OOC Is Serious Business

by Not quite real

Rating: mature
Tags: Spike, Comedy, Random, Crossover, Main 6, Gore, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Dark, Alternate Universe, Other
Length: 1663

What if the Mane Six were housemates (along with SCP-173) and were all obscenely OOC and stereotyped? That's what you'll find in this story. (WARNING: It's a crackfic, I've warned you.)

The Mane Six and SCP-173 are housemates. One day, Pinkie loses at Yahtzee one time too many, and gets a little psychotic...

RARITY'S TRIGGER WARNINGS:
Drug use
Violence
Gore
Guns
Murder
EXTREME OOC
Character death
SCP-173
General lack of knowledge
Terrible stereotypes
Yahtzee

Published 2016-03-31 03:20:02 UTC
Last updated 2016-03-31 03:20:02 UTC

Yahtzee

Author's Note

A/N: Not a single one of these characters are my own creation.
So I decided to make a story about violence, murder, drug use, and Yahtzee. Also nobody in here is even vaguely acting to their character.

Yahtzee

OOC Is Serious Business

By steam66

“Mother FUCKER!” Pinkie Pie screeched. “How the FUCK do you keep beating me at Yahtzee? You’re a fucking statue!”

SCP-173 took another long hit from the colourless liquid in the pipe on the oak wood table they were sitting at, despite being unable to move while directly viewed. It regarded the livid, energetic pink pony with a stony stare. Which indeed was the only facial expression it had, considering the fact that it was a homicidal concrete statue.

Pinkie let out a long, drawn sigh and returned to rolling the set of dice, scooping them up with her hooves and throwing them down onto the table.

One of the cubes rolled off the side of the table. Pinkie leaned down; SCP-173 didn’t even need to look to determine she’d been unlucky once more, as the pink horse screamed in fury again. Pinkie sweeped the papers and dice off the table in one fell swoop.

“Fuck it.” she sighed. “I’m going to go do some other shit.” Pinkie dropped from the table and headed out the door. 173 took another hit and quietly chortled.

In the other room, Applejack was intensely regarding her computer screen, her hooves under the table. Pinkie stopped for a moment- was Applejack walking in place, or what was that clopping noise- before suddenly realizing what was going on at the exact moment Applejack looked up. Before the earth pony could reach for the pump-action shotgun she carried around with her at all times, Pinkie had zipped out of the room. She breathed in relief- that was a close call.

She decided she was a bit peckish and checked out the kitchen. Rainbow Dash lay in front of the open fridge, her belly distended and liquid pooling around her mouth. Pinkie sighed.

“Oh fuck Rainbow, did you just eat our entire fridge again?” The pegasus could only let out a grunt; Pinkie decided that was a “yes”. She reached to the very bottom of the fridge and retrieved an apple. She raised the item high and regarded it; then fell to one of her famous bouts of murderous rage and began to violently beat Dash with the fruit.

By the time she had finished, the pegasus was bloody and unconscious. No matter. She sliced up the apple with a kitchen knife and ate the slices- the residual blood added some zest to that- and washed up her red-stained hooves before heading up the stairs to see what the rest of her detestable housemates were up to.

Twilight was a lost cause- she had decorated her room with National Socialist paraphernalia, and quite literally bucked Pinkie out of the room, judging a mere earth pony as inferior to tread upon the grounds. Pinkie made a mental note- she’d have to murder Twilight and use her organs later, though she really didn’t like the interruption in schedule that would create.

Last to be checked upon was Rarity, whom was smashing away at her keyboard, all four hundred sickly-smelling extremely-opinionated pounds of her. She swiveled her head at Pinkie as the door opened, and opened her mouth to scream about whatever had triggered her, only for the door to shut, muffling her rant.

Pinkie sighed and flopped upon her own bed. She sniffed- something was wrong. She checked under the bed.

SCP-173 had hidden his entire stash of various substances there. Tank, the poor turtle, had already eaten a four pound bag of one of them (she couldn’t name what) and was now apparently in a higher state of being under the bed. Nevermind him- Pinkie couldn’t process it under the mounting rage she now experienced.

“..FUUUUUUUUCK YOOOOOOU!” she screamed, hefting a cartoonishly large Desert Eagle from her nightstand. She took a magazine out of the drawer, popping one in.

First to be purged was Rarity. The door was kicked down easily, and Rarity turned to speak again, the foul smell of the room assaulting Pinkie’s nose. In a swift, well-oiled motion, Pinkie brought up the Desert Eagle, and squeezed the trigger bar with her hooves.

The .50AE round exploded from the barrel like a trained greyhound on a rabbit’s trail, the weapon’s action pulling back, giving the left-behind casing of the round an exit to eject from the chamber. The bullet continued its trajectory at 1,450 feet per second, over a distance of about six feet.

As the bullet impacted Rarity’s skull, several things happened. The overpressure of the bullet’s touch began to collapse her bone and push back into her fleshy brain, causing several blood vessel ruptures as it was. The real damage began when the round burrowed farther into her skull, tumbling and beginning to flatten and distort.

The round carved a deep trench into Rarity’s skull, creating another shockwave that resisted, fought against the initial one, and exploded the skull proper, causing brain matter and blood vessels to rupture and slice apart into shrapnel chunks, flying outwards propelled by the force of their liberation from the rest of what was once Rarity’s skull.

The end effect was a satisfying explosion of the head, and the ending of Rarity’s opinion before the thought had even reached her vocal chords. Pinkie giggled and blew some smoke out of the Desert Eagle’s barrel.

She then continued her rampage at Twilight’s door, having heard the Nazi horse scream something at the commencement of the massacre. The unicorn, ever-prepared, had already strapped on her Stahlhelm and opened fire with a withering barrage of 9x19 Parabellum rounds from her MP40 as Pinkie prepared to breach the door.

Pinkie raced into the room and leaped off the wall, sailing over the helmeted head of Twilight Sparkle. For a brief moment the unicorn looked upwards, beginning to raise her weapon at the flying pink thunderbolt- and did so no more, as the .50AE round had blown one of her MP40-holding legs right off of the shoulders.

Twilight screamed in pain, slumping backwards and uttering a low “scheiße!” even as her circulatory system pumped blood through the gaping wound of her shoulders. Pinkie picked up the MP40- good, it still had 12 rounds left in its 32 round magazine, and its cyclic rate would be low enough to enjoyably extend the experience.

Pinkie racked the slide for nothing more than dramatic effect. That 12th round could go. She pointed the submachine gun at Twilight Sparkle’s chest, looking down the sights of the German weapon, coldly regarding the prone, whimpering purple fascist.

“You fascist pigs kill good Russian stallions like the brutal savages you are. You rape good Russian mares for yourself. And you enjoy this cruelty to the Motherland.” Pinkie delivered in her best Pavel Chekov impression. “Well, this will be the Motherland’s return in earnest.”

Pinkie squeezed the trigger again, and to her reward the MP40 spat rounds into Twilight’s chest, just slow enough so that her body danced and screeched as it tore apart, until the weapon clicked empty and her suffering was released. Pinkie discarded the MP40 and drew her Desert Eagle once more, firing into Twilight’s head just to be sure she did not become some sort of zombie.

“Sieg Heil, huh? Sieg hell.” She turned around, to discover a short purple dragon waving a Stielhandgranate 24 at her, screaming in German.

The effect of a .50AE round on Spike was deliciously pulping. Pinkie jumped back, but the stick grenade failed to explode; seemingly, Spike had failed to actually pull the pin. She tapped the side of her head- shooting this much with a gun so lovable was loud- but she needed to finish what she started.

Next on the list of murder was Applejack. This time, Pinkie got the jump on her. Hm. So it was hot apple-on-apple action she had been looking at. Pinkie settled for quick - she needed to finish things to schedule, after all. She slammed Applejack’s head through the monitor, eliciting a screech of surprise and panic from the orange mare. Pinkie simply pressed the Desert Eagle's barrel into the back of Applejack's skull and blew it to chunks. She felt a moment's worth of sympathy for Applejack- she had died doing what she loved. Pinkie picked up Applejack’s tactical shotgun- it had a black finish, and strangely at least two scopes.

Pinkie went downstairs. There was only one more target she needed to get, and luckily said target was still there, moaning as her stomach rumbled, completely incapable of moving. Pinkie went to shoot her in the stomach- but had an idea. She went back upstairs for Spike’s body.

When Pinkie returned, she had a Stielhandgranate 24 in her hooves. She forced the entire grenade down Rainbow Dash’s throat- as she began to suffocate, eyes swimming, Pinkie pulled the pin at the grenade’s base, withdrawing her entire forearm from the cavernous depths of Dash's gaping mouth-

And ran like hell.

The resulting explosion rended Dash limb from limb, destroying the kitchen as well. No matter, she could always buy some instant noodles and it’d be fine. Utterly mentally exhausted, Pinkie sat down at the same oak table, where SCP-173 was still laying, and threw her Desert Eagle over her shoulder.

“I’m fucking pooped. Hey, can you share some of that?” Pinkie inquired of the unmoving statue, and blinked so that it could respond. To her delight, the statue had passed her the pipe, and she took a very long hit out of it. She could get used to that. As she passed into a deep high, she regarded 173.

“Hey, motherfucker.. You want to play Yahtzee?” She asked. The statue passed the papers and dice in the blink of an eye, and another intense game began.

Fin