Pinkie Pie Pinkie Pie

by thiswasamistake

Rating: mature
Tags: My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Dark, Alternate Universe, Sad, Drama, Rainbow Dash, Non-consensual, Violence, Pinkie Pie, Profanity
Length: 4231

Just another day in the life of a bubbly pink filly.

Sometimes Pinkie Pie acts a little weirder than usual. Sometimes her mane loses its trademark curls, her pinkness loses its pinkness by just a few degrees, and she talks to objects as if they were alive and not being moved and voiced by herself. But that's okay; it doesn't happen often, and the ponies who love her think that they know just how to snap her out of it.

It's not something that she really should be snapped out of, though. She will stop it, eventually, when it's safe. A lot of ponies that aren't very familiar with that state of her - she's never really given it a name, has never had to - just think that it's a state of mind that she has absolutely no control over. Think that it's a series of mental breaks that either must be carefully unwoven with caring words and touches or sharply pushed off of her, so that her mane poofs right back up and her mind is returned right back to its normal and happy self. They're half right about the first part.

She's a party pony, but there's a lot she doesn't tell ponies. It wouldn't make for very good party conversation.

If you're looking for clop or something fun to read, leave, because this ain't it, chief.

Trigger warnings: Non-graphic rape of a filly/minor, heavily implied verbal, brief physical, and emotional abuse of a filly/minor, (technically implied but it's pretty obvious) incest, vomiting, graphic descriptions of dissociative experiences (no, this is not how Dissociative Identity Disorder works. This is not a story about DID.), and graphic descriptions of altered perceptions of reality (note: NOT schizophrenia. Read author's note for more info.)

Published 2021-01-23 04:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2021-01-23 04:00:00 UTC

Everypony loves Pinkie Pie

She really didn't mean to upset him so badly.

"What do you mean, Pinkie? Eet eez a great parr-tee!"

Monsieur Gâteau bounces jovially as he speaks.

She twitches.

Her tummy hurts. The gramophone is starting to hurt her ears. Or is someone yelling? Her throat hurts.

Is she yelling?

"Ah, sorry, dearie. I kinda overdo it with the music sometimes, but ya already know that!"

Miss Music winks at her - she doesn't have eyes, let alone a face, but Pinkie knows that she winked, just how Miss Music and Monsieur Gâteau know what she's thinking and feeling - as she turns her tune down.

She smiles gratefully. It's so hard to smile and it kind of hurts to move her face at all it's already moving but she ignores that her attempt to smile is the first time she's tried to move it that's what really happened she confirms with a mental nod.

A frown.

Why can't she speak?

She wants to say thank you.

She opens her mouth.

It's already open.

Her muzzle wrinkles.

Why is her tongue so sore?

Everything in her face is sore.

It's so wet.

Sweaty. Wet. Sweaty. Salty. Wet. Sweaty.

"Not ta worry, sweet thang! Ya just went a lil' crazy thar on that bakin' spoon earlier when y'were makin' yer amazin' cakes 'n' whatnot. I tell yew what, it's plumb amazin' how ya managed t' even get enough batter t' make any a them baked goods, let alone so dang many!"

She smiles.

She doesn't know how or why Signor Straw has a name like Signor Straw with an accent like that, but he always says such funny and sweet-

She retches.

She doesn't like that word right now.

A faint tingle at the base of her neck. That primal instinct rises up from deep within her, from that herbivorous part of her most animalistic natures.

Danger.

Her tummy hurts harder.

'Oh, no! I hope I didn't pee myself again...or WORSE! I KNEW I shouldn't have eaten so many raw eggs...'

"Madame Peenkee! Were you leesteneeng to me?!"

Huh. Strange how he seems to have gotten...more...Prench...somehow.

She brushes it off.

Despite the impatience in his tone, she knows it's a joke. Her friends have never been mean to her. They're always so nice to her.

She's so lucky to have such great friends and such great family memb-

-membe-

-great family m-

She throws up.

There's a sudden ringing in her ears, and her vision blacks out for just a moment.

The back of her head hurts.

That usually happens whenever her eyes go all funny and her ears go all funny too.

Her headaches are all funny. That's okay.

For some reason, the base of her tail ignites with a fiery, furious agony.

"Oh, jeez, sorry 'bout that, Pinkie Pie! I was trying to get you to come back down to Equestria for a sec there, but I think I overdid it. Did I hit ya too hard?"

She can't turn to look, but she knows that Miss Music can feel her gratitude. They're such close friends that they can just communicate like that. It's so convenient, especially when she's bouncing back and forth with her shivers.

Maybe something was bad with those eggs.

She hopes that nopony got sick from them.

'I hope they get sick.'

Reality flashes through for just a second.

Spread thighs in front of her. She doesn't want to acknowledge the color of the fur.

Something hard inside of a place that she doesn't want it to be. It feels wet. It hurts.

She feels dirty. Her breathing picks up.

Somepony is screaming.

Several ponies are screaming.

Why have her friends stopped talking to her?

Now she can turn. The hooves have left her head. When she looks up for a moment, one is raised as if it's about to strike her.

Instead of flinching - distantly, she knows that there's no point in doing so; it'll just piss her off more - she uses the precious few seconds of mostly-unobscured vision she has to look over to Miss Music.

There is no Miss Music. Just a gramophone skipping on the same four notes over and over and over and over and over and over and ove

r and over and ov

er and over and over and o

ver and over and over and over and over and over and over a

She blinks.

"Pinkie, are y'alright?" Signor Straw gives her a concerned stare, his hay brows furrowed with concern.

Now he has a face.

She giggles.

She can't giggle.

Why does her neck hurt so much?

Right, right.

She should really stop licking that darn cake batter spoon so much!

She's lost track of how many times she's gotten sick from it.

Maybe something's wrong with their eggs.

She should ask about that next time they get groceries.

She blinks.

nd over and over and over and over and there are no eggs there was never any cake batter she used it all for the sweets she never licked the spoon she wanted this party to be perfect and the smiles were always fake and it hurts it hurts so much and she's not it's not her fault but it is her fault and she doesn't understand what the words they're using are but she knows some of them and it's over and over and over and over and ov

er and over and over and over and ove

She coughs so hard that it feels like she's been kicked in the gut by an iron-clad hoof.

What a silly comparison to make, though.

She's never been kicked by a weathered amber hoof with a solid metal horseshoe nailed into it with more care than its owner had ever shown her in all her years of life.

She vomits again.

Why is it so salty?

She shakes her head.

At least she's stopped shivering now.

She's so silly. She's never heard of anypony that shivers back and forth back and forth back and forth back and forth sometimes up and down up and down up and down up and down and sometimes it hurts real bad in places she's only supposed to go to the bathroom from but that's just because she's sick from the eggs and that's okay too because she has such great friends to keep her company.

"Madame Peenkee, I seenk you have had, ah...anuzzer...ackseedent..."

He's not judging her, though.

She tries to giggle. She throws up again instead.

It's white.

Funny, she thought she used pink frosting.

She looks down, and winces.

Another episode of pooping blood and weird white stuff. It's everywhere.

Yuck.

Fillies can poop from their pee holes too, right?

Right.

It's been happening for as long as she can remember. And it wouldn't happen for so long if it wasn't normal.

It's normal.

This is normal.

"'A course y'all can, darlin'. It's just a part 'a bein' a filly 's all. Now c'mon, let's git ya up 'n' all cleaned up."

Signor Straw isn't very strong. Several times he collapses just from her trembling against him.

A hoarse giggle escapes her drooling lips.

He never shows any disgust at any of her mess, though.

"Oh, dearie, we could never hate you for being you!"

Miss Music gives her a soft, motherl-

She collapses into a puddle of blood and white poop and projectile vomits so hard that it splatters back up onto her cheeks from the ground.

'Huh. Guess I wasn't done yet.'

"But...you should probably at least try to slow down with that cake batter, don'tcha know!"

Miss Music's laugh isn't mean. It's just gentle, and sweet, and so, so very comforting.

She looks around the tool shed.

It reeks of vomit and blood and white poop.

She didn't mean to cut her very first party so short by having one of her accidents right smack dab at the start, but this was the worst one yet.

'Oh, and I'd been practicing my baking so much, too!'

She pauses.

Her friends - her wonderful, wonderful friends - sense her unspoken question.

"Well, shucks, Ah can't say Ah really considered it 'til now, but it sure does sound like a possibility, Pinks. Ya definit'ly have been bakin' a lot more recently."

Signor Straw gives her a little nudge towards the door. He always knows when to push her to take care of herself without pushing too hard.

Her other two friends follow with them.

"Hmm...well, gosh, now that you mention it, I guess that could be it!"

Miss Music starts playing a soft lullaby.

She's never heard it before, but for some reason, it skips whenever she has to wash over her sore butt and pee place with a rag soaked with the freezing cold water from the pump just outside the back door of the tool shed.

She has accidents here a lot, so it's a familiar routine.

"I seenk zat eet may just be what happened!"

Monsieur Gâteau nods in agreement, frowning at her with concern.

Miss Music continues to play her slightly erratic tune until Pinkie's finished cleaning. When she stands, her belly feels like it's on fire.

Like it's bruised.

Like she'd been kicked.

She giggles.

That's ridiculous.

She's so lucky to have such great friends.

She's so lucky to know such great ponies.

She's so lucky.

Her friends fall silent as she lets her gaze drop to the muddy, cold, semen-stained ground.

Dark, straightened hair shields her face from the world.

She knows that when she looks back up, she'll find a mushy, damp, half-crushed cake, a frosting-stained gramophone that's still playing those same damn four notes, and a bale of hay stained with everything that came out of first them and then her.

She takes a deep breath.

Her tummy hurts.

She blinks.

Bright blue eyes sparkle.

Bright white teeth sparkle, all on display as she grins with the force of Princess Celestia's beautiful sun.

Bright pink curls fall around and frame her youthful face.

Bright pink coat, immaculately groomed and seemingly magically dried.

Bright pink, curly curly tail. Nopony is around to see the way it's held a little too closely to her flank.

The smile doesn't reach those bright, sparkly blue eyes.

Nopony is around to see that either.

Author's Note

So, continuing from the description...

Like I said, Pinkie is not schizophrenic, and this is not how schizophrenia works. There are many symptoms that accompany the disorder, and the ones that I've written into Pinkie do not fit the diagnostic criteria at all. What I was going for was a dissociative episode combined with the typical child's play of having imaginary friends.

Trauma of such a magnitude - especially prolonged and repeated trauma - can force someone into a duality of growing up too fast while retaining some elements of childishness up into their adult life, perhaps through their whole life. In later chapters (not sure if I'll write just one or more), you'll see that she retains these "imaginary friends" when she's placed into distressing situations where she feels the need to dissociate from reality and seek out the solace of her childhood playmates.

And (boy, look at thiswasamistake, going on a full-on character analysis in the author's notes section) Pinkie Pie displays this juxtaposition in canon quite well already. As Ponyville's premier party pony, she can often come off as quite immature and childish. If not childish, then at the very least youthful. However, in Magical Mystery Cure, when Pinkie Pie's skills as Ponyville's party pony are lost, the townsponies are all in a constant state of fury and/or just generally feel bad. It's an awful lot of responsibility to keep an entire town happy 24/7. We see her rushing to be the pony that everypony can depend on in several other instances, but I've rambled on for too long already.

Now, with that out of the way...

1.) If you're here to leave hate, at least do it constructively. Don't bitch at me about hating the content, because the tags along with the additional trigger warnings I placed were more than adequate warning for you to leave well before you reached this point. If you hate me because I have, in your eyes, viciously mutilated the English language, however, feel free to yell at me over that, because I am always open to suggestions for improvement. Alternatively, we can discuss our views on Pinkamena Diane Pie and why/how she is. That's cool too.

2.) I'm too tired to find links, but there are so, so many resources and communities out there for people who have been sexually abused (at any ages). What I can say right now is that I'm sorry, I can empathize, and I hope that you're seeking help and have support systems in place to assist you in your healing journeys.

Please take care and make sure that you're not consuming media like this as a form of self-harm; emotional self-harm is real, and it can be just as damaging as the physical act. You deserve better. Be kind to yourselves.

(Yeah, I'm well aware that I get preachy on my more serious/venty stories.)

Over and over and over and ov

Author's Note

Contains some more frank wording and descriptions of rape. Also some self-victim-blaming.

Over and over and over and ov

"Oh, that's alright, Rainbow Dash. I'm having a great time with my friends right here!"

She twitches.

Her lower parts hurt.

The back of her head hurts.

Something about her friends reminds her of-

-she doesn't know what-

"Sillee Peenkee! You are reminded of Monsieur Gâteau, becauze I am here viziteeng from home to comfort you!"

Madame le Flour titters politely. Her voice is a little sharper than her husband's, but like all of her friends that seem to come when she needs them most, she's not cruel. Her laughter isn't cruel.

She can tell.

She's so lucky to have such good friends.

Rainbow Dash shudders. She's grown used to her bouncy pink friend's hyperactivity, of course, and she herself is a well-known speed demon, but this...she's having trouble keeping rose irises focused upon the dark pink Earth Pony zipping from inanimate object to inanimate object, changing her voice's pitch and accent with disturbing ease as she shakes the objects as if they were speaking.

She feels like she's missing out on a conversation, even with all of the bits that Pinkie and her...friends...are saying out loud.

"Aaalrighty. Whaddaya say we get on outta Creepytown and head over to Applejack's-"

Her head hurts.

Her tummy hurts.

Mr. Turnip comes to the rescue. She can't muster up a smile right now, but he knows how grateful she is. He can just feel her emotions like that.

She's so lucky.

"She's not going anywhere."

His bold words give her just enough of a confidence boost that she can fight off the nausea and the taste of salty vomit to level an even stare upon Rainbow Dash.

"I most certainly am not!" She turns to face the table full of her friends.

She blinks.

A bunch of random, assorted, inanimate objects carefully balanced upon various chairs and stools meet her eyes. She feels something hot pressing into her pee hole over and over and over and over and ov

er and over and over and o

ver and over and

o

v

e

She blinks.

Her friends are giving her concerned looks.

Her grin still doesn't reach her eyes. But she's grateful.

She's so lucky.

"I'm having a wonderful time right here."

She was wrong.

Rainbow Dash had thought that the scariest thing about her party-loving friend in this state is the vacant stare in her eyes and the way her whole body violently shudders in erratic patterns at random points in time.

She was wrong.

The scariest thing about Pinkie Pie is how that gleam of understanding will come into her gaze from time to time, and she'll stare with a thousand-yard stare about a million times worse than any she's seen from the veterans at the old folks' home she volunteers at sometimes. How dark things will swirl within those muted, almost navy blue irises as she breathes so shallowly that the prismatic pegasus fears that her heart may have stopped, that she might have simply ceased to live while still sitting there with a half-frozen grin spread across her face.

She doesn't know if she wants to break Pinkie out of her little world anymore.

She doesn't know if she's wrong about that, and it's terrifying.

She walks over to the pink pony, carefully reaching out a blue hoof to Pinkie's shoulder.

"...Pinkie Pie?"

A squeal leaves the other, and those dull, dull eyes brighten right back up, and it's like she had never stopped moving, never stopped grinning, and those eyes frantically dart to the hoof on her body, to Rainbow Dash, to the place where their bodies connect, then back to Rainbow Dash.

She immediately drops to her belly, rolling onto her back before wriggling underneath the pegasus and over and over and over and over and ov

er and over and over and o

Darnit, she just has the worst luck with eggs!

"Oh, dear, don't fret! I think it's lovely that you took the risk of testing the batter. These cupcakes are simply delightful!"

For some reason, the wind is knocked out of her. Was the room always so...spinny?

The ringing in her head sounds kinda funny. It's almost like someone's shouting. Almost like someone's shouting her name.

Funny.

Funny!

FUNNY!

She glances down at her belly. She cocks her head.

Weird. Usually she's had an accident by now.

"PINKIE PIE!"

Oh. Somepony has been yelling her name.

She feels a bit silly now. She hopes she hasn't been ignoring them for too long.

She stands up, wobbles, then collapses into a half-splayed laying position on her belly.

Her head hurts.

That's normal, at least.

She likes normal.

She looks towards the source of the yelling. Finds a blue pegasus standing about three feet away from her. Tensed. Hesitant. Cautious. Worried.

Worried?

She giggles.

This is a party! Parties are no place for worry.

But she doesn't speak. It's not nice to cut somepony off.

She can't breathe. Okay, well, she can breathe, but she half-wishes she couldn't.

Everything is swirling around in her head in a maelstrom of emotions and Tartarian sensations that her heart is all too happy to pump throughout her strung-tight body.

A stray breeze reminds her that her nethers are still damp from where Pinkie had started to furiously - and yet so skillfully, she shouldn't know how to do that, she's always seemed so innocent, and they've only just hit adulthood, and she doesn't ever cuss, she can't even begin to understand how or why - lick at her genitals.

She shudders. She wants to throw up.

She reminds herself that Pinkie Pie is not a rapist.

She doesn't care what just happened. She will push it out of her mind if she needs to convince her emotions of this fact. But she knows that Pinkie Pie is not a rapist.

She's loud, bouncy, cheerful sometimes to the point of being annoying, borderline addicted to sweets and her party canon, loves her sister Maud Pie more than anything, and is so loyal that she could probably rival Rainbow Dash for her own element, but she is not a rapist.

So there has to be a reason behind what she just did.

Because this is not a sexual situation.

It never was.

And she just tried to make it one. Because Rainbow Dash put a hoof on her shoulder.

Because Rainbow Dash tried to comfort her by touching her shoulder.

A non-sexual, comforting, gentle touch to the shoulder.

She blinks.

Her friends are gone.

Madame le Flour is a slightly misshapen bag of flour.

She turns, desperately, to Sir Lintsalot.

He sits silently, because 'he' is just a pile of lint from underneath the front counter.

She looks back to Rainbow Dash.

She looks scared. Confused. There are tinges of hurt in those gentle eyes.

And yet, distantly, she knows that the other mare should be mad at her.

But she's not.

She's tense, and maybe ready to defend herself again, or run this time.

But somehow, those eyes let her know that she won't be attacked.

She can't just communicate with Rainbow Dash like she can with her...friends. But she knows how her pony friends are. She knows them well enough to be able to read them correctly most of the time.

An all-encompassing sense of shame overwhelms her in a tsunami of horror, grief, and self-disgust, and she smashes her face into the floor of Sugarcube Corner - in the back of her mind, she hears a muted crunch and a following wetness and knows that she broke her nose - before beginning to bawl.

She doesn't know why she did it.

She knows why she did it.

She doesn't know why she did it.

She knows why she over and over and over and ov

er and over and over and o

Every time they touched her it was just the start of another rape - she knows that word now, now that she's older and lives far, far away from them - and they trained her so well and she's so disgusted with herself and over and over and over and over and over a

nd over and over and over and ove

There's the steady sound of gentle, quiet hooves clopping closer to her, until a slightly trembling, warm presence lifts her head up, and something soft presses itself to her nose - she knows that she should probably be screaming in agony, she knows that she's broken it bad, but everything hurts so, so much and her nose is not one of those things - and in the tiny spaces of almost-clear vision she gets when she blinks away the cascades of tears, she finds saddened rose eyes and a soft blue wing held up to her face in a semi-futile attempt to staunch the flow of blood from her busted nose but she just can't stop crying and the tears keep flowing over and over and keep hitting the floor over and over and her stomach hurts from her heaving sobs because she keeps sobbing over and over and over and

over and over and over and over and o

Her stomach hurts so much it hurt so much then and it doesn't hurt nearly as much now but it still hurts and she's just as bad as them she's just going to continue this trend she should be locked up she should die she's nothing she'll rape others she was raped over and over and she'll rape others over and over and over an

She doesn't realize that she's been talking out loud until a firm but still careful hoof comes up to cup her jaw, Rainbow Dash locking her eyes with Pinkie's in a steady gaze, her brows furrowed.

"Hey."

She eases her expression just a little, switching wings when she realizes that the first is smearing blood everywhere and not absorbing much of anything anymore.

"I...I'm not good at comforting ponies that...aw, shit, Pinks. I'm not good at comfort, period." She manages the tiniest, most grief-stricken smile that Pinkie's ever seen.

The party pony's mangled heart feels just a few shards pulled together by it.

"But I don't need to be good at comfort to say that you're never going to be as bad as them." The hoof moves from her jaw to wipe away some tears before coming back down to rest on her cheek so, so carefully, even though those are soon replaced by more. "In fact, you're not even close to being as bad as them." She pauses to think for a moment, humming in thought. "Them? They're like...they're buffalo shit. No, they're the flies on buffalo shit. No no, actually, they're the Celestia-damned bacteria on the flies on buffalo shit."

A wheeze of a laugh leaves Pinkie. It quickly devolves into a coughing fit as the action pulls mucus and spit into her lungs, but even still, she's smiling afterwards.

The corners of her eyes are crinkling with the smile.

Her eyes are still dull, but the smile's there.

"But you, Pinkie? You're the sunrise. You're like, the reason all the colors in the sky mix together when Celestia raises that giant flaming orb. You're the feeling of the wind rustling through my feathers - and you and I both know how much I love flying - and you're the feeling everypony feels when they walk into a seemingly boring room, only to have all of their friends yell 'surprise!' as you fire off your awesome party canon." She opens her forelegs for a hug, giving Pinkie the choice whether or not she wants to allow for more bodily contact, and smiles as trembling pink hooves wrap around her neck, nuzzling into the fur there as she carefully wraps her own around Pinkie's shoulders. "You, Pinkie Pie, are perfect, and don't you ever forget it."

She doesn't know how long they hug.

She doesn't care.

She's so lucky.

She really believes it this time.