Author's Note

The more I write, the more I wonder:

What the fuck am I on.

Minor edits? Oh hell no, LD fixed the fuck outta chapter 1! Thanks, man!

... Anon dooms Equestria...

It is the sound of cheering, the constant yippering and yappering of many horses that wakes you up. The glare you'd sent earlier should’ve warned them to be quiet tonight, but noooooo, you are one unlucky sonovabitch. The noise going on right now? This isn't the noise that’s supposed to wake you up. No, the Summer Sun Celebration, which begins at four in the goddamn morning, is what’s supposed to be your alarm.

Instead? It's the new girl's welcoming party. Firefly Windowsill, or something like that. She came into town, waltzing in here like some sorta godsend. She literally came in by flying carriage. Who the hell does that? Not normal horses, that's for sure—wait, you're distracting yourself. Noise, remember?

They started partying at, you think ten-ish, but you're not entirely sure. What you do know is, it's still going on.

"Three in the fucking morning, you gotta be kidding me," you grumble to yourself. The pillow you had taped to your skull for noise-cancellation—which obviously failed—is promptly ripped off and thrown haphazardly to the side. These horses won't let you sleep, so you might as well stay up. Applehat'll kill you if you're late again, so, bringing a hand up to your face to wipe away the gathered eye-crusts, you drag yourself out of bed…

…and realize you’ve gotta piss. Could this morning get any worse?

Stretching and popping your spine in several locations, blinking away the blur in your eyes, you finally make your way to the bathroom. Luckily—or unluckily, as you'll have to do this later—you don't have pre-morning pecker problems to take care of, so you swiftly toss open your larger-than-horse-sized bathroom door and stride to the toilet; it is there, mid-stream, that you sigh in content.

Probably the only place you sigh in content anymore, too.

You are a sad, sad person.

Flushing, zipping, and trudging slowly to the kitchen to make an early breakfast, you glance out your window. Strobe lights, visible thumps from some subwoofers, and ponies cheering—this party had it all. Honestly, you feel kind of bad since your own welcome party was just that pink horse and you. Sorry, would feel kind of bad. You don't really care since you'd rather have been sleeping at the time, but still, it's the thought that counts.

Ignoring the probably emotionally damaging past, you finally land your ass in the kitchen, in which you will prepare a meal fit for the Gods! Er... actually, Goddess here, but still. Pancakes, your specialty; if you had a cutie mark, yours would be a steaming pile of ~~shit~~ pancakes.

You expertly mix up some batter with eggs—for some reason an acceptable foodstuff among these vegetarian horses—and a shit ton of other stuff you know pancakes need to be, well, pancakes. The thumping from the literal treehouse across the street from you is beginning to cause your own head to dip to the beat as you throw the skillet on the stove-top.

That is unhealthy, you realize, and stop immediately. Right now, you are not fun Anon. Fun Anon is an Anon that has actually slept. For now, it's tired-and-likely-going-to-cause-a-house-fire-as-he-cooks-because-he's-so-tired Anon.

That is also unhealthy, but you want pancakes, dammit!

You eventually drown out the still-raving party—your pancakes done and surprisingly not ash—and finally sit at your table for two. Well, in this case, it’s only a table for one since you don't have anyone else to sit with, so… yeah.

Again, you are a sad, sad person.

As you're chewing your pancakes, the lack of syrup and butter leaving an antagonizing taste in your mouth, you notice the music slowly beginning to die down. Along with it, the chittering of the mass of ponies gathered there quiets as well. Finally, you can't help but think to yourself with a roll of your eyes. Yeah, these ponies like to party, but you don't bring it into the bright-ass hours of the day.

At least not back on Earth... Eh, then again, you wouldn't know—never went to one. Wasn’t invited, nor asked... nor wanted. Shit, you really have to stop thinking about this—you're making me feel sad for you. And I'm your fucking brain.

You stop chewing for a moment to ignore me, pulling up your wrist to look at your rather dainty watch. "Twee-fordy niwne?" you question aloud, which is disgusting, but also intriguing. What kind of party ends at such a strange time? You’d get three-fifty, but a minute or a couple before? Odd, but the good news is that after you finish these pancakes, you can finally get some rest.

You can't help but think you're forgetting something, but it's what you do anyway. You toss your dish into the sink for future you's problem and make your way back to your room. It is with an elevated sigh as you toss yourself over your sheets, and begin to slowly drift back off to sleep—

—only to wake up ten minutes later. It's 4am.

"MOTHER FUCKER!"

---

Here comes the talking again; you can hear it all the way from your place. Then again, this is what you get for deciding to live between both the Library and Town Hall. You really should expect shit like this to happen to you, even though the Library is supposed to be a place of silence. Regardless, you're awake. Again.

Your baggy eyes threaten to close on you more than once as you now begin making your way to Town Hall. You don't care about these horses' stupid traditions, you don't care that you didn't realize the Summer Sun Celebration was still a thing, you don't care that your life is a miserable mess. You are going to walk in there, up to the loudest sonovabitch—hopefully that pink one that threw you a shit party—and smack ‘em in the muzzle, then go back home and fucking sleep. Fuck your job at Sweet Apple Acres, you can get a new one. Probably. Not the best of plans, but it's pretty solid. Ten out of ten for originality.

The good news is, you can hear the loudest one right now.

"Remember this day, little ponies, for it was your last. From this mom—"

You barge in through Town Hall's doors, interrupting the taller-than-average horse; the entire room is now looking in your direction. Good. With their attention all on you, you strike a sudden pose reminiscent of your childhood hero, Phoenix Wright. "Sweet Baby Jesús, I'm tryna sleep!”

You do as you said—walk down the aisle, passing all of the slack-jawed bystanders, and up to the balcony where the taller-than-average horse is standing. Her slit eyes glare down at your shorter stature. You don't care; she's the one shouting, and you’re gonna do what you’re gonna do. Within moments, the two of you are face to muzzle, muzzle to face, and she hasn't continued preaching about whatever she was preaching, which is also good.

"And who, art thou?" Her gaze turns to a scrutinizing one, which you return full force before reeling your hand back and—

*SMACK!*

Any noise being made silences immediately; even the wavy, black galaxy hair of the loud horse has stopped flowing. Huh, neat. Who would’ve known? A slap can silence even whatever physics this world has.

The tall winged and horned horse's eyes widen in shock at the contact, but only for a second, before she glowers down at you. "H-how darest thou striketh Us! We will not stand idly—" Aaaaand she's back to shouting again. Which you ignore, by the way. Goddammit, can't these fucking horses take a hint? You need sleep, and you're going to get it one way or another.

You barely notice her horn beginning to flare up, which by itself isn't very problematic. You know of a neat, yet dastardly trick that you could use. You did it to that white horse—you know, the one you could never remember the name of, you did it to her once. By accident of course, when she tried to outfit you in more... feminine attire.

You raise your hand quickly, gripping the base of the tall horse's horn. The magical residue-like aura simmers before dying immediately, which of course, shocks the living shit out of her. "Not tonight, horsey. A guy needs his sleep, and you're interfering with that." You’re pretty sure you can't even hear yourself here.

Obviously, she attempts to pull her horn free, spouting curses under her breath, but she fails to notice you've got a stronger grip than she does neck. Apparently. "Unhoof Our horn, filthy beast!

"Promise to shut up so I can go back to bed?" You try a little louder this time.

She suddenly stops, and her eyes take on an inquisitive look, as do all the other horses’ in the room. "Prithee, thou shalt truly unhoof me? For only the price of silence?" Her voice lowers, nowhere near as loud as it was, which you are extremely grateful for. Kinda. As she asks for the price of, y'know, you letting her horn go, you think up a new idea.

"Actually, change of plans..." You mumble just loud enough that the horse's ears twitch. Honestly, you just don't want to give yourself a migraine by talking so loudly, kinda like when you first barged in here. Anyway, with your grip still attached tightly to her long and pointy magic rod, her eyes beckon you to tell her your new demands.

"Prithee, We implore thee! Anything thou mayest desire, and We shall abide! Remove thy… hooves? …from Our horn and—"

"I want to sleep with you."

And again, silence reigns within Town Hall. The currently unnamed horse's face reddens only a tinge. You blink—once, twice, three times.

"Nonono! Sorry! What I meant was, let me sleep on you. To be honest, you look more comfortable than my bed," you say a little sheepishly, using your free hand to scratch at the back of your neck with a chuckle. To be honest, though, she doesn't look like she’s meant to fit the tiniest of horses. Unlike my goddamn bed. Fucker said it was the biggest they had, ha! My ass!

"..." Her.

"..." You.

"..." Her.

"Er... yeah, again, sorry. No offense—wouldn't want any of that horse poon. Not my thing, y'know? No, I'd definitely rather sleep on you than with you." You realize you’ve dug yourself a hole, but you can't help but keep digging it. The mare's head rears back in a hearty chuckle, almost forcefully removing your hand from her horn. Almost.

"Thy wishes are silence and to slumber upon Us? Granted! Granted!" Her joy is immense, and it brings a smile to your face. I mean, even though you kind of forced her to give these two 'wishes' to you, it's still cool that you did that. Wow, you're an asshole.

Anyway, she lowers herself onto her knees, allowing you to easily climb up onto her back. Which, of course, you do. And you were not wrong—she is the most comfortable fucking thing ever. It’s like going from sleeping on jagged stones to your ex-wife's couch. It is that much better than your bed.

"We pray thou art comfortable?" she asks, bringing you back to reality. All you can do is nod, giving her a scratch behind the ears and reddening her face once again. Before you attempt to lie down, you glance around the rest of the room once more, realizing literally everyone there is still just staring, afraid, waiting for something to happen.

Honestly, it's not your problem; you’ve finally found the perfect place to sleep for the next two hours. You give a mental shrug, thumbing up at the unnamed mare, who gives you a confused stare, before finally leaning your head forward. Your eyes close as you let out a content sigh, as for the first time in a long time—one whole day—slumber finally embraces you.

---

You didn't realize that within the next two hours, the world's most silent domination would take place.

But hey, the good news is, you didn't have any night-mares.