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>Yandere Eyes edition
A thread about posting yandere mares and hoomares.
Previous thread: >>34016753
StoryDoc: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1PWotDirRogF54RysZBuZriFiSJdy8ZI6vTzgJeEUzZI/edit
Posting what I have written so far tonight.



It's lunch time and I remain in my shed. I'm thankful I didn't run into anypony I knew leaving the Golden Oak Library. I've been staring at the ceiling for hours. The smoke lingers in my nose, and I see Fluttershy's burns every time I close my eyes. And no matter how many times I blink, no matter how much I blow my nose, I can't escape it. I wonder just how safe these dreams are after all.

My stomach rumbles. I already know there's nothing I can eat in the fridge. I let the produce spoil while I was being a sad sack of shit, and I'm not ready to go back outside just yet. I chew my mangled fingernails. I learned that's a good way to get my body to think I'm eating. I get up and cup my hands at the sink, slurping from them when they fill. Water helps trick my stomach, too.

I turn the faucet off and lean against the sink, rapping my fingers against the cool steel basin. Does Twilight have any control over my dreams? Was it the fire or the lizard one of my fears I was supposed to face? Was the numbness to pain supposed to help me? Was I meant to go in and drag the lizard out myself? Maybe I wasted too much time trying to fly when I should have been running to Ponyville. Not that I could've possibly known there was a fire there before the dream...

I turn the water on again and splash my face. Gotta do something else. Mail. I dry off, lay the towel over the faucet, and pick up the thick stacks of envelopes and folded pieces of paper that've gathered at the foot of my door. I sit on my bed and sort through them, making piles of letters for ponies that've sent me multiple letters. I work through the letters from acquaintances and friends of friends first.
They all read the same. Generic well-wishing, encouraging hope in spite of my failures for a better future, tripe. No, they mean well. I shouldn't be thinking such bitter thoughts. But my skin crawls when they tell me to be myself, to just keep trying. Do they think I haven't been trying that? Do they think they're actually helping me? I didn't ask for their fucking advice.

I uncrumple the letter I crushed and smooth it out against the headboard. I put it in the pile with the rest of them. Now I'm left with letters from the mane six. The ones that've gotten closest to me during the months I've been here, despite my reservedness. None from Twi, one each from Applejack, Rarity, Rainbow Dash, and Fluttershy, and three from Pinkie Pie. Must be party invitations. I start with Applejack's envelope, a Christmas fragrance of fruit pie and cinnamon filling the air when I unfold the letter. I wasn't expecting that. Maybe Rarity gave her the idea?

>Hey sugarcube, I want ya to know yer a real special colt ta me, even if'n ya don't think of yerself that way. Ya may be a lil' slow at buckin' compared to us Apples, but I appreciate yer help around the farm. Them hands o' yers are real handy to have for a mare like m'self. Yer too hard on yerself fer yer own good, Anon. I wish ya realized ya got just as much ta offer as anypony else.

Hands? That's what makes me special? Every unicorn had those, and they were stronger and more versatile than mine could ever hope to be. I put the letter back in the envelope and move to Dash's.
>Anon! Quit lying around and feeling sorry for yourself. You've got more than you know goin' for you. You're always there for a mare whenever she needs it, and that's sayin' a heck of a lot more than you think! Remember when you distracted me by bein' such a lousy trainer and I crashed into that tree and my wing got banged up? I was fine, really, but you went through all the hassle of takin' me down to Nurse Redheart to make sure my wings were in perfect condition for flying! So stop your pity party and come on out. It's great weather for flying, and I need someone to witness me breaking records.

I was just doing what anypony would do, human or not. It was even my fault. You're really reaching far for this, Dash. Did Fluttershy force you to write me a letter? She didn't proof-read it, though. That tells you a lot right there. At least you're honest about what I am, Dash. An incompetent. That's refreshing. Rarity's up next. Are these real gems on the cover?

>Darling, you simply must come out of there and chit-chat with me. I'll have you blooming like Sweet Apple Acres before you know it! Oh, and I could use your help with some cleaning up around the house. My basement could use a very thorough dusting, and your hands would be a great help with some interior decoration I've been meaning to do for quite some time now. Afterwards, we'll have ourselves tea and biscuits. You're more desirable than you think. Ciao!

Hands again. Ponies seriously overestimate my manual dexterity. I'm also not surprised Rarity thinks her wanting me to do menial labor for her is supposed to cheer me up. I guess that's the only thing she could think of that I'd be able to do.
I stare at Fluttershy's envelope. It has a hand... mouth-drawn finch singing notes in the lower-left corner. Looks like it's the opening notes from the music cartoons always played during a beautiful morning. Fluttershy enjoyed it when I whistled half-remembered human tunes for her, and she would compose her own versions of them. I wish she wouldn't thank me so much for being able to whistle someone else's music for her. I didn't have any part in making it. I was just the CD that stored the music.

I don't want to read her letter. She's so kind that I know it's going to feel like a knife being twisted in my stomach and dragged lengthwise up to my heart. She's so earenst. I already feel like I should just lay down and rot for worrying her. I put her letter to the side and look at the stack Pinkie Pie sent me.

Sure enough, two of them are party invitations, dated on the second and third days of my seclusion. I rub my temples. I think about the streamers and signs that she must've hung, the cake and cookies she prepared drying out and going stale as the clock ticks towards midnight without me showing up. The apples I was meant to bob for growing nasty in the stagnant tub. Sitting there and waiting for me to show up so she could yell surprise and come out of my pantsleg or some other crazy place like she always did whenever I showed up. And my absence at this party to cheer me up had to happen not once, but twice. My heart clamps down, refusing to pump enough oxygen to my body. Breathing becomes difficult the longer I ruminate. I pick up her third letter and read it, force my brain to pay attention to something else.
>N~ONN~Y~~~! You need need NEED some cheering up, pronto! Don't worry, the Ponyville Party Professional, Pinkie Pie, is planning the best, happiest, funnest personal party for her favoritest person plopped on the planet! There'll be cake and ice cream and cupcakes and balloons and streamers and your PFF!! There'll be a ton of fun games and trivia about you, and I'm going to perform my newest musical masterpiece, 'Nonber One! I'll be super duper sad if you don't come!

I flop down on the bed, not caring about the crinkling coming from beneath me. At least being sick to my stomach masks the hunger. I roll over and stare at the wall. Seeing dream-Sugarcube Corner burning down was less painful than reading that. Hell, that letter might be hurting me more than seeing Dreamshy getting burned. At least I know Dreamshy is a dream. She's not real. Pinkie, the Pinkie that wrote this letter, is.

I wish I could erase myself from everypony's memories and fade away. A knocking on the door interrupts the sweet air the thought of oblivion breathes into me. I hold my breath and listen for a clue as to who it is. "Nonny?" Nope. I'm not answering the door for her. I can't. I've already ignored her for three days. It's too painful. She'll stop knocking and learn to let go.

The knocking persists, "Nonny~! I know you're in there. I saw you leave Twilight's house this morning! You haven't come out all day! I brought you lunch!" Please stop. Please go away. Just leave me alone. You have no idea how much stress you're putting me under. I'm going to vomit. I'm seriously going to puke. My thumbnail squirts as an incisor breaks the nail. The copper blood coats my mouth. "A-ha! I knew you were in here!" Pinkie Pie's voice suddenly sounds a lot less muffled. I roll over and see her squeezing in through the mail slot. This fucking pony.
The puffy pink pony wriggles her butt into my shed, holding a basket by the handle in her mouth. She hops over to my bedside desk and lays the basket down, tugging the checkered cloth atop it off with a flourish. Freshly baked fist-sized oatmeal-raisin muffins, half a baker's dozen. Is it six, or seven in there? The geometry of the arrangement is messing with my head. Pinkie grabs one and stuffs it into my mouth, settling my noneuclidean dilemma and my hunger in one motion, "Eat up, Nonny! You're practically skin and bones!" She pulls on her face, stretching the skin over the contours of her skull, an imitation of my gaunt cheeks. My hunger forces me to eat the dense, sweet muffin in record time. Pinkie giggles at my piggish display, "So, so, so? Good, right? Great? Best muffin you've ever had?"

I nod with muffin-stuffed cheeks. Pinkie squeals, "Great! You know, Nonny, I was getting super duper worried when you hid from everypony like that. I almost thought that you didn't want to be friends with me anymore!" She jumps onto my bed, "But of course that would never happen. Nonny and I are like crow's feet and pie!" Her incredibly elastic body wraps her forelimbs around me in a powerful hug. She relents when I start coughing.

"-cough- Pinkie, I'm -cough- I appreciate your concern." Her smile widens, "But I'd... I'm going through a difficult time, so I would like to be alone." Her smile shrinks.

"Nonny, you can't be serious! You haven't eaten," she sniffs my sleeve and covers her nose, "haven't showered," and throws the pile of letters up into the air like confetti, "and haven't been reading your mail at all! Pinkie Pie is gonna stay with you until you're better, and that's a Pinkie Promise!"

I grimace, "I appreciate it, I really do, Pinkie, but I can't-"
"Why not!?" Her snout touches tips with my nose. I lean back, and her neck stretches to follow, "You don't tell anypony anything, don't answer our letters, and starve yourself! I'm going to stay right here and make sure my bestest person friend is gonna be able to go to Twilight every night until you're better!" Her neck retracts and I'm left lying down on my pillow. I stay there and sigh, "And when I don't get better?" I ask.

"Don't be a Derby Downer, Nonny! You're sure to get better with Twi and The Pie on the case!" Her tail swishes happily from side to side, "Now, we need to clean you up and get you outside! Shower, get dressed, brush your hair, comb your teeth, and let's get this show on the road!"


Pinkie Pie wouldn't take no for an answer. She bounced around my home and turned the small, dingy shed into a Hallmark gift shop, because I would "be more positive" if I lived somwhere positive. The fresh paint, balloons, and party pony pattern wallpaper running around my two-room abode is so visually loud I'm afraid that I'm going to have to sleep outside. "I don't really like having my home being completely different after I step out of the shower, you know. And couldn't you wait until I was out of the bathroom to renovate?"

Pinkie Pie shakes her head, bouncing alongside me as we go 'out', although she refuses to tell me where. "I haven't seen you in three days, Nonny! This mare's got a lot of fun to catch up on. I can't waste time waiting around when I've got so much work to do for you!" She's in awfully high spirits for someone who was completely ignored for half a week.

"Why did you want to see me?"

"What a silly question! Everypony wants to see you. You're our friend!"

"You're going pretty far for a 'friend'."

"You haven't seen half of how far I can go for a friend!" She bumps her flank into my legs, "Besides, that's what friends do! They look out for each other."

"What do you see in me?"
We stand at the edge of the field where I first came to Equestria, just on the outskirts of Ponyville. Pinkie Pie rubs a hind hoof in the dirt behind her, "I see a lot in you, Nonny. You're a really good friend, are super-duper interesting to talk to, and you always laugh at my jokes! What more could a party pony ask for?"

I frown, "I don't feel like any of that's really... noteworthy. I just do what anyone else would do. If any other human had showed up here, they'd have the same knowledge as me. And I laugh at all your jokes because you're a great comedian. None of that has anything to do with me."

"If some other human came along, they wouldn't be a Nonny! And a Nonny laughing at my jokes isn't anything like another pony!" Pinkie Pie gives me a pat on the outer side of my thigh, "You always know just how to set up my jokes, too! Not everypony can be the straight colt to my funny filly!"

I frown again, "... That's what I mean by not 'noteworthy'. I don't have anything I can do that somepony else can't. I'm stll living on Celestia's good will because I'm useless at any job I do. Remember when I nearly set Sugarcube Corner on fi-" Oh. Is that it? Was that what the dream was about? But what was with the lizard?

Pinkie Pie interrupted me right as my own train of thought ran off the tracks, "Nonny, you're a super duper friend. All of those little pieces add up into one big you!" She stands on her hindlegs and spreads her fores out wide, confetti and streamers appearing from nowhere and showering my unamused face. I pick some colored paper off of my shirt.

"It doesn't feel that way to me. I feel like I don't have a place here in Ponyville. Or anywhere, for that matter."

"You can't go!"


"Nonny, you're not going to leave Ponyville, are you?"

"N-No, I'm just saying that I don't feel like I-"
A hoof is placed over my mouth by a very stretchy pink leg, "You belong with your friends more than anywhere else! Everypony belongs with their friends."

I move her hoof away, "I'm saying I don't feel like we should be-" but it comes right back, smooshing my lower lip up until it touches my nose.

"Nonny, you're being a giant goofy goober right now."

"..." I wait for her to remove her hoof. Her stare has hardened, narrowed blue eyes searching mine. We stand like that for a long time before she removes her hoof. I sit down and look out over the fields, the familiar bluestem swells fleetingly darkened by cottonball clouds pushing across the sky. Pinkie Pie sits besides me, and in a remarkably rare display of self-control, stays there, quiet, until I feel ready to speak.

"I don't know if I buy it," I start. I can feel Pinkie giving me the stink eye, and a sideways glance confirms the severity of it. I continue, "but I'll be quiet about it for now. And I'm going to keep working with Twilight until I can buy it." That I deserve friends.

Pinkie Pie leans across my lap, drawing her left hoof across her fluffy chest, "Cross my heart, hope to fly..."

"... stick a cupcake in my eye." I cover my right eye.

Pinkie Pie wriggles her back against my legs, giggling, "It's a Pinkie Promise! No going back now, Nonny!"

"Yeah." No going back now. I'll go back to my shed and start planning for the dream tonight. But Pinkie and I can stay out here a while longer.
That's all I have written for now. I will continue Tuesday and post what I have Tuesday night.
I am writing now. In the meantime, I would like to start a conversation to keep the thread alive.

>What is your favorite type of yandere? Lewd or wholesome? Domineering or dependent? Loves who you are or what you are? Physical or psychologically abusive, if at all? Competent in her pursuit of love or incompetent?

For me, a yandere with a pure obsession like Koharu from Koharu no Hibi is my favorite. She often goes too far, but it's rarely harmful to herself or others.
Do you have a pastebin for it?
Yes. https://pastebin.com/u/thshdw
I will be posting what I have soon. I do not think I will write for this story tomorrow night. I am learning that consistently writing 2,000+ words multiple days in a row is difficult to do.

(End of Chapter 1, Start of Chapter 2)

"Twi, I have a few questions before we start." Again I am laying down on her couch, a blanket bunched up behind me as I rest sideways, looking at the purple unicorn across the table. She's cleaned up her study area and has ample supplies for writing at hoof. "To start with, how much can you control the dreams?"

"It requires a great amount of effort from me to exert simple influence on the dream, Anon. Minds are difficult to understand, and your being a human compounds that. I'm not going to be able to interfere with them. They're all you." She's reading from her notes as she speaks. She anticipated my questions and wrote responses for them?

"So, in my dream, when I was numb to pain, that was all me?"

"You only have what you allow yourself in your dreams." Twilight lifts a cup up of hot cocoa to her mouth and sips. "Which means we'll have a good record of your progress based on how much control you have over your dreams!"

"I see..." I drink my hot cocoa, as well. Mine lacks the marshmallows, and only semi-sweet. The diet of ponies has been a nagging concern for my own dental health for a while. I need to take care of my teeth so I don't have to see a dentist, or pay for one. I run my tongue over my teeth a few times before continuing, "I think I know why Sugarcube Corner was burning down in my dream. The first time I worked there, I had started a grease fire trying to fry churros. I... didn't know how to put it out. So I used water." I wince, remembering how I dropped the pan once the flames licked the ceiling, streaking the counter with burning grease. I still haven't made enough bits to pay the Cakes back for the damages, even though they insist I don't.
Twilight nods, "That's one possible interpretation. Dreams are full of symbolism and are difficult to understand, but the introspection from analyzing your dreams will be crucial to your healing process." She jots down notes as she speaks, the levitating quill's scratching providing beat to her words.

"How am I supposed to start this process if my dreams are against me from the start? I've been thinking about what I should have done in my dream all day, but I don't have a clue how I was meant to tackle the problem."

"Did you know what you were supposed to do when there was a grease fire?"

I frown, "No, but I don't need my dreams reminding me about every mistake I've ever made." I subject myself to those memories each day already. I'm not going to survive if they're made ten times worse by my own brain, much less gain any confidence.

Twi shakes her head, "I think your dreams might be trying to tell you something different. Maybe that these problems aren't your fault?" She smiles, eyebrows curving up in sympathy.

"Or maybe they're telling me that I won't be any help, so I should stay on the sidelines."

Twilight sighs. She finishes off her hot cocoa and pulls my blanket over me, fluffing the pillow beneath my head, "We both know you're too compassionate to give up on helping a pony out. Now, get comfortable. It's time for tonight's dream."

Compassion? I don't seek to help anypony out of the goodness of my heart. I'm a selfish, stupid person out for my own happiness. The only reason I'm even doing this is to alleviate my own pain. Not to be able to help somepony. I use others and I hurt them, and it just makes me feel worse because I know what a terrible person I am, but I can't stop. I'm only in this for myself so I can stop this gnawing guilt I feel for hurting you and everypony else with my temper tantrums.
I awaken to a chorus of songbirds outside of my circular window. The sun shines through, its grilles casting a crosshair over the bandages wrapping my abdomen. My feet and hands are bound in casts, preventing me from doing anything even if I were to get myself seated on the edge of the feather-stuffed mattress. A temporary table is unfolded by my bedside, with a sliced apple next to a glass of water, complete with straw. The room I'm in is definitely inside Fluttershy's cottage, rustic unfinished furniture and nature scenery adorning walls and tables. It's much nicer than waking up in a hospital bed, but isn't that where I should be? Furthermore, that's definitely where Shy should be.

The choral of songbirds outside finish their song on a high note, and a soft "Very good!" catches my attention. I lean to see out the window at an angle, and sure enough, Fluttershy is flying there, wand in hand, conducting the birds resting on leafy limbs right outside my window. I open the window a little, "You're already healed, Fluttershy?" My muscles relax as tension melts off. If I had to see her with her wings bandaged and fur missing, I'd...

"Oh, Anon. You're finally awake!" Fluttershy comes closer to the window. I press it open with my elbow, and she flies in and lands by the bedside. She looks overwhelmingly happy. "You've been asleep for a long time. My injuries weren't as bad as they looked. How are you feeling?"

I shrug, "A dull ache? Otherwise, fine. I get the feeling these casts are going to become very annoying."

Fluttershy ooohs, looking over my bandaged body, "Humans really *are* tough. I was so scared for you that I told the doctors I wanted to take care of you. They compromised with me, letting me take you after the first night. I didn't leave your side for a second."

"That was... surprisingly nice of them to let you take me. And of you to nurse me."

"Oh, it's nothing, really." Fluttershy giggles, "Now, it's time for your breakfast."
She picks up an apple slice with her mouth and holds it up, smiling with closed eyes. "Do you have a fork... or something, to serve with?"

She opens her eyes and drops the slice back on the plate, "O-Oh, yes, I'm sorry. I've been nursing baby birdies, and that's how they eat... hehe." She slinks off to get a fork. I wedge the bitten apple slice between my casts and toss it into the trash bin at the foot of the bed before she returns to feed me.

I demonstrate picking up a slice, "I don't think you need to feed me after all, Shy. I can do it on my own." The slice slips between my casts and lands on the floor with a juicy smlack.

She tuts me before spearing a slice, "Anon, you need to rest. I don't want you to overexert yourself and get hurt again. Now, say 'aaah'." I narrow my eyes, unamused. She wiggles the speared slice in front of my mouth, "Open wide, Anon. Here comes the pegasus!" I shake my head and open up.

Breakfast finishes quickly. I try to convince Fluttershy to let me drink the water by mself, but she insists on holding it up for me. It's making me uncomfortable. I worry about what she's going to do when I say I need to take a piss. "Fluttershy, you don't need to do all of this for me. Letting me stay at your house is more than enough. I'll figure the rest out on my own." Speaking of staying at houses, "Where's Pi..." wait. Dreamshy, right. She's Dreamshy.

Dreamshy tilts her head, "Where's pee... Oh! Oh, um, you need to pee?" She crosses her forelimbs, "L-Let me get you a wheelchair. Please hold it in."

"No, I mean, where are the ponies whose bakery burned down? Do they have somewhere to stay? What happened to the fire lizard?"

"Oh." Fluttershy smiles, "You're so considerate, Anon, but you don't need to worry about them. Princess Celestia has provided the Cakes and Pinkie Pie somewhere to stay while Sugarcube Corner is rebuilt."
She strokes my arm with her left hoof, "And that naughty Salamander turned back into a little guy after the others rained him out. I'm keeping him in a time-out room until he learns his lesson." Her strokes go lower and lower until they reach my hand. I pull it away.

"That sounds dangerous. How are you keeping him from burning your home down?"

Fluttershy smiles, "Oh, don't worry. He's being kept in the stone basement, right next to a leak I haven't gotten fixed yet. When he cools off, I'm going to be very stern with him for hurting you. And burning down Sugarcube Corner." She bats her eyelashes at me, staring into my eyes. I look away. Eye contact makes me uncomfortable. Dreamshy's behavior is making me very uncomfortable, too.

I pull my hand away again when she tries to rest her hoof on it, "I'd like it if you weren't so, uh, personal with me. You barely know me." And I feel like I know you less and less.

Dreamshy frowns and kneads the edge of the mattress, "I-I just wanted to make you feel safe, Anon. I'm here for you. And I already know so much about you." Her wings open a little as she rests her head on the edge of the bed, "You're a very brave and caring human that saved me, a-and found out about the Salamander before things got out of hand. And you're funny and carefree, like when you were running around flapping your arms in the field. And you talk in your sleep." She frowns, "But you say a lot of bad things about yourself when you sleep. You talk about other ponies." The frown deepens, "And about how they hate you. Well, I love you just the way you are, Anon."

"You watched me sleep?" Time passes when I'm not dreaming? I'm asleep here when I'm awake in reality? She watches me sleep? Why is she so... friendly? Is this friendliness? I don't understand.

"You've been sleeping this whole time. I couldn't help but overhear when I was checking up on you, and... my curiosity got the better of me." She gives a bashful smile, "Sorry..."
I shake my head, "No, that couldn't have been avoided." Dreamshy raises her head from my bed and heads over to a shelf on the wall behind me. The chime of a porcelain bell rings with her soft footsteps mooshing over the carpet. She's using her mouth again. She sets it on the table and picks up my empty plate, the glass balanced on top.

"If you need anything, please ring the bell and I'll come up to help you as soon as I can. Let me get you some fresh water before I go and check up on the animals." She smiles and butts her way out the door, leaving it ajar. Soon, I'm left with a full glass of water and picture books full of small woodland creatures. I fumble around with them and give up, letting the books slide off the bed face-down. I look out the window and watch the world move on happily without me.

I need to figure out what I'm dreaming here for. Why is Fluttershy all over me? The Salamander is here, but she's already taken care of it. Am I going to be stuck in her care the whole time? I look down at the picture of the bird in the book. It's a phoenix, rising from its ashes. Is that it? Am I being reborn? Nothing about me is changed, though. Or has it?

How do I tell if it has?

I look at my casts.

I begin to gnaw one open, tearing at the plaster with my front teeth. I'm glad pony medical technology is this primitive. If this was a metal cast, I'd be shit out of luck. After a bit of work, my index and middle fingers are exposed. They seem completely fine.

I work fast, tearing the cast off. My hand is fine. Completely healed. I tear the other off. This hand, too, is fine. My feet and torso are fine, as well. I'm totally uninjured. Sorry, Dreamshy, but your hero isn't going to be sticking around for long.
Well, I should at least leave a note before I go. 'Fluttershy, I'm fully healed. Thank you for your generousness and hospitality. Not having to stay in the hospital means a lot to me, even if I didn't stick around for long. I'm going back to Ponyville to help rebuild Sugarcube Corner. Your friend, Anon.' I underline 'your friend,' putting extra emphasis on underlining friend.

I pull my hoodie over my bare chest, and shudder at the thought of Dreamshy having access to that this whole time. Why does my brain have to make her so creepy? I head downstairs for the front door when there's a knock at it.

"Fluttershy? It's Pinkie Pie. Is he awake yet?" Her voice is deflated. Creeping over to a window, she looks deflated, too. Her frizzily, puffy hair is straight and long, her tail a simple swoosh instead of its usual chaotic, twitching mess of cotton candy. Why now, when I'm about to leave? I sneak to a back window. Yup, Dreamshy is out here, spreading feed for her chickens. She's encouraging them to eat their fill. The only way through is forward.

Pinkie Pie knocks again, "Fluttershy...?" I answer the door fast. The last thing I want is to argue with Dreamshy about needing more bedrest. I'll just get Pinkie to come with me.

"Hello, Pinkie Pie." I open the door and step outside. She shuffles backwards at my arrival, stunned. "Did you want to see me?"

Her hair begins to puff up, "A-A-A-Anon! Your name is Anon, right?"

"Sure is. Hey, want to go for a walk, just you and me? I let Fluttershy know I'm fine." Not directly, but that's close enough to the truth, isn't it?

Pinkie Pie pops, her hair returning to its voluminous mess in the blink of an eye. "Holy Moley Cannoli, would I EVER!?" I wince as she shouts in my face. That had to have gotten Dreamshy's attention, "Hey, hey, Keep it down. There are birds sleeping inside, you know."

Pinkie Pie literally zips her mouth shut and bounces alongside me. I jog away with the most conspicuous pony in Ponyville.
That's all I have written for now. I struggled with this entry so I am going to take a break from writing this story tomorrow.
>page 10
what a shame, no other anons besides OP even posted on here

you get my pity bump
It’s really too bad, we went like 2 years without a gandered thread and now that it’s back nobody’s that interested.
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I wonder, what would happen if a yandere mare goes after one member of the brotherhood?
This should be like two hunters hunting eachother, would be and epic knife fight in the end
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I will continue Thursday and post what I have Thursday night.
It's funny to imagine she is completely fine with the idea of having a hellish looking chimera baby in fact the thought makes her happy.


I love it already.
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Please do not die yet.


We've made a good distance between ourselves and Dreamshy. I don't see her following us, behind or overhead. No reason to slow down, though. "Pinkie Pie, why did you want to see me?"

She fumbles with the zipper as she trots alongside me, and grins wide when she opens it, "You tried to save my home and then saved one of my PBFs, Fluttershy! How could I not want to meet you and thank you and take you out for dinner?" She bounces around me, high enough once on each orbit to talk face-to-face.

"I didn't save anything. I got Fluttershy into that situation to begin with because I just had to play hero. Could you stop bouncing around me, please?"

"No problem!" She trots backwards, her eyes locked on my face. I keep focus on the trail ahead as she talks, "And what matters is that you did your best for somepony you didn't even know. Heck, that you did it for a pony at all! You flatterer, you!" Her grin widens, eyes happy 'n's.

"Fla- Roots." As soon as I called out, Pinkie Pie had launched herself backwards over them. "I was just doing what I thought I had to. I'm no flatterer, I'm just trying to find peace, and trying to help you and the Cakes was part of that."

"Ahh, a tall, handsome, mysterious stranger haunted by ghosts of his past! I should host a party to welcome you to Ponyville! I'll invite everyone!"

I stumble. What? Tall, yes, to a pony. Handsome? "You... really don't need to. I don't handle crowds well."

"Hehehe, so you're not just humble, but bashful, too! Don't worry, we can have a private party, too. I'll need to borrow Applejack's kitchen for baking. Oh, and I'll get Rarity to make party coats! It'll be a Mysterious Stranger costume party! Do you want to see me in a dress, or a gown?"

"Pinkie Pie, I'm really... flattered(?) that you want to throw a party for me. But I want to help the reconstruction of Sugarcube Corner. It doesn't feel right to celebrate before you have your own bed again."
"Nonny, Nonny, Nonny. This is an extra special invitation from a super-duper thankful mare! You'll help me buy the flour, and carry the cakes and pies and muffins and cookies and donuts! This is how you'll repay me instead!"

We've reached the edge of the woods. No smoke darkens Ponyville's sky today. Only the distant sound of saws and hammers belies the fact that the fire happened. I stop and kneel before the pink pony in front of me. This is the second time somepony in this dream has... forcefully asked me to let them help me. Pins and needles prick my face and ears at the thought that my dreams think this is how they'll get me to rely on others. That's what it has to be. I'll just show my dreams that I can go along with a pony's plans without all of the... force. Pinkie Pie boops my nose with her snout and giggles when I come back to. "Buh-"

"There you are! I woke you up, Nonny. You were spaced out enough to be an astronaut! C'mon, time's a-wasting!" She takes a hop and a bounce towards Ponyville, looking back at me expectantly.

"... Okay. If that's how you want me to make things right, that's what I'll do." And get my damn brain to settle down. I need to start relieving myself before I come to dream. I can't believe isolation has made me even consider horse pussy. This must be what they mean when they talk about 'prison gay'.

We enter Ponyville proper, Pinkie Pie waving to the ponies that walk past. She sticks closer to me when I get stares from the locals. I swear I see a colt wink at me. Otherwise, it's the same old Ponyville from my waking life. The cobblestone streets buzzing with friends chatting and commerce rolling by on wooden wheels, beautiful potted and hanging gardens adorning businesses with window displays and sweet smells beckoning us. I have to remind Pinkie Pie more than once that we're here to buy supplies for the party.

* * *

I'm loaded down with bags full of flour, salt, sugar, and butter. I grunt, "This is excessive."
"Nonsense, Nonny! I've got to bake mountains of pastries and figure out your favorites! And you'll want thirds and fourths, and enough to take home, of course!" Pinkie Pie is carrying her fair share in saddlebags. We have enough ingredients to cook more than I could eat in a year. She's not sincere about using all of this tonight, is she?

Pinkie Pie knocks 'shave-and-a-haircut' on the door of the Carousel Boutique. The door opens on its own, glowing light blue. Rarity stands at the entrance, "Oh, Pinkie Pie. I'm delighted that you've come by for a visit, and your mane's as unruly as ever." She sighs, personally slighted by Pinkie's wild mane, "Well, what's the occasion for your return to your old, perky self?"

Pinkie Pie stands aside. Rarity must have assumed I was merely a pile of canvas sacks, because she gasps and steps back when she realizes I'm there, "My word, is this the human?"

Pinkie Pie nods, "Nonny's the one that saved Fluttershy from that scary Salamander that burned down Sugarcube Corner! We need costumes for the celebration party I'm throwing for h--oh NO! I forgot the cherries! The blueberries! The peaches and the raspberries and the pears and the strawberries! Nonny, handle this, I'll be right back!" Pinkie Pie disappears in a flash, leaving behind a dust cloud of her outline.

"It's Anon. She just decided to call me Nonny on her own. May I come in?"

"I would be absolutely honored for you to come inside. Do hurry!" Rarity steps aside, her eyes looking me over top to bottom. This is a behavior I expect from her, at least. She's always focused on fashion. I set the bags down by the door and stretch my fingers. My endurance and pain tolerance in dreams is amazing. I'm sure Rarity would delight to abuse that on a shopping trip.

"Oh, Darling, this is a travesty!" Her hooves paw at my torn jeans and hoodie, "Oh! Oh, I can't stand it! Out, out of these RAGS now!"
Rarity thought the same of my daily wear when I first came to Ponyville, but she didn't force me to undress with magic. My hoodie is jerked off in a clean motion, my belt undone with urgency I've never managed without encouragement from an overfilled bladder, and I'm thrust forward onto the mirror-surrounded podium, her magic slowing my fall as my pants are yanked down and off with my grass-stained socks.

"Rarity!" I climb over the podium and hide behind a mirror, "What the hell!?" It's hard to process what just happened. My heart thumps in my chest, I can feel tremors in my wrists beating with my quickened pulse, and this embarassement is something I haven't felt since gym class in elementary. "What the hell?"

"Oh, Darling, I'm so sorry. Please, don't hide from me!" She flutters her eyelashes, a coy frown crossing her mouth as she prances slow and deliberate. "I was simply overcome with disgust. It would have been a crime to allow such splendor to be tarnished one moment longer." She smiles when she reaches the podium, a caring face encouraging me to come out. "Here, Darling. You may cover yourself with this if it means you won't deny me." She uses her horn to unravel a long, white ream of fabric, cutting a length of cloth capable of wrapping around me twice over, and hangs it next to my cover.

"D-Deny? What do you even mean by that?"

"I simply must see your form! Your magnifique physique! You inspire me like I have never been before, my Darling! My muse!" I can see her nostrils flare and cheeks blush. She's beyond worked up. I'm afraid she's going to charge me and do worse. I look down. All I'm wearing are boxers, and the button's undone... oh, they're clean. Goddamnit, Dreamshy. What the fuck is wrong with my dreams?

For my own safety, I grab the cloth and wrap it around my shoulders. Rarity ushers me onto the podium, "Darling, whatever you want today is free of charge. Please, order (clothes from) me as much as you like."
"I only have one order to make. Pinkie Pie wanted to have a 'Mysterious Stranger' costume party with me, and said something about coats...? I think she means long ones."

Rarity circles me, "Oh, Darling, you would look absolutely di-VINE in a double-breasted Chesterfoal! But to only give me a single (clothes) order! Darling, you fiend!"

"A-A new outfit would be nice? Like my old hoodie and jeans. And a new shirt." Rarity tugs at my cloth covering. I let the cloth fall off my shoulders, wrapping the excess around my waist and tucking it inside of itself. I hear her snort. I shudder.

"Darling. DARLING. I cannot allow you to be furnished by such... common garments!"

"Well, that's what I feel comfortable wearing. I don't like sticking out."

"If that is my Darling's wish, I must abide it. But I will see you in proper clothes befitting one of your stature by the week's end, I swear upon my pride as Equestria's greatest fashionista."

"... Can you just take the measurements already? Pleaes?"

"Then, without further ado." Rarity levitates several tape measures and begins taking notes on my sizes, ordering me to lift my arms, to take deep breaths, even to flex my muscles. She leers when the tape presses tight against my chest, then again just below my waist.

"NONNY~~~! PINKIE PIE HAS ARRIVED!" Oh, thank Jesus. That's the second time today I've felt relieved beyond compare today. Pinkie Pie has doubled down on her saddlebags, her tail batting falling fruit back into the unfastened pouches. "Rarity, did Nonny tell you about the-"

Pinkie Pie freezes when she sees Rarity hiking up the hem of the cloth protecting me from prying eyes. Her pupils contract, pinpoint in size, and her hair begins to deflate. I motion to Rarity, but Pinkie Pie is already tapping her on the shoulder, "Rarity. Aren't you done taking measurements now? You need to work on them."
"Ah! Hm? Oh, Darling needs much more thorough measurement than anypony else. He's a... unique specimen that must be studied in deep, intimate detail."

Pinkie Pie bites the tape measure currently wrapping my calf and slurps it up like a long, flat noodle, "Mmm! Tastes like numbers! Man, I just realized how hungry I am! You're hungry too, right, Nonny? Let's go eat while Rarity makes our Mysterious Stranger costumes!"

I don't even think about what just happened. I'm glad to be free of Rarity's suspiciously bondagesque measuring techniques. I jam my legs into my pants, buckle up, and throw my hoodie on. I have to twist it around as Pinkie Pie pushes me with her skull to my butt towards the door. "Thank you for doing this work for us free, Rarity!"

"Us? Darling, It's only you whose outfit is free."

Pinkie Pie growls, "Nonny, get the bags. We need to get to Applejack's before the butter melts."

I grab the sacks and exit the Carousel Boutique with Pinkie Pie still pushing me with her head. I turn back and see Rarity waving goodbye to me, then bringing the cloth I covered myself with to her face before closing the door.

"What the hell was up with her? She was all over me."

Pinkie Pie's mood considerably worsens, "Well, maybe you should've stuck up for yourself. I didn't know you were so eager to get undressed for any mare that smiled at you."

"Pinkie. She used magic and tore my clothes off. I couldn't do anything."


We walk in silence for a while. I take deep, serious consideration over Rarity's... well, it was practically sexual assault, wasn't it? This desire towards me is completely foreign. Even in my dreams, it feels completely unreal. Moreover, it's disturbing. I need to think of a way to give myself an edge over unicorns. I only have in my dreams what I allow myself. I think I get why I don't feel pain, but how am I supposed to allow myself power?
"Nonny, I'm sorry."

"Eh?" Pinkie Pie stops in front of me, her hair still flat like it was freshly ironed, almost tears in her eyes.

"I didn't mean to burst out like that against you. I was just so shocked by what Rarity was doing, to Nonny of all people!" She stamps her hoof, "That's just... mean!"

"... Yeah. I, uh, apology accepted. Don't let... what happened back there spoil the party."

"The only thing getting spoiled at the party is you, mister! You'd better make your belt a little looser, because I am going to fatten. You. Up!"

I just shake my head and sigh, "If that's how you want to repay me." Pinkie Pie nods, and bounces alongside me as we head towards Sweet Apple Acres, catching and juggling the fallen fruit with her mane. I pray that Applejack is still her same old silly self. God, please, let her be her same old silly self.
That's all I have written for now. I will continue Friday and post what I have Friday night. Pastebin:
D'oh. Misclicked. Pastebin: https://pastebin.com/Vmq6SXcL
If anyone has any suggestions for a title, I would like to hear them. I have thought about it for many days but I haven't had any good ideas.
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We arrive at Sweet Apple Acres when the sun is high in the sky and the shadows of the trees are at their smallest. Tracks of wagon wheels run alongside trees already harvested. Looks like we've come at the height of Applebuck season. There's a wonderful, fresh scent filling the air, a gentle breeze carrying it right to my nostrils. Pinkie Pie takes a loud, deep breath, "Pwah! Nonny, doesn't that fruity fresh scent get your tummy all rumbly?" She bends her head backwards, shakes her flank, and bats falling berries into her mouth. "Juicy!"

I nod, walking ahead of Pinkie, "I'd be lying if I said it didn't." I'm a bit jealous of Applejack. She gets to lead an honest, simple life out here. Take care of the farm, harvest the apples, feeding ponies. The stamina required to be a farmer is insane. By the end of the first day of applebucking, I was worn out. Hauling carts of apples and climbing trees to pick them was tougher than it looked. It'd be easy for me to help out in my dream, but no matter how hard I work here, I'm not going to be able to help Applejack in reality. Not before long, grueling years of exercise. I crest the final hill, Applejack's farm on the opposite hilltop. I stop to admire it. Pinkie Pie joins me.

Thunk. I can see trees shaking in the valley below, their apples a red rain, dropping out of sight. Applejack must be out there gathering another cartful for the markets. Pinkie Pie takes off down the hill, "Race you, Nonny! Last one inside has to do the 'You Won' dance!" Her tail goes into overdrive as she gallops down the hill, somehow managing to not spill a single ingredient. I run down after her as best as my bags allow me.
I'm not a competitive person by nature, and my two legs seem an unfair disadvantage against a horse. Pinkie Pie is far ahead of me, already crossing the valley as my feet struggle for traction against the smooth dirt slope, my speed getting out of hand. When I reach the bottom, she's already ascending the hill. That's when I gain on her. Halfway up, I overtake her. I can hear her harsh breathing as she tries to keep my pace, but all I need to do is get to the top first. A tired pony can't beat a sprinting human, and I'll win.

At least, I thought I was going to win. A sudden rainbow gust whips past me, and I see the cause lounging on top of the well, chewing a stalk of grass with her forelegs behind her head, looking at me with an unimpressed gaze. Rainbow Dash has decided to enter the race, and she's taunting me. I take a quick glance behind me. Pinkie Pie is still lumbering her way up. Should I respond to Dash's taunt, or just keep at my own pace? Well, if the dream threw her at me...

I sprint through the white wooden gate, kicking dust as I swing the bags with my arms. Dash hasn't moved an inch. I'm past the well. The corn field. The barn. I'm going up the dirt path to Applejack's home on the farm, the door less than thirty feet away. I hear Dash stretching behind me. The door is right there, but I'm losing. I'm going to lose. Twenty feet. Shit, which angle is Dash going to come from? Can I stop her? Ten feet. I drop my bags and listen. I hear the flap of wings behind me, above. Five feet. I jump, arms outstretched. Something soft hits them, and I grab.

"Whoa!" Dash and I shout in unison as her speed smacks the both of us into the front door of the house, sending us tumbling down the ramp to the ground. The sky blue pony struggles against me, but I hold on tight. "Let go! Of me! You punk!"

"You can't just butt your way into a race that's already started!"

"Well, excuse the hay out of me for wanting to have fun! Now lemme go!"
She twists and kicks, but when you're immune to pain, holding down a mare is a question of endurance. I struggle to my feet, rolling over and holding Dash away from my body. "I'll let you go as soon as I enter the house fi-"


We turn our heads and see Pinkie Pie on her hindlegs, forelegs braced against the doorway. She's sweating, her chest going concave with deep breaths. Her tail is fanned out like a peacock, holding all of the fruit in the saddlebags, "Pinkie Pie takes... the gold...!" Then she falls backward, splayed out, exhausted.

Dash uses the distraction to wriggle out of my hold, flying in over Pinkie Pie. Dash pokes her head out of the doorway and blows a raspberry at me. Looks like I lost in the end, after all. I sigh and pick up my bags. I don't know why I expected any other outcome than me in dead last. Dash helps Pinkie Pie to her feet, and I'm made to do the 'You Won' dance for both of them. Individually.

After two embarassing rounds of impossible-for-human dance moves later, the pair of ponies are in stitches. I leave them to their laughter and move the bags into the kitchen. I hear the laughter die off only to be renewed with vigor several times before they stagger into the kitchen, Pinkie Pie leaning against the wall as she holds her stomach, "Nonny! Nonny, why didn't you warn us that you were hilarious!"

"Yeah, seriously! I thought I was gonna die laughing!" Rainbow Dash cackles, dipping and swerving through the air. She flops down in a seat, hanging over the side and kicking her legs as she has another fit.

"I don't know what you expected from me. I'm not a horse. How else was I supposed to do a double-grapevine with only two legs?" Pinkie Pie joins Dash as the image of me on all fours, crossing one leg and one arm behind the other before falling over no doubt plays over and over again in their heads. "You know what, you two can handle the cooking. I'm gonna go help out Applejack."
I take Pinkie Pie's lack of resistance as an okay and leave the house. The sun is warm on my skin, but the breeze keeps me cool. I walk down to the valley, watching trees shudder and considering which one was Applejack. Those three trees in a row must be Big Mac. And over there, the apples fall a few at a time. Apple Bloom must be trying her best to help out. That leaves the plot on the far end of the valley.

"Applejack! You over here?" I cup my hands and call out. I've been following the sound of hooves thumping against tree trunks, but the way the sound echoes in the orchard makes it difficult to walk in anything more precise than a general direction.

"Over here!" Her twang is crystal clear, guiding me through the orchard. I see half-barrels full of apples from freshly bucked trees and jog up. Applejack starts emptying the barrels into an unloaded cart. I squat down and pick one up myself, lifting the hundred or more pounds of apples with ease. Applejack talks as she turns, "Now, I ain't heard yer voice before. Who are ya?" I can't see her reaction with the apple barrel in the way, but her silence worries me. I help fill the cart and look at her for myself. She's scratching her head underneath her hat, "Gosh, never seen one'a your folk before. You ain't from 'round here, are ya?"

I shake my head. Inside, I'm doing backflips. Applejack is completely normal. Hell, even Rainbow Dash is normal, but if I have to be honest, she's the one I like the least out of all the ponies. Loud, competitive, and always goading me into something or another. Not Applejack, though.
Her work ethic is something I admire, or really, something I'm jealous of. The way she's able to see anything through to the end, that candid and rough honesty that comes with the farm life, and how she didn't even blink when I had to take a break from farmwork. She cared about everypony, but intuitively understood how some people needed to be treated differently than others. She rarely gave pep talks to me, or pushed me to cheer up. She thanked me for my hard work, smiled, and asked when I would be back. The way she allowed me to struggle and find my own footing, never asking more from me than what I could do.

I don't recall anypony ever giving me that space to fail on my own before. Every time, they would come in and coddle me like I was a child. I let the degredation pile up and fester inside me, because I understood what they were trying to do, but always, every time, without fail, it just made me feel like I was incompetent. And how was I supposed to tell them to give me space? To let me handle my failures on my own? The harsh words I had for myself always turned cruel when my friends tried to support me after my failures. But not Applejack. She knew. She understood that part of me that hated my infantile state, and she respected it. I was treated like an adult.

"Ah! Ah'm sorry, I didn't mean t'make ya cry!" Applejack brings my tears to my attention. "That was mighty rude of me. I apologize from the depths o' my heart."

I wipe them away and smile, "No, Applejack, it wasn't you. I just had some really... sad thoughts." I turn around and lift the last barrel of apples, hiding behind it. "My name's Anon. Pinkie Pie is using your kitchen to throw me a party. I'd like to help you out to return the favor. I hope you don't mind?"

"Shucks, ain't no trouble at all. And yer help is mighty appreciated. We've got a lotta work to do before the day's over!" She hitches herself to her cart and heads for the road, "Jus' keep on goin' down the line!"
"I'll see what I can do!" Alright. Okay. I rub my eyes again before looking at the imposing tree before me. There are no limbs low enough for me to get a leg-up on. I turn a half-barrel over and stand on it, gaining enough reach to grab onto a bough thick with apples. I grab with both of my hands and shake. To my surprise, the bough shakes with ease. Apples thunder against the ground, and I let go out of shock. The limb snaps back into place, sending the other half of the apples flying. I hop off the barrel and chase the apples down. I can work with this.

* * *

"Gosh, Anon, you sure you ain't an Apple? I ain't never seen nopony buck like one 'o us before." Applejack has return to three half-barrels full of apples.

I allow myself to grin a little, a genuine and stupid happiness in my heart even though this is just a dream, "What can I say? Humans are tough."

We spend the rest of the day tag-teaming the trees, with Applejack hauling cartfuls as fast as I can load them. The heavenly smell of pies cooling on windowsils torments us as we work, although it must be much worse for Applejack, who has to climb towards that smell every trip. We meet back up with Big Mac and Apple Bloom, who accept my existence and assistance with simple thanks.

Pinkie Pie has baked a buffet of goods and turned Applejack's home into party central. She's even managed to dress Dash and Granny Smith up for the theme. Dash is in a red bandit's mask and wearing a leather vest, while Granny Smith is covered with a shawl and hat that hides her face from view. Rarity brings over the clothes herself, and stays for the party, much to Pinkie Pie's apparent annoyance. True to her word, she's brought me an expensive-looking long coat that buttons itself across the chest, complimented with a fedora. Or is this a trilby?

Pinkie Pie, meanwhile, wears a black sequined dress trailing behind her, glittering in the light, her face hidden behind a matching lace veil adorned by white lilies.
Rarity, herself, has chosen to dress up as a 'filly fatale'. A tight and accentuating red slip dress, blue eyeliner, the works. The rest of the Apples get into the 'Mysterious Stranger' theme, too. Apple Bloom and Applejack wear contrasting cowboy outfits, white and black hat, respectively. Big Mac puts on sunglasses. Even with Rarity trying to cling to me throughout the night, Pinkie Pie works hard to keep her from jumping my bones. I almost start to enjoy myself as the night wears on. Then, Pinkie Pie hops up on a table and rings a triangle, catching everyone's attention.

"Everypony! The main event of tonight is about to begin!" Main event? I thought this was just a celebration part. Pinkie Pie pulls out a manilla envelope. Inside of that manilla envelope are a pile of cards and envelopes. "Since this is a 'Mysterious Stranger' party, I thought it'd be super fun to have a game everypony can play part of!" She spreads the cards across the table. Everypony gathers around. I stand behind them, looming over to look at the cards. Images of guns, poison, money, and evidence adorn each one. "So we're going to be playing a 'Whodunnit'! Everypony picks a character and acts like them. Then, a murder will happen. The murderer is one of you, and they'll strike again if you can't stop them!"

Applejack nods, "Sounds like a fun time. It's all imaginary, o'course?"

Rainbow Dash rolls her eyes, "Nooo, Applejack, we're really gonna attack each other with these cards."

Pinkie Pie shakes her head, "It's all pretend! Anyway, after I explain the rules, we can begin."

A murder mystery dinner game, huh? This might be fun. Pinkie Pie explains the rules. One of the characters is predetermined as the murderer. Fights are solved with a simple game of rock paper scissors. Those injured have a chance to be saved if someone finds and heals them within a few minutes. Otherwise, we may freely talk and lie to one another as we please.
"Alright, everypony, gather around the table and help me shuffle the cards!" Every character has a guaranteed inventory for their background, but other than that, it's randomized. This means any character could have a piece of evidence incriminating the murderer, or the murderer might hold the evidence themselves. The game is set in the ritzy Manehatten penthouse of a famous philanthropist, Sitting Pretty. She's invited all manner of noteworthy ponies to celebrate a recent gallery opening under her name for the disadvantaged ponies to have a space of artistic freedom and a chance at recognition.

Pinkie Pie hosting the game, and will be acting as Sitting Pretty. She'll be the game's referee that decides what happens if two ponies have a disagreement. Each character has their own objectives, too, so stopping the murderer isn't the only win condition. I join the group of ponies mashing the cards together in a big pile, all face-down. We then split the cards up, three to an envelope, and Pinkie Pie distributes the envelopes.

"Is everypony clear on the rules?"

We all nod.

"Is everypony ready for the bestest game of their life?!"

There's giggling as we nod again. I'm getting excited in spite of myself. I've never been good at adventure games, and all of the social interaction has me worried, too. What if I pull the murderer? I have a good poker face and I can lie... wait, wouldn't I actually make a great murderer, in this case? But if I draw something like a detective, would I be able to figure out who did it? I don't consider myself a great judge of character. Oh, it's my turn to pick one of the envelopes fanned between Pinkie's hooves. How the hell are they going to play Rock Paper Scissors with hooves?

I draw my envelope. Once she's finished, Pinkie Pie smiles wide, "With that, the game. Is. On! Open your envelopes!" She sets a timer on the table, "Two hours until judgement must be passed. Good luck!"
That's all I have written for now. I will not write over the weekend. I may not post again until Tuesday or Wednesday night. Pastebin: https://pastebin.com/Vmq6SXcL
That's okay, I'll try to keep the thread alive, unless I forget while I'm at work.
I am glad to have confirmation of a dedicated reader. Seeing the thread bumped gives me the resolve to continue writing, because it means there is at least one person interested in keeping the thread available for me to dump my writing, as the thread is dead otherwise.
Yeah the Yandere threads a year ago had a lot more people frequenting them, don't know what happened.
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yes it would, except it would be better if it was just two yanderes.
soooo is someone else taking the responsibility of making the threads?,
Maybe i can do this into a green, just wait for it, this will be my first green text too
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I think the guy that’s writing the story made the thread.
Oh, okay then, is he planning to keep making them from now on?
I have no idea, all I know is he won’t be back this weekend so I guess it’s really up to whoever was doing it prior.
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Sad there isn't more yandere pony art.
Yeah there’s less than I expected for sure.
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This guy has a few good ones tho
I don’t know how I forgot about that since I’m always posting his stuff in FR.
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Some good shit
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Best pic
Friendliest of friend's who only wants to make you happy and see you naked
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I'd constantly try to rile her up.
She's so cute when she's angry.
>Save (AS)

would also do it for some wholesome angry "bucking".
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Gonna space these out as much as possible
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your a hero Anon.
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Thank you, fellow Anon.
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this is to add to an idea from the last thread.
>Anon arrives at equestria, and is greeted warmly in ponyville, with the help of the mane six.
>for the most part everything goes smoothly from there, Anon becomes a citizen, gets a job, and his own place.
>its also helps that most ponies in ponyville are pretty friendly.
>...maybe a bit too friendly.
>so friendly to the point, where Anon dosnt really have much alone time to be alone anymore. due alot of the ponies, most exclusively mares, desire to be be around and spend time with him.


>the only time he feels like he could truly, have some alone time was at night, but even that has its hiccups.
>threw the nights, he could hear muffled sounds of galloping hoofs, giggles, and voices, and some occasional moaning. which all felt like they were coming from inside or outside the house.
>these events always lead him to promptly check around the place, so he could figure out the source of where these sounds were coming from, but it usualy ennds up with him finding nothing, and just ignoring it and goes to bed.
>as Anon wakes up to get out of his bed in the mornings he would always feel damp spots on his carpet around bed, and would find some items missing, but he decides not to get so worked up about it and continues on with his morning by, washing up, eating breakfast , and heading out the door, were he is always greeted by a different small group mares, who are excited to spend the day with there favorite human resident.
>the cycle continues.

>Anon: https://youtu.be/EvuL5jyCHOw?t=47
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godspeed Anon
His job isn't even really a job. Its just him sitting in a booth in middle of town for reasons he doesn't understand but gets paid ludicrous amounts of money for it.
>35 bits per hour
>8 hours a day

dude has it good
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I invited you to my party, answer me.
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"im sorry, new phone, who dis?"
Such a romantic...
Keep the thread alive and i will make it for tomorrow
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will do Anon
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Aahhh, the fear boner: friend of why boner.
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Gotta be honest, boys. I'm running low
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>Twilight finds a way to travel to Earth
>Finds child you playing outside
>Stalks you all the way home
>Kills your parents
>Tells you they were planning on killing you and she's here to save you
>Twilight takes you to Equestria
>Hides you away inside the castle
>No one knows you're there. Only Twilight
>Uses magic to erase all memories of anyone you've ever met
>Replaces your mom with her
>Twilight is now your mom
>You're never allowed to leave her room
>Outside your mom acts normal, no one suspects anything
>Inside with you your mom spends all hours pampering you and grooming you into becoming her perfect husband
>Has several times played wedding with your mom and it always ends with a honeymoon on the bed
>Only other living being you know is your mom
>You can only think about your mom, your thoughts all sound like your mom
>your mom is your mom, your girlfriend, and your future wife
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we understand Anon, we're thankful for your contribution to the thread, just give us everything you have for now, hopefully we can get some drawfags in here eventually.
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>i want yandere twi to groom me.
Someone do this for the love of kek!
I would, but I have never written anything ever before in my life.
>>34065920 is my first attempt at basically anything writing related, so it'd probably be super bad.
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I will continue Wednesday and post what I have Wednesday night.
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Bro you can't leave us in the dust like this
Man was made from dust, and to dust he shall return. Ponies are forever. Trust in ponies, and I shall return.
Boys we need to space these pics out even more from now on
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Pinkamena should've been her own character entirely. Her design is too good.
But the fanfics with her Schizophrenic personality were pretty cool as well.
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I bet she busted the drawer's balls for spelling psychopath wrong
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It’s too bad really.
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Both of them carry this thread, in terms of art and fics, and they both represent what it means to be yanderes.
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Why does Andrea's voice work so well for yanderes?
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This is legitimately disturbing
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Please excuse. I'm running low. Have this to make up for it.
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dont worry, Anon its still a good pic
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>/y/ what do you imagine sex with a yandere pone /humare, would be like>
Very intimate rough sex with you feeling a bit emasculated
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I doodled this for the thread
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that face reminds of the yandere dash story in the bin. thank you Anon.
Looks good anon, could you please do one of flutters?
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Thanks, Im glad you guys like it!

(End of Chapter 2, Start of Chapter 3)

I slide a finger underneath the partially-glued flap and inspect its contents. A quick peek away from the envelope reveals everypony else has made distance between others, reading the contents in privacy. I turn my back and hold the cards close to my chest, staring down to read them.

The first card is my character's information. I have two names: 'Muddy Buck', my real name and an infamous art thief, and 'Buck Silver', my fake identity and an up-and-coming action star who's going to use this party to make connections. Sitting Pretty knows many directors, and Buck (Silver) is sure to get a job if he can impress Sitting Pretty. My inventory includes gloves, which prevents leaving behind evidence, a fake recreation of Water Fillies by Cloud Manet, and a trick pocket that holds the fake painting. Anything in this pocket can't be found unless I'm unconscious or dead.

My other items include a knife, locally sourced from none other than Sitting Pretty's kitchen and a card worth a hundred bits. The last card is marked Evidence - Rope Marks. So the murder strangles his victim. My primary goal is stealing Water Fillies. My secondary goal is to get Sitting Pretty to put in a good word to Quentin Tolfetano for me so I can make his production cel collection my next heist.

The last thing in the envelope is a self-adhesive name tag with 'Buck' on it in large print. I stick it on myself and adjust my trilby (fedora?), sliding my cards and mission into my pocket. My finger slides across an envelope, giving myself a wicked papercut. I say it even time, but I am glad this is a dream. The envelope was put there by Rarity, no doubt. I'll have to read it later.

Looking around me, I can see everypony else, beside Granny Smith, is wearing their name tags. They hide their cards in dresses, under hats, or behind ears. We stand around and stare at each other, nervous. How do we start?
"I'm delighted that everypony could make it here tonight!" Ah, Pinkie Pie starts. That's natural. Her unruly mane and tail clash with the dour gown Rarity made too hard. It's difficult not to laugh as she affects an upper Manehatten accent, as well, "Do make yourselves at home! Oh, but before we begin, I'd love to introduce the winner of the art competition, Golden Wheat."

She gestures to an empty seat beside herself, reading from a small booklet, "Golden Wheat is a nervous young colt that waves shyly at the introduction. High society is too much for him, so for the rest of the night he simply sits back and soaks up the conversation. He's a poor Earth pony from out near Dodge Junction, encouraged by his family to enter a sculpture competition ran by Sitting Pretty. His sculpture was of a feed trough with 'UPON OUR BACKS' across the bottom."

Pinkie tucks the booklet away, "Now, without further ado, let's have fun and make merry." She descends from the table and takes a proper seat, smiling patiently at all the ponies standing around awkwardly. She stares at me with a strained smile. I guess it's up to me to break the ice.

Now, how would a young actor approach Sitting Pretty? Who is Buck Silver? I frown. The longer I think about the problem, the deeper my paralysis will get. I walk with stiff shoulders and pull a chair out from the table with my heel, "So. You're, uh, Sitting Pretty. I can see why you..." My voice shrinks, "got... that name..." I feel like a fool. An utter, clueless fool. Why did I have to get the one that required me to act smooth? My face is burning up. Pinkie Pie interrupts my thoughts with a lascivious giggle, "And you look like a real 'Buck' to me. Have you gotten your hoof in the door yet?"

I think about my bio, about how I was supposed to get her to connect me with a director, then shake my head, "No, ma'am. Nopony's got it in their hearts to give me a fightin' chance. If they even have a heart to start with."
I glance around the room. Rarity turns to her neighbor, Apple Bloom, and puts a hand over her heart, "It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, uhm..." she squints past the white hat and smiles, "Sheriff. What do you think of Golden's sculpture?" There's a bead of sweat on her brow as her cheeks flush. Rarity must be feeling as ridiculous as I am, but I have to admire her courage in helping to get the ball rolling.

Apple Bloom scratches her jaw, then reads her character bio over again. She nods, tucks it back under her hat, and lets out a big sigh, "Shucks, I ain't much fer art. I think everypony's entry was mighty fine."

Rainbow Dash interjects. Her badge reads 'Deputy'. "Oh, I really liked the, uhm, spirit of its message! Yeah...?"

Rarity frowns, "Really, now? My little Handsome's The Whinny in the Willows was the height of technical excellence. That brute from Dodge Junction couldn't even level out the legs!"

"Well, maybe them legs're s'posed to be all a-kilter like that? Somethin' like, what we got's good enough fer us, even if it don't look the prettiest." Apple Bloom starts getting into her role. The room is soon abuzz with imaginary conversations as the awkwardness melts off.

Pinkie P-Pretty, Sitting Pretty brings my attention back to her with a gentle rub of my shoulder, "Oh, that's just how the business goes these days. Don't beat yourself up over it. You'll find somepony willing to give you a chance." She smiles at me, leans close to my ear, and whispers "Thank you." before pulling back, her hoof still on my shoulder, "You know, I used to be an actress when I was your age. I might've had an easier time thanks to my good looks, but I wasn't just for show, you know. I won an award for best up-and-coming talent."

"Ah, I neve-" Wait, no, of course I did. I'm an actor, coming to a famous actress' social event, trying to get my foot in the door. Er, trying to steal art. Gah! "-errrr.... knew that Sleepless In The Saddle won any awards!"
That's an awful pun. I can see her trying not to lose control of her laughter. Without completely composing herself, Pinkie Pie continues the conversation between giggles, "I'm surprised you've seen it. Most know me from Hot to Trot. You're a fan, perhaps?" She dips her head, the veil and lilies hiding over half of her face. One bright, large, blue eye flutters its eyelashes at me.

"Not as big as I thought."

"Oh, I could help with that." I gulp. Is this in the script? She takes my hand in her hoof, looking around the crowded room, "Let's find someplace more quiet, shall we?" Most ponies were deep in their conversations. Rarity's somehow still arguing about art and how her colt should've won the art competition with Rainbow Dash. Apple Bloom is listening to Applejack talk about her character's history with Sitting Pretty.

"Now, I ain't saying she didn't have the right to back out, but at least have the courtesy to tell me, y'know?"

Apple Bloom nods, "Well, this Wheat feller is gonna be *her* talent, ain't he? Not the both o' yours if she was still with yer agency."

Applejack nods, "Water under the bridge now, though. There are plenty of other young'uns jus' waitin' to be discovered."

Big Mac is nowhere to be seen, and Granny Smith has gone to sleep. Pinkie Pie leads me away from the others, causing an audible gap in the conversation coming from Rarity. Our eyes meet as I'm pulled out of the room and up the stairs. Pinkie takes a seat at the top of the stairs and pulls me down next to her, snug. I make distance between us as I settle myself down. I'm thankful we're still in plain sight. "So, Buck, have you ever kissed a mare before?"


She's looking me dead in the eyes, an ear swiveled to monitor the bottom of the stairs. "You said you wanted to know about all the little details, right? A colt as good-lookin' as you needs to know how to sell a kissing scene."
"I- uh, y-yeah, I guess you're right. But that's all jus- just acting, isn't it? The man covers her lips with his thumb?" She holds up her hoof. "Ah. Right, so it's all... real, then?"

Pinkie nods, "That's something they don't tell the new ones about. You need to be... flexible in this line of work. Be willing to make compromises. Understand to take what you can get, and not give it up for anyone."

"If that's what it takes to make it..." I pause. How can I lead this away from the obvious and towards the director? Better yet, getting her to take me to the painting... "But you've made it now. In fact, you had a short-lived career, isn't that right?"

She nods, leaning onto my shoulder, "It has to be your passion to make it. The long hours, reshooting the same scene thirty times, meeting your heroes only to find out how unheroic they can be... but don't let me dissuade you from your calling!" Pinkie points her head up to look at me in the eyes, "Do you want to practice?"


"I'll put a good word in for you if I feel that you have what it takes." A smile with a full blush. Secondary objective. Secondary. I can focus on the primary objective. Stealing art. Art, romance. Viewing paintings. Viewing paintings is romantic. Yeah, let's go with that.

"W-Well, but this is a bit sudden. I need to get in the m-mood first."

She giggles, "A method actor, hm? Well, then, Buck~" She fondles the B and lets her tongue roll out on the 'ck', "how do we get you in the mood?"

"Since I don't know you, we need to have a date first. And, lucky for us, we're in Manehatten's premier private art gallery." I support her as I stand, my heart ready to burst from my chest. My knees weaken and I'm not sure who's holding up who as her elbow locks with mine.

"You really know how to woo a mare~." Pinkie Pie walks on her hind-legs alongside me as we walk up the hallway. I just need the painting. Just the painting. Why are you nuzzling my arm. Pinkie, please.
We 'stop' in front of an art exhibit in Sitting Pretty's penthouse. It's a card hung by a tack into the wooden wall of Applejack's home. It shows a nondescript framed painting, but it's too small to tell what it really is. On the card reads Water Fillies. This is my target. All I need to do now is to somehow get Pinkie Pie off of my back for half a minute so I can make the switch, and I'm golden. No more of this borderline fraternizing required. "My, what a lovely piece of work. How did you come to acquire this stunning... painting?"

She returns to all fours, "There was a county auction of an estate, assumed by the Sheriff's department to be cleaned out beyond some unmovable furniture in the basement. Well, when lil' ol me started clearing it out, I happened across this hiding behind an old wardrobe. It was in good shape, but the years were unkind and had to go through an expensive restoration process. Oh, the look on the Sheriff's face when I told him!" Pinkie Pie covers her mouth, "Ah, but laughing at the misfortune of others is unlady-like. Just poor luck on their part. If this went to auction, it would've covered their budget for a decade or more."

I nod and think to myself how I'm going to get her to leave. Keeping the conversation going works, and holy shit can she improvise, but I only have so long before the kiss comes in. I smack my lips, my tongue sticking to the roof of my mouth as cracked skin sticks and peels, taking with it a fresh layer and coating my mouth with a copper tang. "I could really go for some water."

"Oh, Buck, you should've said so sooner! Please, wait just a moment." Pinkie Pie trots to the stairs, swinging her tail and flank enough to defenestrate modesty. I look out the window, rain pattering against the glass. A low growl of thunder rumbles in the distance. It's the perfect time to swap the paintings.

As I reach for the card tacked on the wall, the power cuts out. Cries of confusion come from everywhere. Then, a scream.
That's all I have written for now. I will continue Thursday and post what I have Thursday night.

Coming up with puns is difficult. I will try to be more timely in the future.
I keep forgetting to link the pastebin: https://pastebin.com/vGkjhqcV
>A deal's a deal 'Nonny!
Do not hug the evil little pone
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Im more of a Dashie drawer, but here is my attempt at Flutters
That's not bad at all.
Thank you for this, Anon can't wait to read after work.
>"Oh my, You're legs seem to be broken, not to worry, Anon I'll take you back to my place and make sure to take extra special care of you".
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>"N. n-nothing personal, Anon"
lewd and wholsome seems right up my all
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I will not be posting tonight or tomorrow due to the Sad Panda apocalypse. I am taking requests for a one-off story that I can post over the weekend to make up for it.
Hey man it's cool, that shit kinda came out of nowhere.
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ok anons i will do this green of hte assassin that i was thinking about, pls ne nice this is my first green, also need some title becasue i cant think of anything good.

>The year is 1815, the order is looking good in the colonies and the templars are still around trying to turn the lands into a brainless shithole and whatnot
>But this isnt about them it tis about you and the bloody facking adventure that you will experience in a land know as equestria.... whew lad your in for a hell of a time.
>Be anon
>Be in colonial Boston
>also be an assassin recruit
>Honeslty you only where in this because you didnt want to be one of those redcoats army guys that the people so much hate because some shit with tea and when the shit go down in the shootout in the main street
>really, you see everything and nearly got shoot too if not for that fag that got infront of you
>But well after that some trouble with some tax men and you somehow got sended to forced training for the kings army
>Then you saw him, a hooded man with some badass indian gear that was waking a alot of redcoats like they were made of glass
>after the massacre you got free by some of the others that were in the camp and went to search that man that saved your life
>After some questioning, walking and nearly been killed by a puma, you get to the place some of the folk around the frontier see the hooded man come from
>in the edn you find him, give him a nice thank you for the rescue, and beg to join into the brotherhood
>and that leads you here in you first mission for the creed
>It was simple, get some rare artefact of one rich man house and return to the homestead
>and everything was going great and smootly thanks to the training that Archillys give you, but as always in your life somethig never goes as planned
>"welp this is it" you said as got the last guard that keep the doors where the atrefact was held
>You go infront of the glass casing and broke it to look badass and shit
>you took the artefact and headed to the exit
>"too easy" you said as you got out form the window and dont notice the faint glint that the thing was giving
>after you took some distant form the house you stoped near a dead tree to rest and to take a look to the artefact
>"what the...?" is the only thing you said as a powerfull light surrounds you and you black out.
>after some time that you feel like nearly a decade you wake up to the sound of birds and the sunlight getting in tired eyes

and thats all i got for today, sorry for the grammar english is not my first language, also let me know what do you thing and if you want to add suggestions be free to do so
I am still open to requests, but reading the Trixie Trailer Trash green (>>34056022) has made me want to write a traditional green with nohooves Trixie. If I receive no requests in the meantime, I will write that scenario and post it Saturday night.

Even so, I think there are readers who trust my word and who could be disappointed by the lengthy time between my main story's installments.

The language barrier is too strong for the green to read well to me. I don't want to be rude, but it is hard to understand what you mean at times. Writing is good language practice, but I do not think you're fluent enough in English to share your writing with a broad audience yet.
Ok someone help me here because I’m confused. I always thought Yandere’s were super sweet and kind to the object of their desires but only violent and suspicious to anyone that tries to interfere. But it seems like all these pic also imply that they take just as much joy in hurting the person they love. Which is odd to me because why would you do that if you care so much
>tfw no worshiping yandere pone gf
Can you do one on wallflower blush?
>nohooves Trixie
Please do. I'm on that thread too, it's bretty gud.
I will make an attempt after the Trixie green.

It shall be done. I will post what I have for it Saturday night.
Sounds good.
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>hfw she manages get some pics of your feet
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A Trixie story could be pretty good.
The Truth about Trixie, Chapter 1

>Be Anon.
>Be the new kid at Canterlot High.
>Your mother has finally achieved her dream of owning and operating her own private medical practice, and your father's work was remote. You gave your final farewells to the few friends you had last week, promising them that you'd still keep in touch over social media.
>They ghosted you three days ago.
>Figures. You're not annoyed. You're used to it by now.
>Most kids only kept you company because your parents were wealthy.
>But you have a plan for Canterlot, yes, you do.
>You bought a shitty bike off Craigslist, used clothes at Goodwill, and made sure to ride through some mud on your way to school today.
>You're not going to let anyone know you've got it easy. You're even using your little sister's backpack. Nothing says poverty like a second-year high-schooler carrying his books in a bright pink pony-themed backpack.
>You smirk to yourself as you lock your bike with a chain you found from a thrift store. Nobody would ever want to steal this piece of shit. You had to re-rail it every quarter mile, and the drive chain can't upshift from first gear no matter what. Your quads are going to be massive. Chicks dig big quads, right?
>There's another bike next to yours on the rack. Surprisingly, it's the same model, but it looks to be in much better condition. Chain's nice and clean, has a wide seat without any tears, and there's a shoddy paint job of crescent moons and stars illuminating its blue frame.
>You look back to your bike. Oh, yeah, people are gonna think you're from government housing. And that's a great excuse to never invite anyone over. Your smirk widens.
>You remind yourself that you're standing in public, and stop standing proudly over your death trap. Thank goodness you came to school early in your excitement; not a single bus has arrived, and the stream of cars is but a trickle.
>You adjust the straps on the too-small pony pack one last time before giving up and just carry it on one shoulder. Standing before the entrance's stairs, Canterlot High makes a good impression even up close. You could do without the golden horse gargoyles, though. Tacky.
>A receptionist at a folding front desk directs you to wait in the cafeteria until the five-minute bell before your first class. You have about half an hour before then, so you take your time looking around as you follow the signs to the cafeteria.
>Wow. These are some massive trophies, and a lot of first-place prizes. You check yourself out in the mirror. A lean, green machine ready to take the world by storm. You fuck your hair up a bit just to sell the look.
>The cafeteria is sparsely populated. You see the beginnings of cliques here and there. A pair of nerds sharing a laptop here, someone tapping away on the screen of a DS over there, more than a few conversations between friends, and someone in a blue hoodie catching z's in the back corner. You wander, thinking to yourself. Who would be the best to befriend?
>The conversations you hear as you meander concern summer break and catching up with those who had taken vacations to far-away places, some even overseas. You inwardly frown. No way to butt in there. Maybe the nerds will give you a chance.
>Hey, cool, they're looking at pictures of space on the laptop. You can dig space. Sci-fi movies always have the best special effects. You walk behind them and listen in on their conversation.
>"...light from the accretion disk jets would be an ample and trivial source of power."
>"Light's well and good, but you can't forget about the Penrose process."
>"And risk it becoming a Schwarzchild?"
>"You massively overestimate the Federation's energy needs."
>... Maybe not.
>You keep walking. The space pictures sucked, anyway. Grainy, no detail, covered with dull little glowing dots. Gamer, then. Play up that poor story and fawn over the DS. You stop in front of him, smiling.
>He'll see you, you can ask to watch him play, and everything will snowball from there. Easy peasy.
>Except he doesn't see you. Earbuds in, bobbing his head to tinny EDM, tapping the screen like he was in the middle of a seizure.
>You start to feel akward, and it compounds when the music is replaced without pause by another track. You keep on walking, and hope nobody saw you creeping. That would be a bad look.
>Well, you're not about to wake anyone up. You hang out near the entrance and watch the student body file in at an empty table, waiting for people to crowd it so you can strike.
>It happens about twenty agonizing minutes later, when the busses finally arive. You look up, hopeful at the stream of new faces. An orange-haired girl sees you and walks over, wearing a small smile. Score.
>"Hey, can we sit here?"
"Yeah, sure. My name's-"
>"Girls! Over here!" She ignores you, waving seven others to your table, each a vibrant hue from the rainbow. There are eight seats total.
>"Oh, bummer, need another chair. Violet, would you-"
"She can have my seat."
>You stand and offer it to Violet, sliding a pink strap over your shoulder. She shakes her head, "It's fine, I-"
"It's cool."
>She's quick to give up her protest and settle herself in. You hear giggling once you're a few paces away, and snippets of unflattering conversation about yourself.
>That's fine. You were prepared to take a few hits to the ol' ego. A real friend wouldn't laugh at you for being poor, right?
>You look around the room and see that every table has been taken.
>Every. Single. Table.
>Wait, no, that one has seats to spare. The one with the sleeping student in the blue hoodie.
>Correction: It has one seat to spare. Neighboring tables take the rest for their friends.
>Okay, fine. This one works. You power-walk over and slide your backpack off on the floor beside you, taking the last seat right next to the guy sawing logs.
>No girl. You can see the purple skirt, now. Skirt, boots, and a hoodie? She's pulling it off, but that combination is making her hard to place. Maybe she's one of those tomboys the internet keeps telling you about. Would a tomboy wear a skirt?
>As you ponder your Platonic ideal of the tomboy, you watch her sleep, face buried between her elbows. Her breathing jostles a white wisp of hair falling out from beneath her hoodie. The hem of the hood is fraying in a few places.
>On closer inspection, the hood's been through hell, but someone's taken good care to keep up its appearance. It's been extensively repaired.
>You lean over and look at the back of the hoodie. Sure enough, you see holes that have been sewn shut, and where that wasn't possible, patches of well-picked fabric blend almost perfectly into the hoodie.
>Ah, that freshly laundered scent is nice. Doing laundry is its own reward when you get to stuff your face in the dryer and take a big whiff of th-
>The five-minute bell rings, and your chin is nearly sent through the roof of your mouth. You hear a cry, but it's difficult to really care. You're dizzy, you're in pain, you think a tooth got chipped.
>Your chair slides out from under you as you meet the cool tile floor.
>"Who DARES obstruct the Great and Powerful Trrrixie's ascent from her slumber!?"
>Your eyes wander upwards. The purple skirt lifts just enough for you to catch a glimpse of something purple. You think it was purple, at least. Shit was dark. Your cartoons always made it easy to see.
>A boot comes down near your face. Uh.
>You look further up. An angry girl is holding her head with tears in the corner of her eyes.
"Sorry, I didn't expe-"
>You begin the difficult journey to standing upwards, and your lack of balance catches you off-guard. You catch yourself against the fallen chair as you plan how to get yourself kneeling.
"Expect... you to shoot up like that."
>"And you are a creep who leans over sleeping girls! I will not forgive your transgressions against me!"
"Look, you got me wrong. I was just-"
>Just what? Smelling her? Checking out how tattered her hoodie was?
>"Just what? Answer Trixie!"
>No wonder she was all by herself. She's a wacko.
"Just admiring the handiwork on your hoodie!"
>"While it is understandable that you were breathless by my stunning sense of fashion, Trixie does not appreciate being creeped on while she is sleeping!"
>Trixie(?) stomps her boot near your face for effect. You consider it to be very effective. Oh God, did she step in dog shit? That's dog shit, isn't it? You feel like you're going to hurl.
>"Furthermore, your obstruction could have given me a concussion! Trixie cannot keep her grades up if she is concussed!"
>Why did she have to stop again.
>You see some brown squeeze out from the sole of her boot.
>You gasp at the sight and immediately regret it.
>Trixie gasps at the sight of you covering her boots in half-digested corn flakes and toast. Then she screams.
>You're sure you've attracted quite the crowd by now. You stumble to your feet.
>Trixie is on the verge of tears.
"Sorry, just, there was dog poo-"
>"Are you insinuating that Trixie's designer boots are- are-...!"
"No, no, wait. I mean you stepped in some, not that-"
>The crowd of students disperse as short and wide bushy-browed man breaks his way through. By the shorts and the Wondercolts-brand whistle, you suspect this man will be your coach.
>A bad first impression to be making, considering you planned to sign up. You were decently athletic, if you do say so yourself.
>"All right, all right, what's all the ruckus?" He looks at the puke smeared across your face, the pool of it on the floor, and the splash of it across Trixie's boots.
>Trixie's trying very hard not to cry. She's almost vibrating.
>"All right, all right, both of you, come with me! We're going to the nurse's office." He turns around, "And the rest of you better get your keisters to class before that bell rings, y'here?"
>He blows his whistle to make the point. Cafeteria cleared, you follow behind as the coach tries to calm Trixie down.
>He's not good at it, but at least she doesn't look like she's about to cry anymore.
>You curse inside your head. It's not even homeroom yet and you've already made a scene in front of hundreds of students. You hope you don't get a nickname from this.
>You clear the situation up with Nurse Redheart. Trixie washes off her boots off in the bathroom, and insists you get detention or something for being a creep.
>They can't prove anything without witnesses, though, and you apologized enough that Nurse Redheart didn't want to go through the trouble.
>The rest of your day went much better, by comparison. Only bad class is Algebra, which you share with Trixie. From the rest of your classes, you have prospective friends in your cousin Doe's old phone.
>You smirk to yourself again at just how thorough you were with your povertycore image. The screen's cracked, even, and the earbuds only work if you bend the jack just so.
>Johnny was totally hyped for getting last year's model, too. He's been flooding his social media with nice videos of the community's lake and their retarded geese.
>You walk to your bike, chuckling to yourself, replaying the one video of a goose honking at a parked car.
>The driver kept honking back. That just made the goose madder.
>Dumbass geese.
>You come to your senses and look around. Yes, people saw. You give one a sheepish grin and kneel down beside your bike.
>You really need to work on your self-awareness. Being a single-child for the first half of your life was not good for you.
>Well, the undivided attention was nice. Christmas and birthdays were fantastic.
>Speaking of, you're going to be sixteen in a couple months. You need to have a party. But you need to have a poor person party, and there's no way that'll be a cookout at your home.
>Maybe you could rent a shelter at the park?
>Poor people rent those, right?
>You might want to google that.
>As you're unlocking Charon's Ferry (a bitchin' name for the bike, and accurate to boot, if you do say so yourself), the spaz makes her presence known with a loud humph.
>"What do you think you are doing, parking that ugly thing next to Trixie's custom bicycle?"
>You sigh.
"Is this going to be a thing with you?"
>"Trixie does not want her bicycle to become covered with a creep's vomit!"
"Okay, good to know. Thanks. How about I park my bike elsewhere tomorrow?"
>"You wish to creep on Trixie where she cannot see you!?"
"Wh- No! I already apologized for everything, already. And stop shouting to the whole world that I'm a creep. I'm not."
>"Are too."
"Mature. I'm gonna park somewhere else tomorrow if my presence offends you so much. I'm also leaving now. Have a good day."
>"Every day is a good day when you are the Great and Powerful Trrrrixie!"
>You mount your bike and pedal away. You get about fifty feet before the chain slides off.
>You mutter curses most vile as you can hear Trixie laugh, pedalling past you. "I wonder if you'll even be able to get home with that pile of scrap you call a bike?"
>She really knows how to get on your nerves.
>Chain re-set, you get on it and pedal hard. It's not about Charon's Ferry, no. You know it's a piece of shit. It's about how this girl thinks it's fine to bully someone less fortunate than her.
>Okay, you're not less fortunate than her in reality, but it's not like she'll ever figure that out.
>And maybe you're about as in the wrong for deceiving others as she is for bullying them.
>Plus her dislike of you is justified for voming on her during the first day of school.
>If you ignore all of that, though, she has a real attitude problem. It'll be good if someone puts her in her place.
>The bike slips into first gear and you're forced to pedal at sanic speeds to gain on her.
>"Are you challenging Trixie to a race, creep?"
"So what if -hoo- I am? -hoo- Are you gonna -hoo- race me or -hoo- not?"
>"If you want to lose to Trixie so badly, she will oblige!"
>You both come to a stop at the light leading off Canterlot High's grounds.
>You look at her with determination.
>She looks at you with a grin that eats more shit than her boots.
"Where to?"
>"Crystaller Building."
>You grip the cracked handlebars. You're fine with the Crystaller Building. It's on the same block as your home.
>Does she live in the same building as you?
>You didn't see her when you left, but she was already asleep in the cafeteria when you got there.
>Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
>The light's turning yellow.
"Hey, instead of the Crystaller Building, what about-"
>The light's red.
>The walk signal turns on.
>Trixie gets a head-start as you blather.
>Okay, no problem. You can make up for lost time. She's a girl, after all. Not to knock on girls, but you're definitely gonna pedal faster than her.
>Besides, it's practically a straight shot to the finish line after one left turn.
>But, man, she is fast.
>How is she so fast?
>She turns around and sticks her tongue out at you, "It seems that Trixie must bid you farewell, creep! A leisurely ride has no place in a race!"
>Okay, fuck her. As she rides towards the next light, you cut across lawns. Is it a shitty thing to do? Yes. Are you going to get lost? That's a possibility.
>But are you going to win?
>Yes. Yes you are.
>You laugh loud and clear so she knows you're not going to play fair. That's the fair thing to do, after all.
>You can't hear her, though! You put both of your fingers in your ears, pedalling hands-free as you shout.
>Oh, wow, she's cutting lawns, now, too. You really pissed her off.
>You take a moment to appreciate the utter lack of fences for these backyards. People here are surprisingly trusting of their neighbors.
>Trixie is gaining on you, fast. She's wobbly on the grass, but having a decent rig is giving her a big advantage over you.
>You do have something that Trixie doesn't, though.
>You can take risks. Big ones.
>You come up on the street. Cars go left and right, but it's not too busy.
>Trixie slows down.
>You don't.
>"What are you-"
>You, in fact, speed up.
>You'd pop a wheelie right now if you weren't terrified of the whole thing falling apart from the stress.
>You take the curb hard, and lean right. An oncoming car slams the brakes and honks at you, but you've already cleared the curb. The chain dislodges on the climb.
>You come to a stop and turn around. You smirk at Trixie, then hurry to fix your chain as she pedals to the crosswalk. The light's still green, so you have plenty of time.
>"Trixie will not lose to a cheater, even if the cheater is a creep with no sense of self-preservation!"
"If I win, you have to stop calling me creep!"
>"And if Trixie wins, you have to... to..."
"You can sleep on it for the next race!"
>Chain re-set, you start cutting again. There are more businesses now, so cutting across blocks isn't a great strategy anymore.
>If you want to win this, you're going to have to play it fast and loose at intersections.
>Canterlotters... Canterians? Canterlotties? You make a mental note to look that up later. The people here aren't going to run you over, you think. Not on purpose. And they obey traffic laws, so you can use that to your advantage.
>Trixie, bound by petty civil laws and her own pride, has no choice but to pray the crossing lights are favorable to her. Or that you get hit by a car.
>You're already crossing another empty street. You look behind, and Trixie comes to a stop, even with no cars coming or going.
>You laugh. Look at this nerd! Who the fuck does th
>You ran straight into a fuggin' streetlamp.
>Your bike is kissing the curb, and your lack of helmet has you dizzy for the second time today.
>Your cheeks flush as you hear embarassement on two wheels come to a stop beside you.
>"Are you okay?"
"FfffffFFFFFINE. I'm ffffine. Shit. That hurt."
>Trixie looks down at me. "You are bleeding!"
>You look down at your knees. Sure enough, a red river runs.
>The River Styx.
>Not now, brain.
>You stagger to your feet and wince. You feel pain in your ankle. Your hands are scraped badly.
>The burning sensations begin to set in. You're a man, you're not going to cry, but you must admit that you've been more fortunate than most to rarely suffer injury.
>That lack of experience makes this feel a lot worse than it really is.
>You wince as you take a step, pain shooting up your leg from the sprain.
"Guess you really do get to sleep on it, huh?"
>You force a laugh, and try to collect your bike without groaning.
>"Trixie will get you medical assisstance!"
"Trixie, I'm fine. I'll just walk home."
>"Trixie is responsible for starting this race, and even if she did not encourage the creep's reckless behavior, she still feels a little responsible! So I'm going to call for help."
"No, really. It's fine. I'll walk it off. Watch."
>You lean against a convenient trash can as you try, and fail, to walk it off. Okay, maybe you do need help.
>"You can't even walk!"
"I'll just call my parents to come pick me up. It's fine. You can go."
>"Trixie is not leaving until she sees that you are going to be treated for your injuries!"
>What bug crawled up her ass?
>Wait, you can't call your parents. Nobody is going to believe that the kid with a Benz is poor. You hastily think up an excuse to keep your identity a secret.
"Trixie, don't you have to be home soon? A goody two-shoes like you must have some real strict parents."
>Trixie's frown changes, although it's a difficult emotion to read. It's something like being scared, but mixed with... hate?
>"Trixie may stay out if she pleases! And I'm not a goody two-shoes!"
"Sure you aren't. You wouldn't cross an empty street, just because the crosswalk light said you couldn't! I mean, come on, Trixie. Come on."
>"Obeying the law is not being a goody two-shoes. It's staying out of trouble!"
"Sounds like something a goody two-shoes would say."
>"Trixie can do anything she wants to! She just... didn't want to!"
"Oh, really? What's your excuse, then?"
>You sit down against the mailbox. If you can turn the tide of this conversation against her, she'll have to give up and leave. Then you can call your dad and have him pick you up.
>"Trixie saw that you were riding such a pathetic machine that she felt s-sorry for you, so she let you get ahead!"
"But you started racing while I was trying to talk with you.
>"Er..." Trixie takes a step back, face contorting as she searches for an excuse.
"And then you called me a cheater for cutting through some lawns."
>"That's because...!" Trixie's on the ropes now. Just a little more...
>"Because Trixie didn't want to!" She shouts at you.
"Right, right."
>She's frustrated and flushed in the face. It's kinda cute.
>Not the time for it. It's time for the finishing blow.
"Hmmm. Actually, I guess you can't be a goody two-shoes. You did a lot of tresspassing today."
>You smile as you watch the blood drain from her face. "Wh-What do you mean, tresspassing? I did not..."
"You cut through those lawns with me, right? Did you have permission?"
>"T-Trixie would have lost the race to the creep if she did not! It was not her choice, the creep forced her to!"
"I wonder if the judge would buy that excuse?"
>Is she hyper-ventilating?
>"Y-You tresspassed too! You're a tresspasser! Criminal! Creep!"
"I wonder if they'd let us share a cell?"
>You wince. Then lean back. You might've pushed the spaz a little too far.
"Alright, jeez. Don't over-react. It was just a joke."
>"I'm not going to jail!"
"Nobody is going to put you in jail for riding through your lawn."
>"I stay out of trouble."
>Her knuckles are white on the handlebars. She's... really easy to get worked up. You store that useful bit of info way for later. Maybe as a caution to not go too far next time. Her breathing is still irregular.
"You okay?"
>"Trixie... is good."
>You're sure she's reassuring herself more than anything.
>Well, that's fine with you. Last thing you need is a spaz screaming her head off about not going to jail while you sit on the sidewalk, bike destroyed, bleeding out.
>That'd definitely attract the cops.
"I'll see you at school tomorrow, Trixie."
>Trixie looks down at her bike, "T-Trixie does not want to see the creep! She would be happy if he transferred schools."
>She mounts her bike, and gives you a worried glance. You shoo her with a wave of your hand.
>She looks forward and heads for the Crystaller Building, leaving you alone.
>You lean your head back and exhale, releasing all your tension.
>Fucking spaz.
>And she lives in the same building as you. Has to.
>There's only one apartment building near the Crystaller Building, and it's yours.
>You pull out your phone. A new battle scar has been added to the case, smashing the front-facing camera's corner. Your selfie days are over.
>Thank God you weren't that vain.
>You call up your father, and he comes to pick you up.
>You explain the situation with him and get a lecture on the ride home.
>He helps you pull the mangled bike out from the back seat and sighs.
>"You know, son, I understand why you wanted to adopt your new look, but if it's going to lead you into doing another dangerous stunt..."
"Dad, it was a one-time thing, honest. I won't do it again."
>"Do you promise, Anon?"
"I do."
>You get a long stare in the eyeballs from dear old Dad. He was a paler green than you, (you're told inherited your Grandfather's looks and your Grandmother's personality, despite never spending time with either), and approaching his 40s. Sitting around the house all day has given him a bit of pudge that mom always got on him about.
>Retreating into your inner sanctum, it's easy to lie to your parents when they give you The Stare. You have no intention of being reckless, but if the need arises...
>He smiles. "Pizza?"
>You smile back.
"Sounds great."
That's all I have written for now. I will continue the main story Monday and post what I have Monday night. I will continue The Truth about Trixie Tuesday and post what I have Tuesday night. Pastebin: https://pastebin.com/zss9qF1R
Im feeling this
Looking forward to this now that I've got time to read it.
I’m really looking forward to more of this.
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No Octavia, not "noice"
Can't wait to see where things go from here.
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(Continuing Untitled)

I freeze. I hear the clamor of hooves running around the house and rain dappling windows. Doors open and close. I can hear Apple Bloom call out, "Y'all alright?" Nobody responds, not even me. This must be a planned power outage, right? It's all part of the game. I finish swapping out the real painting for the fake and keep it with the hidden pocket card. I'll take my risks carrying a knife. I do plan on surviving until the end.

My eyes adjust to the darkness and I tread towards the stairs. Apple Bloom's voice comes from the bottom, "Now, listen here. Y'all ain't funny! Respond if yer alright!" I hold my breath and listen for anypony else to reply. This time, there's only rain. "Anypony? Please?"

"I'm fine, Sheriff. Couldn't hear you over the thunder." I slowly descend, cursing myself for not coming up with a better lie. I hear Apple Bloom step away from the stairs when I reach the bottom, "I hope the power comes on soon. I'd hate for this party to end on a sour note." I see the rough shape of her outline adjust her hat. She leans in close and whispers.

"Is this part of the game?"

I whisper back, "I think so. Do you know where the fuse box is?"

She nods, "It's down in the basement. Lemme grab a light and we'll go fix it ourselves." I wait by the landing as Apple Bloom rummages around in a closet beneath the stairs. "A-ha!" The glass of the lantern hanging in her mouth reflects the little light cast by a match she holds in her hooves. She takes the lead, and I open the basement door for her when we reach it.

"Weren't you with App- er, another guest? Where did they go?" The stairs creak as we descend. The shadows we cast dance over old wallpaper and dark wood, a smell of dust and burning oil mixing to make the ordeal unsettling.

"Oh, she said somethin' about havin' to use the little filly's room. An' before I know it, everypony else is gone, too. Figured I'd jus' get myself some water when the power went out."
"Huh. Well, I was with Sitting Pretty. Funny enough, I asked her for some water right before the power went out. Did you see her come into the kitchen?" And wasn't the only bathroom on the second floor with the bedrooms? Nopony came upstairs after Pinkie and I left the kitchen. That makes Applejack's character suspicious.

Apple Bloom shakes her head, casting the lantern's light over the basement. Past the storage shelves and covered furniture, the fuse box was mounted low on the wall. I'd have to crouch to be eye-level with it, making it the perfect height for ponies. The door is unlatched and hanging open, showing us that a fuse had been taken out. Apple Bloom sets the lantern on the ground and looks at the fuse, "Now, what in tarnation's this all about? Somepony went an' sabotaged the lights." She adjusts her hat, "There's somethin' fishy goin' on around here."

I could see Apple Bloom getting excited as the mystery thickened. Her tail swished back and forth, and she took out a card from beneath her hat. She holds it up to me, proud, "I got a forensics kit, so I can collect evidence. So we just gotta find Pinkie Pie and she'll give me the card for this here fuse box sabotage." I return her infectious smile with one of my own.

"Thank goodness we have you on the case, Sheriff. I'm sure whoever's up to this is gonna regret making an enemy out of you."

She tilts her hat, crossing one forehoof over the other, "Aw, shucks, it ain't nothin'. Jus' doin' my job." With that, she fixes up the fuse box and the lights return, coinciding with another rumble of thunder. "Now, let's get ourselves upstairs and sort this mess out!"


It didn't take long for us to round most of the ponies into the kitchen. Granny Smith, who had been asleep since before the power outage, is carried off to bed by Big Mac. Once he's back, we have everypony except Pinkie Pie seated at the table.
"Any of you catch sight of her?" They all shake their heads no in response. I think I know who the first murder victim is. I frown.

"Then let's form search parties!" Apple Bloom takes the lead. "Me & Buck'll go with my Deputy, and y'all can stick together," she points to Big Mac, Applejack, and Dash. "We'll come back here in ten minutes. Y'all will search the upper floors, and we'll take the lower ones."

Rainbow Dash frowns, "Uh, Sheriff, shouldn't we split up and make sure everypony's safe? I mean, we're both cops, so it'll be good in case one of us finds Pretty Pie dead."

Apple Bloom frowns, "Er, we shouldn't jump to conclusions on the status of Sitting Pretty's condition, but I guess you got a point." She taps her chin as she looks between Big Mac, Applejack, and Rarity.

Rarity raises her hoof, "I'm willing to trade spots with the Deputy, Sheriff. I'd feel *much* safer in your and Buck's capable hands." She winks at me.

I kneel down next to Apple Bloom and whisper, "I say we go with Applejack. We can ask her about what she was doing when she was gone for so long, and Rarity's eagerness is givin' me a bad feeling." That bad feeling may be unrelated to the game, but it might be the edge that convinces Apple Bloom.

She nods her head, "Y'know, Buck, yer right. We'll take App- We'll take Pace Spades with us. Deputy, yer with Gorgeous an' Butler Hill." Pace being Applejack, and Butler being Big Mac. Rarity's disappointment is immeasurable. Along with Pinkie Pie's successful efforts and keeping us separated, I'm sure she's just about had it.

Rainbow Dash slaps Gorgeous on the back as Applejack joins us on our side of the table, "You're gonna be fine, Gorgeous. Sheriff says I'll be her replacement when she retires here next week!" Dash puffs her chest out.

Gorgeous scowls. "I suppose I'll just have to make do with the Sheriff's assistant, then."

Apple Bloom cuts their argument short, "Now, we meet back here in fifteen minutes."
The second search party heads upstairs. Apple Bloom nods, "Alrighty then. Buck, Pace, let's keep an eye out for any funny business." She tilts her hat forward and struts around the table. Applejack and I exchange stifled laughter as we follow.

We clear the first floor room by room, finding nothing of interest as we go. I take the opportunity to start Pace's interrogation, "Say, Pace. The Sheriff tells me you were missing when the power went out. Where were you?"

"Oh, I had to excuse myself to the little filly's room. That cider'll run right through ya." She opens up a book on a small table and shakes it, looking for clues. We were searching through the living room. I was turning up cushions on the couch, and Apple Bloom's head was stuck under the rug, her hat on the floor beside her.

"That's funny, because Sitting Pretty and I were at the top of the stairs while you were still chatting away with the Sheriff, and we didn't see you come up at all."

The Sheriff pulls her head out from her rug and dons her wide-brimmed white hat, tilting it low over her eyes. Pace puts the book back on the shelf and laughs a little, "Oh, yeah, that's because I... uh..." I grin. Applejack was the worst liar I'd ever seen. I don't think I've ever seen her lie. Heck, she couldn't even spin her answer when someone asked for the truth. I put the cushions back on the couch and sit down.

"You were... doing what? The bathroom's on the second floor, so you couldn't have gone anywhere else." The Sheriff swaggers up and gets up close with Pace, "Maybe you were... HIDING A BODY!?" Her snout bumps into Pace's snout, causing both to scrunch. The Sheriff starts a staredown.

Pace frowns and gently pushes the Sheriff away, "Now, hold on jus' a minute. In this land, the law says I'm innocent until proven guilty!"

"I'm the law 'round here, and the law says don't avoid the question! Did you or did you not murder Sitting Pretty and hide the body?"
"I didn't have no hoof in anypony murderin' anypony else, ever." Applejack had to be telling the truth if she said it with that conviction. Or, at least, what she felt to be the truth.

"What were you doing, then? Since you didn't go to the bathroom." I lean forward on the couch, head in my hands and arms on my knees. "You were gone for a long time, right, Sheriff?" The Sheriff nods. I continue, "So you must have been doing something during that time. Care to tell us what?"

Pace frowns, averting her gaze, "I ain't gotta tell you what business I had. 'sides, for all we know, Sittin' Pretty is jus' sleepin' in her bed, or maybe playin' a practical joke on all of us!"

The interrogation is interrupted by a cry from upstairs, "WE FOUND HER!" Pace is eager, and leaves before either the Sheriff or I could say anything. We hustle up the stairs and, like Pace said, found Sitting Pretty on her bed. Pinkie Pie was fine, of course. She splayed herself over the bedsheets and left her tongue lolling out in mock death. She jumps up once we enter the room, and begins reading from another piece of paper.

"Everypony can see the tragedy before them. Sitting Pretty is dead. The scene laid before you is..." Pinkie Pie looks up from the notes, "Okay, everypony! Time to reveal your evidence cards." We begin shuffling through our hands. I step forward first, holding my card. Pinkie Pie flops down on the bed.

"There are rope marks around her neck. The cause of death is strangulation, and it must have been done with rope." I lay the card down, and return to the circle around the bed.

Nopony else comes forward with evidence.

"Is... that all we have?" I look around the group. Most avoid my eyes.

Apple Bloom frowns, "C'mon, now. Pinkie Pie, don't they gotta give up the evidence?"

Pinkie Pie shakes her head, "Nope!" She flops her tongue out again.

"Then how are we supposed to solve who killed you? Shouldn't the crime have more obvious clues?"
Pinkie Pie shakes her head once more, "All other obvious clues were cards handed out at the start, or left behind at the scene of the crime! You gotta find 'em or convince other ponies to share! The clock is ticking. Anypony could be the next victim... mwahahahah!" She rubs her hooves and bursts into maniacal laughter. I just shake my head.

"Sheriff, looks like Sitting Pretty didn't invite too many friends over."

The Sheriff nods, "Well, by the powers invested in me as Manehatten Sheriff, I'm puttin' y'all under my supervision until we get this sorted out! Nopony's allowed to leave. Now, I gotta call the department in."

The Deputy flies over to the Sheriff's side, "Sheriff, wait. We don't need to get the whole department involved! We can solve this ourselves!"

"Now ain't the time for yer glory-hog antics, Deputy! We got ourselves a cold-blooded killer on our hands, and we need all the help we can get."

The Deputy alights in front of the Sheriff and pleads, "Sheriff, just give us a couple hours!"

"One hour!" Pinkie whispers.

"Yeah, whatever, one hour! Let me prove myself."

The Sheriff frowns, "... Alright. Against my better judgement, I'll give you a chance to crack this case within an hour. This'll be yer final test to see if you're a worthy successor."

The Deputy pumps her hoof, "Yes! I'm gonna crack this case like a peanut! With time to spare."

Dash in charge of solving a mystery? Tonight's going from a murder mystery straight into comedy. I think I'll sit back and enjoy the show.
That's all I have written for now. I will continue Untitled Wednesday and post what I have Wednesday night. I had to power through a writing block for this one, but I am glad I managed to update tonight. Pastebin: https://pastebin.com/vGkjhqcV

I will continue The Truth about Trixie Tuesday and post what I have Tuesday night.
Sounds good anon, that Trixie story is pretty good so far.
It does seem to me much more popular than the main one, going by (You)s and "unique" pastebin hits. That did take some wind out of my sails and contributed to the writing block, but I don't want to leave a story half-finished.

I do enjoy writing both for different reasons, but Trixie seems to be easier to pump 4,000+ words out for due to the nature and expectations of greens vs. traditional novel format. It's also less serious, making it more "fun" to write. But I have high hopes for what I'll be able to accomplish with both. I'm new to writing, so experimentation is helping me a lot with finding my voice(s).
I'm sorry to hear about that, hopefully untitled gets more love.
I hope so, too, but I cannot make people love it. It has to stand on its own merits. I know there is at least one person who does enjoy it, so it is worth writing for them.
Well that’s good, as long as someone gets something out of it I’d say it’s worth continuing.
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in what order do you read these google docs??
I figured "Lyra’s Misery" can go as first episode, then "Fatal Fluttershy"..?
Fatal Fluttershy is the second part of the Lyra's Misery story, can't remember the next few but I think there are 4 stories in that series.
Yeah it certainly my isn’t as well organized as I thought it’d be once I actually checked it, assumed it’d be a list of author’s bins.
I'll grant you one draw request
Fluttershy trying to be intimidating while spilling her spaghetti everywhere.
A drawfag sitting in a room by himself asking aloud, "Anyone want to request a drawing?". There is no one around the artist for miles around.
i have no request and i must draw!
Personally, I got nothing against the novel format or the subject - but I never enjoyed first person narration as much as either of the alternates. With exceptions, sure, but very few. That's all.
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I accidentally drew another one.
That's pretty good.
i lovin it, but i can only consume so much , it sure is alot, but im really enjoying it, your a godsend for this thread, Anon!
awesome!, is she holding Anon's tie?
The very picture of stability
You got any more of that Trixie?
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I have been neglecting my writing for the past few days due to guilt related to other things I should be doing with my time (I'm a freeter, and residence is conditional to housework I perform on the side of my part-time status). I will be reducing my writing output in the near future. However, I am one-third of the way through the current Trixie update and hope to post it either tonight or tomorrow night.

Thank you for the kind words and your support.

Understandable. I knew first person was a gamble with the story when I went into it.

Please post more accidents! I enjoy your style a lot. It's also nice to see the Yandere thread get more love from creatives.
thanks Anons! Im happy to know you guys enjoy them.
They're really good.
Came here from the poor trixie thread, this is really good please continue

>Be Anon.
>Be at school a week later.
>It's currently lunch, and you're standing in line next to the only friend you've made so far.
>In hindsight, you may have gone overboard with the impoverished image.
>The backpack was not doing you any favors. Neither was wearing the same outfit three days in a row. You did shower, but the odor from your clothes went from stale to a gross cloud of sweaty boy by gym this morning.
>"C-C-C-Comet, the li..."
>Oh, yeah. You got a nickname. Vomit Comet.
>You drag your feet forward through the lunch line, a distant look in your eyes as slop was slathered over your platter. The girl that brought you back to reality is Floor Bored. She may be the only person in the school that smells worse than you.
>Has she even heard of a shower before? You look at the freshman behind you in line. A greasy rug of matted, tangled hair pulled into very loose tails in some sort of arcane configuration that, somehow, still hide her pimpled face.
>Puberty has not been kind to this girl.
>Neither has her lack of hygiene, for that matter, but you suppose she has her reasons.
>She didn't actually show up to school until Friday last week, and smelled significantly worse then. Today is Tuesday, so her parents must've thrown her into the shower in the intervening time. You wish they were diligent about it.
>Floor mistook you as a friend after you offered her pencil and paper for biology notes.
>She's become... attached since then.
>You had the only empty seat in the room due to your pariah status. You guess she homed in on that.
>Your peers left you alone, for the most part, and sniped you with your nickname when you tried to get too friendly with them.
>Trixie has done her best to besmirch you as a creep, too, but thankfully she's as much of a pariah as you are. The guys haven't listened to her at all. The girls...
>You slump at your table, pushing your tray aside. Floor taps you on the shoulder.
>"Eee..." She whines.
>You sigh. You really shouldn't snap at your only friend. 'Friend'. Hanger-on, she sticks to you like a lost puppy. You share no less than three classes with her, besides lunch. She destroyed any remaining chance you at at making friends. You scowl with animosity.
"Sorry, I'm just having a bad day."
>You look at her. She shrinks away, head pointed at the food on her plate. No, her empty plate. Did she lick it clean?
>You stare at her. You think you see the remains of some sauce dripping from her bangs.
>You push your plate towards her. A green eye peeks through parted bangs, unsure if she should accept the offering.
"It's fine. I'm not hungry." You pause, "And, uh, you got sauce on your hair."
>"...ank you." Floor was always hoarse, her voice meek and unsteady. It was like she never spoke to anyone but you. Looking at her, that might actually be the case.
>She takes your tray and digs in with one hand, patting the sauce off her hair with a napkin afterwards. You feel sick when you see the crumpled napkin on your plate, stained with grease.
"Floor, you ever think about, like..." No, no. You can't tell her to take a shower. You're not an asshole. At least, you try not to be, and you're pretty sure this would be utterly humiliating.
>"...nn?" She doesn't lift her face to meet yours. So passive. It pisses you off.
>God damn does it piss you off. You rest your head against the table, thinking of next class.
>That doesn't help your mood at all.
>Trixie had to be moved across the room from you because the two of you kept bickering in the middle of class. Mrs. Neighther was very proactive about keeping her classroom a 'conducive learning environment'.
>It was really hard to learn when you could feel Trixie staring daggers into your back from across the room, though.
>Mrs. Neighther stopped Trixie from nettling you before and after class, too.
>Talking loudly to anyone who didn't know her about how horrible her first day was thanks to you. Telling girls not to fall asleep around you or you'll creep on them. It was when she started supposing how bad at math you must be that Mrs. Neighther stepped in.
>"This is a safe environment for learning, Miss Lulamoon. If I hear one more peep out of you about Mr. Mous, it's going to be detention."
>You bang your head against the table. You were being bullied by the spaz.
"Sorry, Floor." You mutter with a nasal whine, nose compressed against the table.
>"Do you... ...anna talk... ...t?"
>Oh, bless her heart. That's what you need. A pep talk from the greaseball shut-in. You don't think you could get any more pathetic than you are right now.
"No, Floor."
>"... 'k."
>You lift your head and stare off into space. Floor sits around for a few minutes before pulling a tablet and headphones out from her hoodie's pockets and disassociates from the world around her.
>You have no idea how she's comfortable watching softcore porn in school.
>She offered to share the headphones with you so you could watch, too.
>You have no idea how the fuck she'd be comfortable with watching softcore porn with a guy.
>She insists it wasn't porn, but the entire premise of the show was dirty jokes.
>She actually got really defensive about it. Watching her stumble to explain herself when she left half of her words unsaid was pretty funny. She eventually got so flustered she ran off to the bathroom to watch the rest of her anime in peace.
>You're pretty sure she stayed in there for the rest of the school day, because she didn't come to your last class together, English.
>You apologized first thing Monday in Biology, but she only nodded by way of reply. You guess having the weekend to cool off was good for her.
>You leave the table when moans begin to leak from her headphones. You decided you really were hungry, after all.
>Good thing there's vending machines here.
>Mmm... peanut butter crackers.
>You bought the last pack of them, pop tarts, and some chips. All the nutrients a growing boy needs.
>You open the pack when you sit down for Algebra, a few minutes before the bell. Mrs. Neighther wouldn't mind as long as you finished before then, but peanut butter crackers were something special.
>They demanded to be thoroughly enjoyed.
>God has other plans for you, though.
>The Grating and Troublesome Trixie is standing beside your desk, staring at you with malcontent.
"Yes, your Highness?"
>She narrows her eyes, "And just what do you think you are doing with Trixie's peanut butter crackers?"
"Your peanut butter crackers? I bought them. And I'm eating them."
>You put one in your mouth, slowly chewing it up. Trixie slams her hands on the table.
>"Those are Trixie's! She was going to buy them before Algebra!"
"But you didn't."
>"She was going to! But you stole them from her!"
"No, I bought them before you. Couldn't you have bought them when you came to school? You get here before anyone else."
>"Trixie will buy her peanut butter crackers when she pleases!"
"And 'she' will deal with the consequences for 'her' lack of foresight."
>"Lack of...!" She grips the edge of your desk, teeth bared in rage. She is getting unusually upset over some dumb crackers. Hey.
>You just got a great idea.
"I believe there's a saying for this. How does it go again?"
>She's in silent fury. She's about 110% fed up with your bullshit. If you can just push her over the edge...
>You muster the most condescending grin and tone of voice possible. The air between the two of you palpably curdles as you twist the proverbial knife.
"You snooze, you lose?"
>That should do it. She's about ready to scream. Mrs. Neighther is gonna walk in aaaany second nOW
>There's ringing in the classroom. You don't know why there's ringing. You think it's the bell? It's hard to tell. It's really hard to tell. There's a massive pain radiating across the left side of your skull, a pressure threatening to crack the bone.
> Your left shoulder hurts like a motherfucker. You're sideways. You can't see.
>Oh god you can't see.
>There's blood.
>There's blood in your eyes.
>Eye. Blood in your eye. Left eye.
>You wipe your forehead, and your hand is covered with blood.
>You're filled with an incredible anger, reducing the thrashing throb to spikes of pain.
>Your blood is about to burst out of your ears. Flashes of white heat fill your bones. Your heart is arrythmic in rage.
>You writhe on the floor, clutching your head, trying to stand.
>The ringing crowded out by the shouts of people surrounding you.
>"Holy shit" "What the hell, Trixie?" "I-I didn't... I I I... Didn't..." "He's bleeding!" "Where's Mrs. Neighther?" "Coach is teaching Geometry next door, get him!" "Oh god there's blood everywhere" "TRIXIE DIDN'T MEAN TO...!"
>You understand that these are words, these words mean things, but right now you understand about as well as you understand dogs barking.
>And when dogs start barking, you yell at them to
>You get into a kneeling position, palm flat against a chair for support, shaking. Trembling.
>You attempt to stand. Your leg goes out from under you. You fall flat on your ass.
>"Alright, Alright, what in the hay is goin' on in h- oh, fudge."
>You keep clearing the blood away from your eyes. You see that Trixie's collapsed on the floor next to you. Just a little closer and you can beat the everloving shi-
>You are hoisted up by broad and powerful arms, "We're gettin' you to the nurse's office pronto. Everyone else, stay here! Mrs. Neighther?"
>"I'll get to the bottom of it."
>"Thanks. C'mon, Anon. Let's get you treated. Easy does it, easy does it."
>You want to strangle someone.
>Your father's here with you in Principal Celestia's office. Nurse Redheart patched you up, and has already excused your absence tomorrow so you can get your concussion looked at by a doctor. You've been concentrating on the laces of your shoes, ignoring the conversation going on, and the cause for it sitting outside.
>The headache's roar is a humble hiss after taking some Tylenol, at least. Your entire left side still hurts like a bitch.
>"I want to apologize again. Incidents like these are very rare, but that does not mean what happened was acceptable. I will be discussing what happened with Mrs. Neighther and inform you of the possible solutions we'd be willing to use."
>"I don't want this Trixie girl around my son."
>"Transferring Anon to another class would be an option."
>"Why is it that my son has to be the one transferred? He's not at fault."
>"That remains to be seen."
>"Remains to be seen? Remains to be seen!? What could he have possibly done to deserve a concussion?!"
>"Mrs. Neighther is investigating the incident as we speak. I am not saying that your son deserved to be physically assaulted, but for a student to attack another without provocation is-"
>"If the faculty here cannot be trusted to protect their students and the only response I can expect is victim-blaming, I will be more than willing to pull my son and send him to Crystal Prep."
>You're paying attention now. Shit. You can't go back there. You don't want to have a single goddamn thing to do with Trixie, but the last thing you want is to go back to being alone.
"Dad, I don't-"
>"Son, not now."
>He gives you The Stare. This time, it works. You slump down in your chair, defeated.
>What the fuck does it matter, anyway? Everyone's going to see you being driven home in an AMG. Your dad showed up over-dressed, as always. You're not just rich, you're a liar. And you got your shit pushed in by a girl.
>Canterlot High, Crystal Prep, it's going to be the same either way. Well, at least here you'll have Floor. You might get used to her stench by senior year.
>Your wallowing is interrupted by your father gently bringing you to your feet, his arm hooked under your shoulder.
>"I will be contacting my lawyer."
>Principal Celestia frowns, "If possible, I would like to keep this out of the court system."
>"Then see to it that you handle the situation correctly." He almost spits on her desk, the venom carried fit to kill a man by words alone.
>You look at Trixie sitting on the bench as you exit the room. She's a wreck, shaking like a shitting dog. What little makeup she wears is ruined from bawling. She's growling. She keeps her head low as your father walks you past.
>You remain silent all the way to the car. Seeing her just made you angry all over again. What fucking reason did she have to cry? You're the one that got traumatic brain damage. You might be permanently affected by her retarded outburst. An outburst over a pack of peanut butter crackers. Crackers.
>The word echoes in your head, amplifying with each repetition.
>"Come again, son?"
"I bought the last crackers. She flipped her shi-... went crazy because of that."
>"Over crackers?" The incredulity in his voice showed that even he had difficulty believing you.
>You nod.
"Yup. Crackers."
>"... Now, son, I don't want you to repeat this, okay?"
>"Do you promise?"
"Yeah, dad."
>"It sounds to me like this Trixie girl should be in a facility better suited to taking care of her... 'special needs'."
"Yeah, like a zoo."
>"There are schools for nutcases like her. Far away from the ones my precious children go to, and for good reason."
"I'm not the one you need to convince, Dad."
>"I know, son. How are you? Is the headache going away? Experiencing confusion?"
"Golly, I feel peachy after almost getting my head cracked open like an egg by a cracker-loving psycho."
"... Just a headache. And I'm pi- I'm tee'd off."
>Your father gives you a worried look, "Well, if you remain irritable, be sure to tell the doctors, alright? Concussions are serious." The look becomes mixed with anger. "And I'm going to make sure they understand that."
>Fuck. Dad, don't make this into a crusade. You really don't want this to be a crusade. The last thing you need is more attention. Nobody is going to want to touch you if your dad actually goes through with a lawsuit.
>And, thinking back on it, you did kinda sorta maybe intentionally provoke a reaction from her.
>But how were you supposed to know she was going to assault you? Who does that?
>There better not be any snitches in class.
>Trixie was an outcast, you doubt anyone would stick their neck out for her.
>But, then, so were you, 'Vomit Comet'. The creep with the pink pony backpack that watched porn with the sentient, doughy ball of toejam, Floor Bored.
>You throw your head back against the headrest in frustration.
>Big mistake.
>Your headache comes back tenfold. You clutch your head in pain as your father freaks out.
>"What do you think you're doing?"
>He veers off the road, almost over-correcting into the oncoming lane after the tires scrape the curb.
"I don't know. I don't care. I just want to sleep."
>"We're almost at the hospital, son. Don't do anything like that again. We can't put your smarts into any more jeopardy than we already have."
>Fuck, you are getting irritable. Everything your dad's saying, every question the doctors ask you, replaying Trixie's dumb fucking face feeling sorry for herself, it all makes you want to break something. Something big and expensive.
>Your diagnosis is a grade 2 concussion. You're excused from school for the next two days. A visit Thursday will confirm if you're fit to return to classes Friday.
>Trixie better not be there Friday if you can come back.
>For her sake.
That's all I have written for now. Again, I am sorry for the delay. Next Wednesday I will update the Trixie story, and next Thursday I will update the Untitled story.

Pastebin: https://pastebin.com/zss9qF1R
That took a turn I didn't expect, can't wait for the next update.
Good so far, and hopefully floor floor gets a role as she's another poor soul of the life style Anon tried to imitate.
Nice update. Always like seeing a bit more Floor Bored
I'm whole-heartedly interested.
I wonder if trixie or floor will be the yandere. Maybe both? Who knows.

I bet she will have a "talk" with trixie after she hear what happened to anon
Yeah I'm really not sure anymore, certainly wasn't expecting Floor to show up.
Floor was the Yandere all along.
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How does she know who i masturbate to?
its not that hard really, especially when you have your fap folders labeled as , "taco".and, "taco2".
>both are filled with candid shots of, Sonata.
Sonata is the Marie of The Dazzlings and therefor the best. Sorry.
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What if the real yanderes were the friends we made along the way?
nice comic, did you draw it Anon?
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No it's very old.
I kinda forgot how long Cranky is in this comic before the twist.
I certainly wasn’t expecting to see Floor, another good update as usual.
Well I gotta say after finally getting around to reading your untitled story it’s pretty good, it’s got a bit of a slow start but once you get over that first hump it really picks up, great job.
Back to the top.
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>ywn have someone be overjoyed about you existing
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>ywn be spiritually assimilated by your yandere pone.
feels real bad, man.
this is all i hear.
>Anon, clicks the play button on his phone.

You sure? Because all I hear is, https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=RX7TA3ezjHc
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It didnt turn out as well as the others in my opinion, but here is Twi
It’s not bad, a little goofy, but certainly not bad.
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fluttershy is having a sexual emergency i see
hmm, pretty good twi, likes shes starring into my soul.
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She has a rough time with it.
Come on all she wants is to give your dick a little sniferoo whats so weird about that!
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She does her best.
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Update tonight. Bump.
Can't wait
Looking forward to it.
>Being concussed fucking sucks.
>The throbbing in your head amplifies if you try to entertain yourself at all. Television, video games, everything was too painful to endure.
>You'd been subject to endless worrying from your mother, as well. She's basically grounded you, and despite the doctor telling you early today that you could return to school tomorrow, Friday, she insisted on keeping you at home.
>You've spent yesterday and most of your free time today resting and plotting revenge against Trixie.
>You've finally accepted that physical retaliation is out of the question. At least, a violent one.
>As much as you would love to give her a concussion of her own, you just can't bring yourself to hit a girl.
>Old-fashioned? You guess. You're pretty sure you could fight back, but jumping a girl? That, you couldn't do.
>That left you with two other primary means of revenge. The first one is social.
>Trixie had done enough with that on her own. But a smear campaign on social media would work.
>You curse, turning to your side on your bed. You should've gotten pictures of the blood.
>Maybe a classmate got one?
>You'd have to ask around.
>The other way you could get revenge is attacking her mentally.
>Her head wasn't screwed on right, but that doesn't mean she was immune.
>Maybe you could convince others to bully her. Maybe you could blackmail her. Gaslighting would take a lot of work, but...
>Slow down for a second, here. You want revenge. You have to pace yourself.
>How do you want to get your revenge?
>You'd been so focused on your hate that you haven't even considered what would make you feel better.
>You should approach this rationally.
>The doctor said there would be minimal, if any, permanent damage. So you were still going to kill it in school.
>Canterlot High wasn't bad, but you're covering old material from Crystal Prep. That's public schools for you.
>Most of all, you want Trixie out of your life.
>You didn't want to see her in Algebra. You didn't want to see her in the halls. You didn't want to see her sleeping in the cafeteria before school, or even that ugly old bike chained up outside.
>You wanted Trixie gone. Out of your life, completely. You hated her.
>But it was going to be three more days until you could start doing anything to her at school.
>You had to make sure you were the good guy in this situation. You had to be careful. Having those three days to let your anger foment into something colder and rational could only be good for you.
>Still, you needed a sounding board for your ideas. Just bouncing them off someone else would let you see the flaws.
>You pick up your piece of shit smartphone and thumb through your contacts.
>There were a few sympathetic messages from the prospective friends you had collected on your first day of school.
>None of them would hang out with you when you asked, though.
>They would start asking about your father's work, how rich you were, where you lived, and...
>Oh, that would work.
>She wouldn't even need to talk. She could just sit there and listen to you.
>With a grin, you tap on Floor Bored's name.
'hey was wondering if you wanna hang out.'
>You set the phone aside. Floor Bored would make the perfect sounding board for your revenge schemes.
>She had no friends, so if she wanted any social interaction, she had to at least play along with you. Basically, you were her social life. That gave you a lot of power over her.
>She wasn't going to be able to make new friends, either. Not with her hygiene, nor her complete lack of social skills.
>You are such an asshole.
>You'll make it up to Floor by letting her use your home theater to watch anime, buy her figs or something.
>It's not using her if both parties benefit, right?
>Yeah, you could live with that.
>You get a notification on your phone. Floor messaged you back. She took her sweet time.
>Damn, it's long.
>'Sounds good what game? I didnt get all my sorties done before school and I gotta farm ducats but if your new I can help u lvl your frames. Did u get warframe? It runs good on my laptop evn tho its rly old so u shuold be able to run it to. Or we could watch anime. Ep2 of paihime dropped an I havent watched it yet if u want to. Its not hentai. I kno some stream sites if u dont like it tho. We can watch w/e u want if it isnt isekai. Or narutard garbage. Ok thx'
>Half of that's gibberish to you. The other half leaves you scratching your head, metaphorically speaking. You don't want to chance the headache getting worse.
'uhhh no I meant coming over to my home. Also, doc says no games or tv until my concussion's healed. So just bring some manga or books. IDC what. No porn, no hentai.' You finish with your address and hit send.
>She's a lot more talktative in text. Sounds totally addicted to gaming, too. No wonder she's like the living dead at school. You bet if she a decent sleep before school, she'd be a lot more talkative. Smell aside, you could see her being fun to talk to if it's about something normal.
>Ugh, right, the smell. You open your phone again.
'Don't wanna be rude but please shower'
>You stare at the message. Would she come over if you sent that message? You weren't sure.
>You frown to yourself. Shit, you were just as dependent on her for social interaction right now as she was on you.
>Concussed, homebound, and nobody to talk revenge schemes with. Besides Suzy, but you didn't want to corrupt your little sister.
>She was like eight, anyways. She wouldn't know how to get back at Trixie.
>You smile. Yeah, she was a good kid. She looked up to you as something to aspire to be.
>There's a twinge of guilt in your heart when you think about your revenge plans with Suzy in mind.
>You'd just have to be extra careful that the revenge wouldn't come back to you. Sure, you'd be a prime suspect, but after that outburst? Others couldn't be blamed for not liking her.
>You look back at your message and delete it.
>Floor's next message pops up.
>That's it? You start typing out a reply to ask her when she'll be here, but you're interrupted by yet another message.
>'b there in 1hr'
>You look at the clock, around 3:30. School let out about an hour ago. You wonder how long she's going to stay over? She'll probably leave home for dinner.
>As long as your parents don't stick their noses into your business. They might get the wrong idea about the two of you. At least you're confident they wouldn't ask her to stay.
>There's no way either of them would approve of Floor even if they did think she was your girlfriend. That's a relief.
'See you then.'
>You look around your room. It's not too messy, but you could clean up a bit. Snack wrappers and an empty can on your desk, yesterday's clothes that missed the hamper, schoolwork and textbooks cluttering the desk. You should make your bed, too, for good measure. And you haven't vacuumed in at least a month; rug's getting crusty.
>You'll also need to grab some sheets to cover your furniture. You don't want Floor getting everything gross.
>You chuckle to yourself. A thought came into your head of getting Floor to shower at your place, just like your cartoons. Hell or high water, there's no way that girl is going to so much as touch a faucet if she can help it.
>Did she even wash her hands after going to the...
>Okay, brain, time to focus on cleaning. You've had enough free reign for one day.


>Suzy came home while you were vacuuming. She pokes her cute little head through your bedroom door. You turn the vacuum off when you see her blonde curls bouncing.
>"I said, I'm home!"
"Welcome home. How was school?"
>"It was fine. Why is your room clean?" Stepping inside, she scans the carpet. It's plush and fresh, the vacuum's path still visible. She presses her feet into the carpet in front of her, leaving a print behind.
"What, I can't clean my room if I want to?"
>"You never clean it until mom tells you to!" She hops up on your bed and takes off her backpack, dumping it over the fresh linen sheets.
"Hey, I just made that. Don't mess it up."
>"I don't get why we have to make our beds, anyway. We're just gonna mess them up when we go back to sleep." She sorts through a bright yellow portfolio, pulling papers out of it, "Look! I got all A's on my quizzes!"
"Impressive! You must've studied hard to get those."
>She gives you a full-faced, toothy smile. Her last baby incisor fell out when school started, and you can see a nub of white poking through fresh gums. You give her a pat on the shoulder.
"You got any homework to do for tomorrow?"
>"Yeah, but it's easy stuff."
"Easy or not, you need to get it out of the way now."
>"'Kaaay." Suzy collects her things and gets off the bed.
>Ugh, you were going to have a lot of homework when you came back to school.
>"Hey, you never said why you were cleaning!"
"I'm having a friend over. She'll be here in... half an hour or so."
>"You got a girlfriend!?" Don't look surprised, Suzy. It hurts.
"No, she's just a friend. We're gonna hang out. Hey, you want pizza? I'll order us some pizza."
>You usher your little sister out of your room. Your family had a large apartment, but it still felt small compared to your previous home. The kitchen's island is half the length of your last one, and the living room was too small, so you had to downsize the tv.
>Size aside, it was still a nice place. You pull out a chair for Suzy at the dinner table and grab the phone hanging on the wall. "I want Little Leo's! Extra cheese supreme."
"And I'll get the Ultimeatzza. Hope Floor's not a picky eater."
>"I'm not picky!"
Second half will come tonight, wanted to get out what I could this morning. Sorry for delays. Untitled update is pushed back to Sunday.
Hey man it's okay stuff happens, looking forward to the Untitled update now that I'm all caught up.
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Shits real good man.
Why must fluttershy be such a creepy pervert towards you
It's just her nature.
You pass the Harkness test and she's a xenophile.
What would be your reaction when you find the mandatory shrine to you in yandere mare or humare's house?
Demand worshipping
Take back my missing favorite shirt , then plow her like no tomorrow.
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not yet
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old green
Don’t think I’ve ever seen that before, thanks for posting it.
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Well now I’m gonna have to see if there’s more of that.
Come back soon.
Nobody can refuse the stare of a professional siren
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She's very good at what she does.
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can someone make a greentext similar to this
Please don't be dead.
Not dead, just an eternally depressed flake. Don't trust my word on specific update release dates in the future. I will finish the Trixie update before posting the Untitled update, and if anyone has noticed, I've started a NEETpone story, which will be updated after Untitled. All of it, hopefully, this week.
Thats a good NEETpone green. But am still very excited for more Trixie
I'll have to check out the NEET story.
What happens when you take the kids out to do something to let your yanwife rest because she's ill?
I assume she gets very restless.
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She's there. You just don't see her
She chrcks in on you every five minutes via her phone. Or like anon said stalks you.
This honestly.
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another green
>Floor playing warcuck
Fuck, I did not expect that. Some unnamed vidiya maybe, but not farmframe.
I bet she's slobbering over Nezha or Exca-best ass in the system-libur.
>inb4 her most played frame is Saryn because "it really speaks to her"

At least there is a way to get through to her. I too think she's the true yandere in the making. Or maybe she's going to fight Trixie over her "creep".
The question is would she save the kids or you if you were all attacked
Of course she would.
They're very close to you genetically and the product of your love so she would try to save all pf you.
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Welp, figured I might as well attempt a Pinkie, so here she is. I dont know what I would do for an AJ though.
I really this one anon.
Good panko. She's very excited to party with her special someone.
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I want a Powerful yandere
A great AND powerful yandere
Unfortunately, there's no lucky guy for Trixie to obsess over
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>Aria green when?
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Any plans for more Trixie?
Hopefully he comes back soon.
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Come back soon, I'd really like to see another update to that untitled story.
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I really like flat hair Pinkie. The flat mane style is just nice looking
Can't disagree with you there.
Fantastic job.
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Thanks guys, Im glad you like it!
When you manage to scare Glimmer you're doing something right
For a second I thought Cozy had tiny fangs.
She sure looks excited.
She looks great
She's probably just overthinking some small misunderstanding. Look at Cozy, does she look like she means any harm to anyhorse? It could be as simple as Cozy bringing her favorite knife to cook dinner together, y'know, to bond. And Cozy's just excited because she's really looking forward to it. Starlight is totally overreacting.
Or we’re about to see a reenactmentof Halloween H20.
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Does cozy think glimmer is making moves on anon and trying to fuck up her plans?
Imagine how her ghost would be if you let her die
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Good girl
"'Cause you're a good kid, Suzy. Ah... yeah, speaking of being good. My friend that's coming over? Her name's Floor. She's not the cleanest person, so try not to comment on any... body odor she has, alright?"
"Thanks. I'm glad you're so polite."
>She beams at you. That smile could melt ice! You're confident she has a lot more friends than you. Being rich wasn't as big of a deal for girls as it was for guys.
>You shake your head. Right, pizza.


>Be Floor Bored.
>Be standing outside of Comet's apartment.
>Your aching arms have lugged twenty pounds of manga in an Aldi's reusable bag while your fraying backpack digging into your shoulders carries another ten or fifteen pounds the good stuff.
>You've been here for a long time, trying to work up the courage to knock on the door.
>The apartment building Comet lives in is too nice. It's shiny with glass and metal, and it has its own parking garage, and they had a pool in the center of the building.
>Coogle said the rent was more than your mom made in a month.
>Comet wasn't just rich, though, he was... a boy.
>And he invited you over to his home. To hang out.
>At first, you thought he was a pleb and a bully. He laughed at you until you ran and hid in the bathroom.
>Your mom had a long talk with you about your truancy issues.
>When you brought up Comet, she said that boys often 'tease' girls they're interested in.
>You dismissed the idea. There's no way any boy would be interested in fat, filthy, ecchi otakus like you.
>But a part of you held on. Imagining. Dreaming what it would be like to have a r-real... bf.
>You didn't get any homework done that weekend. Not that you usually did, but this time it wasn't because you were slacking off.
>It was that damn question running through your head.
>What if he DOES like you?
>The first thing he did Monday was apologize to you.
>He said he didn't mean to hurt you.
>That's why you're here.
>An ounce of kindness.
>You're desperate for a dream.
>You raise a hand to knock. It stays there, hovering inches from the beautiful wood. You're scared to touch it. To stain it.
>You pull down the sleeve of your sweater, wrapping your pudgy fist in threadbare synthetic fibers. Your thumb pokes through a hole. You're wearing your comfy sweater.
>It's a gray turtleneck that hugs you close. You're going to outgrow it one of these days, but you refuse to accept that reality.
>Your reverie is interrupted by the chime of an elevator's bell and noiseless hydraulics. You freeze. Footsteps. They're walking towards you. Please keep walking. Walk right past, don't look at me, don't smell me, please don't acknowledge my existence. Stop slowing down. Keep walking, please. Please. PLEASE.
>"Uh... you live here?"
>You turn your head. A muscular man in a tight-fitting green polo towers over you. Tattoos cover his arms and face, piercings of all kinds everywhere from the lips to ears. He has a pizza delivery thing, the thermal thingies that keep pizzas hot. He's scary. He looks like a bad guy. He's going to rob you. You just wanted to read manga.
>"Do you live here?" He's screaming.
>You creak and cry. Your hands can't grab your bag. You need your bag. You've spent years collecting those manga. It's all you have.
>"... Eh." The man leans over you and punches the door. Repeatedly. The splintering wood screams in your ears and you lock up, fingers laced through the holes in your comfy sweater, blocking the noise.
>You kneel down and whimper. You don't want to get robbed. He's going to stab you with the pieces of wood from the door and you're going to bleed out and it's going to get all over your manga and ruin all of it and you'll die and
>"Floor? What are you doing down there?"
>"You know her?"
>"She's a... friend from school. Floor, get- just one second, alright? Floor, c'mon."
>"You do you, man. Pizza's not going anywhere."
>Comet's soothing baritone calls out to you, a serene embrace in stormy waters. "Damn, that's a lot of manga. Were you planning on moving here?"
>His laugh hits you square below the stomach. He leans one hand away from your ears, "Get up. Easy does it. There you go."
>He picks up your massive bag full of manga with one arm and lifts it without so much as a grunt.
>His other arm urges you along with him into his apartment. His palm is warm, wrapped around your forearm, just above the wrist. You can feel your blood being heated, pulsing into your fingertips.
>You can smell Comet. Leather and pine needles. At school he had a sweet tang, parching your throat. Sweaty and dirty. Now he was clean, and... rugged. Enticing.
>It brought you to a forest, your soft footsteps overpowered by his boots breaking dry needles underneath with every stride, a secluded cabin your destination. The two of you would stop outside the door, knowing full well your honeymoon was going to last all week. You rubbed noses and
>"Floor? You okay?"
>You snap your head towards Comet's voice, turning around. The door behind him hasn't been broken. He's carrying two boxes of pizza stacked atop one another. His voice sounds worried.
"I'm fine. I just got scared by the pizza guy."
>He doesn't talk for a moment. The only person that responded to you right away was your mother. People said you mumbled.
>"The pizza guy? That's Nos. He only looks like a freak, totally harmless otherwise. You a fan of veggie or three meat pizza?"
"Meat, please."
>You follow him to the dining room.
>You are glad your blushing face is hidden behind your bangs. Asking a boy for meat... in his home... this was just like your manga. What if he got the wrong idea? No, this wasn't the wrong idea, but it was too soon. You needed to clear up the misunderstandings now, before he got the wrong idea that you were some two-bit floozy that smiled at every handsome boy she met.
"Not like that... hehe."
Really glad to see you back, this was a solid update and will hopefully bring some life back to the thread.
More tonight.
Boy, you gonna need some big fork to clear all the pasta that'll leave Floor's pockets soon enough.

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