Twilight's Bathroom is Flooded with Soft Hands

by Petrichord

Rating: mature
Tags: Spike, Comedy, Fluttershy, Random, Sex, Twilight Sparkle, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic
Length: 1386

Twilight does a favor for herself. As a result, her bathroom is flooded with soft hands.

Magic and sex mix, most of the time. Not all of the time, though.
It's also best to prepare ahead of the time when you're planning on using both.

Twilight really needs to stop thinking with her horn.

Second place in the Soft Hands Write-off Contest. Granted, there were only three entries, but...

This is all Majin Syeekoh's fault. I'm not tagging it as part of the Semenverse because it doesn't really fit into any sort of continuity.
Mostly, I'm just ripping off a popular writer because i care deeply about him.

I'd like to dedicate this story to:
-Majin Syeekoh, for continuing to not sue me;
-Kudzuhaiku, because poop is funny; and
-The MLP IDW Comics, for setting the bar so low that I can't help but look good by comparison.

Published 2016-07-29 01:10:01 UTC
Last updated 2016-07-29 01:10:01 UTC

Wait, What?

Spike the Dragon stood in the doorway to the bathroom for five seconds. Then he closed the door, blinked, waited for another five seconds and opened the door again.

“Great,” Spike moaned. “I’m honestly hoping that I’ve gone completely insane.”

Parked atop a Royal Canterlot Toilet Bowl with her legs spread wide, Twilight blushed and waved at Spike. From her cooch to approximately every fucking corner of the bathroom was a dense, foot-deep sea of translucent hands.

“I can explain, Spike.”

“Please don’t. I’m still banking on having completely flipped my lid.” Spike trotted into the bathroom and shut the door behind him. “Not that anything I say is going to stop you from explaining, though.”

“It’s a magical mishap! You know how I’m such a silly old pony, and I’m prone to doing some really wacky things with magic, and that this is just one of those sorts of accidents that I get myself into, so the less said about it the better-”

“Why is it hands, Twilight?”

“Well...erm. Magic is...wacky? And stuff?” The giggle that followed was exceptionally nervous and not at all cheerful.

“What were you trying to accomplish in the first place? Why are they white? Why are there probably literally thousands of them sitting around?” Spike sniffed at the air, and gagged. “And why does it smell like a whorehouse in here?”

“Wait, how do you know what a whorehouse smells like?”

“I hang around your friends. Seriously, what’s in these things?” Spike grabbed a hand and held it in front of his face. Its texture was not unlike a baby’s butt, though its stench was mercifully lacking in fecal matter. “And you know what, forget what I said earlier about not wanting to know more. If I’m going to drink away the memories of this, I need to know in advance how many bottles of vodka to sneak out of Shining Armor’s liquor cabinet.”

“Wait, that was you? We thought Rainbow Dash-”

“Twilight, I’d love to hear about why you thought Rainbow Dash was doing it, but the sooner we can Encyclopedia Brown our way through this little boondoggle, the sooner I can take an Encyclopedia Brown. By which i mean the sooner I can take a massive dump in a bathroom that won’t be flooded with hands. Seriously, why is it hands?”

“Oh, just because of...some...spell-thingie. Mishap. It’s-”

“What kind of spell involves hands, anyway?”

Twilight blushed. “A soft hands spell.”

“Uh...wow.” Spike scratched his head. “That rather succinctly wraps it up, actually.”

Silence.

“Y’know, except for the part where you tell me what a soft hands spell does and why you were casting it.”

“Well, in theory it’s supposed to transform the appendages it’s cast on into soft hands. But if you miscast it, it could affect other things. Like, say, if you try to cast it on yourself while holding an apple…”

“Miscasting it could turn the apple into a hand-shaped apple?”

“A particularly soft hand-shaped apple, but yeah.”

“Okay, so why are there so many of them? What are they supposed to be made of? And why did they come out of…”

Spike blinked.

“...Oh, for fuck’s sake, Twilight.”

Twilight’s face flushed as she struggled to put on a stern expression. “Spike! We don’t use language in this castle.”

“Yeah, but we also presumably don’t squirt an ocean’s worth of hands out of our fish tacos in this castle, either. Unless there was a memo I missed, or something?”

“It was an accident!”

“What in Equestria is accidental about casting magic on yourself while rubbing one out?”

“I meant to cast it on my hooves!”

“Why did- you don’t even need to cast it on your hooves!”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, please.” Spike rolled his eyes. “Every single time Princess Celestia stops over at our place for a visit, you barricade yourself in the bathroom right after she leaves, and when you walk out a half-hour later the entire ponyville castle smells like a siren brothel.”

“Why do you even know what brothel means?”

“I hang around your friends. Seriously, how is this even possible? What normal pony has, like, sixty million gallons of weiner water sitting around in their-”

“Alicorn.”

Spike blinked. “Oh. Right.”

Twilight sniffed. “Besides, you’re overreacting. The ratio of mass conversion between these hands and the-”

“Twilight, all I wanted to do when I opened the door was make a Tactical Airstrike in peace. A mathematics lecture was the second-to-last thing that I was expecting, and pretty much the second-to-last thing I wanted to get.” Spike sighed. “Any idea of how you’re going to get rid of these things?”

Twilight gulped. “Um...yes and no?”

“Good news first, please.”

“Well, uh...part of the perks of being an alicorn is that I’ve gotten, like, twenty sextillion times better at magic. I mean, I know that’s an exaggeration, but-”

“Get to the point, please.”

“I can teleport all of the hands out of here. Like, the whole bunch at once. It can’t be too far away, but i should be able to manage a fair amount of heavy lifting.”

“How far away are we talking about?”

“Probably a little further out than ponyville.”

Spike sighed in relief. “Well, that’s pretty good news, I guess. What’s the catch?”

“Sort of the obvious one, really. There’s a lot of hands here, right?”

“Yep. I’d say that’s a lot of hands.”

“Where am i going to put them all without anypony noticing?”

Spike smirked. “I can answer that one. But first you’ve got to do me a favor.”

“Huh? Why?” Twilight frowned. “Are you blackmailing me, Spike?”

“Yes or no. Not sure which one yet.”

“...Explain?”

“Here’s the thing: Until i get drunk out of my skull, seeing so much as a “stallions” or a “mares” sign on a bathroom door is going to send me into dry heaves. Ergo, I’m gonna go crap in the Canterlot Gardens. If anypony sees me, tell them it was a medical necessity and make up some sort of fictitious dragon-related illness.”

“So how is that ‘yes or no?' "

“Either I abuse your position of power, or I don’t. Think of it as Schrodinger’s soft-hands-induced-blackmail-session.”

Twilight sighed. “I guess it could be worse. Deal.”

“Right.” Spike straightened up. “So putting them all someplace everypony wouldn’t eventually notice is impossible.”

“I thought you said-”

“The trick is putting them all someplace nopony will complain about.” Spike chuckled. “And the answer to that question is as easy as cream pie.”

***********************************

When Fluttershy had left her cottage to water the petunias, the last thing she expected to find when she returned home for a nap was the world’s most miraculous of miracles.

And yet, here they were: hands, hundreds and hundreds of them, piled up at least a foot deep on her bedroom floor and strewn across her bed like ungainly handkerchiefs.

Clearly, she had died early and gone to heaven. Also, this heaven apparently had Hearth’s Warming, and Hearth’s Warming had come early.

A single tear rolled down Fluttershy’s cheek: for half a minute, it was the only external sign of her awestruck reaction to the sublime display in front of her.

Her prayers had been granted, sort of.

Oh, sure, Discord had been a wonderful lo- special friend to her: kindly, patient and open to her awkward demeanor and faltering steps towards a deeper bond between them. But one single, terrible rift remained: a gap that seemed to stretch indefinitely, prohibiting a truly intimate relationship.

The fucking wanker wouldn’t finger her.

“Hurting with his talons” or “not having his paw fit” be damned: she was a grown mare, and she’d find a way to manage a little bit of pain if it meant getting the orgasm she deserved - nay, was entitled to. The stupid sentimentality he had developed a couple of seasons ago was just about killing her sex life, and she was getting to the point where not even Barry Bear’s oversized muzzle could quell her frustration.

But none of that mattered now. The prayers she had never formally made had been answered anyway, and she could finally have her happy ending.

Giggling with a glee that only virgins could truly appreciate, Fluttershy began to stuff fistfuls of fingers into her sopping wet vagina.