The Secret Life Of Spike The Dragon

by re- Yamsmos

Rating: everyone
Tags: My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Other, Romance, Spike, Comedy, Rarity, Adventure, Crossover
Length: 1129

Spike lives a normal, anonymous life filled with normal, anonymous ponies. His creative, vast imagination is what sustains him, drifting him into a fantasy world that celebrates his heroism. When his job is threatened, he takes action.

Spike lives a normal, anonymous life filled with normal, anonymous ponies. His creative, vast imagination is what sustains him, drifting him into a fantasy world that celebrates his heroism and showers him with action and romance. When his job's position is threatened, however, he goes on his own adventure in the real world, embarking on a journey that turns into something greater than anything he could have ever imagined.

"Other" tag added as a placeholder for Equestria's many races.

Published 2014-01-20 10:50:02 UTC
Last updated 2014-01-20 10:50:02 UTC

Up And Down

It was a letter.

A simple, strongly-worded letter.

Just one strong exhale, and it would be on its way. It was as simple as that.

Looking at it with pause, he unrolled it for what he knew was the umpteenth time that day. His eyes narrowed gradually, trying to read the wobbly scribbles scrawled on the paper's surface. He knew it was his own handwriting, but he didn't want to think about that at that moment. What he held in his hands was the key to everything he could ever hope for. Everything he could ever want. Everything he could ever need. Everything he could ever imagine and wish for, everything he had thought of in every one of his dreams and nightmares. He was practically holding the secrets to the universe in his very claws.

Rarity,

Do you need help at the Boutique?

Sincerely,

Spike.

The dragon felt a lump form in his throat as he gazed down at the words, the very idea of having written them causing his brow to drip of sweat, dribbling down over his forehead and onto the floor at his feet. He swallowed hard, trying to push the lump into the back of his stomach, where he hoped his acids would intercept it, wrapping their very being around it and dissolving it with enough force to squeeze a minotaur's muscles out of position, leaving the bull an embarrassed, useless, dead mess, and stopping him from invading his throat and constricting his thoughts and slowly carving him into an empty husk to collapse onto the floor and scatter his ashes across the wood where the spiders would get them.

Looking down at the words he had scrawled, he blinked, twice, before he quickly rolled it up again, wrapped a ribbon around it, and lay it onto the desk to his side. Turning tail and walking away from it, he drew a claw over his brow, whipping his hand out and shooting the nervous fluids across the room. Looking down at the floor, he drew in a breath and closed his eyes, lowering his head and exhaling vigorously.

He felt his heart beat twice before he suddenly tensed up, flipping his eyes open and looking forward. Staring at his relic, he balled his fists. There, sitting atop a candle-lit desk and framed in a brilliant golden frame, was his relic.

A large slab of scales he had shed years ago, still bearing the red smudge that marked where the event had transpired. He almost felt a tear fall down his cheek, just like how it had the day he found out his scales could shed off his body, and how he worked so hard to figure out methods and remedies for keeping the collection of scales on his marked cheek where they belonged, and how upset he became when he couldn't find one.

Glaring into empty space and wiping his eyes, he clenched his fists tightly, so tightly that his knuckles became a light shade of purple, rebelling from the usual mulberry tone of the entirety of his scales. Straightening himself and attempting to look brave, he lifted a single leg, turning like Shining Armor would while leading his troops, and marched back toward the letter still sitting on the wooden desk.

As he reached it, preparing to extend his arm and snatch it, he suddenly drew back, jumping a step in reverse and holding a claw to his mouth, his eyes staring at it with deep desire. His eyes told him to send it, so that his mistress would delightfully ask him to assist her in her workplace, where he would obediently slave away for her and get a kiss on the cheek for his efforts, and soon after, get married and have children and live in a far away place where no pigeons could come to excrete on his life and steal his carrot dogs.

His brain told him that was a stupid idea.

Gritting his teeth in anticipation, he held the top of his head with both claws, flattening his spikes to mere flaps. Walking tight circles in place, he seethed. Pulling his head back slightly, he took one final look before he snatched the scroll from the desk yet again, breathing in.

He held this position for a moment, contemplating on whether his decision was the right one or not, before he closed his eyes and blew as hard as he could muster onto the roll of paper, enveloping it in a green flame and causing it to disappear beneath the fiery confinements of a well drawn-in breath. As the flame grew smaller, he congratulated himself on taking this chance.

He smiled.

The scroll suddenly reappeared, almost going through its sending process in reverse, before it fell to the floor, lifeless.

Looking down at it blankly, he blinked, twice, in rapid succession.

His heart beat twice as well, mimicking his eyelids and causing him to shake his head.

Slowly picking the scroll up from the floor, he drew in a breath, shut his eyes, and exhaled yet again, watching as the scroll once again became enveloped in a shrinking green flame, before it suddenly showed itself again and fell to the floor by his feet.

He gazed down at it for the second time, picking it up and repeating his earlier process, earning him the same results. He repeated this process once more, netting him the same thing for the fourth time. He rinsed and repeated for what seemed to be an hour, before he suddenly collapsed to the floor, out of breath.

The scroll floating in front of him disappeared behind a cloud of green, before it fell down and plopped itself on the wooden floor next to him. Holding his stomach and panting like he had just partaken in the Running Of The Leaves, the drake slowly looked toward his feet, directly gazing at the cursed scroll that he could not somehow deliver.

Pulling his head toward his chest, he released his hold and allowed his skull to make contact with the floor below him, not even wincing at the blinding pain that met him in the aftermath of his purposeful collision course. Deciding that he was delaying breakfast for far too long, thanks to a loud growl emanating from deep within his belly, he got up, snatched the scroll by his feet, stuffed it into his trusty desk with a noticeable hint of anger, and walked down the steps leading to the much larger staircase, where a very pleasant aroma awaited his arrival.

Author's Note

Seeing as how this movie is one of the greatest and most inspiring films I've seen in many years, I'm feeling really excited about writing this.