Disclaimer: I do not own My Little Pony: Friendship Is Magic
How I Learned To Stop Worrying And Love The Cake
by SpikeSpiegel/Byakuryuu
Once upon a time, the moon did not shine so brightly outside because a certain younger sister who should have been a responsible mare who acted her age was not doing so because she was extremely intent in exercising what bloody ever form of madness she had cultivated in her time of exile.
Celestia closed a thick purple book quietly, the record of all the unpleasant denials she had had, including the abysmal delivery before Nightmare Moon's brief ascendancy and the suffering at the hands of Luna's more energetic hobbies. The mathematical equations held true in her head, the rate of her enjoyment of cake to the duration of her reign as monarch was set at a sad state of one delicious pound in consumption to every sixty-eight days, thirteen hours, thirty-four minutes and oh-point-eight-nine-four (Repeating, of course) seconds. She sadly looked to her empty plate, almost wishing that the kitchen staff would understand her plight as none did.
The last time she had fully enjoyed a good slice of cake was at the bake-off some two-and-a-quarter weeks ago. Pinkie Pie (Who she had considered sending to the dungeons more than once; after all, one or two disasters were fine, but apocalyptic events? No, no, the line had to be drawn somewhere with everypony) had devoured almost everything at the event, wearing that smug blue ribbon that championed her and her odd team of fellow confectionery specialists. Celestia's refuge then and there had only been Twilight Sparkle's kindness in saving a slice for her, and (She truly and secretly blessed Twilight's soul for this much forethought) giving her, Celestia, her own slice which she had been saving for the trip back to Ponyville.
'What I wouldn't do for some good Orange Jam.' Celestia may have loved bananas and ice-cream with a passion, but none of that even close to rivaling her borderline lustful craving for a good slice of cake, mostly due to the fact that she was constantly deprived of the latter when it mattered most. 'What happened to delivery services? Is it so hard to actually send some cake to me.'
Apparently, it was. Over the last five hundred or so years, the replies from good, decent bakers all around Equestria echoed the same sentiment.
Yeah, right. And I'm the King of Griffonia, wise guy!
Griffonia, of course, was ruled by a queen from the last several centuries or so. Celestia knew her personally and despised her.
She always sent pictures of delicious cake every month, knowing of her sorrow; that horrid witch.
Her cooks were always busy, and as sad as it was, they almost had no time for her outside of the daily six meals she attended. Cakes were too rare and too far between for her liking, and as impossible as it sounded, she had had bad luck in choosing new chefs to attend to her more base needs for frosting and flour and jam in-between. The last custom cake she had had from the kitchens tasted like an over-sized muffin rather than a real work of art should, and she had long since given up browsing the walks of her fair city because the bakers were more stale than their crusts themselves.
Except when it came to Hearth's Warming, of course. A crying shame it only came once a year. She had tried to trick the bakers into following that it was Hearth's Warming almost every other week, but everypony had caught on within the fortnight, and she had written up an alibi that blamed minotaur-grade alcohol spiked into her drink for the cause of her erratic behavior in doing so.
She thought that that cover-up had gone quite well, until The Minotaur Council sent her a letter to do something improbable with her head and hind quarters after hearing of the misplaced blame and blatant frame.
Needless to say, she was fast running out of options. A gift basket that noted a personal apology had yet to be returned in the same regard. She still remained hopeful.
Which brought her to the current moment and predicament; cakes were now aplenty. All around the castle, in fact. The catch was, however, that almost each and every one of these cakes were deliberate set-ups by her younger sister in order to further acquaint herself in the matters of ambush and dirty combat. Even the cakes that were sent to her personally were not safe from Luna and her all-seeing eye, as Celestia had discovered that a thousand years on the moon stark raving mad did wonders for silent stalking and pigeon-hole accuracy (She meant no offence by the statement; some of her best friends were pigeons).
In fact, the whole wedding between Shining Armor and her niece (Not exactly, she was only an Hononary Aunt) had all been part of a convoluted gambit to ensure sweet tang of the Heavenly kind would go past her lips and down her throat, preferably to end in a satisfactory rumble and a swollen belly (As innuendo-ed as that sounded, it was not extremely inclined to being as raunchy as some would think, really). That all changed, however, when a certain Changeling Queen charged in and destroyed the cake.
Which, she discovered later, had a back-up, so it did not change that much. At least until Luna arrived and flat-dived along with Pinkie Pie and Cadence into the beautiful structure, sending cream and filling into the faces of almost anyone in the vicinity. Everyone laughed it off, of course, but Celestia, in an out-of-character Royal Moment (Trademarked, thanks to lawyers from Manehattan) and entered a catatonic state almost in equal expression to her prized pupil's over the course of many events.
All was not lost, however, as she discovered after reverting back to her normal state that there was a pathetically tiny smidgen of frosting upon the left side of her cheeks. In careful, careful deduction and preservation, she had allowed it to last for three days. It was the closest she ever had to tasting victory since she defeated Discord all those centuries ago.
She still remembered the grateful ponies cheering for her and naming her Sovereign for the Land of Equestria, along with her sister, Luna, She-Who-Makes-Snide-Comments. She also remembered an elderly pony who bowed down to her as if she was an Almighty Goddess, asking her of what tribute would be due. Celestia had answered thusly:
'Your smiles and friendship.'
If she had the chance to repeat that moment, she would have cried out for some thrice-damned cake instead.
The almost too-soft-for-words knock on the door broke her from her reverie and Celestia remembered speaking into the pipe-communicator some two hours ago for a midnight snack (Shining Armor had pipes from all over the castle installed and available for easy access had the Princess ever had any instantaneous orders to issue; they had, embarrassingly, completely forgotten about it by the time of the wedding). There had been a low reply of acknowledgement, but Celestia knew more than to keep her hopes up for a replacement cake for the one that had previously been on her plate before.
One day, she would ask Luna how in the world did she come up with an enchantment that allowed a cake to stand up on two feet and shout obscenities to her for seven minutes before jumping out open windows. Now, however, was not the time. A tired Princess almost unwillingly trotted towards the door to her room. From underneath, it looked like the torches in the hall were still as lit as ever; a mental note approached to remind Shining Armor to reform the schedules. There was no need to waste candle wax needlessly now, was there?
The door opened to reveal a mostly-unexpected purple dragon holding onto a dessert trolley.
'Spike?' The Princess raised an eyebrow, thoroughly confused by the development. A cheerful nod came as a reply from the young male as he began to wheel the carrier, laden with napkins and plates and three plate covers, all meticulously arranged in a way that would have made Twilight herself proud enough to spare glance, 'What are you doing up here this late?'
'I was in the kitchen for a late night snack; Pepper was about to finish up when you called through the pipes.' He said it cheerfully as he pushed the trolley towards the table. He was an almost-pitiable figure; exhaustion at the hooves of her most prized pupil was no easy condition, and yet he had found the time to wheel up a cart several floors upward to her room himself; it was almost comforting. 'Can't wait to try these cupcakes!'
Of course, the ulterior motive was there, so the almost-pitiable figure suddenly looked like an opportunistic little colt who managed to weasel his way into a free meal (Again, Celestia had good friends who were weasels, and hence meant no offence by the analogy to the situation). Looking outside, the moon had begun to shine that bit brighter; Spike began to set up the small meal (Although she was curious to what the huge plate cover was hiding; gems were high on the list) himself. The telling silence outside seemed to suggest that Luna was finally getting to her duties as the Other Monarch, and that although she would not be able to acquire cake, could at least enjoy a cupcake in the company of a dear friend.
The moment of respite, however, was (In hindsight, she should have expected it) interrupted by a loud yell from just outside her room's window and the swish of fast-moving projectiles finding their marks in two fresh apple cupcakes that Spike had just produced underneath the medium-sized platter, before proceeding to fly out the opposite end to a victorious cry that did nothing more than raise burn the ire within the heart of the Day Monarch to almost magma-like levels of heat.
'HUZZAH! BONUS POINTS ALLOCATED TO SNEAK! PRESSING BUTTONS TO ENTER SILENT MODE!'
'LUNA!'
The bouncing figure of a purple winged unicorn mare, almost invisible at this time of night, was visible in the gardens below as soon as Celestia charged to acquire a good look of the aforementioned invader. The cackles of a deranged sibling were what she heard and she made a mental note to reacquire curfew rights to silence the more manic side of Luna, but all that had to wait. For now, she had a certain drakeling to console over the status of his assumed shared midnight snack with the Princess.
'I was looking forward to that,' he moaned, and Celestia could only nod her agreement. While it had not been the confectionery she had long since sought to acquire a more frequent dose of, eating with a friend would have come a close second. She could see his disappointment, 'guess we have to skip to the main course.'
He reached for the much smaller platter, producing a collection of tiny gems, easy enough to fill a relaxed dragon's stomach.
'It's all right, Spike.' she patted him softly with a wing, sighing as she set her legs down on several velvet cushions (Stolen from Luna, but no one needed to know that, really). A small giggle escaped her throat, even with the recent developments in her meal interruption quota (Six a day, sadly enough), 'I don't think my teeth are strong enough for that.'
Spike's features eventually contorted into a scowl before widening in realization, he lifted his right claw and grabbed upon the plate cover's handle, and grinning like Luna had been (Only looking more sane, instead) not moments ago, took the cover off, to reveal... the most beautiful sight known to the grounds of Canterlot themselves.
In graphic, unadulterated detail, the cream seemed to drip with an almost sensuous quality, more alive than it ever had the right to be. The base of dull orange looked soft and squeezable, like a union of earth and clouds gone right. Coated with an absolutely beautiful just-right layer of caramel and decorated with an assortment of freshly cut oranges all along its rims, it was truly something to behold.
It was a cake. An honest-to-goodness, unspoiled, un-Luna-ed, un-Pinkie'd, freshly done and properly prepared cake.
She felt her jaw drop to her hooves - almost. Her drool, though, was evident enough that Spike had a smug look to him that she wished he had not been given the opportunity to wear. It made him look too much like Twilight when she was about to rub something in someone's face to do anything good. Centuries of experience and wisdom reared their heads, and suddenly she was the regal Head of State once more, the silent thoughts in her head begging for the Fates to not deny her this moment as more than a pitiful projection of her current state of wanting.
'Oh my, a cake, Spike?' she giggled almost unnaturally. She held her poise, craning forwards to show the slight interest in the object, as she always did before (Once and always a Princess, after all), 'This is much too plenty for me; why don't you have a slice?'
She lifted a knife from the trolley with a small ounce of magic, her self-control wearing down more and more as the cake stood unguarded, easy for the taking. Thoughts of Luna were banished; thoughts of Pinkie were set aside; everything concentrated keeping what dignity she had on the line as Spike crunched on his gems, seemingly disregardful of the current turmoil within her, if he was even aware of it in the first place.
Then he spoke.
'No thanks,' he said with great uncouth (As Rarity would have said), 'it's all yours.'
That did it. Years and years of suffering in the effort to acquire a delectable dish had passed, and all broke through like a dam bursting its contents all onto an unassuming town. Celestia dived with reckless abandon as tears came out the corners of her eyes in unadulterated joy, her teeth biting as hard as she could onto the moist structure and tearing a piece off with a primal instinct more than grace, letting the sweet blend of caramel and orange and sugar slip past her throat. A quake of ecstasy passed through her; down her spine between her legs in beautiful, beautiful synchronization. It was as if a great weight was lifted from her shoulders and the Fates had decided to finally throw the figurative pup a bone; a reward just enough to make up for the years and years of suffering she had to endure at the hands of bakers, griffons, minotaur councils and little sisters who just couldn't take the hint.
However, in this ecstasy, and in no small amount, she noticed that her head was beginning to think of things she would have never thought of in the first place; like how a silver duck had decided to shuffle dance on her ceiling. She would have to get Shining Armor to look into that when he returned at the end of the week.
Ducks were not supposed to shuffle anywhere but in the Welcoming Hall. The same went with badgers, although they were allowed to waltz wherever they pleased because they were just that good. She wished to someday be able to waltz like a badger, but for now... cake.
Or at least, cake after conversation with a certain wide-eyed (and clearly bemused) young dragon. Addled as Celestia was in her current state of mind, and cursing the gall of a duck on her ceiling, she was able to turn her attention to Spike, who was happily munching his own gems in a casual manner, clearly having been witness to such an uncouth (As Rarity would have said again, disbelieving as it would be to accept) act by the reigning Princess.
'This - This is very good cake, Spike.' She said breathlessly, now realizing that her whole visage was covered in caramel and spongy remains of her act of wolfing, 'Remind me to send Mrs Pepper my regards and my thanks and tell her that I will personally endorse her weekly Marbles Club for the next eight years. It is the least - !'
'Oh, I made it.'
Her mind ground to a halt as her eyes widened as big as they could have. Her jaw grew stiff as she regarded him once more, oblivious to the world and happily munching on his gem was Spike, unaware at the sudden pump of brain activity the sudden bout of information had made within the Princess. Her breathing grew irregular and her legs seemed no more than jelly; her wings numb and at the same moment feeling every sensation the cold night made upon her. She felt something powerful ram into the back of her skull with the force of an Apple girl's hooves.
'You made the cake?' she questioned; the precursor to the reply was an unenthusiastic nod and a scowling face at the discovery of a depleted food supply.
'Yeah,' he was not looking at her, instead glaring at an empty plate; at least until he realized just who he was sitting with and talking to. Then he have his full, cheerful smile and continued, 'I heard from Twilight that you had really, really bad luck with...' he gestured to the cake, which looked more like the half-devoured prey of a timber wolf than anything else.
Celestia, in a brief moment of clarity, had the decency to look sheepish, at least. Or as sheepish one could be. Either one worked.
'You know, that kind of thing, so I decided that - since I was staying here for the week and all, and since I had free time and - you know - was getting some food anyway from the kitchens and overheard - !' he was oddly specific, but it was hardly more than the norm. 'So I decided to make you some cake, because you know, I thought you'd like cake. Twilight said so; that you liked cake.'
She slowly nodded.
Her mind whirred in ways she never thought before. Trains of thought that she would have otherwise dismissed as flights of fancy were made present in the forefront of her mind as logic entered an irrational chain of strategies influenced by her sugar-high brain somehow concluded that she needed more of this wondrous little dragon's amazing confectioneries. His cake was the best she had tasted, bar none, including the Cake's flash and substance Marzipan Mascarpone Meringue Madness for sheer flavor.
She had to have him.
'I make cakes for Twilight all the time!' he bragged, feeling suddenly proud and crossing his arms, as if posing for some invisible audience who was throwing their roses at the end of a show. He even raised his chin slightly, his snout pointing right into the air as some show-stopper Trixie would have acknowledged in both ego and sheer delusion.
'Rarity likes to eat cake too; a little cinnamon, not too much, and the right amount sponginess! Nothing's too good for my girl! Nope!'
Celestia's thoughts went a mile a minute as her desire for highly-regarded baked goods overtook her rational train of decent thinking. The flashes of Rarity's petulant behavior plagued her mind like Luna on a weekend. She could see through it all; through all that make-up and all that flash she wanted the one thing Celestia had always seen! What she had always known but only realized not two minutes before, as sanity fought back with a vengeance only to be pulled back in the maddening desire for her very own Ambrosia.
Rarity only wanted Spike for his cakes! The low-reaching harlot of that silly house wanted what was hers! What was rightfully hers all along! No; she would not let evil triumph in the face of such pure pureness! She had to protect Spike from those wanton wenches and those naughty, naughty mares who thought they could seduce their cake out of him.
'Spike,' she smiled, 'would you think that you'd be ready to be a one mare stallion?'
It was an odd term, but it seemed to get the message across.
Keyword: seemed.
'Of course!' He grinned widely. 'For my dream girl, anything at all!'
Celestia allowed her lips curl upwards just a little bit more as she took one hoof towards him.
'Excellent.'
*
Rarity yawned in a mix of graceful and lazy as she raised herself from her slumber, content for once that there was the semblance of peace of quite within the confines of her home. Having returned from yet another misadventure with her compatriots, a brief moment of wonder entered her thoughts as she remembered events that had occurred barely an hour ago.
'Oh, Rainbow Dash,' she recalled fondly with an almost too-giddy expression as she walked down the flight of stairs, bed mane and all, 'you didn't have to be so shy about having a coltfriend, you silly goose.'
Indeed, all she had to do was to admit she had one. It was not as if Rarity would be jealous that one of the most un-lady-like members of their little group; she had more important things to worry about. Like fashion and the latest tresses to add to her designs, of course!
Although, truth be told, she did feel a bit behind Rainbow Dash ever since the revelation. Even if it did take twenty barrels of cider, four moving carts, an incredibly annoyed mule, Fluttershy's collection of dead leaves and the utter destruction of a building that was going to be demolished anyway.
She had acquired dirt in her perfectly perfect mane, after all, and that just wouldn't do.
'Oh, good morning, Opal.' She regarded her pet cat, which had just dragged in the paper. It was a strange sight, but Opal must have picked up a few things in her stay at Applejack's, so it was not that much more irregular than she usually have thought of such weird goings on.
Rainbow Dash had a coltfriend; there were things that were stranger than a self-centered fluffy feline breaking tradition and dragging in the latest copy of the morning standard.
She flipped to the headline with a smile...
And then it wasn't quite a smile anymore.
*
Twilight absolutely adored Owlowiscious. However, adoration only went so far when it concerned fixing holes in roofs certain dragons were meant to patch up before agreeing to week-long sabbaticals. The blighter was soaked as much as she was and the floor was in no better condition, filled with nails and plank and assorted tools Twilight had attempted to use to fix several annoying leakages on the upper indoor balcony.
The answer to why she was absolutely drenched, however, lay in the fact that despite being a knowledgeable unicorn and sufficiently advanced in a myriad of skill sets, she absolutely and positively lacked the skills to apply them in situations that she did not enjoy being in in the first place.
One skill made aware to her was carpentry. The other was plumbing.
Owlowiscious's feathers had a nasty habit of plucking when wet at times, especially the older ones. The poor bird was nursing some pink patches upon his being, while the former covers to those pink patches stuck to Twilight, wet and uncomfortable upon her hide. The purple unicorn herself wore an expression befitting Fluttershy on her most annoyed; the gentlecolts would have raised an eyebrow or two at her current state.
However, as the agonizing hours that passed since dawn had proven, Twilight had emerged victorious, annoyed at sticky feathers and promised to deliver the most agonizing of duties to a lazy excuse of a Number One Assistant, portable instant mailbox or no.
The door knocked twice and in her annoyance, Twilight trotted as her head nested a visibly (and in some ways, equally) disturbed owl. The pipe may have held with a little nutty ingenuity, but her temper was fast running down the faucet.
The little voice in her head even allowed a small disclaimer that she would not be responsible for her actions if they resulted in more than six skeletal fractures. It was only fair, after all.
The door opened and a tumble of several weeks worth of newspapers came down upon her like some tidal wave made of paper and ink, along with a formal note of apology attached, or was attached at one point. It flew gracefully and ended at the edge of her nose, written in an almost regal, elegant script.
Sorry for the backlogs - Ditzy Doo
Calming herself down, she almost magically trotted to the top of the messy pile, eager to at least discover if her favorite Book Reading League had yielded any other shocking results through the week. However, when she raised the latest issue of the daily news, she felt something tug at the back of her head as she read the headline.
It was the questioning point of her sanity, and if the world had gone mad in the few moments she had shared in the fixing of a leaky pipe.
She read it again. And again. And again. And again.
Twilight Sparkle was one of the most ingenious ponies to have emerged from the Schola in the past century, possessing an untapped myriad of magical potential, eager for guidance and the patience and willingness to absorb knowledge as a sponge would water.
However, she was also a pony, and therefore mortal...
And subject to bouts of catatonia and rambling insanity when completely insane things happened when they defied their comprehension, as it did now.
Her scream woke the late-risers and at the same time, inspired a couple at the hospital what to name their little filly.
Which was unfortunate.
*
Frowning as she stepped over the rigid form of Princess Luna, Princess Celestia cheerfully lifted her plate of baked goods, humming an unfamiliar tune to herself while the Night Guard initiated what little protocol they had. The Princess of the Night was like a metal sculpture; eyes wide, mouth slightly ajar and wings spread out. Smelling salts of all kinds were pulling double duty while Celestia trotted with a small bounce in her step.
As she walked past the corridors of disbelieving military personnel, she decided that she couldn't care less what everyone thought. Monarchy to the ground, if it didn't allow her the smallest smidgeon of satisfaction; her ponies could throw their looks and their disapprovals, Celestia she was, and as Celestia she came with a thicker hide than most.
Spike hadn't agreed at first; of course, but he did agree the twenty-third time, and that's what mattered, did it not? After all, power, influence and a life of beautiful, beautiful baked batches of flour and caramel and oranges and apples was enough to seduce him; even if he was in a small state of denial and agreed under the circumstances of pressured insistence and guilt-tripping. He'd love her as she'd grown to love his cakes in the span of the last eight hours, yes he would.
The media had been having a field day, and suddenly everyone wanted to know just what she was thinking in initiating marriage with a technical minor?
She honestly did not care.
Another bite of the cake was made and she made a note to extend privileges to Spike to make him more comfortable with the arrangement. After all, happy little dragons made even better cakes, and even better cakes made for an even happier Princess.
It was infallible.
Headlines all around her fair country would know of the joyous union between Dragon and Pony and there was nothing anyone would do to convince her otherwise. Other than a better cake.
Rarity (that Tart) would not be sinking her hooves into the best cake-maker she'd ever encountered. No, she would not.
She headed to the throne room where the future Prince Regent would be waiting with his trusty batter mix and scowl and smile; she'd have him make some apple cake for the weekend. She knew too much of a good thing would decrease her appreciation of such things; she was not stupid enough to let her enjoyment of her favorite food bog down, in ranking now, would she?
Then she remembered that the Queen of Griffonia had never been married. The poor dear.
Of course, as the reigning monarch from one country to another, it would be otherwise rude to not share such joyous news now, would it?
Celestia cackled as she took another bite of her delicious meal.
She had a man, cake and revenge and damn it all if it didn't taste as sweet as it did.
-END-
A/N: Nukes, flames, dragons, Mass Effect 3 Endings, throw all of 'em at me. I can take it. Because I'm not the writer you deserve, but what it needs. I'm full of terrible grammar, bad characterization, a moronic bastard... the Pork Knight.
