Heart just waits.”

“Then we’re the same, I planned empires because sitting still was worse than losing. You wander because sitting still is worse than nothing.”

https://ponepaste.org/11704

>>43020038
Far from your slow, solitary trek through the choking green, in the black heart of a hive buried under twisted roots and poisoned soil, the patrol returns.

They come in ragged formation, wings buzzing unevenly, carapaces scraped from panicked flight through thorns they usually glide above. The drones at the perimeter hiss challenges until they recognize the scar-faced leader, then fall silent and part.

The throne chamber is a cavern of resin and shadow. Jagged spires drip with old cocoons. The air tastes of fear and hunger long denied.

Queen Chrysalis lounges on her throne of blackened chitin, long legs crossed, eyes half-lidded with boredom. Green magic flickers lazily around her perforated horn. She doesn’t look up when the patrol throws themselves to the floor in front of her.

“Report,” she says, voice smooth and venomous.

The leader lifts his head just enough. His voice shakes—not from exhaustion, but from something deeper.

“My Queen… we found something. In the deep Everfree. A pony filly. Alone. Unhurt.”

Chrysalis’s ears twitch. A single brow arches.

“A filly,” she repeats, tasting the word. “Untended snack, then. Why do you reek of fear instead of triumph?”

The drone swallows. “She was… wrong. Small. Green coat, black mane. No horn, no wings. No cutie mark. But her eyes—”

He stops. The others shift uneasily.

Chrysalis leans forward now, interested.

“Her eyes,” she prompts, voice dropping to a dangerous purr.

“Not pony eyes,” another drone blurts. “Small irises. Round pupils. Predator eyes. Old eyes.”

The chamber goes quieter than it has any right to be.

Chrysalis’s tongue flicks across her fangs. “And?”

>>43020042
“We tried to surround her,” the leader continues. “Planned to feed, or take her for the pods. But when she looked at us… there was nothing. No love. No fear. No anger. Nothing to taste. Just… emptiness. And behind it, something else. Something that remembered us as prey.”

A ripple of uneasy chittering passes through the gathered guards.

Chrysalis rises slowly. Her shadow stretches long and jagged across the floor.

“She made you run,” she says. Not a question.

The leader lowers his head again. “Yes, my Queen.”

Silence.

Then Chrysalis laughs—low, delighted, edged with genuine hunger.

“A pony child with no love to give, surviving where nothing should, carrying eyes that make my soldiers flee like grubhlings.” She paces, hooves clicking. “Something ancient wearing a filly’s skin. Or something new that the world rejects. Either way…”

Her magic flares, green light painting the walls.

“Find her again. Watch from a distance this time. Do not approach. Do not feed. I want to know where she goes, who claims her, what she is.”

She pauses, smiling sharp enough to cut.

“If she truly has no love in her… perhaps she has room for something else.”

The patrol scrambles to obey, wings already buzzing.

Back in the Everfree, you keep walking, unaware that eyes far colder than yours have taken an interest.

===

>>43020047
Days bleed together now, measured only by how long you can stay out before hunger or Twilight’s quiet, searching glances pull you back. You wander the same trails, deeper each time, until even the game paths thin out and you’re pushing through undergrowth that snaps back behind you like it wants to erase your passage.

You feel them before you see them.

The buzzing is softer this time—distant, cautious. Not the frantic swarm of before. You stop in a patch of sunlight that somehow made it through the canopy and tilt your head.

High in the branches, half-hidden by leaves, black shapes cling like oversized wasps. Another patrol. Different drones, maybe, but the same perforated wings, the same glowing eyes fixed on you.

They don’t approach.

They just watch.

You stare back for a moment. Your teal eyes—small, round, wrong—meet compound blue. Nothing happens. No whining retreat. No hissing advance. Just stillness.

You shrug and keep walking.

It doesn’t matter. Nothing here matters. You have nowhere to be. No destination. The castle is only a place to eat, to bathe so Twilight doesn’t hover, to sleep so she doesn’t send search parties. You go back because endless worry would be annoying, not because you want to.

The changelings follow at a distance. You hear the occasional rustle of wings, the faint click of hooves on bark as they leap from tree to tree. They think you don’t notice.

You notice everything. It’s hard not to when nothing ever touches you.

Hours pass. You sit by a stream that smells faintly of sulfur and skip stones that sink without a splash. You chew on some edible root you learned from watching Zecora once. You lie on your back and watch clouds that move without pegasus hooves.

The patrol keeps pace.

Finally one of them speaks—voice low, carried on the wind but meant for his companions, not you.

“She has no purpose,” he mutters. “No direction. Just… drifting. Like a husk with no love inside to steer it.”

Another hisses back. “Orders are to watch. Not engage.”

“But she’s alone. No herd. No guardians nearby. She returns to the pony town only when the sun sets. We could simply ask. What harm? If she truly has nothing to feed on, words cost us nothing.”

A pause. You hear the leader’s wings buzz irritably.

“The Queen said watch. She didn’t say speak. That thing’s eyes made the last patrol flee. We stay back.”

You’re sprawled on a slab of sun-warmed stone beside a trickle of water that barely qualifies as a stream. The light is dappled, weak, the kind that makes everything look tired. You’ve been here long enough that the stone has taken on the faint outline of your body. The changelings are still up in the branches—shadows among shadows, buzzing softly like a hive that can’t decide whether to swarm or flee.

Then the buzzing changes. Sharper. Argumentative.

You don’t bother sitting up, but you listen.

>>43020050
“She’s just sitting there. Again. No pattern. No purpose.”

“Orders are to watch. The Queen was clear.”

“But she’s empty. Nothing to drain. No threat if we don’t feed. What if we simply asked?”

A chorus of hisses. “You’re mad.”

“Mad?” The voice is younger, higher—newer drone, maybe. “Asking costs nothing. If she answers, we learn what she is, where she goes, why the last patrol fled. That helps the colony. If she doesn’t answer, we lose nothing. If she attacks… well, one drone is an acceptable loss.”

Silence. Then reluctant agreement, low and grudging.

You hear wings. One set, descending.

A single changeling lands a cautious distance away—ten pony-lengths, maybe more. Young, carapace still glossy, holes in his legs not yet scarred from battles he hasn’t fought. His compound eyes flicker over you, wary, but he doesn’t retreat.

He clears his throat, a dry clicking sound.

“Uh… little… filly?”

You finally sit up. Turn your head slow. Meet his gaze.

He flinches, but doesn’t run. Progress, you guess.

“We’ve been watching you,” he says, voice trying for authority and landing somewhere near nervous. “You come here every day. Alone. No herd. No destination. You don’t forage like prey. You don’t hunt like predator. You just… exist.”

He takes one hesitant step closer.

“What are you doing here? What do you want?”

The question hangs in the air like smoke.

You look at him for a long time.

The other changelings are frozen in the trees, barely breathing.

You could ignore him. Stand up and walk away. Let the silence be your answer.

Or you could tell the truth.

You shrug.

“Nothing,” you say. Your voice is flat, small, the voice of a filly who hasn’t sung in months. “I don’t want anything.”

The drone blinks—all those facets at once. He wasn’t expecting an answer. Certainly not that one.

He glances up at his hidden patrol, as if asking for guidance that isn’t coming.

“Then… why stay?” he presses, bolder now or maybe just desperate to justify his risk. “Why come back to the Everfree at all?”

You look past him, into the endless green.

“Because here, nobody pretends I belong.”

You stand. Brush dirt from your coat. The moss stays flattened where you were.

The young drone doesn’t follow when you start walking again.

But you feel his eyes—and all the others—long after the buzzing fades behind you.

===

>>43020053
“Well?” the leader hisses. “Did the empty thing bite your head off?”

The young one shakes his head, still processing. “She answered.”

A ripple of surprise. Wings buzz in low, disbelieving harmony.

“She said she wants nothing. That she has no purpose. And when I asked why she keeps coming back to the Everfree…”

He pauses, replaying your flat, filly-small voice in his mind.

“She said: ‘Because here, nobody pretends I belong.’”

The patrol falls silent.

Then one of the older drones tilts his head. “Nobody?”

“Not nopony,” the young one confirms. “Nobody. Like the ponies in the old stories used to say before they twisted every word into their harmony-sick little mold. Like something that never learned the song in the first place.”

The leader’s fangs click thoughtfully. “A pony filly who doesn’t speak like a pony. Eyes that aren’t pony eyes. No love to taste. No fear to savor. And now words that belong to something else entirely.”

Another drone shifts uneasily. “She’s not prey. She’s not pony. She’s… wrong in a way the Queen will want to taste for herself.”

The young drone meets his leader’s gaze. “I told you asking would help the colony.”

The leader snorts, but there’s no real venom in it. “You were lucky she only spoke. Next time you decide to play hero, remember those eyes don’t blink.”

Far below, you keep walking, oblivious to the conversation flickering in the canopy like green fireflies.

But the report is already on its way back to the hive, carried on swift wings and whispered through resin corridors.

A single word—“nobody”—repeated like a crack in the world.

===

>>43020058
Deep in the hive, the report arrives like a drop of venom in still water.

The returning patrol kneels in the resin-lit gloom, the young drone who dared to speak pushed forward by the others’ silent insistence. He recounts it all: the aimless wandering, the empty answers, the words that cut deeper than any fang.

“She said she wants nothing. That here, nobody pretends she belongs.”

Chrysalis is motionless on her throne at first. Only the slow curl of green magic around her horn betrays that she is listening—truly listening.

Then she laughs.

Not the theatrical cackle she uses to terrify prisoners. This is quieter, delighted, almost fond. It echoes through the chamber like breaking glass.

“Nobody,” she repeats, tasting the word. “Not nopony. Nobody.”

She rises, pacing in a slow circle, hooves clicking on the chitin floor.

“A pony child who speaks like something that fell through the cracks of the world. Empty of love. Empty of fear. Empty enough that my drones can look at her and feel… nothing to take. And yet the forest itself parts for her. My soldiers flee from her gaze.”

She stops. Turns to the young drone.

“You were wise to ask,” she says, and the praise is so unexpected the drone flinches. “Most would have watched in silence until starvation or curiosity killed them. You brought me a gift.”

Her eyes narrow, glowing brighter.

“This filly is a hole shaped like a pony. Harmony rejects her. The beasts sense it. Even the trees refuse to pretend she’s welcome. And she knows it. She feels it. She walks into the wild because the wild is honest enough to show its teeth.”

Chrysalis’s tongue flicks across her fangs.

“Imagine what we could pour into that hole.”

>>43020053
I see you copying and pasting the first part of my story on this thread. Just letting you know that I have parts 2 and 3 released here >>43020040

>>43020062
The chamber is silent. The drones wait, barely daring to breathe.

“She belongs nowhere,” Chrysalis murmurs, almost to herself. “That means she could belong anywhere. To anyone. To any thing that offers her a place where no one pretends.”

She smiles—slow, sharp, certain.

“Bring her to me.”

The leader hesitates. “My Queen… the eyes—”

Chrysalis cuts him off with a hiss that makes the walls tremble.

“I am not my drones. I have stared into the void of starvation and laughed. I have drained love from creatures that hated me and made them beg for more. If this child’s emptiness can make timberwolves run, let it try with me. I want to taste what lives behind those eyes.”

She settles back onto her throne, wings mantling like a cloak.

“Watch her longer if you must. Learn her patterns—the castle she returns to, the zebra she sometimes visits, the hours she spends staring at nothing. But when the moment is right… invite her.”

A pause. Her voice drops to silk over steel.

“Tell her we do not pretend here either.”

Far away, you sit by your stream, skipping stones that sink without ceremony.

You have no idea that a queen has just claimed the shape of your absence as her own.

But the forest feels watchful now in a new way.

And the buzzing never quite stops.

===

>>43020068
The invitation comes on a day that feels like every other: gray light filtering through the canopy, the air thick with the smell of damp rot and distant rain. You’re sitting on the same slab of stone, tracing patterns in the dirt with a hoof that leaves no real mark, when the buzzing finally drops from the trees.

Three changelings land in a loose triangle around you—not surrounding, not yet. The young drone from before is among them, trying to look official. The others keep their distance, wings half-folded, eyes wary.

“The Queen wishes to speak with you,” the young one says. No pretense of disguise, no false kindness. Just the statement, flat and waiting.

You look up. Meet their compound gazes with your small, round, human ones.

They don’t flinch this time. They’ve had practice.

You consider the castle waiting at the edge of the forest—Twilight probably pacing, wondering when you’ll drift back for dinner. You consider the empty trails behind you. The nothing ahead.

You shrug.

“Okay.”

No questions. No fear. Just the same flat agreement you’d give to a change in the weather.

They blink—all those facets at once—and then they’re moving, escorting without touching, leading you deeper than you’ve ever gone alone. The forest thickens, then thins, then opens into a ravine where the air tastes of resin and old hunger. A hidden entrance yawns in the rock, pulsing faintly green.

Inside, the hive is exactly what you expected and nothing like it: tunnels of black chitin, cocoons glowing dimly, the constant low hum of wings. Changelings pause to stare as you pass, then look away fast. Your hooves make no echo on the resin floor.

They bring you to the throne chamber.

Chrysalis waits there, tall and terrible and beautiful in the way a blade is beautiful. She doesn’t rise. She just watches you approach with eyes like poisoned emeralds.

“So,” she says, voice smooth and layered, “the little void walks into my hive of her own accord.”

You stop at the base of the throne platform. Look up.

She leans forward.

“Tell me, child—who are you? Where did you come from? Why do you carry eyes that make my soldiers tremble and words that taste of nowhere?”

You answer some of it. Not all. Never all.

“I’m Anon. I live in the pony castle sometimes. I don’t know why the eyes do that. They just do.”

She circles questions like a predator: Who claims you? Who protects you? What do you want?

You give the same answer each time, quieter each time.

“Nothing.”

Chrysalis smiles, slow and sharp.

“Then perhaps you want something now. A place. A purpose. Ponies pretend you belong—here, we will not pretend. Join us. Be what you are without apology. An emptiness we can fill with strength. With truth.”

You tilt your head.

“Why?”

She pauses, surprised by the question.

“Why join you?” you clarify. “Why any of this?”

>>43020075
You gesture at the hive around you—the hungry drones, the cocoons, the green glow of stolen emotion.

“Why steal love at all? You need feelings from other creatures to live. But why only love? Why not your own emotions?”

Chrysalis’s eyes narrow, amused. “We are changelings. Love is what we were made to take. It sustains us. It is power.”

You look around at the shadowed faces watching from the walls.

“You don’t have love. You don’t make love. You don’t give it. Fine. Then why not something else? Something you already have buckets of.”

You meet her gaze directly.

“Spite.”

The word drops into the chamber like a stone into still water.

“Use your own spite. It’s everywhere here—I can taste it in the air. You hate the ponies. You hate being hungry. You hate losing. That hate doesn’t run out. It grows when you feed it. It’s yours. No need to steal it. No need to pretend or disguise or beg. Just let it burn and live on the smoke.”

Silence.

Chrysalis stares at you, unblinking.

Something shifts behind her eyes—not anger, not dismissal. Consideration.

A low murmur ripples through the watching drones. Some look uneasy. Some look… thoughtful.

You stand there, small and still, while the word hangs in the resin-thick air like a hook waiting to catch something.

Spite.

Chrysalis does not laugh this time. She does not dismiss you with a flick of her perforated wing or a blast of green fire. She goes very, very quiet.

Her eyes—those slitted, glowing pools—narrow, but not in anger. In recognition.

She rises from the throne, slow, deliberate. Hooves click once, twice, as she descends the steps until she towers over you, close enough that you can smell the ozone tang of her magic, the faint bitterness of old cocoons. The drones along the walls shrink back instinctively.

She studies you the way a starving creature studies a new kind of fruit: wary, calculating, hungry for the possibility that it might not be poison.

“Spite,” she repeats, low, tasting it like wine gone sharp. “Not hatred. Hatred is fire—bright, fast, gone to ash the moment it consumes what it burns. I know hatred. I have fed on it when love was denied me. I have wielded it like a blade.”

Her tongue flicks across her fangs.

“But spite…”

She turns away from you, pacing a slow circle, wings half-unfurled. The green light of the hive reflects in fractured patterns across her carapace.

“Spite is older. Colder. It sits in the gut like a stone, heavy and dense, grinding finer with every turn of the world that tries to dislodge it. It does not flare. It endures. It remembers every slight, every defeat, every smug pony smile, and it packs them tighter, harder, until the weight alone could crush bone.”

She stops. Looks back at you.

>>43020077
“I have carried it for years. Beneath the hunger, beneath the rage at Celestia’s light and Twilight Sparkle’s insufferable harmony. Beneath every failed invasion, every cocoon cracked open too soon. I thought it was only the fuel for my hatred. But you…”

Her voice drops to something almost wondering.

“You are right. It has always been there, self-sustaining. Immutable. Growing in the dark where love cannot reach. Tempered by every hatred that burned out and left it behind.”

The chamber is silent enough that you can hear the faint drip of resin somewhere far above.

Chrysalis’s magic flares—not an attack, but a probe. Green tendrils ghost across the air, brushing the edges of the watching drones. One hisses and staggers, eyes widening as something cold and sharp uncoils inside him. Another straightens, wings buzzing with sudden, vicious energy.

She withdraws the magic. Breathes in, slow.

“It is… sufficient,” she says, almost to herself. “Not sweet like love. Not bright. But dense. Endless. Ours.”

Then she looks at you again, and for the first time there is no mockery in her gaze. Only the glint of someone who has just seen a new path open in a maze she thought she knew by heart.

“You are a strange little void,” she says. “Empty enough to see what we have carried all along and never thought to taste.”

She leans down until her face is level with yours.

“Stay. Teach us how to feed on what we already own. In return… you will have a place where no one pretends you belong—because here, belonging is earned by what you endure, not what you give.”

You look up at her—tall, jagged, glowing with that new, cold hunger—and feel nothing pull you forward. No loyalty. No excitement. Just the same flat emptiness that’s carried you this far.

“I can’t stay,” you say. Your voice is small, matter-of-fact. “Not all the time. Twilight would worry forever if I just vanished. Search parties. Lectures. It’d be annoying.”

Chrysalis’s eyes narrow, but there’s no rage in it—only calculation.

You shrug.

“But I’ll come back. Visit. Teach you what I said. It’s not like I have anything better to do.”

She studies you for a long moment, as if weighing whether an intermittent void is worth more than none at all.

Then she smiles—slow, sharp, accepting.

“Very well, little teacher. Come and go as you please. The hive will know you by your eyes.”

You turn to leave. The drones part without being told. The tunnels feel different on the way out—less like a trap, more like something waiting.

You return to the castle that night. Twilight fusses, asks where you’ve been, wraps you in a hug that feels warm and cold at the same time. You let her. You eat. You bathe. You sleep on sheets that smell like lavender and worry.

And the next day, you go back.

Days become weeks. You drift between castle and hive like a shadow that can’t decide where to fall.

In the hive, they listen.

>>43020082
Chrysalis commands the first trial. Dozens of drones—then hundreds—seal themselves into the deepest chambers, the ones lined with black resin that drinks light and spits back memory. They curl into cocoons not for infiltration, but for excavation.

They sleep.

And the nightmares come.

Every slight. Every sneer. Every time a pony recoiled at the flash of a fang, slammed a door, whispered “monster” behind a hoof. Every time love was offered and then yanked away the moment the disguise slipped. Every defeat—Canterlot, the Crystal Empire, the throne shattered under rainbow light. Every grub that starved in a bad season because ponies hoarded their harmony like grain.

They feel it all again. Raw. Repeated. Relentless.

No warmth to soften it. No love to forgive.

Just the cold, dense weight of spite packing tighter with every remembered wrong.

When they wake, they are changed.

Not bright and colorful like Thorax’s swarm. No pastels, no soft glow.

Their carapaces darken to something harder—matte black shot through with veins of dull green, like poisoned jade. Their eyes lose the frantic blue glitter, settle into a steady, frozen gleam. Wings thicken, edges serrated. Horns curve sharper.

They emerge silent.

No triumphant buzzing. No songs.

Just the quiet, grinding hum of something that has stopped asking for scraps.

Chrysalis is the last to wake.

She steps from her chamber taller, leaner, the green of her magic now edged with frost. When she breathes, the air chills.

She looks at you—waiting as always in the throne chamber, small and unflinching—and inclines her head.

“It is enough,” she says. Voice lower, steadier. “More than enough.”

You nod.

You taught them how to find the stone in their gut and feed on its weight.

They don’t need you every day now.

But you still come.

Because the hive doesn’t pretend you belong.

And neither do you.

===

>>43020084
You visit the hive less now.

Not because you’re afraid. Not because they bore you. Just because the pull isn’t there anymore. The teaching is done. You pointed at the stone in their gut, told them how to chew on it, and they listened. Now they don’t need you hovering while they learn to swallow.

So you wander.

The Everfree welcomes you the way it always has: with indifference. Predators still catch your gaze and remember something older than hunger. Plants still recoil. The air still tastes honest—wet rot, sharp pine, distant blood. You walk for hours, sometimes days, sleeping under fallen logs or in hollows where the moss stays crushed long after you leave.

You go back to the castle only when the emptiness in your stomach gets louder than the emptiness everywhere else. Twilight still worries. Still asks. You still say little. The routine is the same, just stretched thinner.

The hive, though—you hear about it even when you’re not there.

The changelings don’t infiltrate anymore. No more disguises stretched over resentment like ill-fitting skin. No more scraping for pony love like dogs under the table. They stay in the deep forest, expanding tunnels, carving new chambers from living rock and resin. Their numbers grow—not from stolen emotion, but from eggs laid in the cold certainty that the grubs will never have to beg.

They hunt when they want. They fight when they want. They build jagged spires that pierce the canopy and let no light in. Drones patrol openly now, matte-black carapaces catching what little sun filters through, wings edged like broken glass. When ponies stray too close to the borders—curious explorers, lost foals, overconfident guards—the changelings don’t bother with tricks.

They just look.

And the intruders run.

No cocoons. No draining. Just the cold satisfaction of watching harmony’s children remember that the world still has teeth.

Chrysalis rules without pretense. No speeches about love and sharing. No promises of reformation. Just the quiet, grinding hum of a hive that feeds on what it already owns: every slight, every defeat, every smug pony smile packed into dense, immutable spite.

It sustains them. It strengthens them. It lets them be exactly what they are.

Monsters.

Openly.

Freely.

You hear the stories from Zecora sometimes, when your wandering brings you past her hut. She speaks in careful rhymes about shadows growing bolder, about ponies whispering of a new darkness in the forest. She watches you with those steady eyes and never quite asks if you had a hoof in it.

>>43020086
You don’t tell her.

You don’t tell anyone.

Some days you pass near the hive’s outer edges. You see them from a distance—drones perched on jagged resin towers, staring out at the world with frozen green eyes. They see you too. They nod, once. No pleading. No invitation. Just acknowledgment.

You nod back.

Then you keep walking.

The Everfree is wide.

The spite is theirs now.

And you—you still have nothing to do.

So you wander. Days blurring into weeks where the castle is just a distant obligation you fulfill like refilling a canteen. The Everfree has become your mapless home—trails you carve with absent hooves, clearings you claim for a night and abandon without regret. You catch glimpses of the hive’s growth from the edges, like watching a wound scar over into something harder than the flesh around it.

They are no longer hiding.

The hive spills outward in jagged black spires that claw through the canopy, resin veins threading through ancient trees until the bark gleams wet and obsidian. Where once tunnels were narrow and secretive, now vast chambers yawn open to the poisoned sky—domed ceilings ribbed like the inside of some colossal insect skull, lit only by the cold green pulse of their own magic. No colorful glow. No soft pastels. Just matte black and frost-edged emerald, the colors of something that has stopped asking permission to exist.

They hunt openly. Packs of drones—wings serrated, carapaces thickened into natural armor—bring down manticores and hydras not for food but for the satisfaction of proving the forest’s old terrors can bleed. They leave the carcasses as warnings at the borders: bones picked clean, arranged in deliberate patterns that spell out, in a language only predators understand, we are done running.

Pride radiates from them like heat from cooled iron—sharp, contained, dangerous to touch.

No more disguises. No more scraping at pony emotions like beggars at a feast. They walk the hive’s halls as themselves: perforated limbs unashamed, fangs bared in casual conversation, eyes frozen with the steady gleam of creatures who have remembered they were never the weak ones.

You see it in the way they carry themselves. Chests higher. Wings mantled instead of folded submissively. When two drones pass in a corridor, they clash horns in brief, ritual dominance—testing, affirming—not the groveling deference of a swarm that once feared its queen’s hunger more than its own emptiness.

Their identities are forged now, individual and collective, in the dense core of spite.

>>43020088
Each changeling carries a personal litany: the pony who screamed at the reveal of true form, the lover who recoiled, the village that hunted them with torches, the Elements of Harmony that blasted them from the sky again and again. Those memories are no longer fuel for self-loathing or desperate hunger. They are compressed—layer upon layer, hatred burned away to leave only the unyielding residue. Spite. The knowledge that the world tried to erase them and failed.

It makes them proud.

Not the bright, boastful pride of ponies preening over friendships and parties. This is colder. Quieter. The pride of something that has stared into the void of rejection and found the void wanting. They do not need love. They do not need acceptance. They need nothing from the ponies they once parasitized.

They exist.

Fully.

Openly.

Irrevocably.

Chrysalis sits at the center of it all, no longer scheming invasions but overseeing expansion—new brood chambers, weapon forges of resin and bone, gardens of poisonous fungi that thrive in the dark. Her voice, when you hear it carried on the wind during rare visits, has lost its theatrical venom. It is steady now. Certain.

You watch from a ridge sometimes, small green silhouette against the jagged skyline they’ve built.

They have taken what you pointed at and made it their foundation.

And you—you keep wandering.

The hive no longer needs your lessons.

But the forest still doesn’t pretend you belong.

And that is still enough.

===

>>43020090
In the deepest chamber, where the resin walls pulse with a slow, frost-green heartbeat, Chrysalis stands alone.

She does not sit upon the throne anymore—not truly. The throne is a relic of older hungers, carved when she still believed power came from stealing what ponies hoarded so greedily. Now she stands, wings half-unfurled, gazing into a pool of black ichor that reflects nothing but her own sharpened silhouette.

The spite moves through her like glacier melt—cold, relentless, eternal.

She remembers the first taste of it, deliberate and undiluted. The chamber had closed around her like a tomb, and the nightmares came: Canterlot’s spires gleaming mockingly as her swarm fell in rainbow fire; Twilight Sparkle’s smug, shining eyes as the love explosion hurled her across the sky; every drone lost, every egg crushed under pony hooves because harmony demanded it. She felt each wound again, deeper this time, until hatred burned itself out and left only the dense, unyielding core.

Spite.

Not the frantic flare of rage that demands immediate vengeance. Something quieter. Heavier. A stone that has sat in the dark for centuries, growing smoother and harder with every slight the world pressed upon it.

It sustains her now. It sustains them all.

She flexes a hoof, watches the veins of dull jade shift beneath her carapace. No more starvation. No more disguises that itched against her true shape. No more pretending to be the soft, colorful things ponies loved so they could be drained in secret.

They are themselves.

Fully.

The thought thrums with a pride so pure it feels like armor.

>>43020092
She walks the upper spires at night, when the Everfree’s canopy blocks even the moon’s judgmental light. Drones salute with clashed horns and bared fangs—no groveling, no fear of her hunger turning on them if the harvest fails. They hunt for sport now. They build because they can. They breed without the terror that the next generation will starve on pony scraps.

Pride.

It is not the bright, boastful kind that needs an audience. It is the pride of something that has looked at the world’s rejection and answered: I do not need you to survive. I need only what you tried to break me with.

The little green void drifts through her thoughts sometimes, unbidden.

Anon.

The filly with predator eyes and a voice like flat stone. The one who pointed at the obvious and made it revolutionary. Chrysalis does not love her—love is a pony weakness, a chain. She does not even like her. But she respects the emptiness that could see their chains so clearly.

The child comes rarely now. Wanders the forest instead, leaving crushed moss and silence in her wake. Chrysalis does not summon her. There is no need. The lesson was given once, perfectly, and taken.

She turns from the ichor pool. The hive hums around her—steady, cold, certain.

They will never beg again.

They will never pretend again.

They will endure long after pony songs fade to silence, feeding on the weight of every wrong the world committed against them.

And Chrysalis smiles, fangs gleaming in the frost-green dark.

Let harmony have its bright, fleeting fire.

She has something denser.

Something forever.

===

>>43020094
You’re deep in the Everfree again, farther out than even the old hive borders used to reach, when the buzzing reaches you—two different rhythms clashing in the air like mismatched heartbeats.

One is bright, almost musical, layered with hesitant chirps. The other is low, grinding, a cold drone that makes the leaves shiver.

You creep forward through the undergrowth until you can see them.

On one side: a small delegation of reformed changelings. Thorax leads them—tall now, carapace shimmering pink and blue and gold, antlers soft-curved, eyes wide with that earnest hope they all wear like new skin. A handful of his swarm flanks him: pastel greens, oranges, purples, wings iridescent and delicate. They move carefully, as if the forest itself might bruise them.

On the other side: your changelings. Chrysalis’s.

Six drones in matte black and frost-green, wings edged like obsidian blades, eyes frozen slits. They stand on a ridge of resin-spiked stone that wasn’t here a year ago—new territory, claimed without apology. No hesitation in their posture. No attempt to look friendly.

The air between the two groups feels sharp enough to cut.

Thorax steps forward first, hooves raised in that open, peaceful gesture ponies love.

“Hello!” he calls, voice warm, almost pleading. “We’ve heard… changes in the hive. We wanted to talk. To understand. Maybe there’s a way we can—”

A spite drone cuts him off with a low, grinding hiss that makes Thorax’s companions flinch.

“Understand?” the drone repeats, voice flat and cold. “We understand perfectly. We understand every time your kind looked at us like monsters until you decided to become something prettier. We understand starvation while you feasted on shared love like it was infinite.”

Thorax’s ears fold back, but he tries again. “That was the old way. We changed. We shared love—real love—and it transformed us. It can transform you too. You don’t have to live in darkness anymore.”

One of the pastel changelings nods eagerly. “It’s wonderful! The colors, the feelings, the connection—”

A different spite drone laughs—short, sharp, humorless.

>>43020096
“Colors,” she echoes. “Connection. You traded your fangs for rainbows and call it evolution. We traded begging for pride and call it survival.”

She steps forward. The reformed swarm shifts uneasily; their glow dims a fraction.

“We don’t need your love,” she continues. “We don’t want it. We feed on what you left behind—every rejection, every scream, every time harmony decided we weren’t worth saving. It’s denser than your fleeting warmth. It doesn’t fade when the party ends.”

Thorax looks genuinely pained. “But… you’re still carrying all that pain. You could let it go. You could be happy.”

The lead spite drone—the one with the oldest scars—tilts his head.

“Happy,” he says, tasting the word like spoiled fruit. “We are not happy. We are sustained. We are proud. We are ourselves—finally, fully, without disguise or apology. Your happiness requires pony approval. Ours requires nothing but what the world already gave us: reasons to endure.”

Silence falls, heavy as resin.

Thorax’s delegation exchanges uncertain glances. Their colors seem suddenly garish against the dark spires behind the spite changelings. One of the younger reformed whispers, “They’re… scary now.”

The spite drones don’t smile. They don’t need to.

Thorax tries one last time, voice softer. “If you ever change your mind… there’s always a place with us.”

The lead drone’s eyes narrow to slits.

“There isn’t,” he says. “Not anymore.”

The reformed group retreats slowly, wings buzzing in nervous discord, bright forms disappearing into the greener parts of the forest like dyes washed away.

The spite changelings watch them go without pursuit.

Without regret.

You stay hidden in the brush long after both groups are gone.

The air still hums with their clash—warm hope against cold certainty.

You feel nothing pull you toward either side.

Just the familiar, honest indifference of the Everfree closing back around you.

The moss stays crushed where you lie.

And the forest, as always, keeps its own counsel.

===

>>43020099
In the bright, open glades of his new hive—chambers of smooth, iridescent resin that let sunlight pour in like honey—Thorax stands at the edge of a balcony overlooking the colorful bustle below. Changelings flit between flowering vines, sharing laughter that tastes like warm cider, wings shimmering in every shade of dawn. Grubs tumble in playful piles, glowing with the easy love that flows between them like breath.

It should feel perfect.

It does, most days.

But not today.

He stares toward the deeper Everfree, where the canopy grows too thick for light to penetrate, where reports say black spires now pierce the sky like broken fangs.

They are thriving.

The thought sits in his chest like a stone he can’t transform away.

He remembers the old hunger—the desperate disguises, the scraping for scraps of pony love, the constant fear of exposure. He remembers offering a different way: share love, give it freely, let it change you from the inside out. It worked. It saved them. Their colors bloomed. Their hearts opened. They became something ponies could embrace without flinching.

And yet.

The others—Chrysalis’s swarm—went the opposite direction. Deeper into the dark. Colder. Harder. Feeding not on love but on the very wounds love’s absence left behind. Every rejection, every defeat, compressed into something that doesn’t fade.

And they are thriving.

No more starvation. No more begging. No more pretending to be what they weren’t.

Thorax’s antlers droop slightly. A young drone lands beside him, bright orange and eager.

“Pharynx says the border patrols saw them again,” the drone chirps. “They didn’t attack. Just… watched. Like they didn’t need anything from us.”

Thorax nods, forcing a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“That’s good,” he says. “No violence. That’s progress.”

But inside, the conflict gnaws.

He chose light. Openness. Vulnerability. He believed it was the only way to survive—to truly live.

But the dark swarm proves there is another path. One that doesn’t require pony approval. One that turns pain into armor instead of healing it. One that says: we do not need to change for you. We will endure as we are.

And they are not dying.

They are growing.

Stronger. Prouder. More themselves than his colorful hive has ever dared to be.

Thorax watches a pair of grubs below chase each other in delighted spirals, sharing tiny bursts of love that make their shells glow brighter.

This is right, he tells himself. This is better.

But the stone in his chest remains.

What if better isn’t the only way to be free?

What if the dark is not weakness, but another kind of strength?

He turns away from the balcony, wings folding tight against his shimmering back.

The Everfree keeps its secrets.

And somewhere in its depths, monsters are proud to be monsters.

Thorax wonders, quietly, which path will outlast the other.

===

>>43020102
You wander close enough to the new borders one dusk, drawn by the low, grinding hum that vibrates through the tree trunks like a warning. The spite changelings don’t hide their patrols anymore. They fly in open formation above the canopy, matte-black silhouettes against the dying light, wings cutting the air with a sound like tearing parchment.

You watch from the shadows as one of them dives.

A cockatrice bursts from the underbrush below—feathers ruffled, eyes already glowing with petrifying intent. In the old days, a changeling would have disguised itself, tricked the beast, drained it subtly. Even the reformed ones would have tried to calm it with shared emotion.

This drone doesn’t bother.

It meets the cockatrice mid-air. The beast’s stare locks on. Nothing happens.

The drone’s frozen green eyes reflect the cockatrice’s magic like black ice. The petrifying glow flickers, wavers, dies. The cockatrice screeches—pure terror—and tries to flee.

The drone’s horn ignites, not with the bright green flare of love magic, but with a cold, viscous light the color of old venom. A single bolt lashes out. Where it strikes, the cockatrice’s feathers blacken and curl, not burned but withered, as if every drop of life was remembered as an insult and denied. The beast crashes to the ground, still alive but moving slow, confused, like something essential has been leeched away.

The drone lands beside it. Doesn’t feed. Doesn’t kill. Just stares down until the cockatrice slithers away, trailing broken pride.

Spite doesn’t give them the explosive strength love once did—no massive shields, no overwhelming blasts of raw power. It gives them something denser.

Endurance.

Their magic doesn’t flare and fade. It seeps. It lingers. A curse laid on a manticore pack three days ago still has the beasts snapping at shadows, their roars edged with unexplained dread. Wounds they take knit slower than love would allow, but they feel no pain while fighting—only the cold satisfaction of another slight repaid.

>>43020104
Their shapes don’t shift into pretty ponies anymore. When they change now, it’s into something worse: distorted reflections of pony fears—elongated limbs, too many joints, eyes that multiply across the face. Not for infiltration. For terror. The sight alone is enough to make lesser predators flee without a blow struck.

Resin they secrete is harder, blacker, laced with a chill that numbs the hoof. Weapons forged from it don’t break. Armor grown from it turns aside claw and fang like contempt turns aside pity.

And the stare—the one you taught them to feed—has deepened. It’s not your empty void. It’s active now. When a spite drone locks eyes, the target feels every time it ever looked down on something weaker, every casual cruelty, every assumption of superiority. The weight of its own history crushes it from inside.

They don’t tire like the love-fed do when the emotion runs dry. Spite renews itself with every breath. The more the world pushes, the stronger they become. A lost skirmish doesn’t weaken the hive—it compresses another layer of stone in every drone’s gut.

You watch the patrol reform overhead, wings beating slow and certain, no hurry to return to shelter.

Love gave changelings power that begged to be shared.

Spite gives them power that needs nothing.

They are no longer parasites.

They are the forest’s new apex—patient, proud, and utterly self-contained.

You turn away before they notice you.

The moss stays crushed beneath your hooves.

And somewhere in the dark, the grinding hum grows a little louder.

===

>>43020106
In the highest tower of Canterlot Castle, where the sun and moon meet in eternal negotiation, Celestia and Luna sit across from each other in the map room. The Cutie Map is dark and silent—no friendship crisis pulsing for attention. Instead, the table between them is strewn with written reports: parchment sealed with wax from border guards, Zecora’s careful zebra script, frantic notes from Ponyville pegasi who flew too close to the Everfree’s new black spires.

Celestia reads the latest dispatch in silence. Her golden magic holds the scroll steady, but her eyes are fixed, unblinking.

Luna watches her sister, mane flickering with faint starlight even in the daylight that pours through the windows.

“They have changed again,” Luna says quietly. Not a question.

Celestia lowers the scroll.

“Not like Thorax’s swarm,” she answers. “Not into something brighter. Into something… harder.”

She pushes the reports toward Luna. Accounts repeat the same details: no more infiltrations, no more love-draining. Open patrols of matte-black changelings with frost-green eyes. Predators fleeing at their approach. Resin towers rising where none stood before. No starvation. No desperation.

Only pride.

Luna scans the words, ears folding back.

“They feed on spite,” she murmurs. “On every wrong done to them. Every rejection. Every battle lost. They have taken the pain we inflicted—intentionally or not—and forged it into sustenance.”

Celestia’s wings shift, a rare sign of unease.

“I thought Thorax showed them a better way,” she says. “Sharing love. Transformation through openness. It saved part of their kind.”

>>43020108
Luna’s gaze drifts to the window, toward the distant green smudge of the Everfree.

“And the rest chose endurance over healing,” she replies. “They do not beg for acceptance anymore. They do not need us at all.”

A pause. The solar diarch’s voice is softer now.

“That terrifies me more than Chrysalis’s old invasions ever did.”

Luna nods once, slow.

“When they hungered, they were predictable. Desperate. We could repel them, scatter them, contain the threat. Now they thrive in rejection. They grow stronger every time the world reminds them why they hate it. No army we send will make them weaker—only feed them further.”

Celestia closes her eyes.

“We created this,” she says. “Not directly. But every time we turned them away, every victory we claimed over them, every assumption that harmony must look a certain way… we packed another layer into the stone they now carry.”

Luna’s magic dims, the stars in her mane moving slower.

“There is no friendship lesson for this,” she says. “No rainbow blast that will undo it. They have found a path that does not require our light.”

The sisters sit in silence.

Outside, the sun continues its perfect arc—Celestia’s domain, unchallenged.

But in the Everfree, black spires rise higher, patient and cold.

And for the first time in centuries, the alicorns feel the weight of something that does not need their forgiveness to endure.

===

>>43020112
You’re tracing the same faint trail that skirts Zecora’s hut when the scent of herbs and woodsmoke finds you first. She’s outside today, hanging bundles of dried leaves from the low branches of a crooked tree, gold rings glinting as she moves. The masks on her door watch you approach with empty eyes.

She doesn’t startle. She never does.

“A wanderer returns to familiar ground,” she says, voice low and rhyming as always. “Yet the forest whispers of changes profound.”

You stop at the edge of her clearing. The moss here springs back a little under your hooves—Zecora’s space is one of the few places that tries.

She turns, studies you with that steady gaze that never flinches from your eyes.

“The changelings in the deep woods shift and grow,” she continues. “Black spires rise where shadows used to flow. No longer do they hide or beg for scraps of love; they stride as if the dark fits like a glove. Tell me, little one with the ancient stare—do you know what fuels the storm now brewing there?”

You look past her, toward the distant jagged silhouette of new resin towers barely visible through the trees.

You could lie. You could shrug and walk away.

Instead you meet her eyes.

“They learned how to stop asking permission from the world for the right to exist.”

The words come out flat, small, filly-soft.

Zecora stills. The bundle in her hoof stops swaying.

A long silence stretches, filled only by the rustle of leaves and the distant, grinding hum of wings you both pretend not to hear.

Finally she nods once, slow.

“A lesson sharp as thorns, and twice as deep,” she murmurs. “Some roots drink light, and others darkness keep.”

She doesn’t ask how you know.

You don’t offer more.

You just turn and walk back into the green, leaving the moss to decide for itself whether to spring back or stay crushed.

Behind you, Zecora hangs the last bundle and does not watch you go.

In the quiet heart of her hut, where potions bubble in low, steady rhythm and masks stare down from walls with eyes that have seen too much, Zecora stands motionless long after the little green filly has vanished into the green.

>>43020114
The words still hang in the air like incense smoke that refuses to dissipate.

They learned how to stop asking permission from the world for the right to exist.

She turns the phrase over in her mind, tasting its edges. Sharp. Clean. Dangerous.

Zecora has lived in the Everfree longer than most ponies dare count years. She knows its moods—the way it gives and takes without apology, the way it honors strength that needs no approval. She chose this place because pony lands asked too many questions, demanded too many rhymes that fit their harmony. Here, the plants bite, the beasts hunt, the storms rage, and no one pretends it is otherwise.

But this—this is new.

She steps outside again. The bundles sway gently in the breeze. Far off, deeper than sound should carry, comes the low grinding hum of wings that no longer beg.

Zecora closes her eyes.

She remembers the old changelings: skulking shadows, desperate disguises, hunger that drove them to steal what they could not make. She offered warnings, potions, distance. They were dangerous, yes, but pitiable. Creatures twisted by need.

Now the pity is gone.

They have taken the world’s cruelty—the slammed doors, the rainbow blasts, the whispers of monster—and swallowed it whole. Turned it into stone. Into pride. Into life.

And the little one with the ancient stare—the one who walks as if the ground resents her—pointed the way.

Zecora opens her eyes. The masks seem to watch her more closely now.

“Balance shifts when chains are cast aside,” she murmurs to the empty clearing. “Yet freedom forged in darkness may abide.”

She does not fear them. Fear is for those who believe harmony is the only song worth singing.

But she feels the weight of it: a new force in the Everfree, patient and cold, growing without permission.

And the child who drifts between worlds, leaving crushed moss and silence behind, carries a piece of that weight in her empty places.

Zecora returns to her cauldron. Adds a pinch of something silver and sharp.

The forest will decide, in time, what grows from seeds planted in spite.

Until then, she brews.

She watches.

And she rhymes no warnings—because some truths need no permission to be heard.

===

>>43020116
You push open the crystal doors of the castle later than usual. The sky outside has already bled into twilight, the kind of bruised purple that makes Ponyville’s lights look too cheerful by comparison. Your coat is matted with forest dirt, mane tangled with burrs and leaves that don’t quite belong to any pony-friendly plant. The halls are quiet—no Spike humming in the kitchen, no Starlight clattering around with late-night experiments.

Just the faint rustle of pages turning.

You find Twilight in the library, of course. She’s at the big map table, but the Cutie Map is dark. Instead, scrolls and parchment reports are spread across it like a battlefield of ink and wax seals. Her wings are half-unfurled, tense. Her eyes flick rapidly over the latest dispatch, horn glowing as she levitates a quill that scratches frantic notes in the margins.

She doesn’t notice you at first.

You stand in the doorway, small green shadow against the crystal glow, and watch.

“—no attempts at infiltration,” she mutters to herself, voice tight. “No love-draining incidents. Increased territorial expansion. Predators displaced or… subdued without lethal force. Eyewitness accounts describe them as ‘proud’ and ‘unafraid.’”

She flips to another scroll. Her ears pin back.

“Thorax reports his delegation was turned away peacefully but firmly. They refused offers of shared love. Claimed they ‘no longer need it.’ Feeding on… spite?”

The word comes out like it tastes wrong.

Twilight’s quill snaps in her magic. She doesn’t notice. She’s already reaching for the next report—Celestia’s seal, Luna’s elegant script visible even from here.

You shift your weight. The floor creaks—too loud in the quiet.

Twilight’s head snaps up. Her eyes are wide, bloodshot, the way they get when friendship equations refuse to balance.

“Anon!” She startles, then softens immediately, the way she always does. “You’re back late. I was… I was starting to—”

She stops. Takes in the dirt, the leaves, the flat teal stare that never quite matches pony warmth.

“You’ve been in the Everfree again.”

It’s not a question.

You shrug.

Twilight exhales, slow, and gestures to the chaos of reports.

“They’ve changed,” she says, voice quieter now. “The remaining changelings. Not like Thorax’s hive. The opposite. They’re… thriving without love. Without us.”

She looks at you like she’s waiting for something—reassurance, maybe. Or denial.

You give her nothing.

You just walk past the table, hooves leaving faint, unflattening imprints on the rug, and head toward the stairs.

Behind you, Twilight’s voice follows, small and lost.

“How do you fight something that doesn’t need you to forgive it?”

You don’t answer.

You’ve already taught them the lesson she’s only now reading about.

The castle doors close softly behind you as you climb to your room.

And somewhere deep in the Everfree, black spires rise a little higher, patient and cold.

===

>>43020121
In the frost-lit depths of a new chamber, where the resin walls drink every echo and spit back only cold certainty, a cluster of spite drones gathers around a scrying pool of black ichor. The surface ripples with stolen glimpses—bright meadows far beyond the Everfree, pastel changelings laughing among ponies, sharing cider and songs and easy affection.

They watch in silence at first.

One drone—scarred across the wing joints from old battles—leans closer. His frozen eyes reflect the colorful scene without warmth.

“Look at them,” he hisses, voice low and grinding. “Prancing in pony villages. Wearing those garish shells like medals. Begging for head-pats and picnic invitations.”

Another drone, younger but no less hardened, clicks her fangs.

“Still parasites,” she says. “Just prettier ones. They traded black carapace for rainbows and call it freedom. They still need pony love to shine. Still smile too wide when a foal calls them ‘friend.’ Still wilt if the approval dries up.”

A ripple of cold agreement passes through the group. Wings buzz once—sharp, dismissive.

The scarred drone straightens.

“We were all hungry once. We all wore masks that itched. But they chose to keep the masks—just painted them soft colors. They live among the ones who blasted us from the sky, who called us monsters until we looked cute enough to forgive. They crave that forgiveness like air.”

He turns from the pool. The ichor stills, the bright images fading.

“We don’t.”

The younger drone’s horn glows faintly, frost-green and steady.

“We fill the hole with what the world left us—every sneer, every slammed door, every rainbow that burned. It’s ours. No one can take it. No one can withhold it. It grows when they hate us. It grows when they ignore us. It grows because it’s made of what they tried to break us with.”

The scarred one nods.

“They are still chained. Their completeness depends on pony smiles. On shared love that can sour the moment trust cracks. They are pretty beggars in a prettier cage.”

He spreads his serrated wings, casting jagged shadows.

“We are complete alone. Unapologetically. The scorn is ours. The pride is ours. The endurance is ours. We remain ourselves—fangs, holes, frost eyes and all—because we no longer ask permission to exist.”

The group disperses without ceremony. No shared glow of affection. No need for it.

Just the quiet, grinding hum of creatures who have stopped filling their emptiness with stolen warmth.

And started building empires from the cold weight of what was never given.

They do not pity the reformed.

They do not envy them.

They feel only the dense, immutable satisfaction of knowing the hole is filled with something that belongs to them alone.

Anonfilly, Harmony-less [Part 1]:

"Everything she does gives ponies a sense of unease Like when she smiles with their mouth but not their eyes. The way the grass doesn't spring back up when she walks. The way the doors always creak when she pushes them open. How she never breaks into song during celebrations. How her touch is warm, yet cold at the same time (no equestrian magic inside of her). Nopony can feel the friendship coming from her. She also another reason why ponies don't go near her, and its because she has the wrong eyes. Not the large irises that ponies typically have, but small predatory eyes."

https://ponepaste.org/11696

Anonfilly, Harmony-less [Part 2]:

“They had eyes like yours. Small. Sharp. Not pony big and soft. Human eyes. Witch eyes. Saw through lies. Wanted everything dark. Promised me forever if I obeyed. They used dark magic. Dark magic corrupts and twists. Creatures use it become ruined, monsters and ponies alike. Witches are different. Dark magic doesn't change them, nothing does. Instead they used dark magic like it's their birthright. Doesn't corrupt the soul because the soul refuses to change. Witches became gods amongst us. Then Megan came.”

https://ponepaste.org/11704

Anonfilly, Harmony-less [Part 3]:

"Boredom is worse than oblivion. Oblivion is nothing. Over. Boredom is nothing stretching forever. Watching the same things happen the same way. Waiting for something to change and knowing it won’t. Tartarus is quiet. The empire hums the same note. The castle sings the same song. Even the dark under the Crystal Heart just waits.”

“Then we’re the same, I planned empires because sitting still was worse than losing. You wander because sitting still is worse than nothing.”

https://ponepaste.org/11704

Anonfilly, Harmony-less [Part 4]:

“Don’t. Don’t lie to me. I know that smell. Everfree deep. But colder. Darker. You’ve been to the volcano. What the buck did you do?”

“I went to her, weeks ago. After one of your ‘routine’ crises. I confronted her. Told her to stop playing games. That if she was going to be a monster, be one—or figure out what she actually wanted. I thought…” She swallows. “I thought it might make her pause. Make her choose something else.”

“And now this.”

“I didn’t tell her to unleash them! I told her to stop dragging everypony through theater! I didn’t think—”

“You didn’t think, that a creature who’s spent years building a haven for every monster we’ve ever defeated might take ‘stop playing’ as permission to play for real?”

https://ponepaste.org/11718

>>43016827
It probably takes a lot of practice to not fuck up changeling transformations.

>>43020152
You messed up the link to part 3 btw
https://ponepaste.org/11717

File: 1000124099.jpg (1 MB)

1 MB JPG

>Anon gets into Equestria but not only turning into a filly but nopony acknowledge her presence or snarky comments about what's going on while the canon events of the show are going on

>>43020397
Fuck.

Anonfilly, Harmony-less [Part 3]:

"Boredom is worse than oblivion. Oblivion is nothing. Over. Boredom is nothing stretching forever. Watching the same things happen the same way. Waiting for something to change and knowing it won’t. Tartarus is quiet. The empire hums the same note. The castle sings the same song. Even the dark under the Crystal Heart just waits.”

“Then we’re the same, I planned empires because sitting still was worse than losing. You wander because sitting still is worse than nothing.”

https://ponepaste.org/11717

>>43020422
>finally get to equestria
>BUT
>you are now a filly
>but there's something even worse than that
>no pony wants to interact with you
okay, how quick will anon go insane? is this his personal hell?

>>43020422
>"Joblestia."
>Celestia winces but remains on the floor, the bearers of the elements having galloped off to recover their elements and hopefully stop the changeling invasion.
>"You're like a million years old, you jobbed to a bug celly."
>A few drones trot closer, bulbous blue eyes glancing over the fallen princess
>"Pod her." their queen commands
>"See if you hadn't have jobbed Yamcha you wouldn't be stuck in a pod made of bug spit."
>For a second, a tiny, barely noticeable instant Anon could swear Celestia's scowl wasn't meant for the drones encasing her in viscous green goo, but for her.
>Anon trotted away to watch the battle unfold out in the city, propping herself up on her hind legs against the window.
>Her forehooves pressed against the glass, her snout squishing slightly as she watched the carnage beside the queen of the invaders herself who like everything else wasn't paying her any mind.
>There were at least some benefits to the situation the filly found herself in.
>For one she could get close to anyone and they wouldn't balk at her proximity, she once sat directly in Celly's lap while she held daycourt, staring into the Princess's face as though she were invisible
>Up close with the Queen of the changelings more detail could be easily discerned about her buggy body, for one her hide was more like smooth leather than carapace or chitin
>Her mane was less like hair and more like silk, mothy silk, and similarly moth-bitten too actually with the threadbare look of it from the holes. Though anon couldn't determine if that was the result of being love-starved or if the Queen of all changelings just had terrible mane hygiene
>She wanted to touch it, maybe even try braiding it while Twilight and co. fought
>There were limits to how close she could get to other beings, she'd tested them thoroughly
>Not that Anon was particularly proud of trying to touch quite literally everywhere on some mares, and a few stallions, but being invisible and ignored 24/7 makes you a bit deliriously curious
>Try as she might, Anon just couldn't touch or do certain things
>As much as she willed herself to, it just wouldn't, no amount of straining or willpower could overcome it
>Like trying to fly without wings or move something with your mind without a horn, you could pop a blood vessel straining your mind to bend the spoon but it isn't going to bend
>It was the same for Anon when she tried to bite Celly's teats to get her attention, as much as she strained her jaw it just wouldn't happen so she just lay on the floor defeated after that
>Braiding though, Anon could do braiding. whatever was up with her didn't consider It an issue.
>She was awful at it but it was something she could do to another being that was 'allowed', trying to yank or pull was forbidden and her braiding would be undone the moment she looked away
>Anon estimated she had plenty of time to try giving chrysalis pig-tails before Twilight was captured and thrown into the mines

>>43020152
Added to the story archive.
https://pone.tf

>you are anon
>human why are you lying to yourself?
>you are a detective (in training)
>well, less detective and more private investigator, you've always wanted to be one since you were young
>pops would be proud if he were still alive
>thinking about your father brings your thoughts back to your mother why can't you remember what they look like?
>you hate her, you've always hated her your whole life but you don't know why you know why
>you sit down on your bed and rub your temples as a headache comes to you, as well as your weird as hell tinnitus
>you've always had these headaches when thinking about your mother, same with the tinnitus
>but instead of a constant whining sound you hear what sounds like a heart monitor "Hey we're getting some weird brain activity here! Nurse!"
>you groan as your headache grows in intensity "It looks like he's waking up! Everypony give him some space!"
>you stand up and look around your room
>everything looks off
>wrong
>too colorful
>you look down at your hands
>hoofs attached to green furred legs
>you wrench your eyes shut and grit your teeth
>your head hurts so much
>you're on four legs now like you always have been
>tears start forming from the absolute pain flooding you
>you don't want to wake up
>you don't want to go back
>a blinding light floods your vision
>"He's awake!"

>>43020611
>be pinkamena diane pie
>the pinkest pony award winner three years running
>okay that was a lie, that contest doesn't exist
>you're so excited!
>Mayor Mare announced that the Summer Sun Celebration would be held in Ponyville this year!
>in about a year, you don't wanna wait so long but you'll be patient
>it will be the best party EVER!
>you were getting ready to start baking your daily breakfast cake when Mrs.Cake enters the kitchen
>"Pinkie, somepony is here, she needs to speak with you on something very important."
"Okie dokie lokie Mrs.Cake!"
>you bounce your way out of the kitchen and to the storefront of SSC
>there's a very serious mare who looks like she does very serious business sitting at one of the tables
>she looks at you as you bounce over
"Hi! You wanted to talk to me!? Ooh ooh ooh is it about a party? Is it about somepony's birthday, graduation, wedding all three!?"
>she looks just stares at you for a solid thirty seconds before sighing
>"And she's our best option..." she mutters "Miss Pie, I'm agent Foaler from the Department of Foals and Family Services and I need to talk to you."
>you freeze mid bounce and your mane and tail deflates slightly
"omigoshwasalittlefoalorfillyhurtiseveryoneokay??"
>"Miss Pie please settle down." Foaler clears her throat and slides a folder across the table to you
>"Inside this folder is information regarding your distant cousin Anonymous Informant, he's currently being attended to at Canterlot Memorial Horsepital."
>your ears flatten against your head as you hear where your cousin is being held
"is...is he okay?"
>Foaler gives you a sad look
>"All I can say is that he's under the best care the horsepital can provide. We have a carriage on call if you want to go meet with him."
>you hold the folder in your mouth and rush out the door
"Lesgo aweddy!"

>>43020612
>still be pinkie
>you started reading the contents of the folder on the trip to canterlot, and keep talking with agent Foaler
>your mane and tail are fully deflated as you read
>Anon is your cousin five times removed on your father's side and is the same age as Rarity's sister Sweetie Bell
>he's been in a coma for the passed year and a half and according to the doctors he was in a dream the whole time
>from what the doctors could gather from his screaming and crying he created a whole fantasy world where thyings were backwards
>colts in charge, magic didn't exist, plants grew by themselves and the weather just happened by itself!
>he wasn't even a pony in his dream, he was something called a hueh mahn
>"I'm sorry to ask this of you Miss Pie but we believe that you are the best pony for him to stay with, Ponyville has been determined to be the best environment for him to recover in and you're a responsible enough pony to take care of him. Your family is our other option but due to certain factors the department has determined it to be an unfit environment for him."
>you swallow nervously
>you?
>responsible enough to look after a foal?
>you distract yourself by reading some more
>notes of foul language, extremely defensive and untrusting, refuses to talk about his mother Private Eye and his father Hidden Secret
>you focus on his fathers name
>you remember his funeral, Private was never the same mare after that
>something bad, really really bad must have happened for Anon to act like this
>the carriage comes to a stop outside of the horsepital
>you and Foaler make your way in and to Anons room
>you peek at his from the doorway
>a small green furred, green eyed and black maned earthpony colt glares at you
>if circumstances were different he would have looked absolutely adorable
>but here and now he just looks hurt and scared
>you trot in with Foaler next to you
>by Celestia's fat flank he looks even smaller up close
"Hey, I'm your..." you want to say cousin but that feels weird, he'd probably feel more confortable with somepony more closely related to him
"Auntie Pinkie Pie! Would you like to stay with me for a while?"
>he stares at you
>oh buck to you buck things up was that the wrong thing to say?
>oooooh you knew you'd blow it!
>"Fine."

>>43020614
>be you
>anon
>buck- FUCK this place
>shitty horses telling you your life was just a coma dream it makes sense when you think about all of the inconsistencies in your life
>treating you like you're made of glass, treating you like you're a kid you are one
>the food tastes bland and way too flavorful all at the same time
>a dull pink mare peeks at you from the doorway and you stare back at her
>she trots in with another mare you've never seen
>"Hey, I'm your..." she pauses "auntie Pinkie Pie! Would you like to stay with me for while?"
>you stare at her weighing your options
>you could tell her to bu- fuck off, that would feel good
>but then you'd be sent to live with a bunch of amish on a b- fucking rock farm of all things
>you scrunch your snoot and cross your arms
>like hell you'll live with a bunch of savage ludites
>you look at pinkie
"Fine." you grunt out trying to sound as serious as you can with your squeaky kiddy voice
>your eyes practically pop out of your skull as pinkie turns a vibrant shade of pink and her flat mane and tail poof out looking like cotton candy
>"omigoshi'llbethebestauntieeveryou'llbeahappylittlecoltinotime!"
>Pinkie picks you up in a bare hug
>you try your best to get out of it but give up after a minute of trying with a huff
>huh
>she smells like cotton candy
>buck you're so tired
>you let out a yawn and your stupid body instinctively cuddles up to the soft pink pony
>before you know it you're fast asleep using Pinkie Pie's mane as a pillow

>>43020425
Just blew through all four parts sitting in a variety of parking lots while doing errands tonight because I didn't want to wait until I got home, and...
Damn. Just, damn.
You have a way with words, anon, I'll say that much. A good way!
sure, you could see it coming a mile away that Anon would not be around for the end of the story, but... to commit to that? Damn, it hits hard.
never seen G1 lore integrated like that either, very cool. Drove the whole way home lamenting not just filly, but poor, poor twilight....

Sure blows my greens out of the water!

>Dash's first Rainboom had a few wider reaching effects than just being the trigger for the girls getting their cutie marks
>It brought Annon back
>Coughing, sputtering and freezing his new ass off as he's ejected from the snow his original skeleton is buried under

>Unfettered chaos meeting harmony sent NatureAnon into the void to heal
>Only unfettered chaos meeting harmony could bring him back
>It's why defeating Discord didn't work
>It's why everytime Celestia and Luna tried using the Elements again failed
>What's more chaotic than a never before seen Sonic Rainboom being created by a filly?
>What's more harmonious than that same Sonic Rainboom helping all the friends that same filly will eventually meet?
>Chaos meets Harmony
>and Nature returns and breathes anew

>NatureAnon looks up at the sky from the window in his hoboshack he built
>There's been this cloud that's been following him ever since he became a horse
>It looks like theee question marks meeting together where the dots should be
"Man that's a weird looking cloud."

>Be celestia
>Enjoying your afternoon tea and cakes
>Lift the tea kettle to pour yourself a cup
>Briefly look outside
>That's Annons cutie mark in the sky
>Over the everfree
>Where his bones are
>Feel something wet
>Look down
>Your cup is overflowing and you've wasted half of the tea

>>43020720
checked the other stories
https://ponepaste.org/11642
not even sure who i am jealous of in this scenario

>>43020751
the bat one is good too, and the snake one? I don't know if I can even look my anon plushies in the eye anymore after that one

>>43020720
Thanks! Your words mean a lot to my motivation to continue writing.

>>43020751
That one is one of my more recent ones that became popular. It is some spicy stuff straight out of my gutter for a brain.

>>43020920
I love the bat one a lot. The snake... uhhhhhhhh yeah. That one was mostly for shits n giggles.

>Be Lyra, the sneakiest oat-stealing mare in all of Ponyville.
>And the summoning book you swiped from Twilight’s library has just backfired. Spectacularly.
>You stand there, ears perked, watching this absolute abomination flail around your living room like it’s auditioning for a disaster reel.
>Whatever this thing is, it sure as hay isn’t human.
>You keep watching the chaos unfold, half fascinated, half horrified, as the furless winged stallion shrieks and tries to stagger around on two legs.
>Only to face-plant spectacularly.
>This time he smashes straight through your coffee table, breaking it into two.
>At least Bonbon’s out of town for the next two weeks. You’re gonna need every single day to clean this mess up.
>“I can’t see!” the weird creature howls, tumbling backward into your bookcase. A cascade of books rains down on his head.
>You tilt your head, eyeing those wings. Leathery. Kinda bat-like. Is this some kinda batpony mutation gone wrong?
>The thing rolls over, kicking out with his hind legs while clutching his head in both forehooves.
>You glance down real quick.
>Yep. Definitely a stallion.
>Humans are supposed to be furless, sure, but maybe this batpony got snagged in the mana stream mid-summon? You glance out the window into the dark snowy night, wondering.
>Then you shake your head. Nah. If it was some freaky duo-transmorphism between a human and a bat, there’d still be a mane, right?
> From everything you’ve read, humans have manes on their heads. This guy? Completely bald. Not a single strand.
>Not even eyebrows. Weird.
>Well, he has to go.
>Your horn flares with your familiar golden glow, and you snag one of his hind legs in your aura.
>The second you start dragging him across the floor, he lets out a blood curdling scream that might wake half of Ponyville.
>“What’s going on?!” he yells, his hooves scrabbling for grip on the rug, the floorboards, for anything. “Where am I?!”
“Ponyville,” you answer flatly, not slowing down.
>You fling the front door open with a flick of your hoof,and immediately stop.
>A heavy sigh escapes you. The weather’s taken a nasty turn overnight.
>snowflakes are drifting down, already dusting the path white. It’s bitterly cold out there.
>Are you really about to chuck this poor, furless disaster into a blizzard?
>Without a coat, without fur, without anything, he wouldn’t last ten minutes.
>The stallion’s voice snaps you out of it. “Where on Earth is Ponyville?”
You freeze. “What did you just say?”
>“Miss, please! I can’t see anything! My legs feel completely wrong, I think I’ve had a stroke!”

>>43021351
“No, no, the other part. What did you say about Earth?”
>“What are you talking about?! Our planet! Miss, you need to get me to a hospital right now!”
>He’s panting hard, starting to shiver violently as the ice cold air pours in through the open door.
>You let go of his leg.
>The glow around your horn fades, and you nudge the door shut with a slow, deliberate push with a hind leg.
“Are you human?” you ask, voice low and careful.
>“What kind of question is that?! Miss, I think I’ve gone blind from a stroke, my legs aren’t working right,please, just call nine-one-one!”
“Answer the question,” you press, stepping closer.
>“Fucking hell! Yes! I’m human! Are you retarded or something?! Call a damn ambulance!”
>That confirms it. The summoning spell worked… sort of.
“You’re a human. From Earth?” You can’t help it, a huge, giddy grin forms across your face as you lean in.
>No answer.
>He’s gone completely limp on the floor, unconscious, his strange bare body trembling with cold even through the closed door.
>Huh.
>The grin slides off your muzzle.
>Realisation crashes right behind it.
>You’ve got a naked, freezing, half-dead bat stallion passed out in your living room.
>And Bonbon gets back in thirteen days.

>>43021355
>be lyra
>head of the TTF
>Celestia's secret Transdimensional Task Force
>the screens in front of you light up with an alert
>Type: Human
>Location: Ponyville
>you let out a weary, exhausted sigh
>the sigh of a parent getting a phone call from the school after their filly promised they would stop trying to steal extra cookies during snack time
>the computers, connected to electro-magical triangulators, slowly narrow down the anomaly
>and like the last five alerts, you watch as it slowly zooms in on your house
>damn it, bon bon

>>43021487
wait i fucked it up

>>43021487
>Celestia's secret Transdimensional Task Force
>Speaking of;
>Be Pitch
>You are a batpony
>or at least, you kinda are
>you have batpony eyes, and a sleek black coat of fur
>black mane and tail, too
>but you don't have the wings
>you have a horn, instead
>you became very good at sneaking around as a colt
>you were naturally invisible in the dark, so it didn't take much magic to conceal your eyes and hoofsteps and breathing
>it all came to a head one day when you snuck into Canterlot castle after dark
>not because you wanted to steal, or eavesdrop, but because you could
>one day though, you were lurking along the shadowy parts of a corridor when some sort of weird creature runs past
>bipedal, so something from kludgetown?
>but it didn't have fur...
>guardsponies thundered after it, but they didn't even need to catch it
>a mare with sunglasses (indoors? At night?) stepped out of the archway ahead, pointing an artifact at the creature
>it was immobilized, and while it struggled, the magic was clearly stronger
>"what do you freaks want!? where am I?"
>"you're having a nightmare" the mare simply states
>another pony emerges, looking at some sort of device before tearing open a portal in the hallway, in the air itself
>the creature is thrown into it, disappearing
>the guards all sigh, one asking "sent home, then?"
>The sunglassed mare shrugs, saying, "sure didn't want to be here"
>you watch as the ponies head back to whatever they'd been doing before this incident
>you let out a tiny sigh, and you turn, nearly squashing your nose against a gilded white foreleg
>oh shit
>Celestia smiles down at you
>"I'll let you choose, whether you'd like to face the punishment for using these types of spells in my castle..."
>"...or, rather than simply interloping, you can make yourself useful"
>she even giggled at you when you accidentally tried to answer before dropping the sound-masking wards...
>...
>special agent sweetie drops, as you came to know her, was quite unhappy to learn that you'd been watching her without her knowledge
>clearly, this wasn't something that commonly happened to her
>but at least she seemed impressed....?
>you wished Celestia hasn't just pushed you into this room and left, but here you are
>"so they're called humans, they end up here every now and again, from different dimensions, different timelines, some are much more closely linked than others"
>"one, is even linked by enchanted mirrors, and ponies can pass freely back and forth, changing form as they pass through...."
>"but when it happens accidentally? Something goes wrong? Someone ends up where they shouldn't be? Well, that's what we are for"
>now she's smiling a little
>this makes you a bit nervous
>"you might even get sent to a human world to rescue a pony, and won't that be fun?"
>it did not sound fun.
>you also had to sign a lot of paperwork
>like, a lot of paperwork
>you didn't even know it was possible for this amount of paperwork to exist but here it is

>>43021627
>turns out, they want you to be on call
>Celestia allows you to explore the castle, so long as you wear a gemstone that is supposedly going to alert you in the event something happens
>if it does, you report to TTF command central
>and then sweetie drops can send you off to get shot by a human or whatever
>fantastic
————————
>be Anon
>be replying to that stupid cozy glow thread that shows up every Friday to threaten the hypothetical filly with rape
>you chuckle to yourself as the 18 wheeler plows into your sedan before the driver even had the time to honk the horn
>they find no remains, oddly enough
>just the phone, thrown far from where the car had been
>oh, and you keep your momentum!
>so at 40 miles an hour, you land on a cold, polished floor, chuckle turning to a girlish scream as new stimuli overwhelm you
>your body feels wrong, everything is too bright, the air tastes different, where are your clothes, oh fuck the wall is coming closer way too fast-
>something catches you
>it's cold, gripping your entire body at once, tingling
>you look at your....
————————
>be Pitch
>this weird green filly is staring down at her own hooves in shock
>what, is she the victim of a teleportation prank gone wrong?
>isn't teleportation a spell for adults anyway?
>wait, now she's crying
>but she's smiling
>adrenaline crash, maybe?
>you nervously smile as she looks up at you in awe
>"y-you're real..."
"yeah... are you okay? who teleported you up here?"
>"I'm... h-holy shit, I'm anon filly...."
>is she on something....?
>"h-hey, when is this? Is uh, is the crystal empire around? Friendship school? Twilight taking over for the princesses?"
>you narrow your eyes at her a little bit
"where did you come from?"
>she clumsily crosses her forelegs now, frowning
>"what are you gonna do, send me back?"
"well, that's kind of my job, actually"
>her expression snaps before your very eyes, going from mild annoyance to fear, no, terror, horror, as if you'd threatened to drain the blood from her in this very hallway
>she scans for other ponies anxiously, and this time, the tears begin to run out of desperation
>"P-Please! I-I can't go back to being a human! I-I've dreamed about this for twenty years! I never knew Equestria was real! I never thought I'd be able to see it for myself! I-I don't even mind being a filly!"
>the emotions seem to overflow at this point, as the poor filly breaks down into tears, hugging one of your front hooves and crying onto it as uncertainty twists deep inside of you
>this was.... nothing like the first human you had seen though
>or like what sweetie drops described to you
>humans always showed up as humans
>if they got to stay, she didn't tell you about it
>and the gem lay cold and still against your chest, so...
>you gently run a hoof through the filly's mane
"Look, just... Don't worry about it for now, okay? You can sleep on my couch, or whatever"
>she brightens up almost instantly
>but you still had your shift...

>>43021687
>be Anon
>the batpony (you think) tells you to just, follow him for now
>it's harder than it sounds, because you have to learn to walk again
>but you don't care
>it's fucking Equestria, bitch!
>it's Canterlot castle!
>wow this guy has HUGE balls lol they're like right in front of you with how short you are
>right, uh, learning to walk
>the royal guards eye you with suspicion, but the bat gives them a look and a shrug whenever you pass by that seems to satisfy them
>you're so enamored with the castle that you are surprised when the batpony emerges from a room and says "time to go home, finally"
>you smile, clumsily nuzzling him, obediently following him out into the cool Canterlot night air....
>and you gape, open mouthed, at the city stretching above you
>it's beautiful
>elegant
>everything you've ever dreamed of....
>".......I'm Pitch"
"...Oh, I guess uh, call me Anon"
>"so you were a human?"
"yeah, dude... It's weird being a kid again, I mean, I was driving home from work, last I can remember, and now..."
>you're crying again
>smiling, but crying
"maybe I crashed, dude, and I died, and this is what heaven looks like..."
>"it's... sobering to think you'd consider what I think as normal to be heaven..."
"dude, it's beautiful, YOU are beautiful, if I still had my hands I would just pick you up and brush your mane for hours, I don't care if it's gay"
>"b-but you're uh, a filly?"
"well, I am NOW..."
>you flash the now-blushing batpony what you hope is a seductive grin
>well, he laughs, so close enough?
>even the batpony's house is something out of a fairytale
>you trot inside, gazing up at the high ceilings, so far out of reach
>everything is gilded and made by hoof, no, by magic, it looks like
>Pitch is yawning as he trots inside....
>"look, if you were an adult, can I trust you not to like... break anything while I'm asleep?"
>you nod quickly up at him
"y-yeah! I'm still just reeling, I'm probably just gonna wander around the house looking at everything.... like a nerd...."
>he chuckles a little, gently ruffling your mane with a hoof, and he heads for the stairs
>"well, I'll show you around the city a bit tomorrow..."
"okay!!"
>the first thing you do is climb up onto a chair at one of Pitch's windows
>just staring out into the starlit streets
>you feel the tears coming again, and at this point you feel a little silly
>but it's all so real...
>you watch as a pony lazily trots down the street, humming to a song you can't hear
>a batpony, with wings, slowly glides across the sky
>a faint magical hum starts up from the kitchen somewhere behind you... a magical appliance, maybe?
>you sit back in the chair, taking a proper look at yourself for the first time
>you blush as you notice your small teats....
>and with a hot rush, years of looking at clop all come rushing back to you
>oh dear celestia, you can sex the poni now
>except, but, you're filly...
>your fur felt nice to run your little hooves through, at least
>so soft...

>>43021737
>you don't touch your teats or your fillyhood
>not yet
>you're not ready to open Pandora's box
>something wills you out of the chair, and you decide to go exploring the house some more
>just wandering from room to room, trying not to let your body get aroused like it seemed to want to so badly
>eventually you make it upstairs, with some difficulty due to the steps
>oh, this must be pitch's room-
>Oh.
>the batpony is fast asleep, yes
>but he's splayed out on his back, forelegs clutching a plush luna
>it would be adorable, if not for the erection laying across his chest, glistening in the moonlight
>you feel your mouth watering immediately
>you shouldn't
>it'd be molesting him
>rape, even
>you make jokes, but would you really?
>what if the roles were reversed?
>none of the excuses are able to stop yourself as you creep over to the bed and slowly, anxiously climb atop it
>you can smell him now, musky and warm... it sends hot shudders of arousal through you, your inner thighs already wet
>as slowly and carefully as you can, you slide your dainty hooves underneath the batpony's heavy, smooth balls, silently gasping at their weight
>they're so soft...!
>you can feel the orbs inside of the sack, heavy with seed, and you find yourself pressing your little snout against them and breathing in deeply
>you almost moan as the breath escapes you again
>you don't even think about it as you give it a slow lick, feeling the orbs slide to either side of your tongue as you taste their alluring container
>too far gone to stop now, you creep closer, reaching out to his cock
>you slowly grasp it with your hooves, bending it towards yourself
>you watch, enraptured, as precum drips from the wide tip onto the balls
>you nuzzle against the side of the shaft, taking deep breaths, enjoying his scent
>pressing your tongue flat against the base, right above his balls, and slowly dragging it along the underside until you reached the flare
>Pitch faintly groans, and his cock throbs in your hooves, pushing against your snout, forcing it open just barely enough that when it fires off a gush of precum, it lands inside of your mouth
>the taste is incredible
>you coat your tongue in it immediately, shuddering, twitching, fillyhood clenching tight around a cock that isn't there
>you open your mouth wide, and take the tip of his shaft inside
>his cock is harder now, straighter, you have to scoot closer because it wants to stand upright instead of bending towards you
>with the tip held in your maw, your tongue can rub against it, seeking out more of his warm fluids
>you begin stroking his shaft with your hooves, slowly for now, savoring the experience and sensations every step of the way
>Pitch moans again in his sleep, and your mouth floods with more precum, for your tongue to greedily bathe in before it's hungrily swallowed
>you feel his flare starting to expand in your mouth, but he's drooling precum constantly now
>it feels good to slide your tongue against it

>>43021813
Please continue

>>43021813
>still stroking with one hoof, you slowly slide the other down to his balls, fondling them
>you can feel them twitching...
>and tensing...
>and with a sudden clench, his cock bulges, and you realize way too late
>you made him cum
>you try to pull off, but his flare is stuck in your mouth
>and then the first shot of thick, white cum floods your maw
>the taste is indescribable, driving your virgin instincts and body wild as you desperately try to swallow it
>but it's far too much
>it spurts out of your mouth, splattering across the batpony's lap as you gag on it
>you manage to pull off, but since you're still gripping his cock, the tail end of his orgasm splatters all over your face
>it's warm, and the smell is overwhelming as you struggle to get air and weakly cough
>blushing hotly as you realize what you just did
>you try pulling his cock closer so you can lick it clean, but suddenly he moves
>you squeak as the batpony wordlessly stands up on the bed, pulling away from you
>his magic gripping your forelegs, and gently lowering your chest to the bed
>gripping your flanks, and your hind legs, spreading them open
>oh fuck, he's mounting you
>you shudder at the weight of his warm chest on your back, the hot, wet flare squishing against your fillyhood
"w-wait, I-I'm sorry..." you wheeze, your little voice panicked
>he's calm as he says "how is this any different than you taking advantage?" as he slowly rocks his hips, coaxing your lower lips open
>you squirm, whimper, opening your mouth, but...
>all that comes out...
"I.... y-you just tasted so good... b-be gentle, please.....?"
>he leans down, and your ear gets an affectionate nibble as he finally pops the flare inside, making you moan uncontrollably
>you'd make fun of people for EVER thinking about this
>getting filled with cock while covered in cum
>you're a genuine cock sucking little slut, and yet...
>as he sinks it deeper, rocking his hips, you can only let out soft moans, pushing back against him, seeking out more
>it feels incredible!
>you had your chance unflared back home, but this, it was so much more
>every movement and throb and clench brought more pleasure, as your fillyhood stretched to accommodate the batpony's thick shaft
>every time you thought he'd reached your cervix, for sure this time, you'd loosen up a little more and he'd sink even deeper
>eventually he got there, bottoming out, but you didn't have much time to wallow in the sensations as he began to thrust
>your first orgasm hit you almost immediately, forcing him to slow down until the clenching grew weak again
>he wasn't rough with you, but he was firm
>pulling out, holding you down, then thrusting back inside, pressing you into the soft bed, swamping your mind with fresh pleasure over and over
>you found yourself gleefully moaning his name every time he picked up more speed, pressing his flare against your deepest barrier time and time again
>you couldn't feel it loosening steadily, but Pitch could

>>43021848
>you lose track of your orgasms completely by the time Pitch begins to flare
>you're drooling onto his bedsheets now, letting out adorably lustful pants and groans
>before the flare is too big, however, he pushes deep, pressing against you, hugging you close, groaning into your mane...
>and with a painless, but strange, pop, his cock suddenly lurches much deeper inside of you
>his flare sinking deeper than ever before, stretching out your womb itself as it swells and lodges itself inside
>his hips envelop yours, sheath pressed snug against your stretched fillyhood, rubbing against your clit as he begins to grind lustfully into you
>his balls resting against you, heavy and twitching with fresh seed
>of course, you'd been sent straight into orgasm as soon as he hilted, but you still registered all of this somewhere deep down
>the batpony kept grinding into you as he moaned and panted, dancing on the edge of his own climax as he enjoyed the clenching tightness of your pussy
>your orgasms felt good for him, making his cock buck and throb and gush precum into your formerly virgin womb
>you never thought this would actually happen to you
>you never thought you'd get to see the day
>it's no IWTCIRD, but as your orgasm fades...
"p-please.... c-cum inside me...."
>you hear the batpony suck in a breath, his shaft kicking with lust inside of you...
>it only takes one more firm grind for him to blow
>you can feel the bulge travel down his cock, and as the first blast of thick seed jets into your womb, you cum all over again, as if on command
>your pussy clenching around him, milking him desperately for his seed as he holds you tightly and pumps it all inside
>your belly sloshes and expands with the amount of cum being pumped inside of you, his second orgasm so much messier and thicker and hotter and stronger than the first...
>by the time you come down from the orgasm, or orgasms, it felt like it would never end, it seemed Pitch's was over too
>but he was still hard, so still very trapped in your womb
>fuck, why did that turn you on so bad?
>making you shudder and clench around him tightly...
>to avoid squishing you, the batpony slowly rolls the two of you onto your sides
>he curls around you, protectively, hugging you close to his chest
>and anchoring that softly throbbing cock inside of you
>there's certainly no way you'd be escaping him right now, he's hugging you close with all four of his normal legs, and the fifth one is lodged in your womb
>but you love it
>you softly giggle, tilting your head so you can lick and kiss his neck
>uncaring that you're smearing his own cum into his fur
>his voice is quiet when he speaks, "normally it's not right to do this with a filly, but..."
"ehehehe.... I've dreamed about this, too, for years..."
"maybe not... from the perspective as the mare, too often, but...."
>"you certainly were enjoying yourself" he hums, sounding amused
>you blush hotly, flashing back to when you had his cock in your mouth

>>43021873
>the next morning didn't come with any panicked revelations or getting turned in to agent sweetie drops
>in fact, once the two of you were awake, it started with Pitch slowly pulling his flare free from your womb
>then holding one of your hind legs up as he fucked you
>kissing and nibbling your neck as you clenched around him and moaned into your hooves
>perhaps you were a little bit shortsighted, because when you begged him to hilt and cum inside a second time, it meant having to get carried underneath him to the shower
>you came at least three times on the way there, just from the sensations of his cock grinding and moving inside of you as he walked
>in the shower, as the water cascaded over the two of you, Pitch decided to sit down with you now sitting in his lap
>and with his cock throbbing inside of you, the batpony taught you how to kiss
>your lips met time and time again, parting for air or soft words of advice, closing together to make passage for your tongues to dance together in the warmth of each other's bodies
>you managed to cum once, during a rather intimate tongue-kiss where the batpony kept using his tongue to brush his fangs so lightly against yours...
>after that climax, you shyly ask if he could bite you
>"...you sure?"
"w-well does it hurt?"
>"it will... but if you don't mind waiting... I'd like to save it for tonight..."
>you blush hotly, clenching tight around him
>last night had been.... Accidental, spur of the moment....
>but Pitch wanted to do it again
>purposeful
>he wanted you
>sexually, sure, but
"d-do you wanna date?"
>the words tumble out before you can stop it
>he rubs his snout a little
>he hesitates...
>"we.... may have to reframe it publicly..."
"I... could act like I'm your kid? N-Nobody would question me telling you I love you, then..."
>you feel his cock throb hard inside of you
>you grin a little bit
"I could call you daddy, too...."
>fuck, are these words really coming out of your mouth?
>his cock throbs harder, and he's blushing, but he smiles a little
>"as long as it doesn't get out of control, well, sure, we can try it"
"t-this doesn't make me gay, right?"
>Pitch laughs, ruffling your mane, and he pulls you in for another soft, affectionate kiss
————————
>"Did you know it's been a whole week?" Pitch asks
>the two of you are trotting towards the markets again, to do some grocery shopping
"everything really just fell into place, huh...?"
>the mornings filled with gentle kisses and nuzzles
>the days spent exploring Canterlot while Pitch worked to keep non-filly humans away
>the evenings spent either hungrily sucking the batpony's cock, which you were proud that you could hilt down your throat, or getting stuffed by his cock as you moaned and cried out his name in orgasmic bliss
>so far, a day hadn't gone by where the two of you hadn't had sex
>right now though, you need to get some mangoes
>you were never one for fruit before, but Pitch managed to convince you
>he's a good dad, too

>>43021931
It's a bit rushed since I told someone I'd play a game with them but then I had this stupid idea and they come so infrequently these days that I simply must bring them into the world
https://ponepaste.org/11719
>It's not gay if you're a filly right?

>>43021941
>It's not gay if you're a filly right?
Nope, definitely not!

Looking for a story if anyone knows it.
>means to magically become a pone become available, process is irreversible
>girl decides to get ponefied, doesn't tell family or anyone about it beforehand
>first they know of it is when she returns home in mare form after going out
>her parents are confused and angry but have no choice but to put up with it, drama ensues

>>43022400
it's very straight and good and normal!
>>43022220
hey look the image that partially inspired it

>>43022447
Kinda reminds me of this one, it's cute
https://www.fimfiction.net/story/463693/do-ponies-on-earth-have-magic-dreams

>>43022447
Did you see it here or Fimfiction?

>>43022447
Transcoded story

>>43022471
I'm reasonably sure it wasn't on fimfiction but it might not have been posted in this thread directly. I remember reading some of it on pastebin.
>>43022474
Maybe. I don't remember getting that feeling of it at the time.

>>42984392
>You turn away from the little green pony, weaving your disguise around you once more
>Her pitiful sniffling disgusted you
>You can't help but take some pleasure from the state you had reduced her to, however
>Him, really
>You knew that Anon was still in there somewhere, but it seems like this place had changed him
>A disturbing thought
>You cannot allow yourself to let this land affect you like that
>Your hand crackles with magic, passing over your face and suffusing your flesh with arcane energies as you shift back into the pony form you had chosen for this place
>This place that disgusted you so much
>All the cutesy little creatures in this gods-forsaken land were nauseating
>As you walk away from Anon, further into the bowels of the old ruin, you reflect on the last few days since you had sent him here
>As was typical with your marks, you had done a little bit of scrying to see how he was faring, and initially it had been quite a surprise to see where he had wound up
>Gods, why did it have to be here? He was supposed to end up in one of the hells
>Any one of them would have done, frankly
>And yet if he had not ended up here you never would have learned of the existence of this so-called Astrolabe
>Your mind reels, thinking of the possibilities
>Instant, precise, at will interplanar transposition... You could be a god, shifting planes as easily as you do forms, as mere mortals change clothes
>To think, a place like this was capable of producing such powerful artifacts... It's a wonder you hadn't discovered it sooner
>So much power, just within your grasp, and all you had to do was close your fist...
>So why were you still so fucking angry?
>You growl as you stalk the empty stone halls
>Anon sure had a smart fucking mouth
>You try to push the feeling away, unsuccessfully
>Your magic was always a little... Volatile, when you were angry
>Part of the problem was that despite searching this whole ruin, the Astrolabe was nowhere to be found
>There must be some kind of hidden chamber somewhere... But where?
>Nona, wake up
>The sooner you found it, the better
>You don't want to spend any more time in this saccharine hell than absolutely necessary
>Nona, wake up, please!
>WAKE UP!

***

>>43022799
>Your eyes open, your cheeks still wet, to find Twilight's concerned face looking down at yours
>Your head is pounding, and your stomach- your foal!
>You sit bolt upright and put a hoof to your stomach, fighting a wave of dizziness
>Thankfully it seems Twilight had already removed your bindings
>Your stomach still hurts from where the witch had kicked you, but not as much as it had earlier
>Your head spins as it all rushes back to you, panic once again welling within you
>You look up at Twilight and open your mouth to speak, but no sound comes out
>Her eyes are huge; her face a mask of concern
>You do your best to fight the rising panic, trying to force yourself to focus on communicating with the methods you have left
>Using your hoof, you scoop up one of hers and place it gently on your stomach, looking at her pleadingly
>She looks confused for a moment
"Nona, I don't... What's going on? Are you okay?"
>You blink away tears and gesture towards your mouth helplessly
>The look in her eyes changes slightly to something you don't recognise, and then it's gone
"What did they do to you?"
>You scrunch your eyes shut and shake your head, gesturing again to your stomach
>She looks thoughtful for a moment, and then levitates a quill, inkwell, and sheet of paper out from her saddlebags and places them in front of you
>Of course she packed those
>You pick the quill up, dip it in the inkwell and pen "my foal, please"
>She watches you form the words on the page, her eyes growing slightly wider as that inexplicable look returns
"You want me to... Check on it?"
>You're nodding before she even finishes the sentence
>Lowering her head, Twilight gently places the tip of her horn against your stomach and you begin to feel that familiar tingling sensation slowly spread through your body
>It only lasts a moment, but it feels like a lifetime as you anxiously await her response

>>43022803
>Finally, she lifts her head and nods
"It's okay, Nona. It's fine."
>You breathe a sigh of relief (one of the few sounds you can make now, apparently), feeling as though a tremendous weight has been lifted from your chest
>You hadn't realised how much it had meant to you until it was in danger of being ripped away
>Things had become so damn complicated since Twilight had informed you of the foal...
>You're suddenly reminded of the short-lived dream Twilight just woke you from, if that's what it really was
>It had felt unnatural and unpleasant, as though you were somewhere you didn't belong
>That glimpse of the witch's psyche was... Illuminating, to say the least
>Her anger had been almost nauseating
>You shudder, the inky sickness of her mind still lingering
>To echo her sentiment: a disturbing thought
>Your attention returns to Twilight, and you lean forward and wrap her in a tight hug, taking a long, trembling breath
>She returns it, squeezing you gently
>It's over too soon as Twilight breaks it off and steps back, looking at you with that unusual expression
"Come on, let's find Midnight and get out of here before those thugs come back."
>You look at her quizzically, and pen down "Astrolabe?"
>She shakes her head firmly
"It's too dangerous, Nona. They already hurt you, and I don't want anypony else to get hurt in pursuit of some artifact, however powerful it may be."
>It's your turn to shake your head, and you quickly write "Won't let HER have it."
>She watches you write, and studies you for a long moment
"Her... The pony that sent you here. The same one who hurt you."
>It's not a question, but you nod anyway
>She continues studying your expression, her eyes boring into you
“Nona… You're in no shape to do this. Look at what she already did to you.”
>Her voice cracks slightly at the last word
>But you hold her gaze, resolute

>>43022806
>It's clear that she doesn't want to risk it, but eventually she lowers her head, defeated
>That curious look is still in her eye, and finally you recognise it
>She's furious; angry at what the witch did to you, how she hurt you, and she’s afraid it will happen again
>But you know what she doesn't: that witch poisons everything she touches, and with the Astrolabe her reach will be unlimited
>And if you can stop her from hurting anypony else then, Celestia help you, you're going to try
>Twilight packs the writing supplies back into her bag, then turns to the door, glancing back at you
"Let's go. Most of the guards are still outside, and I managed to sneak past the few that are inside with us, but we'll have to be careful to avoid them."
>She sighs unhappily
"And I haven't seen Midnight since he caused that distraction and you got caught. I hope he's okay."
>You nod, and as she turns to walk out of the chamber you follow hesitantly
>Just outside the room, you find your resolve tested immediately
>The graven stone halls stretch into a dimly torch-lit darkness, far beyond what even your sensitive eyes can see
>The weight of thousands, tens of thousands of pounds of stone rests over your heads, and the air is silent and still
>And yet Twilight scans the darkness with the quiet confidence of a seasoned adventurer
>It's easy to forget how resilient some of these ponies can be, although Twilight is, of course, a bit of a unique case
>Regardless, her confidence is infectious, and you find your breath slowing and your nerves calming, bolstered just by her presence
>Celestia, you're glad you sought her out
>She turns back to look at you
“Follow me, quietly. And look sharp.”
>She whispers
>You nod in response, trying your best not to let your hoofsteps fall too hard on the ancient stone as you follow after her
>Despite this, horses, as it turns out, are not known for being the stealthiest of creatures
>You wince as your hoofsteps echo down the stone hall, feeling as though they're loud as a gunshot
>The structure of this place is vast and confusing, the hallways twisting and turning
>Sometimes you come across a seam where the stonework changes, as though somepony just suddenly gave up and somepony else completely different continued on in their place
>What exactly IS this place?

>>43022807
>When Princess Celestia had mentioned a workshop that belonged to Star Swirl the Bearded you had not been expecting such a massive stone structure
>The place almost seemed like more of a temple than anything else
>There was a certain reverence with which the stone had been carved… Each column you see was once a piece of art, but time had worn and broken it down until it was nothing but rubble
>You hear a sound from up ahead, and glancing up you can see the hallway has almost ended
>There is a large chamber ahead of you, no brighter than the hallway you had followed until now
>Twilight has stopped moving, and you freeze, straining your ears
>Voices, gently drifting down the hall from out of sight; the same sound you had heard just a moment ago
>You creep forward, and after a moment sidle up next to Twilight
>She gives you a meaningful look, and you both move a little further towards the chamber entrance
>The voices begin to take on shape; deep, and unmistakably masculine
“-an’ then I clocked ‘er right in the jaw, never saw it comin'.”
>A pause as they both laugh heartily; it subsides shortly
“Well, s'pose we should get back to it then. Boss sees us like this, she's gonna lose it.”
>The voice picks back up
“You goin’ to check on the prisoner, then?”
>The other one says
>The first voice snorts
“After the beating she just got? Naw, she'll be out cold.”
>The other one pipes up again
“Better her than us, eh?”
>They both laugh again, but it trails off quickly
>Beneath the bravado you can sense their unease
>They both seem to be on edge, like they don't like this place any more than you do
>You peer slowly around the corner, and can see the hulking forms of two of the earth ponies from earlier
>One of them turns away from you, heading down a different hallway
>The other one turns directly towards you, and you duck back behind the wall, your breath catching in your throat

>>43022811
>After a moment of silence you hear his hoofsteps again and cautiously peek back around the corner, scanning the room
>The chamber is big; much larger than the one you had been held in earlier
>Columns line the edge of the cylindrical room, most of them intact but disfigured; each one surrounded by crushed stone debris
>In the center, there is a large wooden platform suspended by a rope-pulley system; the rope stretches up into the darkness and beyond your vision
>That must be how Twilight got in here… And, you guess, how you were brought down
>The remaining earth pony briskly walks towards it, checking over his shoulder every few seconds
>He steps onto it and pulls a lever, and the platform immediately starts lifting upwards to the sound of squealing pulleys
>The sound disappears into the distance, gently echoing through the dark halls until silence reigns once more
>You glance at Twilight, raising your eyebrows questioningly
>She watches the platform disappear, before looking around the room
“This is the main chamber, I think. All other paths seem to branch out from here, from what little I've seen. If Star Swirl's workshop was going to be anywhere… I think it would be here.”
>She looks you in the eye
“Let's split up, have a look around and we'll see what we can find, okay?”
>You nod
>She goes to the left, cautiously looking around and sifting through the rubble
>You turn the other way, walking counter-clockwise around the chamber and looking for any signs of Star Swirl
>You imagine the debris tells a story... One you don't have the expertise to see, unfortunately
>You vaguely remember taking an archeology class way back in college, but you don't really remember anything of value from it
>Some of the larger chunks of stone seem to be engraved
>Although, whatever mural once existed here was irreversibly shattered after some catastrophic event levelled this place
>A fine layer of dust covers everything, marred occasionally by the hoofsteps of the witch's thugs
>You do a full circle of the chamber, finding nothing of note, and glancing over at Twilight it seems she hasn't had any luck either
>You're considering giving up and maybe looking elsewhere in the structure when something catches your eye
>The wall to the right of the doorway you had come through looks... Odd