Towards, The Theatrics

by Fireflower

Rating: teen
Tags: Profanity, Discord, Gore, Slice of Life, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Alternate Universe, Human, Other, Transformers, Anon, Spike, Comedy, Big Macintosh, Random, Violence, Crossover, JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure, Anthro
Length: 1202

A simple crackfic inspired by a past contest: no prize to be claimed as possible; a simple expedition with time so to speak of - failing that, a short story with low expectations and higher inquiries based on its contents in question nevertheless...

The art of cinematography is a delicate balance between shadows and light, style and substance, stillness and sound, already working together: since the creation of the daguerreotype, it was almost inevitable when the still frames of life captured before ones' eyes needed to be mobile; then again, these dreams have been around since the days of phantasmagoria.

Since the dawn of the past century, media has gone from lines of text amongst pictures to a sequence of sights and sounds, great and small; of course, its humble beginnings were riddled with shames and guilts far too great to look over, even in the eyes of their contemporaries: even now, the latest line of motion pictures have even seen better days, despite improvements.

Under no circumstances did they go unnoticed, all thanks to one individual riding along with a trio who needs no introduction so to speak of; needless to say, it was only but a matter of time before regrets were made and acknowledged in advance, but only by the majority as is: all that matters is how long before someone says these three magic words.

Inspired by the A Thousand Words Contest II, ergo inadmissible.

Published 2024-07-14 16:30:01 UTC
Last updated 2024-07-14 16:30:01 UTC

Our Feature Presentation‽

Author's Note

My name is Fireflower and this is my ninth My Little Pony Fanfic, using normal canon characters that is rated T for Teen; therefore, it is no clopfic whatsoever but it is my third crackfic on this website: matter of fact, it took me about less than two days total to make this because inspired by a contest y'all know of so to speak.

Anyways, I just want to state for the record My Little Pony, or rather Friendship Is Magic along with its setting and characters belong to Lauren Faust and Hasbro: of course, you'd already know about it since you'd been reading my stories for a long time so to speak of; speaking of which, this story is influenced by the South Park episode, You're Getting Old, as shown below.

Enjoy it while you can 'cause I had to tone it down for the sake of content ratings: seeing that South Park itself isn't the only thing that's violent, it was inevitable especially considering what else I'd added to the concoction; in addition, there are some references here and there that I've taken the liberty of putting in the story altogether.

Our Feature Presentation‽

Dark as night yet far from stormy was the limited and liminal space which had happened to this moment in time so to speak of as is: it was bereft of stars, dust, comets, wormholes, stations, and worlds alike, especially due to the considerations of gravitational pulls; nevertheless, there was life and form taking up occupations, all ranging from the tallest of giants to smallest of dwarfs.

In this case, a roster one person shyer than a party of five sat together upfront of a silver screen: one, a predominantly serpentine integral without introductions or interjections; another, a big crimson draft equine firmly geared herein inasmuch justly keen; additionally, a purple dragon fell short though stood tall as the chair being used; and, at long last, a green person in jet–black.

“Oh, shit…!” said the latter of the foursome, a rather otherwise healthy balance going in betwixt a masculine tenor and a feminine coloratura; surprisingly, it was still heard by the remaining difference but nonetheless left alone due to an observation it was barely a careless whisper: the fact no face to be found anywhere upon the speaker’s corporeal form whatsoever didn’t suffice.

Before themselves were a series of machinery plastered across the shape, a collection of planes, trains, and automobiles as they were: the fluidity of these motions made were accentuated by the abundance of colors, bright and dark, as they’d varied in shades and hues; as it was happening, a deep growl was heard, “coming this summer, anew incarnation to coexist ever auld lang syne…”

“Rave on, bitches…!” cried a man similar to the jaded onlooker, albeit more descriptive much like the rest of the gang already: he was a brunet with blue eyes and bright skin, wearing a green vest over an orange shirt as he drove a jeepney away from fire; before long, he’d jumped out with another similar man dressed in black, “come get some, you invading scum–carving f–––”

“Atrocious…!” the sharp dressed tenant had sighed as the very face saw a grim future with lots of explosions and partial nudity; this was enough to earn a dirty look from the smallest of peers, the emerald splash orbs now radiating with a hint of toxicity: restrained as it were, the distraction alone didn’t go unnoticed, something the latter couldn’t resisted feeling as a result of the former.

Needless to say, it was time for the purple dragon to put his foot down but not on the ground for they both stood upon the seat their owner occupied, staring at the jaded onlooker afore replying, “dude, you’d said that you wouldn’t say everything looked like shit; remember your promise, dammit…!”

“Don’t blame me for what they’re putting out in theaters; back in my day, it was either Wolfgang III or Kinderheim Bruins…!” the dark biped snarled lightly before being repelled by a pair of sardonyx amongst the gilded calcium backing up the tyro, “okay, okay, I’m sorry… I’ll keep it together…”

“October 30th, Tim Allen gets behind the wheel with a need for speed and a thirst for blood: from the people who brought you Badlands, it’s Tim Allen in Carts of Darkness; rated argh for pirates, fuck you…!” another announcer acted almost instantly after a similar series of events played out, the titular driver with fiery skin carving out a trail of destruction with blood and guts.

It was at this point the elongated viewer softened up and commented on what had just happened, “that looks pretty good…”

“With respect, how can you say that looks good…?!” replied the sharp dressed tenant, unaware of what was going to be played next moving forward, “this is only happening because Loops of Strength was taken…!”

“You’re doing it again!” the purple dragon hushed.

Anyways, a yellow submarine arose from the deep blue as it was prepared to make an anti–air arrangement already alongside; in the meantime, the announcer’s voice from before was heard saying, “the battle for Atlantis rages on as the war takes it from sea to shining sea: it’s Whatever, You’ll Pay To Go View It; Fuck You – February 29th…!”

“Ach…!” hissed the dark individual at long last, “what is this, Sealander…?!”

“Calm down…” the lone ginger said sternly.

Their serpentine peer joined back in, “ditto…”

“The Prime Minister of England is a vampire‽” cried another speaker, this time more energetic as a blond muscleman with goldeneyes dressed in matching formal attire sits within a desk, “Ronnie Marlon has taken over the United Kingdom and is about to paint the capital red; here’s to hoping the Heritage Alliance stops him but can they really…? Tune in December something!”

“OH, COME ON PEOPLE…!” the sharp dressed viewer shouted, catching the rest of the audience off–guard before getting a boot to the head from abaft; rather than coming from either being in the same row, another person diagonally above served as the answer: another blue eyed brunet, albeit much shorter wearing a pink hat and shirt combo alongside his jeans and shoes.

There was nothing else much to say for the most part except for the fact that he was more annoyed compared to the remaining three as he’d said shrilly all the same, “keep calm and carry on, mister loudmouth…!”

“That’s what I was going to say too…” cheered another male, tall as the one the youth had attacked from abaft but bareheaded with some jet–black hair as he, too, wore pink, albeit as a jacket over his black undershirt, “some people just can’t even go one day without nitpicking every single thing in media for the most part…!”

“Experience pure sound…!” a calm stoic voice boomed as the room went darker than ever before, prompting its listeners, including the odd one out to be silent: it was at this moment the latter had realized how down for the count the clothing was on the floor but not out of this world or the one before it; either way, stunned silence alone was an understatement straightforwardly.