Title: Alt-SciTwi -- 100th NST special Author: nohooves Pastebin link: http://pastebin.com/G179D4i9 First Edit: Sunday 1st of May 2016 07:44:16 PM CDT Last Edit: Last edit on: Sunday 1st of May 2016 10:39:12 PM CDT >"Anon, darling--" >You ignore your girlfriend's call. >You know perfectly well why she's calling you.   >"Anonymous--" >She calls out for you again.   >Trixie glances at you from the copilot's seat. >"Sounds like someone's in trouble," she mutters with a grin, before shifting her attention back to her book. >The cover is mostly blank with the exception of [DEUS VULT] scrawled in overly gothic font.   >You look for somewhere to hide. >Box. Compartment. Anything. >"Hiding won't help, Anonymous." "Shut it, Trix." >You pull out a bunch of unneeded things like oxygen tanks and emergency supplies from under your seat. >The resulting space looks large enough for you to squeeze in... with some help. >"That's barely large enough to fit your head through." "Trixie, you aren't helping."   >Another call, this time it's more thunderous. >"ANON, GET YOUR ASS DOWN TO THE GALLEY THIS VERY SECOND OR GOD HELP ME--" "Fine, fine!"   - - - -   >"What in the world is THIS?" >Twilight doesn't even wait for you to make it through the door. >She's pointing at an all-too-familiar looking site on her HST TwiPad™ (Designed in Californeighia, patent pending). >It's the Power Ponies board on Channel4.org.   "Look, babe, I can explain--" >"You've been writing greentexts about us this whole time??" >Twilight is absolutely livid. >"The adventures and state secrets that are supposed to be, you know, SECRET? And the stuff about us doing... doing..." >You've never seen her face this red before. >"...p-p-private couple lovey dovey stuff??"   >"As if that's a secret to anyone with ears," you hear Trixie muttering, clear as day through the paper-thin walls of The Rainboom. >Twilight buries her crimson-red face in her hands. >You cough uncomfortably.   "I-I had to vent somehow! Besides, the events may be true but the characters are PONIES! The whole storyline is so ludicrous that no one would even believe a word of it--"   >Your excuses are cut off abruptly by a flying TwiPad™ aimed squarely at your face.   - - - -   >Back at the helm, you sulk in the pilot seat with bandages on your nose. "Of all the magic you're familiar with, healing isn't one of them. How typical." >"That requires an intimate knowledge of human physiology, Anonymous," chides Trixie, slapping your hand away from your face. "Don't touch it, or you'll make it worse." >You grumble. "I really need to pick my nose." >Trixie rolls her eyes.   >Several minutes of uncomfortable silence later, the comms console startles the pilot pair with a ring.   >[Incoming video call from: UNKNOWN NUMBER]   >You and Trixie exchange startled looks. You reach over and hit the accept button. "H-hello?" >A familiar visage fills the screen.   >"Hello, silly spoon! Long time, eh?" >The toothpaste-haired milf flashes a grin in the same manner you've seen her flash her breasts. "U-uhm..." >"I know, I know. I should've stayed in touch! But you know how busy Moondancer and I have been." >"Actually, we haven't," interjects Trixie. "How have you been, Minuette?" >"Oh, this and that! Wait a minute--" >Minuette leans into the camera, squinting a little. The lower half of the video fills up with manic rifle-pixie cleavage. >You look away, blushing furiously.   >"My, my," Minuette frowns. "Whatever happened to your nose, silly spoon?" >You sigh. "It's a long story." >"It can't be longer than whatever you're packing in your pants~" >The pale-blue mercenary eyes at your bulging crotch, winking seductively. >You curse your stupid, traitorous penis. "I really would rather not--"   >Trixie cuts in rather inconveniently. >"MINUETTE, do you remember the Power Ponies image board Anonymous frequents?" >Oh, for fucking fuck's sake. >Minuette thinks for a second. >"Why, yes! Channel4 dot org or whatever? Isn't that a website for little girls?" >"Yes, it is. You see, Anonymous and Twilight got in a fight because--"   >This is the worst day ever.   - - - -   >After a round of laughter at your expense, Minuette calls over Moondancer to "catch up on things." >You wonder at Minuette's definition of the phrase as she retells the gossip with lascivious embellishments. >Laughter, gawking by Moondancer, followed by more laughter and more gawking. >As much as you hated being laughed at, you couldn't help but start to chuckle at some of Minuette's exaggerations. >You even begin to join in on the banter, feeling slightly better about yourself. >Was this her intention all along? To help you laugh it off?   >"Well, that's enough gossipping for me tonight." >Minuette stretches and yawns, and boops Moondancer on the nose. >"You can stay on for a bit longer if you want, just don't stay up too late." >"Gee, thanks mom," grumbles Moondancer. >Minuette chuckles, and leans in for a kiss. The resulting exchange is damp enough to be illegal in some states. >Trixie breathes heavily, not looking away for a second. She silently mouths something along the lines of "teach me sandpie."   >You look away, their wanton display of affection stirring your innards hollow. >You wonder if things would ever be the same between you and Twilight again.   >"I, uhm," stammers Trixie. "I need to use the shower. For a while."   - - - -   >You and Moondancer chat for a while, reminiscing about all the crazy adventures you've had, the crazy last-stand at the HST headquaters, among others. >"So," starts Moondancer, after running out of things to reminiscent about. >She digs out the half-dozenth cigarette of the call and lights it casually. "So."   >"The truth is--" she blows strings of gossamer-thin smoke at the screen. >"--The truth is, I've read your greentext. Well, most of it, at least." >You raise an eyebrow. >"Entertaining stuff, I must admit. Although I don't appreciate you portraying me as that sweaty shut-in nerd pony with an autistic axe to grind."   "I... Thank you?" >"No problem," she sucks on the cancer stick again, burning through half of it in one go. "I'm actually a big fan of Power Ponies myself." >You nod quietly, not sure what to make of this revelation. >So like a socially well-adjusted normlperson, you decide to ask her a show-related question. "Wh-who's your favorite pony?" >"Masked Matter-Horn," she says without hesitation. >Of course. >"And don't give me that "Masked Mary-Sue" crap or I will clog your inbox with copies of [Miami Connection]." "Miami what?" >"Minuette never stopped ordering them," she says with finality. >It's clearly not a topic to be pursued any further.   >"Look, man, I'm not the one to shove my nose into friends' relationships--" >She takes a drag before snuffing out the dying cigarette. >"What do you think pisses Twilight off more -- the fact that you wrote smut based on the actual sex you've had, or that you've done it without her permission?" >You open your mouth to speak, only to close again in realization. >Seeing your hesitation, Moondancer nods in approval. >"Yep. I've known her for years, Anon. She can be kinkier than Minuette if you get her in the right mood." >Oh, you're more than familiar with *that* facet of Twilight.   >Minuette takes out another cigarette and fiddles with it for a moment. >"You still haven't apologized to her, have you?" >You raise your hands in defense. "H-hey, I already tried to explain myself to her, and--" >"And it didn't go too well because excuses aren't apologies." >She shoves the cancer stick between her lips, letting you mull over her words.   >"Just do it." "I will." >"Yesterday you said tomorrow--" "Actually, it all happened today." >"Don't let your dreams be dreams." "Moondancer--" >"Take that lavender pussy and JUST--" "MOONDANCER, I SWEAR TO GOD"   - - - -   >You quietly shuffle your way to the cabin, stopping at the door leading into Twilight's quarters. >You raise your hand to knock when you hear muffled groans. >Huh?   >You slide the door open slowly, wedging yourself in quietly. >In the usual Twilight fashion, the room is cluttered with various papers and complex books covering sciencey subjects from across the multiverse. >On the far end of the room is a vaguely Asian room divider, with Twilight's bed behind it. >The bed you've spent countless nights in, doing *things* with Twilight. >And the current source of the muffled groans.   >You tiptoe your way through the familiar clearings in the scholastic disarray. >Just a few feet away from the bed, you hear another moan. >It's unmistakeably Twilight's. >"N-nonny~" >This is getting weird.   >You make it to the partition and peek around it. >There's the bed. >And there's Twilight, reclining against a pile of pillows. >You see her left hand holding up the HST TwiPad™ (Designed in Californeighia, patent pending). >It's unmistakably displaying the Power Ponies board on Channel4.org. >Her right hand disappears into and beneath her purple panties. >....NO way.   "Twilight?"   >"AaaAAARUGH!" >Twilight's right hand slips out of her panties lightning-fast. >She hurriedly locks her TwiPad™. >"A-a-a-a-anonymous! Hahahaha! I th-thought you'd be in the cock sleeve. STEVE. COCKPIT."   "Were you just...." >"Reading research papers, yes!" >Twilight breathes heavily, wiping her hand on a wad of tissues. >"S-sweaty hands, amirite? Heh heh heh.... heh..." >You stare at her, unimpressed.   "That was Channel4." >"Nope." "Power Ponies." >"Most definitely not."   >Taking a hint from your conversation with Moondancer, you decide to prod her with show references. "Masked Mary-Sue--" >"WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU JUST SAY ABOUT MASKED M--" >Twilight slaps her hands over her mouth, too little too late.   "HAH, GOTCHA."   >Twilight rolls her eyes in resignation, pouting all the while. >"Fine. FINE. I may or may not be a Power Ponies fan, and I may or may not find some smut to be entertaining--" >She looks away, clearly blushing. >"--and may or may not have enjoyed the smut written by someone who may or may not be Anonymous..."   >Twilight gets her angry edge back again. >"L-look. It doesn't matter whether I enjoyed reading it or not. You... You wrote about us! You wrote about all the intimate details we shared... without telling me... and-and-and..."   >You shut her up with a hug.   "Look, I'm sorry that I wrote all that... about us. Without permission." >You hear Twilight breathing deeply, taking in your scent. >God, you love it when she does that. "Even though the characters are made up, I shouldn't have written so frankly about our lives without consulting you first." >You meet your lips with hers briefly, gently stroking her lavender face. "I'm really sorry."   >Twilight's eyes dart between yours. >Suddenly, she grabs your face in her hands and pummels you with the deepest kiss you've had in a long time. >Her tongue gently wraps and embraces with yours, numbing your senses with sweet, lukewarm, and distinctively Twilight-y flavor. >You feel yourself being pushed backward towards the bed. >She breaks the kiss abruptly, and shoves you into the bed. >The lavender predator wastes no time hopping on top of you, peeling off her tank top. >You feel her erect nipples rubbing against your chest as she does *that* crawl up your torso, ending with her face pressed against your neck.   >A wave of goosebumps wash over your body as she douses your ear with warm, airy whispers. >"A-anon... Can I inspire y-you for some smut?"   >"He can," says Trixie, from the other room. "If you'd let me find my earplugs first."   - - - -   >In a darkened basement far, far away, a shadowy figure with shockingly blue hair sits hunched over his laptop. >The desk is cluttered with wrappers and leftovers. >Half-finished computer with parts strewn about and forgotten takes up most of the desk space. >But the blue-haired patrician doesn't seem to mind. >It's a work in progress, he tells himself. >After all, he's a busy intellectual. >The constant burden of engaging in philosophical debates requires careful management of one's time.   >The basement is dead-quiet except the clik-clak of keystrokes and occasional rush of water running through the plumbing. >[Honestly, I don't get the appeal,] he pauses for a moment, taking a big gulp from his Big Gulp. >[It's like this general is full of nothing but /u/ cucks content with some bacon-mane Stacy deflowering their waifu.] >His light-blue eyes glaze over the screen, making sure that his argument is sound. >Reputation is *everything* on anonymous imageboards. >Especially Channel4.   >He adds finishing touches to his already-profound argument, polishing it to the point of being irrefutable. >[It's rather degenerate, to be honest.] >The clik-clak of keystrokes intensify, demonstrating his familiarity with making rapid arguments and demolishing anyone who dares to challenge his considerable intellect. >[I hope you faggots enjoy the thread, because you've all ruined it for me.] >[t. Flash Sentry]   >With the final keystroke, Brad smiles smugly to himself. >Yet another defeat for the dykeshitters.   >Sapphire Saviors NEVER lose.