Author's Note

I haven't slept. I typed this all on my phone. I hate everything.

Goodnight and fuck off I love you all.

Monday the Twelfth (Or Nightmare Night) Part 2

Why did you agree to be the ass end again? Oh yeah, so Marshmellow could see the look on her sister's face... that, and she doesn't know how to walk on her hind legs while holding on to your waist at the same time. ALSO, you don't want her face in your ass. You'd much rather have it the other way around. Why are you thinking to yourself about this? It's done; the monstrosity her and ~~mainly~~ you created is finished and ready for tomorrow night.

"Are you sure about this, darling?"

"It was your idea in the first place."

"May I say to Tartarus with this whole thing then?"

"No."

"I'll give you the photo, please!"

"I got off my ass just to help with something, I'm not sitting down now."

-----

This is it, the day you knew was here—granted you knew it was coming since yesterday, but still—this horse has been at your house for the whole day and a half since she came to you (except, of course, to leave and grab some supplies) just for today. Which is weird, but pleasant, because her being here somehow denied Butter's appearance this morning. Always good, but still. She might come in for an attack later tonight, so it's best to stick around, er... shit, seriously, what's her name? You might have to thank her later for keeping fetish horse off of you.

Might.

"So, Anon... we are actually about to perform this horrid act, then? We... are about to wear a two-pony, er... one hugh man and one pony costume... and, for a lack of a better word, I apologize dear, kill us?" She grimaces as she looks down to her finished work. She bites her lower lip as she looks to you for an answer, which of course, you have one.

"Yeah, pretty much." Your own eyes were crossing over the empty costume; of course, it's infinitely better than your grade school drawing, but like you predicted, because of her, it looks lifelike ~~for their standards.~~

"Oh, what mess have I driven myself into..." She whispers to herself, still questioning her decision to come to you for aid.

"One that's probably going to land us in horse jail for a long time." You hear an audible gulp come from her throat and you sigh. It's time. "Let's go cause nightmares on Elm Street."

This, for some reason, sets her on a different line of thought. "Actually dear, Ponyville doesn't have an Elm Street. We have an Oak Lane, if you'd prefer we visit there."

"Screw off, just get in the damn horse." Who doesn't have an Elm Street? Regardless, you pick up your end of the costume, place it on the floor and shove your lengthy human legs into the pant-holes. Looking up, you give an annoyed sigh, before grabbing a bucket full of red filled bags and dump its contents inside your half of the costume. "Go big or go home, amiright?" You expect a chuckle, but the horse in front of you only whinnies in regret. "Fine, don't laugh. But hey, remember. As soon as we split apart, we both have to hit the ground. It's the only way these things are going to pop. And seem like we're dead. That too." You almost forgot about the acting dead part, you just want to get jailtime over.

"Yes, yes. Let's just, as you often put, get over this." You think even she realizes you're both screwed at this point.

"Get this over with." You correct before lowering your upper half into her ass. "Anyway, gimme a sec. Gotta velcro this thing shut." You murmer, trying not to think about where your head is going to soon rest. She whinnies in compliance, despite the odd pitch in her tone and you seal the lower portion of the costume to hers. You soon rest your head under her rear—the heat radiating off of her inner thighs makes you want to kill something.

-----

It takes a fat minute, but the two of you get into the groove of momentum; you pressing your neck tightly against her teets, her hindlegs over your back, both of your available legs move you forward with little to no more struggle. Really, it's like a fucked up version of wheelbarrowing someone. The white horse, who you have still yet to learn the name of, is well aware of this fact and it seems to have elevated her excitement for this plan. Even if there was none to begin with. "Anonymous, dear! I feel this may just work in our favour after all." You can hear her smile and you roll your eyes. You already knew this was going to work, but you refrain from saying anything... lest you taste whatever that foul aroma is that's irradiating from the horse's nether regions.

You both continue to walk—or trot rather—as one through Horseland. Nary a soul questions the costume... or "lack," thereof, in this case, and you begin to wonder just when this plan of yours will come to fruition.

However, that wonder disappears right quick. Nearly stumbling on a rock you couldn't see, your head grinds against the underbelly of the white horse; a moan sounds in your ears.

You. Fucking. Freeze.

She, however, does not. With a rip, the white unihorse falls forward without the support of her hind legs and her half of fake—oddly lighter than your own—blood spills behind her. You don't follow suit. Standing stock-still, hunching over her half of the costume, you bite your tongue.

A horse screams, but you don't pay it any mind. Because what the fuck was that?! That was not at all in the contract—you digress, as there wasn't one obviously—and was a violation of your person! This was blatant rape! Well, at least you think so. Whatever, your mind is too busy panicking to work out the finer details at the moment. She looks up at you, and motions with her head to the ground. "A-Anonymous!" She whispers harshly to you with a wavering blush across her cheeks. Ignoring that last bit, it seems she still wants you to play your part.

Fuck. You'll work this shit out later. For now? Action.

You flop on your side and crush your own packets, letting the scentless liquid pool around and stain your shirt. Honestly, it doesn't even bother you. You just turned on a horse, something that definitely never should have happened. Maybe you should've just said fuck it and went for the front end? Bah, wouldn't have made a difference. This shit already happened.

You stare, as dead on the inside as you are acting on the outside, at Rarity's ass.

Well, you remember her name finally, but at what cost? By failing your trick, she got a nasty treat. You sigh, no longer enjoying the sound of horses rushing for aid or other whatsits.

Worst Hallowcream ever.