Twilight Sparkle's Universal Tentacle Attraction Theory
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Twilight Sparkle's Universal Tentacle Attraction Theory
Sunset Shimmer looked like a sculpture crafted from smelted-down poetry with a generous dollop of fluffy kitten-fuzz baked into her warm, gooey core. Her laugh felt breezy and perfect, like she slowed time to a crawl to practice every one a dozen times before finally nailing it. And no matter what she chose to talk about, she always had this vibrant, sparkly sunshine-cloud of happy thoughts drifting about her. Every sound she made was a little noise-hug, whispering “I value you,” and “You’re a good person who deserves a happy life” even if she was soaked in rain and telling everyone what an awful, dreary, horrid abomination of a morning she’d had.
There were some people who said that, the day the school found out she was openly bisexual, a rainbow of unadulterated, pure enthusiasm—which was totally not a euphemism, according to Valid Sources—had gushed from all the boys and girls.
“You know, Twilight… I don’t tell you often enough how much I value you as a friend,” Sunset had said one afternoon, walking Twilight back to her locker; she’d taken to walking around shrouded eternally by a shower curtain, to avoid all the definitely-not-lecherous-totally-just-curious attention everyone liked to—wait for it—shower her with.
Twilight frowned, nudging her glasses. “You don’t? But you send me a weekly report on all the positive qualities you’ve observed in me over the week.”
“Well, yes, but—” Sunset thumped—elegantly—into a wall, peeked—elegantly—from underneath her shower curtain and—elegantly—corrected her course. “You know, you went out of your way to let me see your notes the other day, and you didn’t have to do that, and rule six-hundred-and-ninety-seven of Friendship—praise be—is to compliment other people’s successes in the pursuit of Friendship—praise be. I just really admire how, you know, how flexible—”
That word rolled sinuously, unfurling merrily out of Sunset’s mouth like a painfully aroused unicorn. Twilight bit her lip, clenched her thighs; the whole hallway swooned, ever so slightly.
Sunset toppled facefirst into a trashcan, which interrupted her but accepted her with an ecstatically plastic embrace.
Twilight blinked dreamily. She’d heard that word, everyone had, everyone knew exactly what it meant. That was exactly what they were all thinking about as they watched Sunset flailing in the trashcan, just as fervent in their desire to rush over to help as they were petrified by the crippling sense of inadequacy the presence of that angelic Friendship disciple gifted them with.
Twilight giggled, stumbling off dazedly as Su—sa—si—sexy, was that the word? It felt odd in her head, like she’d suddenly started thinking in Prench—whatever. Sexy Science Thoughts raced through her nerdy bespectacled head.
It was not the most glamorous of things.
It was not the most traditionally romantic of things.
It was, in fact, a vat of bubbling, icky green sludge, which glowed at an intensity most would correlate with the defining figure of the heliocentric model.
Twilight breathed through her gas mask, observing the fruits of her labor through a filter and plastic eyepieces. She remembered, fondly, as though cherishing time with a loved one, how she’d spent hours on end fondling octopus after octopus, milking the cephalopods—humanely, of course—for every sort of fluid she could get. And she remembered, squeamishly as though shrinking in terror from the sight of a slightly-undressed virile young man, the kinds of kaleidoscopic pyro-nebulae her mixture had produced when she’d given it that all-important Magic Zap. And she remembered both the despair of watching her first, flaccid concoction bubble away in harmlessly antitentacular mist, and the elation she’d felt when imported non-Euclidean R’lyehian stone turned out to be exactly the catalyst she needed.
But now, she could breathe easily. She stood there, clad in a bathrobe and gas mask, perched on a diving board, ready to take the literal plunge and win Sunset’s heart.
Because nothing was more flexible than a tentacle. So if Sunset valued flexibility, surely she'd value someone who was tentacles!
… granted, there was maybe room to test that hypothesis, but sometimes science trumps patience.
"Spike, take notes," she said. "I'm making history!"
She turned to give Spike a thumbs-up, then gasped and stumbled.
Sunset Shimmer stepped, pajama-clad, out of her bathroom, stretching and yawning, tired after a long day of school but still thinking about what sorts of things she could do to further better the lives of herself and her fellow shining examples of the virtues of humankind. She walked past her wastebasket, which was labeled ‘feelings’ and kept forever empty to remind her that no emotions were worth discarding.
… Except for all those nasty ones, which she’d written down on slips of scented paper and burned as incense when she’d last anointed herself with the sacred Cleansing Friendship—praise be—Oils. Ah, what a time that had been. What a fine day of compassion and consideration towards the perspectives of others—what a beautiful beacon of social righteousness she’d been that day.
Not that she was proud of that. Pride in one’s Friendship—praise be—was one of the most egregious transgressions. It violated the sanctimonious Rule One-Hundred-and-Seventy-Three!
The mottled-violet, vaguely adorable tentacle creature squatting on Sunset’s bed sqeurched wetly in accordance.
Sunset nodded contemplatively, reflecting on…
On…
Something was very wrong.
The mottled-violet, vaguely adorable—
Oh.
OH!
Sunset lurched, gasped, covered her mouth. Then she caught herself, swore, “Oh, fiddlesticks,” and made a note to flagellate herself with the cat ‘o nine-fluffy-pink-tails—twenty lashes ought to do it—when the potential friend she’d just treated with such scorn was out of sight.
“Hi!” she said, with a cheerful, enthusiastic grin. She saw the tentacle-creature tilt, as if swooning.
And then the tentacle-creature, which looked to literally be a mass of, ewww, rather phallic tentacles, made a… maybe-sorta-happy spasm? It just sort of twitched, its whole body all at once, with a squelchy, mushy squash of sound coming from… somewhere…
… but really, who was she to judge new friends by their appearances?
Thirty lashes, then.
“I’m Sunset Shimmer. It’s a pleasure to meet you!” she said, beaming, torn between wanting to hold out her hand and wondering whether or not handshakes were taboo amongst the tentacle-creature community.
The tentacle-creature rolled forwards, flopping off the bed and landing on the carpet like an over-sexualized mop, slurping and sliding its way towards her. Frisky limbs circled her ankles, slipped up her pants to wrap around her slim calves…
She bit her lip. Let it never be said Friendship—praise be—didn’t include being tolerant of other species’ customs. Especially if, huh, they actually felt pretty good! Probing tentacles fondled their way up her legs, slipped inside her clothes at her crotch, prodded teasingly at the plain cotton panties underneath…
Being tolerant and accepting usually only metaphorically filled her, but maybe a little literal filling wouldn’t hurt, right?
“Oh, no—Spike! Get away from her!”
Sunset frowned, turning to see Twilight rushing over wearing a bathrobe and gas mask.
“Spike!” Twilight shouted, gathering up the squirmy, wet tentacle monster. “What did I tell you about sexually assaulting people?”
Sunset blinked.
The tentacle-creature waved its tentacles apologetically—which turned out to just be a distraction, because it tentacled right out of Twilight’s arms and practically dove down the front of Sunset’s pants.
“Twilight,” Sunset asked calmly while a tentacle-creature took refuge in her vagina, “why did you never tell me you named Spike after a…”
“What? No, I didn’t—Spike is the tentacle-creature!”
Sunset’s eyes momentarily widened. Spike wiggled a little deeper into her moist, slightly-parted pussy. “Twilight, why is Spike all... tentacley?”
“Look, it’s a long story—vat of tentacle juice, and I think he thought it was tasty and wanted to swim in it—but really, I just—”
“Alright, alright. Shh. You want to tell me what’s going on. Spike wants to have intercourse with me. I want Spike to fuck my brains out. Why don’t we compromise, let him have his filthy, filthy way with me, and then you can tell me everything?”
The tentacles stuffing Sunset’s snatch throbbed cooperatively.
“Um… okay?”
Sunset nodded, smiling happily.
Now that the Friendship—praise be—crisis had ended and she was allowed to focus on other emotions, she moaned whorishly, leapt out of her clothes, and rammed Spike’s massive, slick, tentacle-cock as far into her cunt as it could go.
