It's Witchcraft I Tell You!

by The Weakest Link

Rating: teen
Tags: Random, Human, Comedy
Length: 1321

Twilight checks on Anon to find that he's taken up an odd obsession.

Ever since arriving in Equestria, Anon has been struggling with his attraction towards ponies. In extreme denial, he comes to a sound conclusion:

That their booties are magical.

Inspired by Domics.

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2015-03-30 04:50:01 UTC

The Fuck Is My Life

*Knock Knock Knock*

Twilight knocked on the door impatiently, worried. Anon hadn’t come out of his house in weeks, and she was getting concerned for his health.

“Anon?” she called. “Are you home?”

“...No?” A masculine voice called back. Twilight sighed. Always jokes with him. Maybe it’s a human thing.

“Anon, could you please open the door?”

“I’ll stick with my last answer.”

“Could you just be serious for a minute?”

“I am being serious. I’m seriously not letting you into my house.”

“And why not?”

“Um...reasons.”

'Um reasons' indeed, for Anon was hiding something far beyond Twilight’s level of understanding, something so complex and nuanced that her fragile mind could not possibly comprehend it. Unless it could and this is hyperbole.

This is hyperbole.

Twilight narrowed her eyes, then stepped back from the door. Leaning her head down, she started to charge up her horn.

“Anon, if you don’t give me a valid reason in ten seconds, I’m breaking the door down.”

“You’re being awfully dramatic about this, don’t you think? I’m pretty sure destruction of property and trespassing aren't viewed kindly by the law.”

Unfortunately, Twilight cared little for the law that day. Her top priority as Princess of Friendship was to help out her friends, and Anon was clearly in need of a friendly intervention of some sort. If a door stands in the way between her and her goal, then so be it.

“Five...”

“Twilight, really, you don’t want to-”

“Two…”

If you’re a door, or door sympathetic, you may want to leave now, lest this tale be labeled as 'graphic'.

“I’m not even kidding right now Twilight, don’t-”

Evidently Twilight didn’t account for negative numbers nor fractions, for as soon as the dreaded number ‘0’ escaped her lips, the door was thrown open with a blast of lavender magic, completely crushing the doorstop that was idly sitting between the door and the wall next to it. In fact, the wall the door became acquainted with nearly collapsed, causing Anon’s home to shudder horrifically for a moment before coming to a stop.

Twilight may have gone slightly overboard. Just slightly. That, or she was just antsy from not having sent in a friendship report in about half a season. Feel free to interpret the word ‘season’ however you see fit.

As the dust cleared and the doorstop’s soul departed to doorstop hell, for there is no heaven for doorstops, as they are all secretly narcissistic genocidal troglodytes, Twilight gazed upon the room before her.

Anon was standing next to a whiteboard pressed against the opposite wall, looking quite perturbed by what had just transpired. His face looked as if it had not been shaven in over a fortnight, his hands were shaking, and his eyes…his eyes were the eyes of a man who had seen too much in his life.

Twilight immediately rushed to her friend, her concern for his well being inversely proportional to her ability to properly use a door. However, her hooves slowed against the hardwood floor as her eyes were drawn to the rest of the room, and widened at the sight before her.

Plooooot.

Plot as far as the eye could see.

Hasty sketched plots upon pieces of notebook paper crumpled and thrown haphazardly around a trash bin. Photographs of plots hanging from strings spanning the ceiling by clothespins, shamelessly fluttering in the wind that entered through the desecrated entrance. Whiteboards completely covered in elaborate drawings of plot, hours and hours of ceaseless effort having been put into making them as accurate as possible.

Complex algorithms surrounded the plots on the whiteboard, the script written with an unsteady hand, and with many equals signs followed with furious question marks…which were then followed by crude drawings of plots.

It truly was a plot filled sight to behold. Scientists will look back upon this room and their mouths will gape in ecstatic, childlike wonder as their minds break from their oncoming existential queries.

As Twilight stood there in the house of a decrepit man, she realized in horror that she knew these plots. She was fairly acquainted with them, the shapes and contours of each stirring memories of days gone by.

Roseluck, Blossomforth, Fluttershy, Cloudchaser, Lotus, Applejack, Aloe, Bon Bon, Daisy, Lyra, Pinkie, Bon Bon, , Rarity, Colgate, Rainbow Dash, and even poor Bloomberg!

Wait…no, that’s just a tree in the background. The plot in the foreground is the Mayors.

But still! Plots! Plots everywhere! A beautiful bounty of bouncing booties, a plethora of powerful pictures portraying plots, a...a...alliteration!

“Anon…” Twilight ventured slowly, giving him a shit eating grin. He gulped, then put his hands in front of him and waved them, denying anything.

“Twilight, you’ve got it all wrong,” he said, sweat appearing on his forehead. “This is nothing. It doesn’t mean anything. Really.”

Twilight said nothing. She just continued giving him her ridiculous grin. Shaking his head, Anon walked over to one of the whiteboards, gesturing to it animatedly.

“Y-You see, I was beginning to feel really strange around you and your friends and every mare here between the ages of eighteen and forty, eh heh, and, and I was thinking, ‘hey, ponies have magic, this is obviously magic’, right?”

Twilight said nothing.

“Don’t deny it, witch! This is witchcraft, I know it! You, and all your little pony friends, specifically the female ones for some odd reason, have cast some sort of spell on me, or maybe it’s passive, but whatever it is, it’s making me feel weird, and I’m not crazy so stop looking at me like that!”

Twilight said nothing. Anon gasped dramatically and pointed directly at her.

“Your silence gives away your guilt! I knew it! I know this is magic, Twilight! I know that you’ve cast some sort of…priority rearrangement spell, or desire spell, or, or…j-just look at this! This can’t be a coincidence!”

Anon quickly rushed over to the other side of the room, nearly tripping over a homemade mosaic in the image of Pinkie’s plot. He pointed furiously at a picture of Applejack’s plot that hung from the ceiling.

“See, see! Her special talent involves intense physical labor, added to the fact that she’s an earth pony, and bam! Her plot is the firmest one I’ve ever…no, wait, over here,” he paused as he ran halfway across the room, then collapsed in a cartoonish manner on the floor next to the mosaic, pressing the side of his face against it as he looked back at Twilight.

“You see?! She bakes soft pastries, and it’s so soft and round that I can’t even…dammit, Twilight, just admit it!”

He stood and walked right up to her, screaming desperately in her face.

“There must be some sort of magical link between plots and special talents, or hobbies, or something, some kind of thing that creates a spell to attract prospective mates, or is some sort of passive defense mechanism, o-or you’re just all torturing me and trying to drive me insane and have cast a spell on me, or on your plots, right!? Twilight?! Admit it?!”

Twilight simply pointed a hoof right at Anons chest.

“You like ponies, don’t you Anon?” she said comically.

Anon stared at her angrily, his eyes wide as saucers, his fists clenched, his whole body shaking, until he finally let out a breath, fell to his knees, and wrapped his arms around Twilight. She readily accepted his hug and returned it with her wings.

“I hate you.” Anon said, gently squeezing her. “I hate you so much.”

“You’re only saying that because you feel conflicted about your sexual desires.”

“Fair enough…fair enough…”

“…Where’s mine?” Twilight said after a pause.

“Excuse me?”

“I don’t see my ass.”

“Neither does anybody else, pancake.”

And so the day ended with Twilight shamefacedly leaving the Anon household, now knowing fully well that his anaconda don’t want none unless she got buns.