Filly McBadass

by Grey Rebl

Rating: teen
Tags: Comedy, Adventure, Human
Length: 1081

He had never liked being helpless. Blind, de-aged into a frail filly and lost in a world were everything was too sweet to be true, he intends to show the world who's the MAN. Spartan training ensues. Well, as spartan sugary-society would allow.

*No Cover Picture, because searching "Filly McBadass" on Google Images doesn't work.*
Warning: Currently runs on sugar-high inspiration, countered with carrot juice in a futile attempt to redirect side-effects.

He hated being helpless. Living life in the cold, hard streets had its perks when it comes to developing mindsets. Permanently becoming a blind, frail filly, the prime example of helpless, just made him beyond grumpy.

Cast into a world filled with so much sugar in it that it would be too good to be true, it only made his desire to become stronger a whole lot more necessary. Innocence, after all, can't last forever, especially in the road towards becoming Filly McBadass. Well, if only the new society he lived in now would let him live the way he wanted. Damned skittish skittle ponies…

I blame "...And It's Freaking Cold Up Here" and the "Savage Skies Series" for the inspiration.

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2015-04-10 18:24:16 UTC

Prologue

It's pretty chilly, wherever he was.

For several minutes, he had drifted in and out of his slumber before he realized something was wrong. Very wrong. He felt the chill breeze brush through his hair as it fluttered along with it. Droplets of wet ice combed his bare body. Whatever he laid, it was soft and fluffly. Weird. He's small to the world, he realized, as he unconsciously cuddled his frail, little limbs to himself.

Hair? Little? Frail? He's pretty sure he hard-shaved himself so hard that his bald head should be shiny enough to blind even Spongebob! He most certainly remembered eating his daily eggs and rice for the stomach-filling grains and protein to energize his lean body. Its big enough so that he wouldn't be able to fit all his toned arms and legs under himself. And he definitely remembered having clothes on!

He knew what was going on. The signs were all there. It was his worst nightmare: being weak! Oh, god! There's no way in hell he's going to let himself be taken over by his own dream and lose precious sleep! Wait, when did he fall asleep?

It was okay. It's okay. Deep breaths. He did what he must do to keep calm and took deep breaths. Thankfully, his eyes were already closed for it. He ignored his rapidly beating heart and tensed body, now in the process of being drenched in cold sweat, and cleared away all hesitation. And dived into his mind. Like splashing into cold water, he submerged himself into a state of wakefulness and awareness. With his breath as his choice of focus, he steadied his mind and body. It was less of relieving the panic and more of distracting himself from it.

His senses sharpened, and the familiar sense of control returned to him. Ah, yes, just the way he liked it: as cool as a cloud and in control. If focused meditation were a drug, man, the world would be a better place, filled with so many happy people. Hopefully, though, there would be less need for hippies doing their missionary work. Unless it spread, then he would change his mind. Right, distracted. He could be offensive later.

He silently thanked the ever-so-useful internet for such awesome calming advice and proceeded to give his entire body a once over, eyes still closed. Without moving, he mentally scanned it, taking each limb and part into consideration. His findings were... disturbing. Where the hell were his fingers? It didn't appear that he had hands anymore. Why did his face felt so long, small even? Were his limbs supposed to bend in that direction? And his ears! What happened to his ears?! Why do they feel so big? And worst of all, what were those... pair of things sprouting from his shoulder blades? They just... twitch.

If this was what this "lucid dreaming" people crazed about, they weren't exaggerating. It's crazy as hell, and it screwed with his mind. Consider himself freaked out.

"Just what the hell is going on?" he said. With a gasp of shock, he shut his mouth with his arms. Fear gripped his heart into skipping a beat. He sounded like a girl, light and squeaky, sweet and innocent. By definition, he held the voice of a model, angelic little girl. It was by that thought that he realized that his precious Family Jewels were missing.

He yelped by the realization and hopped up on all fours, his limbs on his shoulderblades going all twitchy, as he shot his eyes open. Nothing. There was nothing to see. It wasn't plain darknesss, but true nothingness! He blinked. Again. And then he blinked some more. Still nothing.

"B-blind?! I can't see! I'm blind?!" Already, he was losing his composure. "R-right! This is a dream! A dream! There's nothing to worry about!" To test himself, he pinched hi-- Oh! Right! No fingers. So, he did the next best thing and bit firmly onto his front limb. Pain spiked around his limb. Taken aback, he jumped back. However, by the time he realized that there was suddenly nothing beneath him, it was too late.

He fell. He shrieked with his little girl voice, and by that, his musculanity suddenly converted into fragile glass.

After a few seconds of falling, he rapidly snarled out and he flailed as the adrenaline rushed to his head and angrily yelled, "God, if you and heaven exist, I'm going to fucking strangle you for setting up this sick joke once I'm done being deeaaaad!" He refused to die in such a cliche manner! He refused! "Aaaaa-- Oof!"

And then, he landed onto to something soft. Very soft. If anything, he felt as though he was floating on a cloud. Actually, he realized, it was made of the same thing as the platform he was previously on. The suddeness and discomfort forced him to appreciate it for that particular instant. In that instant, he calmed as the cloud seemingly bounced a little and then stilled.

"...Or maybe I'm already dead and went to heaven," he muttered softly. Honestly, there was a fair chance that it wasn't far from the truth. Hell, he couldn't even remember what he was doing to lose consciousness in the first place. The only thing he didn't like was the possibility that he just insulted the lord. Yeah, he'd rather imagine an entirely different scenario.

He didn't know why or how he suddenly stopped his panic so easily, but he knew that the "cloud" he laid on was absolute bliss. He felt like a child who played around with his new bed and got tired as he slowly let the soft covers swallow him up. Which was why he hated it, and yet, he couldn't. It was just too damned soft. Even so, he'd rather not care. After all, at that moment, he was enlightened by a nagging instinct within him that reality wasn't at all what he thought it to be.

"Where are my smokes when I need them?" He desperately needed something to relieve the itch that suddenly flared up from the panic. It was just too much for him. Just too much. He sighed. "The fuck am I going to do?"

He rolled around, comfortable. There, he blankly stared skywards, snow angel position, as he pondered about what reality had just pitted him into with only the soft touches of snow droplets and cold air to muse his remaining senses.