Wallflower Blush Bashes The Fash
Friday Night Fash-Bashin'
Wallflower Blush had never been so excited to be at the beach before. The blazing hot sun, the clamor of summertime crowds, and the overall atmosphere of carefree bliss were all things she either loathed or could not relate to. Thinking back, Wallflower hadn’t been comfortable walking on a beach in short sleeves since before high school.
Today, while she still wore her usual sweater, a bright smile accompanied it as she made her way from the parking lot down to the sand. Though the shore was lined with umbrellas, beach chairs, and their occupants, Wallflower paid them no mind.
“Ready for a day at the beach?”
Looking over beside her, Wallflower nodded to her companion. “I think so,” she said, still a bit uneasily but more confident than she had felt in far too long.
With a radiant smile, Sunset Shimmer squeezed Wallflower’s hand. She scanned the crowded shore for a moment, then nudged them towards a section of the beach that was mostly deserted. “How about over there?”
“Sure!”
The pair picked up their pace and made their way to their free section of shore. The loose sand made walking difficult for Wallflower at points—still wearing her regular shoes, rather than going barefoot like Sunset did—but it was worth the effort.
Once they found a level, even spot on more compacted sand, Wallflower unfurled the blanket she had tucked under her arm and laid it across the ground. After she did so, Sunset set down their picnic basket and started unpacking their drinks, sandwiches, and chips.
“I see you peeking over there,” Sunset teased, casting her a sideways grin.
Though she blushed, Wallflower couldn’t help but keep smiling. “Can you blame me?”
Sunset looked over her tiny, two-piece black bikini, then smirked. “Good point.”
A round of shared giggles, and then the two girlfriends tucked into their shared lunch.
The waves came crashing in, one after the other. A steady, constant rhythm that dragged Wallflower’s eyelids down, making them heavy, along with the beating of the warm sun on her face.
“Comfy?”
Wallflower opened her eyes, leaned her head back, and looked up to see Sunset smiling at her. “Mmhmm.”
Sunset ran her fingers through Wallflower’s hair. “Good.”
The two returned to their contented silence, interrupted only by the breaking of sea upon shore and the distant sounds of other beachgoers. Other than a wayward volleyball rolling their way sometime earlier, the two had remained undisturbed. Good weather, good food, good company…
For the first time, maybe ever, Wallflower Blush was having a perfect day.
… And then the Nazis showed up.
“Huh, that’s kinda weird…”
With a groan, Wallflower creaked one eye open. She’d finally almost fallen asleep. “Sunset, what is—“
Not too far away from their spot on the beach, a group of people wearing white polo shirts, black slacks, and carrying plastic Tiki Torches were setting up what almost looked like… a protest?
To the untrained eye, that’s what most would have dismissed the gathering as. But Wallflower Blush, however, was far from untrained.
Wriggling out of Sunset’s grasp, Wallflower sat up on their beach towel, then rose to her feet. Her legs shook as she did so, but not out of fear.
Out of anticipation.
“Wally?” Sunset asked, “What’s up? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, Sunset,” Wallflower replied coolly, a slight smile spreading across her face. “Just remembered that I forgot something in the car.” She held a hand out to Sunset, who wordlessly withdrew her keys from her purse and set them in Wallflower’s outstretched palm. “Thanks. I’ll be right back.”
Sunset tilted her head, watching as her girlfriend walked off. “Uh… alright.”
Whereas the sand had almost dragged Wallflower down on the way here, now, it stood no chance of resistance. As the Tiki-Torch-waving group began a series of disturbing and ridiculous chants, she walked faster, practically stomping her way back to the parking lot.
Once she reached Sunset’s beat-up station wagon, she popped the trunk open. Reaching beneath a mess of old blankets, scattered tools, and some reusable shopping bags they had remembered to use exactly once, Wallflower pulled up the panel separating the trunk from the spare tire. There, between the rusted spare and jack, she had hidden The Gospel According To Wallflower, or The Gospel, for short.
The Gospel was a baseball bat full of nails.
Why had she named it The Gospel, again...?
…Oh, yeah. Wallflower recalled why as she gave the bat a few warm-up swings, grinning at the “rusted” bits on some of the nails as they shone in the sun.
It was because The Gospel sent folks to Heaven, after proclaiming Wallflower’s ultimate truth: She could kill fuckers.
Whistling a jaunty tune, Wallflower practically skipped her way back down to the shore. Between her swinging The Gospel this way and that, and the loose sand, Wallflower almost tripped. Luckily, she caught herself at the last minute. Whew! That wasn’t going to happen now, especially on today of all days!
By the time she had returned to the beach, the group on the beach had attracted the attention they so desperately craved. They marched in a circle, battery-powered Tiki Torches flailing dully in the summer sun, their cliched attire a mockery to all things good and pure on Wally’s green Earth.
As Wallflower approached, The Gospel held tight in her hands, she could hear their shouts:
“Make Canterlot Great Again!”
“Despite making up only 13% of the population—”
“Muh freeze peach!”
“But what if the child consents?”
“We’re just asking questions!”
“Don’t tread on meeeeeeeeeee—!”
Raising The Gospel high, Wallflower Blush struck with practiced precision, and began to bash the fash.
The chorus of nonsense chanting was soon drowned out by panicked screams. Despite their tough-guy personas and edgy declarations to the contrary, the group of Nazis was no match for one determined girl who didn’t afraid of anything, and her trusty baseball bat full of fucking nails.
Screams of utter horror from the Nazis filled Wallflower’s ears as she swung again and again, delivering divine justice from above. The Gospel proved to be just as effective as it ever was, both at conveying its message and at granting salvation to those who seemed least deserving of it. Wallflower Blush was a prophet, and her missive was communicated with every swing of her mighty weapon: Fuck around and find out.
And golly, were those Nazis finding out.
At first, those who didn’t have the common sense to just flee dug their heels in and fought back by waving their Tiki Torches. These were easily cast aside in the face of the holy fury that was The Gospel. Instead of running once they were disarmed, the small group of fascists instead just doubled down once they were cornered by someone who had no time for their shit:
“But what if the children are imaginary? And horses? Wouldn’t that make it okay?!”
“We’re just asking questions!”
“Dey took our jerbs!”
“TREAD ON ME MOMMY!”
Blood rained down on Wallflower, contrasting perfectly to her sweater, hair, and skin, but she paid it no mind. She wouldn’t stop for anyone, anything, nothing, not until her sacred duty was complete, not until she had fully bashed the fash, not until she had driven the last Nazi from the last corner of their mother’s basement and poured the ultimate slurry of Cheetos and Mountain Dew down their ungrateful gullet while she sent them to—
“WALLY!”
—“Sunset?!"
The Gospel only inches away from cracking a motherfucker’s skull in half, Wallflower froze, turning to Sunset, in horror and shame. What had she done?! She had never intended for Sunset to see this part of herself. Not now, and not ever. Now she had ruined everything! Now Sunset would storm off, drive home, never talk to her again, and it would just be Wallflower all alone, surrounded by nothing and no one, not even her plants, because all of them would just remind her of Sunset and then they would slowly wither and die and then she would have to go back to her lonely apartment and then she would run out of—
“Go get ‘em, babe!” Sunset Shimmer shouted, hands on her cheeks, her eyes wide and brimming with wonder, adoration, and the utmost depth of love that Wallflower Blush had ever seen, experienced, or felt in her life.
If they had been cartoon characters instead of living, breathing human beings, Wallflower would have sworn Sunset had a cloud of pink and red hearts floating above her right now. And if Wallflower hadn’t known any better, she would have also thought that Sunset seemed… Maybe a little too into her bashing the fash.
Wallflower suddenly couldn’t wait to get home.
With renewed vigor, knowing her insanely hot girlfriend was watching, Wallflower returned to the task at hand. Beaming, she brought The Gospel to the last several Nazis who had not yet met their Maker, bringing down blow after blow in a sea of cleansing blood.
All the while, Sunset cheered, her pupils blown, her face flushed, her legs shaking as she struggled to stay upright. The other onlookers at the beach, who were as equally fascinated and approving of this display of raw righteousness and power, would have commented that Sunset Shimmer looked even hotter than usual right now… if they weren’t afraid that Wallflower would bring the good news to them next.
Finally, as the last absolute fucking buffoon met his end, screaming something about “artistic license” and it being “just a prank, bro,” Wallflower Blush looked up from her work. She, along with her trustworthy bat, were painted in a fresh coat of copper red. The stench of victory permeated the beach, along with a renewed sense of faith in humanity.
Hugging her with a ferocity Wallflower had never felt from Sunset before, her girlfriend launched herself at her side and squeezed her tight. “I’m so proud of you!” Sunset yelled, before dipping Wallflower low and embracing her with a deep, loving kiss.
And then everyone clapped.
And then Sunset Shimmer and Wallflower Blush got married, made sweet, sweet love, and lived happily ever after.
The End (?)
