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				<a id="mw-mf-last-modified" data-timestamp="1476655577" href="http://mulpwiki.org/index.php/Special:History/Alt-SciTwi_-" data-user-name="HotRobotSlave" data-user-gender="unknown" class="top-bar truncated-text">Last modified on 16 October 2016, at 22:06</a>		<script>
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			<h1 id="section_0">Alt-SciTwi -</h1><ul id="page-actions" class="hlist"><li id="ca-edit" class="icon icon-32px icon-edit" title="Edit the lead section of this page."></li><li id="ca-talk" class="hidden icon icon-32px icon-talk"><a href="http://mulpwiki.org/index.php?title=Talk:Alt-SciTwi_-&amp;action=edit&amp;redlink=1" title="Discussion about the content page [t]" accesskey="t">Discussion</a></li><li id="ca-watch" class="watch-this-article icon icon-32px"><a href="http://mulpwiki.org/index.php?title=Special:UserLogin&amp;returnto=Alt-SciTwi+-" title="Add this page to your watchlist [w]" accesskey="w"></a></li></ul>		</div>
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This page was created by a <a href="./User:HotRobotSlave" title="User:HotRobotSlave">bot</a> and has not undergone revision yet.
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<td><b>Writefag</b>
</td>
<td> nohooves
</td></tr>
<tr>
<td><b>Pastebin link</b>:
</td>
<td><a rel="nofollow" class="external free" href="http://pastebin.com/G179D4i9">http://pastebin.com/G179D4i9</a>
</td></tr>
<tr>
<td><b>Pastebin creation</b>
</td>
<td>Sunday 1st of May 2016 07:44:16 PM CDT
</td></tr>
<tr>
<td><b>Last Pastebin update</b>
</td>
<td>Sunday 1st of May 2016 07:44:16 PM CDT
</td></tr></table>

</div><h3><span class="mw-headline" id="Alt-SciTwi_--_100th_NST_special">Alt-SciTwi -- 100th NST special</span><a href="Alt-SciTwi_-#/editor/1" title="Edit section: Alt-SciTwi -- 100th NST special" data-section="1" class="edit-page icon icon-32px icon-edit enabled">Edit</a></h3><div>
<div dir="ltr" class="mw-geshi mw-code mw-content-ltr"><div class="gettext source-gettext">&#160;<br /><span class="co4">&gt;&quot;Anon, darling--&quot;</span><br /><span class="co4">&gt;You ignore your girlfriend's call.</span><br /><span class="co4">&gt;You know perfectly well why she's calling you.</span><br /><br /><span class="co4">&gt;&quot;Anonymous--&quot;</span><br /><span class="co4">&gt;She calls out for you again.</span><br /><br /><span class="co4">&gt;Trixie glances at you from the copilot's seat.</span><br /><span class="co4">&gt;&quot;Sounds like someone's in trouble,&quot; she mutters with a grin, before shifting her attention back to her book.</span><br /><span class="co4">&gt;The cover is mostly blank with the exception of [DEUS VULT] scrawled in overly gothic font.</span><br /><br /><span class="co4">&gt;You look for somewhere to hide.</span><br /><span class="co4">&gt;Box. Compartment. Anything.</span><br /><span class="co4">&gt;&quot;Hiding won't help, Anonymous.&quot;</span><br />&quot;Shut it, Trix.&quot;<br /><span class="co4">&gt;You pull out a bunch of unneeded things like oxygen tanks and emergency supplies from under your seat.</span><br /><span class="co4">&gt;The resulting space looks large enough for you to squeeze in... with some help.</span><br /><span class="co4">&gt;&quot;That's barely large enough to fit your head through.&quot;</span><br />&quot;Trixie, you aren't helping.&quot;<br /><br /><span class="co4">&gt;Another call, this time it's more thunderous.</span><br /><span class="co4">&gt;&quot;ANON, GET YOUR ASS DOWN TO THE GALLEY THIS VERY SECOND OR GOD HELP ME--&quot;</span><br />&quot;Fine, fine!&quot;<br /><br />- - - -<br /><br /><span class="co4">&gt;&quot;What in the world is THIS?&quot;</span><br /><span class="co4">&gt;Twilight doesn't even wait for you to make it through the door.</span><br /><span class="co4">&gt;She's pointing at an all-too-familiar looking site on her HST TwiPad? (Designed in Californeighia, patent pending).</span><br /><span class="co4">&gt;It's the Power Ponies board on Channel4.org.</span><br /><br />&quot;Look, babe, I can explain--&quot;<br /><span class="co4">&gt;&quot;You've been writing greentexts about us this whole time??&quot;</span><br /><span class="co4">&gt;Twilight is absolutely livid.</span><br /><span class="co4">&gt;&quot;The adventures and state secrets that are supposed to be, you know, SECRET? And the stuff about us doing... doing...&quot;</span><br /><span class="co4">&gt;You've never seen her face this red before.</span><br /><span class="co4">&gt;&quot;...p-p-private couple lovey dovey stuff??&quot;</span><br /><br /><span class="co4">&gt;&quot;As if that's a secret to anyone with ears,&quot; you hear Trixie muttering, clear as day through the paper-thin walls of The Rainboom.</span><br /><span class="co4">&gt;Twilight buries her crimson-red face in her hands.</span><br /><span class="co4">&gt;You cough uncomfortably.</span><br /><br />&quot;I-I had to vent somehow! Besides, the events may be true but the characters are PONIES! The whole storyline is so ludicrous that no one would even believe a word of it--&quot;<br /><br /><span class="co4">&gt;Your excuses are cut off abruptly by a flying TwiPad? aimed squarely at your face.</span><br /><br />- - - -<br /><br /><span class="co4">&gt;Back at the helm, you sulk in the pilot seat with bandages on your nose.</span><br />&quot;Of all the magic you're familiar with, healing isn't one of them. How typical.&quot;<br /><span class="co4">&gt;&quot;That requires an intimate knowledge of human physiology, Anonymous,&quot; chides Trixie, slapping your hand away from your face. &quot;Don't touch it, or you'll make it worse.&quot;</span><br /><span class="co4">&gt;You grumble.</span><br />&quot;I really need to pick my nose.&quot;<br /><span class="co4">&gt;Trixie rolls her eyes.</span><br /><br /><span class="co4">&gt;Several minutes of uncomfortable silence later, the comms console startles the pilot pair with a ring.</span><br /><br /><span class="co4">&gt;[Incoming video call from: UNKNOWN NUMBER]</span><br /><br /><span class="co4">&gt;You and Trixie exchange startled looks. You reach over and hit the accept button.</span><br />&quot;H-hello?&quot;<br /><span class="co4">&gt;A familiar visage fills the screen.</span><br /><br /><span class="co4">&gt;&quot;Hello, silly spoon! Long time, eh?&quot;</span><br /><span class="co4">&gt;The toothpaste-haired milf flashes a grin in the same manner you've seen her flash her breasts.</span><br />&quot;U-uhm...&quot;<br /><span class="co4">&gt;&quot;I know, I know. I should've stayed in touch! But you know how busy Moondancer and I have been.&quot;</span><br /><span class="co4">&gt;&quot;Actually, we haven't,&quot; interjects Trixie. &quot;How have you been, Minuette?&quot;</span><br /><span class="co4">&gt;&quot;Oh, this and that! Wait a minute--&quot;</span><br /><span class="co4">&gt;Minuette leans into the camera, squinting a little. The lower half of the video fills up with manic rifle-pixie cleavage.</span><br /><span class="co4">&gt;You look away, blushing furiously.</span><br /><br /><span class="co4">&gt;&quot;My, my,&quot; Minuette frowns. &quot;Whatever happened to your nose, silly spoon?&quot;</span><br /><span class="co4">&gt;You sigh.</span><br />&quot;It's a long story.&quot;<br /><span class="co4">&gt;&quot;It can't be longer than whatever you're packing in your pants~&quot;</span><br /><span class="co4">&gt;The pale-blue mercenary eyes at your bulging crotch, winking seductively.</span><br /><span class="co4">&gt;You curse your stupid, traitorous penis.</span><br />&quot;I really would rather not--&quot;<br /><br /><span class="co4">&gt;Trixie cuts in rather inconveniently.</span><br /><span class="co4">&gt;&quot;MINUETTE, do you remember the Power Ponies image board Anonymous frequents?&quot;</span><br /><span class="co4">&gt;Oh, for fucking fuck's sake.</span><br /><span class="co4">&gt;Minuette thinks for a second.</span><br /><span class="co4">&gt;&quot;Why, yes! Channel4 dot org or whatever? Isn't that a website for little girls?&quot;</span><br /><span class="co4">&gt;&quot;Yes, it is. You see, Anonymous and Twilight got in a fight because--&quot;</span><br /><br /><span class="co4">&gt;This is the worst day ever.</span><br /><br />- - - -<br /><br /><span class="co4">&gt;After a round of laughter at your expense, Minuette calls over Moondancer to &quot;catch up on things.&quot;</span><br /><span class="co4">&gt;You wonder at Minuette's definition of the phrase as she retells the gossip with lascivious embellishments.</span><br /><span class="co4">&gt;Laughter, gawking by Moondancer, followed by more laughter and more gawking.</span><br /><span class="co4">&gt;As much as you hated being laughed at, you couldn't help but start to chuckle at some of Minuette's exaggerations.</span><br /><span class="co4">&gt;You even begin to join in on the banter, feeling slightly better about yourself.</span><br /><span class="co4">&gt;Was this her intention all along? To help you laugh it off?</span><br /><br /><span class="co4">&gt;&quot;Well, that's enough gossipping for me tonight.&quot;</span><br /><span class="co4">&gt;Minuette stretches and yawns, and boops Moondancer on the nose.</span><br /><span class="co4">&gt;&quot;You can stay on for a bit longer if you want, just don't stay up too late.&quot;</span><br /><span class="co4">&gt;&quot;Gee, thanks mom,&quot; grumbles Moondancer.</span><br /><span class="co4">&gt;Minuette chuckles, and leans in for a kiss. The resulting exchange is damp enough to be illegal in some states.</span><br /><span class="co4">&gt;Trixie breathes heavily, not looking away for a second. She silently mouths something along the lines of &quot;teach me sandpie.&quot;</span><br /><br /><span class="co4">&gt;You look away, their wanton display of affection stirring your innards hollow.</span><br /><span class="co4">&gt;You wonder if things would ever be the same between you and Twilight again.</span><br /><br /><span class="co4">&gt;&quot;I, uhm,&quot; stammers Trixie. &quot;I need to use the shower. For a while.&quot;</span><br /><br />- - - -<br /><br /><span class="co4">&gt;You and Moondancer chat for a while, reminiscing about all the crazy adventures you've had, the crazy last-stand at the HST headquaters, among others.</span><br /><span class="co4">&gt;&quot;So,&quot; starts Moondancer, after running out of things to reminiscent about.</span><br /><span class="co4">&gt;She digs out the half-dozenth cigarette of the call and lights it casually.</span><br />&quot;So.&quot;<br /><br /><span class="co4">&gt;&quot;The truth is--&quot; she blows strings of gossamer-thin smoke at the screen.</span><br /><span class="co4">&gt;&quot;--The truth is, I've read your greentext. Well, most of it, at least.&quot;</span><br /><span class="co4">&gt;You raise an eyebrow.</span><br /><span class="co4">&gt;&quot;Entertaining stuff, I must admit. Although I don't appreciate you portraying me as that sweaty shut-in nerd pony with an autistic axe to grind.&quot;</span><br /><br />&quot;I... Thank you?&quot;<br /><span class="co4">&gt;&quot;No problem,&quot; she sucks on the cancer stick again, burning through half of it in one go. &quot;I'm actually a big fan of Power Ponies myself.&quot;</span><br /><span class="co4">&gt;You nod quietly, not sure what to make of this revelation.</span><br /><span class="co4">&gt;So like a socially well-adjusted normlperson, you decide to ask her a show-related question.</span><br />&quot;Wh-who's your favorite pony?&quot;<br /><span class="co4">&gt;&quot;Masked Matter-Horn,&quot; she says without hesitation.</span><br /><span class="co4">&gt;Of course.</span><br /><span class="co4">&gt;&quot;And don't give me that &quot;Masked Mary-Sue&quot; crap or I will clog your inbox with copies of [Miami Connection].&quot;</span><br />&quot;Miami what?&quot;<br /><span class="co4">&gt;&quot;Minuette never stopped ordering them,&quot; she says with finality.</span><br /><span class="co4">&gt;It's clearly not a topic to be pursued any further.</span><br /><br /><span class="co4">&gt;&quot;Look, man, I'm not the one to shove my nose into friends' relationships--&quot;</span><br /><span class="co4">&gt;She takes a drag before snuffing out the dying cigarette.</span><br /><span class="co4">&gt;&quot;What do you think pisses Twilight off more -- the fact that you wrote smut based on the actual sex you've had, or that you've done it without her permission?&quot;</span><br /><span class="co4">&gt;You open your mouth to speak, only to close again in realization.</span><br /><span class="co4">&gt;Seeing your hesitation, Moondancer nods in approval.</span><br /><span class="co4">&gt;&quot;Yep. I've known her for years, Anon. She can be kinkier than Minuette if you get her in the right mood.&quot;</span><br /><span class="co4">&gt;Oh, you're more than familiar with *that* facet of Twilight.</span><br /><br /><span class="co4">&gt;Minuette takes out another cigarette and fiddles with it for a moment.</span><br /><span class="co4">&gt;&quot;You still haven't apologized to her, have you?&quot;</span><br /><span class="co4">&gt;You raise your hands in defense.</span><br />&quot;H-hey, I already tried to explain myself to her, and--&quot;<br /><span class="co4">&gt;&quot;And it didn't go too well because excuses aren't apologies.&quot;</span><br /><span class="co4">&gt;She shoves the cancer stick between her lips, letting you mull over her words.</span><br /><br /><span class="co4">&gt;&quot;Just do it.&quot;</span><br />&quot;I will.&quot;<br /><span class="co4">&gt;&quot;Yesterday you said tomorrow--&quot;</span><br />&quot;Actually, it all happened today.&quot;<br /><span class="co4">&gt;&quot;Don't let your dreams be dreams.&quot;</span><br />&quot;Moondancer--&quot;<br /><span class="co4">&gt;&quot;Take that lavender pussy and JUST--&quot;</span><br />&quot;MOONDANCER, I SWEAR TO GOD&quot;<br /><br />- - - -<br /><br /><span class="co4">&gt;You quietly shuffle your way to the cabin, stopping at the door leading into Twilight's quarters.</span><br /><span class="co4">&gt;You raise your hand to knock when you hear muffled groans.</span><br /><span class="co4">&gt;Huh?</span><br /><br /><span class="co4">&gt;You slide the door open slowly, wedging yourself in quietly.</span><br /><span class="co4">&gt;In the usual Twilight fashion, the room is cluttered with various papers and complex books covering sciencey subjects from across the multiverse.</span><br /><span class="co4">&gt;On the far end of the room is a vaguely Asian room divider, with Twilight's bed behind it.</span><br /><span class="co4">&gt;The bed you've spent countless nights in, doing *things* with Twilight.</span><br /><span class="co4">&gt;And the current source of the muffled groans.</span><br /><br /><span class="co4">&gt;You tiptoe your way through the familiar clearings in the scholastic disarray.</span><br /><span class="co4">&gt;Just a few feet away from the bed, you hear another moan.</span><br /><span class="co4">&gt;It's unmistakeably Twilight's.</span><br /><span class="co4">&gt;&quot;N-nonny~&quot;</span><br /><span class="co4">&gt;This is getting weird.</span><br /><br /><span class="co4">&gt;You make it to the partition and peek around it.</span><br /><span class="co4">&gt;There's the bed.</span><br /><span class="co4">&gt;And there's Twilight, reclining against a pile of pillows.</span><br /><span class="co4">&gt;You see her left hand holding up the HST TwiPad? (Designed in Californeighia, patent pending).</span><br /><span class="co4">&gt;It's unmistakably displaying the Power Ponies board on Channel4.org.</span><br /><span class="co4">&gt;Her right hand disappears into and beneath her purple panties.</span><br /><span class="co4">&gt;....NO way.</span><br /><br />&quot;Twilight?&quot;<br /><br /><span class="co4">&gt;&quot;AaaAAARUGH!&quot;</span><br /><span class="co4">&gt;Twilight's right hand slips out of her panties lightning-fast.</span><br /><span class="co4">&gt;She hurriedly locks her TwiPad?.</span><br /><span class="co4">&gt;&quot;A-a-a-a-anonymous! Hahahaha! I th-thought you'd be in the cock sleeve. STEVE. COCKPIT.&quot;</span><br /><br />&quot;Were you just....&quot;<br /><span class="co4">&gt;&quot;Reading research papers, yes!&quot;</span><br /><span class="co4">&gt;Twilight breathes heavily, wiping her hand on a wad of tissues.</span><br /><span class="co4">&gt;&quot;S-sweaty hands, amirite? Heh heh heh.... heh...&quot;</span><br /><span class="co4">&gt;You stare at her, unimpressed.</span><br /><br />&quot;That was Channel4.&quot;<br /><span class="co4">&gt;&quot;Nope.&quot;</span><br />&quot;Power Ponies.&quot;<br /><span class="co4">&gt;&quot;Most definitely not.&quot;</span><br /><br /><span class="co4">&gt;Taking a hint from your conversation with Moondancer, you decide to prod her with show references.</span><br />&quot;Masked Mary-Sue--&quot;<br /><span class="co4">&gt;&quot;WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU JUST SAY ABOUT MASKED M--&quot;</span><br /><span class="co4">&gt;Twilight slaps her hands over her mouth, too little too late.</span><br /><br />&quot;HAH, GOTCHA.&quot;<br /><br /><span class="co4">&gt;Twilight rolls her eyes in resignation, pouting all the while.</span><br /><span class="co4">&gt;&quot;Fine. FINE. I may or may not be a Power Ponies fan, and I may or may not find some smut to be entertaining--&quot;</span><br /><span class="co4">&gt;She looks away, clearly blushing.</span><br /><span class="co4">&gt;&quot;--and may or may not have enjoyed the smut written by someone who may or may not be Anonymous...&quot;</span><br /><br /><span class="co4">&gt;Twilight gets her angry edge back again.</span><br /><span class="co4">&gt;&quot;L-look. It doesn't matter whether I enjoyed reading it or not. You... You wrote about us! You wrote about all the intimate details we shared... without telling me... and-and-and...&quot;</span><br /><br /><span class="co4">&gt;You shut her up with a hug.</span><br /><br />&quot;Look, I'm sorry that I wrote all that... about us. Without permission.&quot;<br /><span class="co4">&gt;You hear Twilight breathing deeply, taking in your scent.</span><br /><span class="co4">&gt;God, you love it when she does that.</span><br />&quot;Even though the characters are made up, I shouldn't have written so frankly about our lives without consulting you first.&quot;<br /><span class="co4">&gt;You meet your lips with hers briefly, gently stroking her lavender face.</span><br />&quot;I'm really sorry.&quot;<br /><br /><span class="co4">&gt;Twilight's eyes dart between yours.</span><br /><span class="co4">&gt;Suddenly, she grabs your face in her hands and pummels you with the deepest kiss you've had in a long time.</span><br /><span class="co4">&gt;Her tongue gently wraps and embraces with yours, numbing your senses with sweet, lukewarm, and distinctively Twilight-y flavor.</span><br /><span class="co4">&gt;You feel yourself being pushed backward towards the bed.</span><br /><span class="co4">&gt;She breaks the kiss abruptly, and shoves you into the bed.</span><br /><span class="co4">&gt;The lavender predator wastes no time hopping on top of you, peeling off her tank top.</span><br /><span class="co4">&gt;You feel her erect nipples rubbing against your chest as she does *that* crawl up your torso, ending with her face pressed against your neck.</span><br /><br /><span class="co4">&gt;A wave of goosebumps wash over your body as she douses your ear with warm, airy whispers.</span><br /><span class="co4">&gt;&quot;A-anon... Can I inspire y-you for some smut?&quot;</span><br /><br /><span class="co4">&gt;&quot;He can,&quot; says Trixie, from the other room. &quot;If you'd let me find my earplugs first.&quot;</span><br /><br />- - - -<br /><br /><span class="co4">&gt;In a darkened basement far, far away, a shadowy figure with shockingly blue hair sits hunched over his laptop.</span><br /><span class="co4">&gt;The desk is cluttered with wrappers and leftovers.</span><br /><span class="co4">&gt;Half-finished computer with parts strewn about and forgotten takes up most of the desk space.</span><br /><span class="co4">&gt;But the blue-haired patrician doesn't seem to mind.</span><br /><span class="co4">&gt;It's a work in progress, he tells himself.</span><br /><span class="co4">&gt;After all, he's a busy intellectual.</span><br /><span class="co4">&gt;The constant burden of engaging in philosophical debates requires careful management of one's time.</span><br /><br /><span class="co4">&gt;The basement is dead-quiet except the clik-clak of keystrokes and occasional rush of water running through the plumbing.</span><br /><span class="co4">&gt;[Honestly, I don't get the appeal,] he pauses for a moment, taking a big gulp from his Big Gulp.</span><br /><span class="co4">&gt;[It's like this general is full of nothing but /u/ cucks content with some bacon-mane Stacy deflowering their waifu.]</span><br /><span class="co4">&gt;His light-blue eyes glaze over the screen, making sure that his argument is sound.</span><br /><span class="co4">&gt;Reputation is *everything* on anonymous imageboards.</span><br /><span class="co4">&gt;Especially Channel4.</span><br /><br /><span class="co4">&gt;He adds finishing touches to his already-profound argument, polishing it to the point of being irrefutable.</span><br /><span class="co4">&gt;[It's rather degenerate, to be honest.]</span><br /><span class="co4">&gt;The clik-clak of keystrokes intensify, demonstrating his familiarity with making rapid arguments and demolishing anyone who dares to challenge his considerable intellect.</span><br /><span class="co4">&gt;[I hope you faggots enjoy the thread, because you've all ruined it for me.]</span><br /><span class="co4">&gt;[t. Flash Sentry]</span><br /><br /><span class="co4">&gt;With the final keystroke, Brad smiles smugly to himself.</span><br /><span class="co4">&gt;Yet another defeat for the dykeshitters.</span><br /><br /><span class="co4">&gt;Sapphire Saviors NEVER lose.</span></div></div>




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