It was a dark and stormy night.
Also, it was Hearth’s Warming Eve, so stick with us. This story is only 5000 words long, after all, ya melon fudge.
Snow clung to the windowpanes of Castle Friendship… or Friendship Castle. Depends on which side of the pond you were spawned on. Snow is a clingy motherbucker, and this night was no exception. The frost was practically criminal, and it took every opportunity to slip through the crystalline cracks of the place. And it’s not like it had any place to go; the Castle was hilariously larger on the inside than on the outside. With something of that massive volume, thermal energy doesn’t necessarily maintain regularity for a prolonged distance. Which—if you think about it—means that the interior of the Castle—provided it was large enough—would be a great place to harbor experiments that bordered on a state of Absolute Zero. It was no wonder an eggheaded princess lived there.
But anyways, horses. Little horses in winter gear, which is about the second cutest state of horses, besides cat-sized ones, of course. Although this one is secretly a double bonus in that department, considering the idiots writing it.
Upon that Hearth’s Warming Eve, there were two cat-sized horses in ugly woolen sweaters that looked adorable and snuggly on their paraplegic—I mean equine limbs. One horse was lying on a reading couch, being lavender and princessy. The other—a touch bit butchier—was shambling down the steps with little kitten flicks of her prismatic tail. Upon reaching the polished floor of the reading-room-within-a-reading-room, she greeted her companion with a voracious raspy cry:
“Twilight! Did you eat the last of the triple caramel swirl with raisen centre ice cream again?”
The pony in question spun with a guilty look about her, the type you might expect to find on a Neighponese war criminal having been caught with a large quantity of Zyklon B. Before she could say anything, however, she tapped into her inner femininity, realising that conversation derailment and strawmanning was the most effective way to take hold of a situation, which was precisely the reason that she kept getting away with eating that—frankly, disgusting sounding—ice cream.
She spun on Rainbow with a vivacious twirl of her multi-hued locks, allowing them to dance in the breeze of still air before settling back into a perfectly Mo Howard bowl cut fringe. “Rainy, what did you just call me?”
Rainbow paused, making that sound that Windows did when it was running at over 100% disk usage and you hadn’t defragged in a year. She was perspiring in an instant, offsetting the stilling cold of that winter night, heat and fear coalescing in a mixture that had about as much cohesive property as uranium 235 and plutonium, and about as implosive an effect. “I-I called you…”
“You called me ‘Twilight’,” the pony who was named Twilight elucidated with an angry snarl around her face that would’ve creased her features if not for the fact that she was furry and therefore didn’t get wrinkles. Cute things don’t age. Ask Barbie. “You know that my name is Twiggums!”
With that, she launched into a tirade of G-rated abuse, throwing fluffy cushions and fluffier (Skirts this is your comfort zone finish this sentence)
pillows and other inanimate things totally not filled with animal viscera upon the shiny confines of the palatial domain. This tantrum carried on for a little while, which was more or less Rainbow Dash’s way of fussing her way through an adorable impasse whenever butting cerebrums with her newly acquired roommate of the alicorn persuasion.
Twilight Sparkle bided her time, basking in the hollywood glow of her best bestie suffering from momentary horse tourrettes, full of spectrum and fury signifying nutmeg. When the first throes of the grand-pegasus-spasming had finally run their course, and Rainbow was prepared to vomit forth a barrage of passionate retorts, Princess Smarty McSmartgarters had already triggered a blast of psionic energy behind the petit-er mare’s tail, so that she was launched forthwith across the foyer like a fuzzy four-legged cockroach with its wings recently snipped… or something else slightly less serial-killer inspired.
Anyways, gravity did its Christopher Nolan shiet, and Rainbow was soon landing all-a-ploppage across the spread belly of she-who-would-put-Whoah-Nelly (to shame), kappa. When oxygen had returned to the chest vacuoles of the lopsided fuzzruffles in question, it was Rainbow Dash who first frowned—a most difficult of an expression to ice-break through the Lovecraftian wall of her undeniably tsundere blush at having been so flippantly flapjack’d onto the chest fluff of her slightly bigger and most likely libertarian roommate.
“Twilight, you cuck—!”
“Twiggums.”
“Tch. Stuff it, girl.” Twilight buried her face shamefully in the princess’ nursery-room-colored sea of fuzz, drowning her shame and embarrassment with a copious amount of musk, lilac perfume, and library dust. “Twiggums be trippin’.”
“Awwwwwwww,” Twilight d’awwwww’d, reaching down to pet her marefriend in a spot that Sethisto would still be allowed to retweet on his public account. “See?” She gave a tiny mommy cat lick to the featheriest edge of Rainbow’s left ear. “Was that truly so hard?”
“You’re truly so hard.”
“Cute, Rainbow, but it’s not that kind of a fic.” Twilight sniggled on a giggle, her fwiggles all a swiggle. “Heehee! Look at your face! You can’t decide whether or not to be indigo or purple right now!”
“Oh hush.” Rainbow stuck her tongue out like a North Korean ICBM—all talk and no mushroom cloud. “Does it really humor you to make me a theater of changing colors?
Twilight blinked. “Wat?”
Rainbow blinked back. “I said—does it really humor you to make me a theater of changing colors?”
“I can’t understand you, Rainbow,” Twilight said. “Try across the ocean.”
“Throat clear,” Rainbow ahem’d, summoning up her most fake and stereotypical accent. “I said—does it really humour you to make me a theatre of changing colours?”
“Oh!” Twilight nodded. “See, now you’re speaking properly.” (No flames pls)
“Look, forget that,” Rainbow sighed, smushing her face against Twilight’s belly fuzz as she attempted to sum up the right words. The scent of lavender and pomegranate sure helped, though she wished Twilight would stop nicking her body wash. Rainbow bit her lip, and not in the special bus kind of way. “Twilight…”
Twilight gave her a pointed look; Rainbow backed up.
“Twiggums. Why do you always get like this around Hearth’s Warming Eve?”
“I...” Twilight started, then paused, then realised she’d paused and tried to distract Rainbow. “Look! Keys!”
“Whawhe—” Rainbow caught herself, blush about her. “I’m not falling for that again, Twilight. You don’t even have keys! Your castle’s spell protected!”
“What do you think I lock the panty drawer with?”
“Guhhhhh,” Rainbow onomatopoeiaed, trying to cast away memories of her many attempts at breaching said fortress. Turns out ‘fly at it really fast’ doesn’t work every time, and she’d had the bruises to prove it. “That’s not the point. Every year around this time, you get super mushy with me, demand cuddles, and ask me to call you silly pet names.”
“Well, I think if you look at the documents you signed when you became a legal tenant here,” Twilight started, knowing it was her trump card, “you’ll find that you’re contractually obligated to call the landlord by whatever title he or she pleases.”
“Then howcome you don’t do this with Spike?!” Rainbow defended, lamenting the fact that she couldn’t read good.
“Because Spike isn’t my Rainy-Wainy!” Twilight responded by instinct, nuzzling her harder. Rainbow dove snout first into a sea of warm and chesty floof, sinking to the bottom and floating upwards all at once, transcending gravity (something to do with water resistance) and finding herself at the apex of fuzzy pony comfort.
It was hard to resist, but she managed by a tail thread. “Cut the crap, Twi. You don’t do this with Spike, you only do it around this time of year, there has to be a reason for it. What aren’t you telling me?”
For a long while, Twilight was silent. “Look, Rainbow.” Oh, we were back to usual names now, good. “When I was a filly, we didn’t make much of a big deal out of Hearth’s Warming—”
“Failing to see what this has to do with the borderline psychotic cuddling.”
“Well maybe if you’d let me finish?!” Twilight breathed heavily, like she’s just ran a ghost marathon whilst stuffed with kegal balls (Don’t think that’s M tag worthy, if it is they were in her mouth I swear). “I didn’t have much of a fillyhood. I grew up really fast, part of being Celestia’s personal protege, and that meant missing out on, well, being treated like every other filly or colt when they were growing up.”
“Oh no. I’m not dealing with your oedipal bullshit!” Rainbow shook her head very muchly, then reconsidered what she’d said. “Wow. That was a big word. Thanks, Daddy Intricate.”
Don’t call me that.
“But Daddy~.”
Stop.
“OwO.”
ALRIGHT MOVING SWIFTLY ON.
“It isn’t a complex!” Twilight swore, despite the fact that she’d already tried dressing Rainbow up, treating her like she was eight, and kissing her in the same inappropriate places you might see on a court doll. (Hey, I didn’t make the fetish.) “I couldn’t do this stuff with Spike. He was a boi, and… I dunno, he got tired of me putting him in dresses after a while.” Twilight’s face became straight, serious, adorafuzzy. “If you can stomach putting on a dress for Rarity, you can call me some pet names and snuggle with me, damn it.”
The ball was in Rainbow’s court; one must have fallen out halfway through the hundred metre dash. She laid there, awash in contemplation, sprawled out on Lavender Sparkle’s bed of fuzz like Kate Winslet waiting for James Cameron to label her as a marine mammal once again. As the metaphoric frost of the moment crept in, she looked off towards the far end of the room, trying to come to a mental catharsis strung up between petticoats and princess pet culture, both of which had been so ruthlessly flung onto her via the whim of the vicariously piloted horse woman and her horrific half of the conversation. Rainbow’s spectral-encased synaptic pathways fired at random, and she remembered a moment not that long ago, when she was walking home and the frost nipped at her nose and the sky was enchanted with various gray shades of winter dazzlement. She saw foals playing in the snow, couples cuddling on the bench, a donkey preparing to leap off a bridge. She thought of all the lucky paths her life had taken, and how so many of them brought her here—comfortable and cozy—lying groin-to-groin with a nerdy slice of monarch. She thought of all the wonderful things that Twilight had done for her: granting her front seats at the most popular music venues, getting her signed first editions of Daring Do novels, firing the ever-living snot out of Spitfire. In truth, Rainbow owed Twilight… Twiggums so much, that doing even the littlest of things for her—such as dressing in a sissy gown and age-playing like a girlish idiot in a manner becoming a certain random neckbeard’s gross and awkward fantasy—would be simple and appropriate payment for the absurd amount of amenities that Twilight had tossed her way. But then Rainbow Dash remembered that she was a bitch. Also, that donkey was probably red paste by now.
“Twiggums! You’ve got something in your mouth!”
“What?” Twilight blinked. “But I don’t—CHUUUUUUUUUUUUUU.”
To the readers’ delight, Twilight was finally muzzle to muzzle with her top, which was painfully ironic because Twilight was on the bottom. Nevertheless, in a truly magnetic motion, the two locked craniums, and their shared sighs formed vapors that deliciously framed the passionate scene. In fact, one can imagine a camera twirling around the two of them in bullet-time, capturing every drop of saliva and crimson red anime hash-lines dripping from the oral equine orgy. And in between each sloppy slurp of slick succulent alliteration, gasps of love and sincerity could be heard emanating from the pony pair.
“Oh Rainy-Wainy-Mainly-in-Spainy,” Twilight Sparkle insanely’d. “I want to make magical lesbian spawn with your butt.”
Rainbow Dash was too busy performing the verb of a human country she didn’t know the name of to register the stupidity of that last utterance. “Twiggums.” She heatedly horse-horse’d, causing the thin saliva bridge between their lips to vibrate ecstatically. “You put the eeeee(!) in my bola, gyrl.”
“Mmmmmm Rainbowwwwww….” Twilight shoe’d, her eyes rolling up like that customer of mine who fell on the floor the other day cuz the body heat of all the holiday shoppers made her faint. “Fill me with skittles you absolute friggin’ heckin’ REDACTED.”
Rainbow Dash would have exploded right then and there, but the couple’s towel was upstairs in the bedroom. So instead, she leaned in, eyes aflame with lust, her wings spread wide and stiff like Irish fetuses in Limbo. Spiraling glitter rotated out of her eyes and settled deep into Twilight Sparkle’s brain bone as she spoke so close to the alicorn’s ear that her tongue could very easily have fired off neutrons down the gigantic fallopian-shaped trench of the Large Hadron Collider, also in another human country she couldn’t pronounce. “I want to fuck you until you grow a new orifice.”
Just like that, Twilight’s eyes bugged. “Rainbow?! What the fuck?”
“Huh? What?”
“You can’t fucking say that—for Christ’s sake, Rainbow!” Twilight sat up, sober and flaccid in all the femme places. “We were aiming for a fucking G rating! I mean, one of us was—”
Rainbow Dash glanced up a few paragraphs. “We said ‘bullshit’ earlier.”
“For fuck’s sake, Rainbow, EVERYPONY says bullshit!” Twilight counted off with her feathers. “Foals say bullshit! Teachers say bullshit! Princess Celestia SLEEPS in it! How else do you think she’s able to flatulate the sun into the sky every buck-ass peehole of dawn?!”
“Twilight calm down—”
“Fuck you, clit-stain! Don’t fucking tell me to fucking calm down you donkey-aborting garbage cunt dogfucker! Goddess fucking dammit!” Twilight Sparkle stood up, furiously marching about, burning with immolating vitriol, like a flickering flare… or maybe a distorted one. “Fuck me in my shithole with a fucking rusted chainsaw you fucking porta-potty pigeon fuck! I hope someone hijacks an airplane into your head! Fuck fuck FUCK!!!”
“You’re just cursing for the fuck of it now,” Rainbow Cartman’d right back at her. “Calm down, Twilight. I’m serious. Calm.”
“Wait, you’re serious?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, fine. Calm. I didn’t realise you were serious.” Twilight took a deep breath, then grinned, then her expression was downcast, like that of a sick puppy that’d just made a mess on the carpet again. “I’m sorry, Rainbow Dash. We’re forgetting what Hearth’s Warming Eve is all about, squabbling over silliness instead of spending our time enjoying the season. Do you remember what this holiday is for?”
“Of course,” Rainbow nodded, brushing some of the mane out of Twilight’s face and planting a soft, saccharine kiss on her cheek. “It’s about friendship. It’s about love, and tolerance, and harmony. It’s about being together, even through the bad times.”
“And performing the sacred ritual so the snake god Glycon protects us from the windigoes.”
“Oh. Yeah. That too.” Rainbow Dash didn’t pass religious education. “We should probably go do that, right?”
“Equestria will get swallowed by eternal winter if we don’t!”
“...so no fuk yet?”
Twilight’s voice dropped to a low, husky whisper, one that made Rainbow’s fur stand on end and her heart crack as much as her voice. “Later...”
“Alright yeah let’s go summon God!” Said Dripping Dash, her juices flowing so heavily that they were already beginning to matte against the fur of her thighs. Jeez, Twilight had a way with words. It was almost like she was written by someone who knew how to make things sexy.
The two of them entered the ritual room with a haste about them, Rainbow donning the ceremonial dress and Twilight beginning to set the magical ley lines that would act as a conduit for the magic of their union.
“Phwuuguu…” Rainbow did a cute little pirouette in the gown, eyelashes fluttering in the amber cultlight of the sanctum. “You think this dress is going to work?”
“It’d better,” Twilight spat on a crooked dagger and gave it a good rub “It’s pink enough.”
“So.” Rainbow Dash huffed, cinching her frilly blouse tighter. “Are you ready to perform Et chorus ex equo bellus?”
“Ita.”
“Here goes nothing.” Rainbow Dash bound her wings, laid down on a granite slab, and spread her legs.
Floating the dagger by her side, Twilight Sparkle crawled up onto the dais, mounted her girlfriend, and brandished the blade high.
Rainbow took a deep breath, her pretty bonnet’d face reflected off the kaleidoscopic sheen of the knife.
Twilight chanted under her breath, licked the tip of the weapon… and stuck it into the thin slot of a lock box protruding out a wall beside them. Cl-Click! The container opened, producing two Ponystation Dualshock Controllers. Twilight grasped one and hoofed the other to Rainbow. The two gazed across the room as a giant plasma screen flickered to life, projecting an electric blue bus hanging from hot air balloons.
“So, where are we droppin’?” Rainbow asked, tilting her head up to gaze upside down at the screen.
“Trotting Towers.”
“Pffffft.” Rainbow raspberried, chest vibrating against her lover atop of her. “Trotting Towers sucks.”
“You suck.”
“Whatever.” Rainbow yawned. “Just get in the golf cart as soon as you land.”
A few seconds of plinking away at the controller buttons—both mares piloted their digital avatars into the vehicle in question.
“Alright… drive into the Big Pink Cloud of Nuzzle-Nuzzles,” Rainbow said.
“The what, now?”
“It’s located due north from here.”
“But that’s Zebra Zoo, I thought—”
“Nah, it changed the last patch.”
“It did?”
“Get with the times, pleb.”
“I haven’t bought a Battle Pass for this season.”
“It’s just ten quid, ya bucktard! Get Spike to go sell a kidney or something.”
“I’ll sell your kidney!”
“Arse!”
“Wanker!”
Ten quiet seconds later.
“Anyways, found the cloud.”
“Good.” Rainbow Dash breathed heavily, her fuzzums rubbing against Twilight’s guzzums as the air grew hotter around them, slowly lighting up the blood-coated sigils surrounding the slab below. “Drive into it…”
“And…” Twilight purred, melting like an amorous cat into the cream taffeta’d pegasister lying spread eagle beneath her. “...in the meantime.”
“Claim me, my Goddess,” Rainbow’s voice cracked the crackiest of cracks. The dropping of two controllers added percussion to the moist moment as their digital avatars flew into a pink vortex that went on forever. “Right here on the V-Bucks.”
“Oh Dashie…”
“Oh Twiggums—”
The Ponystation was glowing a hot red at this point, but even that had nothing on these feverish dams in Holland. The lolita gown melted from their joint passion, forming a pink pool beneath the slab—slowly filling the grooves in the runic array below. Soon, everything was gasps and estrus, with occasional whimpers and giggles of erotic euphoria splattering left and right and other directions that defied gravity. Somewhere in the distance, a wayward three dimensional cretin Alfonso-Riveiro’d in and out of sight before tripping on a lawsuit and vanishing back through a slit in reality. Then—starting with a bright pink glow of lesbian righteousness emanating outward from the nape of the two neighlickers’ nethers—a magical aura of cuddly goodness filled the sanctum from brim to brim, drowning out the amber light until everything was lubricated and sublime. Outward from this pool, ponified and coated with smiles, a combined orgasmic yelp broke the heavens. The sonic reverberation bent the structural dome that once made the sanctum. A dozen different universes were concocted and then swallowed up in burps of false vacuum metastability, until through the mess there emerged a singular corporeal figure: stalwart, menacing, and wearing… like… pauldrons with blades on top of blades.
“Avatar of Glycon!” Rainbow Dash and Twilight jointly chanted, both enjoying a good-ass smoke. Taking a few last puffs, they dropped the fags and grinded them to ash before bowing in front of the summoned deity. “We bid thou protect us from the windigoes!”
“MY LITTLE PONIES,” the snake entity spoke in a voice that may or may not have sounded like a muppet James Earl Jones. “THY SACRED LOVEMAKING HAS SPAWNED MY VENGEFUL PRESENCE UPON THIS PLANE AND FOR YOUR SERVITUDE I SHALL—” The big hulking reptile cunt suddenly flinched backwards, grimacing as he spat a DND’s nerd’s lisp through braced teeth. “Oh for christ’s sakes! Carpet munchers!”
“Excuse me?!” Twilight Sparkle rasped.
“Yeah! Princesses don’t get munched—they get nibbled!” Rainbow rasped, only to receive a lavender thwack to the head. “Owch!”
“Eew eew eww!” The beast flailed, scales full of acne and cheeto stains. “Mommy says your kind are going to Hell! Ew! Send me back!”
“Is he friggin’ serious?” Rainbow droned. “Did we summon the one reptilian transdimensional acolyte who hails from Texas?”
“Pffft.” Twilight rolled her eyes. “Next thing you know, he’ll tell us we’re not allowed to own more than six dildos in a single household.”
“Well, you’re not!” the conservatile lisped again, his tentacles planted indignantly on his hips. “It’s a sin in the Necrolonestaricon!”
“That’s it.” Twilight looked at her lover. “Plan B.”
Rainbow Dash wagged her eyebrows. “You thinking what I’m thinking?”
“Well, yes, Rainbow.” Twilight fought the urge to rub at her eyes. “That’s why I said ‘plan B’.”
“Well, I wasn’t sure!” Rainbow looked at the large, imposing, aspergers ridden snake god, giving him a nudge. “Hey, give us a minute. I’ve forgotten what Plan B is.”
The snake nodded in the way that snakes do (I’m not sure if they have necks), and Rainbow and Twilight swiftly communicated the exact specifics for plan B through a mixture of Mongolian throat singing, Afrikaans, sign language, and well-timed blinks. It was a complex and well thought out plan, detailed in Starswirl’s commentary on the universe and everything, and explained in painstaking detail how exactly to get rid of a higher power of low tolerance and no understanding of privilege.
They simply had to gay him to death.
Rainbow started, grabbing Twilight around the back of her neck and pulling her forwards, being sure to stare straight into the eyes of the hulking, gargantuan monster that stood besides them, poising itself as if it was ready to strike, curling in on its own body. They’d turn that curl into a cringe soon enough. Twilight was ready for Rainbow’s movements, had learnt the rhythm of her body, and as soon as she saw her coming towards her, their lips steadily closing a small and imperceptible gap, she closed her eyes, inhaled deeply, and oh so sweetly twisted her body to the side, throwing Rainbow Dash over one of her outstretched hooves and pinning her to the floor in a maneouvre that had taken seven years of Jiu-Jitsu to master.
Rainbow was right back on the attack, twisting and writhing beneath Twilight, attempting to nip at her body and catch her off guard, but Twilight was too plz nerf for that, and Rainbow knew she’d have to think outside of the box. She thought the most lewd thoughts imaginable about every human self-insert OC she’d ever had to pretend to like, and her wingboner popped up so immensely, with such virility, it knocked Twilight’s legs straight out from under her, and Rainbow stood, victories, making a little ‘yee!’ sound.
But now she had to pin her. Only the strong could be victorious. Glycon watched in mild fear and bemusement as the two of them continued to wrestle on the floor, but with the absence of mud, so it wasn’t too sensual. Even so, each of them had hitched breath, sweaty bodies—aches and groans aplenty shared between the pair, and yet neither of them would give up in their endeavour. They knew they couldn’t. That the fate of Equestria, no, the fate of LESBIANISM weighed firmly upon their withers, and they’d do whatever they had to in order to preserve it.
Twilight lifted up Rainbow with her retard (no don’t say that) alicorn strength, spinning her around in circles and allowing her her rather internalised dream of being a ceiling fan for just a moment before releasing her, sending her sprawling across the room, wings erratically buzzing as she attempted to stay centred in midair. Rainbow knew what she had to do next. From her vantage point, she was able to see each of Twilight’s weaknesses, any spot she might choose to attack next, but only one mattered.
“TASTE THE PAINBOW,” Rainbow Dash screamed as she yeeted her way down to Twilight like a fluffy cannonball. Twilight stood with mouth agape, staring at the unlikely but hardly impossible scene until Rainbow Dash came crashing into her, vagina against lips. “Now, Twilight. Drink the kool-aid! Become more powerful than you could possibly imagine! Sample the love juices of fury!”
Twilight frantically lapped up Rainbow’s kitty juices as the aforementioned bundle of fluff purred in appreciation; all the while, Glycon watched on in horror, unable to tear his eyes away.
“HORSES AREN’T MEANT TO HAVE RECREATIONAL LESBIAN SEX.”
“AND SNAKES AREN’T MEANT TO TALK!” Screamed Rainbow at the apex of her climax, one that dwarfed the Fuji Mountains and made all previous culminations look frankly pathetic. Gosh, hate sex was good, and I’m not projecting.
Rainbow Dash powered up the sonic rainboom of fucklove, rapidly swirling in a spherical motion with Twilight as both of them began to float in midair without the use of their wings. Pure, unadulterated lesbian strength coursed through their labias, skyrocketing past the believable boundaries of physics, the two of them shifting until their pussies were interlocked in some kind of tribadastic death spiral.
And they spun towards Glycon with a rage and passion that could be witnessed but never understood, felt but never again touched, loved but never again written, the two of them reaching critical overdrive in direct tandem, which is actually a word for horses being harnessed together, which is fucking kinky. The moment they made contact with him, he felt the baddest bad touch of his life, something a million mommy kisses and backwards doctrines could never hope to cure, not in the blinding light of the pure erotic energy that was these two femdonises.
“MY PRIVILEGGGGGGGE!” Glycon nasally shrieked before kersploding into a million swiftly spreading Mega Man death circles. Within a few fermented blinks, the whole interior of the Castle—sanctum and all—was plastered in all the collective juices of a male snake god except the one that mattered, and even that didn’t matter—the snake matter, that is. And—who’s even reading this story anymore?
Thwump! Rainbow landed on a sweaty slab of lavender, sighing through rosy cheeks. “Ahhhhhh… that was good. Was it good for the universe too?”
“Swooble…” Twilight Sparkle drooled.
“Twiggums!” Rainbow hissed. “The kids!”
“...snoodle?”
“Eh, who cares. Let’s go to bed.” And Rainbow proceeded to drag a drooling, giggling alicorn up the steps, leaving a slug trail of Lifetime fluid behind. “Spiiiike!” Rainbow echoed to the crystalline rafters. “You know what to do!”
Our resident underaged dragon cameo’d in, trucking a mop under one arm and carrying a bucket with the other. His green slitted eyes lethargically reflected the copious amounts of cross-dimensional viscera coating the walls of the place.
“Fourth time this week,” he droned, and started on a long night of work while the upstairs thumped with endless, repetitive bass.
