vignettes

by celestiawept

Rating: mature
Tags: Dark, Sad
Length: 3986

different scenes featuring glimpses into different ponies lives. each pony has a story to tell, that is unique to them and them alone.

"What are you writing?"
"A novel."
"What's the story?"
"There's no story. It's just … ponies, gestures, moments, bits of rapture, fleeting emotions. In short, the greatest stories ever told."
"Are you in the story?"
"I don't think so. But then, I'm kind of reading it and then writing it."

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2013-05-23 19:50:01 UTC

##NULL##

Kétsarkú Mozgalom

________________________________________one

It had been yet another exceedingly brisk day. The perpetual twilight that seemed to hang over.. over whatever month this was, was like a veil. A low and sickly veil which cast the town, the forest, the barren rock fields nearby under a slate gray sky. They’re all pretty things, the frail unicorn thought idly. She couldn’t think of anything substantially more to put to it. She had to press forward.

Twilight trotted anxiously along the winding muddy path. It led away from the gloomy town and past on through the wood. Her saddlebags chaffed her thighs and back. They were so heavy. She couldn’t remember why it had to be so heavy. She couldn’t remember much of anything these days. When she was at the library.. earlier.. she.. all she could recall was that loathsome little dragon going on and on about nothing. Or something. All he did was complain. Who let him work there? She did remember glaring at him a lot.

Twilight did not like him.

Gray, crooked trees loomed over the unicorn, over the narrow path before her and she swallowed hard, hastening her pace while chasing away the prickling feelings of cold uncertainty. It had rained a few hours ago; it seemed so peaceful then. Even now, Twilight could not help but to sigh and dawdle, taking in the coolness of the evening air, but something drew her deeper into these woods. Something wild and confusing was tugging at her heart.

The unicorn darted into the wet brush, ears flattened back against the cacophonous cawing of the blackbirds. Her svelte figure seemed to catch on every little branch and burr, only further mussing up the dingy lavender fur of her coat. It seems Twilight has not been herself lately. The others, her.. friends they so empathetically called themselves - they called it amnesia or something akin to that. She did not know what that meant. She thought it had something do with a sickness, but she did not feel physically ill. It was something else. The unicorn shook those feelings off again.

Twilight shuddered for it was growing awfully colder; her fur bristled as she came along to a small line of trees. This was it. This was where she had meant to come.

The unicorn stood silently, studying the area intently, her hooves sinking in the cool muck. She wasn’t sure of what to make of this. She felt only this great gnawing feeling of confusion. Her nose wrinkled at this.

Twilight felt her soul wilting inside of her.

The unicorn magicked her saddlebags off and set them aside, mechanically withdrawing a collapsible tripod and rather weighty camera.

The words left her, mechanical and dry, “I used to understand happy. I know I used to be happy. I was really happy.”

Twilight set up the tripod and the camera with her magick, pointing it towards the trees, centering in upon the what appeared to be an apex.

“I’m unhappy now and I can’t remember what’s it’s like to be happy.”

Twilight chewed her lip slowly, pulling out another item from her saddlebags. It was heavy and dark, like midnight. It was a dingy dress. She thought it looked very lovely, but she wasn't quite sure what it was for.

“I only remember…,” she pulled the dress on and let her long mane down. The fabric hugged her body well, as if it was made for her. It was so cold. Tears formed in her eyes.

“I don’t remember.”

This was what the unicorn came here to do, she supposed. Perhaps she had thought it would give her some sort of clarity. Her ears jerked back to the deeper part of the woods behind her. It made her flesh crawl. How stupid all of this was.

How meager and worthless it seemed. She wanted to cry but the power to do so evaded her entirely. What was she doing way out here, in the middle of nowhere? What was she supposed to be doing?

In a brief lucid moment, she nosed a button on the side of the camera, and then scampered up in front of the tree.  After a bright flash, the camera clicked and whirred out a picture.

She grabbed the picture with her magick and crammed it into her saddlebag.

She was so lost.

“I remember being happy, ” the words left her dryly, “only in comparison to not being happy which is what I am now.”

She slid out of her dress slowly, and packed it into her saddlebag. It seemed.. necessary. Sentimental. The camera could stay.

“I remember being happier here,” the unicorn muttered softly. Her breath came out in gentle breaths. It dissipated into the cool air.

She turned and left. The camera stood stock still, as she crunched her way along back towards the dirt path.

“I remember being sad here.”

trixie *semi-nsfw

trixie *semi-nsfw

[there was a fic i read once, with a similar theme, so the idea really goes to them. this is just a branching off of that and i just had to pen it down.]

______________________________________________________

the once ‘great and powerful’ trixie had finally caved in. unable to cope with the destruction of her former life of dazzle and splendorous show-pony ship, she groped desperately for something to cling to.

it seemed that all she had ever worked for, her entire facade which she had managed to build and retain for many years had been swiped out from under her hooves in a single evening. not only was it her life’s work, it was her sense of self worth.

now a veritable laughing stock all across equestria, and equally homeless after an unmentionable incident in a certain backwater mud pony town which left her travel trailer in ruin, the formerly g&p T was forced to wander. not only on hoof but in spirit too. days turned into weeks and weeks into months. she could not afford to eat. no pony would pay attention to the dirty and penniless drifter with a tangled grey mane. her magic caught no one’s eye. it infuriated her and depressed her. all her life was in ruin. the emptiness consumed her.

trixie succumbed to the hunger, finally, and with great regret, resorted to selling her own body for prices cheap. after the first night, she returned to her resting place in actual tears. it felt so much a horrible thing to do. if shame had a physical definition, she would grant it with her bilious form.

as time wore on, the act of prostitution, only for sake of self-substantiation, came easily for her, as she remembered how easy it was to charm others. she was beautiful, in her own way. trixie used that to her great advantage. seduction was her formidable ally.

it was not long before this once forsaken mare found herself a new job, working not only as an entertainer, but one blessed with expertise. she was a literal riot at each and every grungy show. she was a phenomenal actress. affectionate, but swarthy; endearing and utterly enchanting. she had stallions and mares everywhere wrapped around her hooves and eating out of them. literally sometimes too.

she specialized in shows centered around erotic macabre and horror. she was particularly fond of their aesthetic value and sense of thrill.

trixie was a name she gave out to very few. not many would appreciate the value it used to have. she has a new name now. her title. her make.

she was the spookshow baby

apple acres *NSFW

apple acres *NSFW

imagine being out in apple orchards at Sweet Apple Acres one late afternoon and

Shining Armor and Applejack are there. Applejack is lying on her side, on the soft green grass as Shining Armor hovers over her, rutting her. They are both glazed with sweat and panting and just really enjoying their heated intimacy. Shining nibbles on AJ’s soft cornstraw hair, tickling her ear with whispered sweet little nothings.

However, barely two feet away, Big Macintosh and Twilight are going at it like a couple of pros. Maccy’s ruttin her slow and hard from behind and Twilight can barely contain herself. The unicorn grunts and moans and grinds all over Big Macintosh. They are quite enjoying themselves.

It seems they all have been going at it for hours.

Unknown to all the others, save for Big Macintosh, they are each of them slightly turned on at this inexplicable occurrence of sibling trade-off. Applejack can’t take her eyes off of Twi and her big brother, but also, cannot shake the hot satisfying feeling Twilight’s own big brother buried deep inside of her. That feeling goes hand in hand with her mixed arousal, intrigue and embarrassment.

Shining Armor shares that mutual emotional cocktail, as he lies passionately with Applejack there in the meadow, watching his own little sister get rammed by the elder sibling of the pony beside him. He feels so ashamed but so incredibly turned on. The both can not only feel the heat from their own bodies, but they are literally basking in the glow of the other two ponies present.

Twilight can hardly think, with Macintosh’s namesake buried to the hilt inside of her.. She’s riding that brilliant edge and she can tell he is too. With her young mind addled with pleasure, she tries to regain her footing, placing a hoof here or there. She somehow, unknowingly manages to step over and stand above her big brother, and one of her closest friends.

Applejack and Armor pay it little mind, still enjoy their own pleasurable connection.

Macintosh’s horse hammering intensifies as Twilight cries out ecstatically. His strokes are shorter and harder. He is cumming right there, and Twilight only mewls weakly as her own orgasm ripples through her, kneading the ground with her hooves. Big Mac’s gratuitous seed pours out of Twilight’s swollen marehood, splattering against the his great balls as they ‘thack’ against twilight’s haunches. his thrusts become longer, slower,

the stallion and mare’s combined fluids pour generously down and on to the couple beneathe them, coating Shining Armor and Applejack’s face as they continue to rut quietly.

AJ and Armor are both entirely ashamed, their faces noticeably pink in comparison to their mutual siblings sexual fluids, but they are not put off. Shining Armor continues harder and faster, licking the seed off of AJ’s face as she lies there, her large eyes staring up at her brothers massive cock as it slides wetly out of her friend.

more semen comes gushing out of Twilight, cascading down her haunches.

=——————

and that’s it im done i had to get that out

the dark ones

(this one is obviously a re-crafting of another's infamous work. if it doesn't jump out at you, then i am bad with computer)

in the damp, fetid basement of her late parent’s derelict house, a muddy scootaloo, with great trepidation and even greater devotion, stands breathlessly but faithfully by pinkamena’s side as her lover methodically dissects a freshly acquired corpse.

this new, fanatical fetish that pinkamena has been entertaining lately, an ultimatum in which the muted earth pony drives them both towards with such solemn enthusiasm, the simplest notion that, using her own two hooves and wielding her already vast but ever-growing knowledge of earth pony magic, she could bring the dead back to life.

scootaloo eyes her lover with bated breath, writhing in the dry constriction of her throat. it isn’t that she thinks it cannot be done. miss pinkamena could do anything if she set her cruel heart to it. scootaloo, gingerly flaps her small wings against the faintest hint of bruising on her sides. she can do so much, but.. the question lingers, is this too much?

is this something that, even if it can be done, should it?

the two dirty ponies are huddled over the stone slab„ where their new object of experimentation lay still. scootaloo knew this pony. frighteningly enough, even more pertinent questions sprung out from the dark recesses of her troubled mind, but not usually during their times together in this work.. if they did.. if they could reanimate this pony, bring her back to life, would she still retain her /vitality/? her /soul/?

oddly enough, pinkamena held no interest in matters of the spirit..

what would a creature that had been plucked back from elysium even look like??

that image frightened scootaloo worse than the all the moral entrapments that have been layed out before them. worse than all the graves they have defiled and mortuaries they have robbed; worse than the.. she shudders to recall.. than the instances of unspeakable, forced acts of sexual depravity, worse than the committed cannibalism, than killing other ponies outright,

she is bound to pinkamena by flesh and spirit, but she is afraid of the path her dearest friend has taken

tavi *semi-nsfw

tavi *semi-nsfw

(these were all separate, fleeting glimpses, and it is encouraged to think of each separate paragraph as separate moments - however, there are a few, populated more towards the very bottom, that have more than one paragraph. those are together and separated by dashs (-))

vinyl scratch snug snug snuggling a very embarrassed octavia

a very lonely octavia, curled up on the couch and staring longingly into the fire.

a incredibly lonely octavia quietly crying herself to sleep.

a grief stricken octavia slowly numbing herself with the memories of a lover passed away

a broken octavia’s cold, emotionless facade that will persist until her dying breath

-

a single night on the town, a momentous realization where octavia realizes that she is hopelessly in love with her bestest and closest friend. for a moment she sits there, just stunned, staring into her friend’s gentle rose coloured eyes as she (her friend) continues to go on talking about something octavia can’t even hear them.

her heart furiously blossoms open but her dry mouth clenches shut

-

octavia covering her beet-red face as her best friend nibbles up and down her haunches and licks her dainty earth pony hooves.

-

octavia mumbling angrily to herself whilst vinyl showers. vinyl has been very very distant lately and it bothers her.

-

it’s octavia’s birthday and she feels awful. even her own mother won’t talk to her. but that’s okay, she tells herself quietly again. mother has never ever taken any interest in the things that mattered to her. it won’t make a difference now - she’s not as important as the ones who really matter. her friends and.. her best friend.

a small ribbon of a smile spreads across tavi’s face. the ones who truly matter

-

tavi sighs to herself. she doesn’t even bother to touch herself now. it feels like such a useless gesture. it would never be as fulfilling and as wonderful as when vinyl touched her.

she straddles the pillow, awkwardly managing it with her hooves. she humps it, gently. she imagines vinyls soft loving voice whispering into her ears. she recalls the way she.. she. could.. her tongue..

octavia slumps over, staring at the wall. it’s no use. she places her damp hoof into her mouth, tasting it’s saltiness. she is hurt and ashamed.

no one else could ever replace her and she’s a damn fool for even thinking otherwise

-

the auditorium is dark, but the stage lights are scintillating.

there are no other ponies here, in one of the few places she feels most at home. that word held little meaning for her. hard to feel welcome or comfortable anywhere. she chuckles to herself, squinting her soft lavender eyes to see past those harsh stage lights. there are no other ponies here. she remembers when there were. it would have made no difference. no pony is still a worthy audience. she’s playing for herself after all.

she draws the bow across the strings, drawing forth a very low, very somber sound.

she remembers another pony who used to come here. a very lively young unicorn. that mare was something else. so transfixed and octavia could hardly stand her. the unicorn came often, but seldom said anything.

the music had a way of speaking for itself. it transcended words in their ability to convey thought, emotion, a story. it was always a better way to speak. octavia was never good at talking to others. she was good like this though

Octavia continued playing, feeling the strings vibrate along with her soul. her eyes were damp with tears, as she stared listlessly into the vacant seats before her.

the bolt - ch. two

battered and bleeding, the pegasus filly shambled across the cracked, rubble-strewn pavement. she leaned heavily against some debris. every breath was an arduous chore to maintain, and she felt very tired. she felt like sleeping. her frail body suddenly wracked with coughs, only doubling her already severe pain. vomiting onto the ground, she couldn’t even manage to wipe the bile and blood from her lips.

they curled upwards into a soft smile, sleep sounds so nice right now

amongst the crumbling ruins of the city, the staccato gunfire wasn’t even loud anymore. all she could hear was the deafening ringing in her ears. sleep sounds.. the filly flattened back her ears, turning her blurried eyes towards the scorched landscape, the sprawling ruins of the warzone she had inexplicably stumbled upon. towards the setting sun, towards the west.

her little legs where shaking. another nightmarish, dull thud and the ground vibrated beneath her hooves. it hurt. oh celestia it hurt. pain. pain. pain. the sky was turning an ashen black, blotting out the dire red glare of the sunset. she didn’t have anything now. her saddlebags; her rifle… they.. then came a long drawling sound:

the sirens

the foal’s exhaustion has finally come to claim her. she spat more blood onto the ground, tears streaming from her eyes, and all she felt she could do was sleep. that’s all she wanted. let me have it she cried to herself.

there were other ponies yelling, they were near her now. the nearest reports of gunfire had also ceased, she barely noticed. sleep.

she didn’t know what she was doing here. she only wanted to find someplace to lie down. her wan face was even paler than usual, her soft green eyes seemed to be burning quickly out. her hooves were covered in soot and blood and grime and.. her blood it was pooling all around her.. it was

she fell to the ground.

“i have dreamed a dream, but now that dream

is gone from me”

flutterdash preemptive strike

this summer evening was proving to be a long one, and thankfully cool. a smug and equally cool rainbow dash was coaxing fluttershy to come and cuddle with her. fluttershy is extremely nervous, for she has never been with a mare before, or even another pony for that matter. this will be her first time. she is redder than a beet, despite her wonderfully downy butter yellow plumage.

rainbow smiles gently, knowing full well how new an experience this will be for fluttershy. she is one of her closest friends, after all. what fluttershy doesn’t know, is that Rainbow too has never been with another pony, despite what she may boast. her confidence may be awe-inspiring and a great comfort for the shy, yellow pegasus anxiously curled up beside her, but on the inside rainbow is bouncing off the walls.

Rainbow has waited too long, and knows that fluttershy, out of her little circle of friends, would be the easiest to coerce. she bites her lip, finally savoring the plush warmth of another equine body next to hers.

Fluttershy can barely speak above a mutter, always staring down at the floor or bashfully turning her head away. rainbow licks her on the cheek, eliciting the softest of a squeak from her partner.

shy

a despondent little pony, fluttershy sits alone in her cozy cabin by the woods’ edge. she looks over everything which encompasses her.. bags of animal feed and pots and pans. all of it strewn messily about, but not wholly so. her kitchen is a perpetual state of chaos, never having been fully clean since she moved her so long ago. she has so many mouths to feed, but she would not trade them for the world.

her animal friends are snoozing comfortably, making various sounds which fill the air with a soft din and titter, and she sighs softly. it’s very relaxing, very comforting. she broods over her choices in life, slightly rubbing her forehooves together. her closest friends, Rainbow Dash and Rarity, Twilight, Pinkie Pie and Applejack are all probably snoozing comfortably themselves right now too.

It’s late in the evening but she can’t help but lay awake, lay scrunched up by the warm glow of the hearth. her thoughts stray to the wide world hunched over her little home. a family who only turned their heads away in shame. a courteous caretaker’s career which seems to be slowly grinding to a halt, which could end at the drop of a pin, depending on ponyville’s non-official game and wildlife department.

she’s lived here all of her life, content, compliant and un-coquettish.

In despite of all of this, she feels.. wanton.

she’s not the mother she want’s to be, be it far from looking after the animals. she’s not the mare her parents wanted.

she’s not the pony anyone could ever desire.

she feels alone.

but she did this to herself. or.. perhaps, it has paved its way for her. this way, she can be out of the other ponies eyes. she can’t help how nervous she is.

it’s not something she can control. but… this feeling… she can’t stand it anymore. she needs something.. more than she needs this.. remedy for herself. this remedy isn’t working anymore, the salve it has provided is long gone.

she mumbles to herself, “there are some remedies worse than the disease”

the bolt - ch. one

a battle-scarred pegasus filly - cold, weary, and weak, un-shoulders her obstinately large lasgun from her battle saddle and sets it down. the floor tilts upward at a precarious angle, as all the contents of the room which aren’t fixed, lay piled towards one side. ruined pre-war books filing cabinets, chairs are nothing but a mess. the door is locked tight from the inside, but nothing she can’t handle if it doesn’t come open when she needs it too

using her mouth, she pulls a small worn combat blade from it’s sheath on her left foreleg, and uses it to slice open the hard, possibly petrified cushions. a copious amount of stuffing spills, out which she carefully, quietly arranges a small bedding spot for herself. the filly lets her heavy saddle bags drop to the tilted floor with a soft thud.

this building is buried betwixt two canyons, and is the only route she could manage to find since she could not bear the blistering hot winds and ash of the surface. she is making her way across the Divide, towards the west.. towards… she did not know. but something was compelling her to go.

stifling a yawn, the filly unpacked one of the last cans of potted meat she had. it was… the texture was awful, compared to some of the 20 decade old junk food she has happened across - but since it was (hopefully) synthetic, it was still good.

she eats her small meal in almost absolute silence. there is a haunting stillness here in the divide, punctuated by the creaking sounds of steel and stone. she tried hard not to think about the incalculable tons of rock hovering over her head. the silent digging fiends that lurked in labyrinthine  car tunnels behind her.

slowly, she fell to sleep. sleep well, sleep fast, my little pony, this is no place for you.