Last Kissesby Quill ScratchChaptersa portraitthe invitationthe maretro, wednesday 8th marchdear diary,falla portraitOnce upon a time there was a timid young filly named Fluttershy who lived in Cloudsdale, just a few blocks down the road from the Cloudeseum (and if you turned right into the alleyway just before her house you'd find yourself looking up at the weather factory and on lazy afternoons before Daddy got back from work Fluttershy would sometimes go there and just sit and watch the clouds as they puffed out of the big horn and quivered their way through the sky.) Though she was meek and mild, and always said her pleases and thank-yous even if nopony could hear her, Fluttershy hoped that one day she might become a singer. She dreamed of standing before hundreds of ponies as she hummed to herself, trotting around her room, and of how happy she might make them. Fluttershy's favourite story in the whole world was the Tale of the Lonely Prince. Mummy read it to her every night before she went to bed, and her favourite part was when the Princess came and sang a song to the prince. Mummy would always sing it with her, and Fluttershy had learned the Prince’s part really well so that she could join in. And every night, when she got too excited from singing the song, Mummy would sing a lullaby to calm her down and it went Hush now, quiet now It’s time to lay your sleepy head. Hush now, quiet now It’s time to go to bed. Mummy and Daddy were both very good at flying, but Fluttershy was not. She found it frightening to be held up only by her wings, and liked having her hooves on the cloud where she was safe. Flying was difficult and scary, so whenever Fluttershy needed to fly somewhere she would climb onto Mummy’s back, and say her pleases and thank-yous even though nopony could hear her, so that Mummy could carry her. Sometimes, Mummy was too tired to carry her and said that she was getting too big, so Daddy would pick her up and let out a sigh as she clambered around on his back. Sometimes they would fly out to the picnic clouds at the edge of the city and Mummy would lay out a blanket so that the food didn’t get all soggy, and they would sit and laugh and eat together. Fluttershy liked those days best of all. There would always be a few little cakes with chocolate chips in them, and Daddy would always keep one aside just for her. And sometimes they would take the blue blanket instead of the green one. The blue blanket was a much bigger blanket and whenever Mummy or Daddy got it out of the cupboard Fluttershy knew that they would be going for a picnic with the Rainbows. Rainbow Dash was a nice filly, and had a pretty, stripey mane with all the colours in it, but she was too loud, and she ate too many of the little cakes with chocolate chips in them, and she didn’t always say her pleases and thank-yous. Fluttershy liked the days when they went for a picnic with the Rainbows because she got to play with Rainbow Dash, and she didn’t get to play with other fillies very often because the other fillies would fly away whenever she plucked up the courage to go and talk to them. It was mean of them to do that, because it took her a very long time before she was ready to say hi. Rainbow Dash wasn’t like the other fillies, though, and she was happy to talk with Fluttershy the whole way through lunch, describing all the wonderful things she’d seen that week. Fluttershy liked that. She could close her eyes and just listen. Hush now, quiet now Rest your wings and close your eyes. Let sleep carry you, And wave the world goodbye. Rainbow Dash’s mummy and daddy were very different to Fluttershy’s. Daddy said that they had gotten married even though they didn’t love each other, and Fluttershy understood that. There wasn’t much point in marrying somepony if they were going to break your heart like the Lonely Prince’s evil fiancée did, so you were much better off just marrying somepony you liked. Fluttershy was going to marry Rainbow Dash one day, because Rainbow Dash was a nice filly, and had a pretty, stripey mane with all the colours in it, and maybe she could learn to be less loud, and leave some of the little cakes with chocolate chips in them, and say her pleases and thank-yous. * Fluttershy did not want to be at flight camp, but mother had said that she had to go. She was a big filly now, and big fillies went to flight camp. She was too big to ride on Mummy’s back, and even Daddy struggled to keep them both in the air. And if Fluttershy didn’t learn to fly, Daddy had asked, how was she ever to get anywhere? But flying wasn’t getting her anywhere that walking couldn’t, and there were certainly a lot of places that Fluttershy couldn’t fly to but would be happy to walk to, like the picnic clouds or Foggy Fleece’s house. She didn’t quite understand why all the other foals were so excited to be flying here. It wasn’t fun, and she had to work really hard just to reach the lowest cloud-hoops. Fluttershy tried again, hopping up into the air and flapping her wings with all her might. She could see the cloud-hoop in front of her (she had picked the lowest cloud-hoop she could find and asked one of the instructors if they could please move it over to the side of the training ground, thank-you, so that she could stay out of the sight of the other foals), floating just a few inches in front of her face. If she could just pull herself up a little higher… “Hey, Klutzershy!” She didn’t know why the colts called her that. It wasn’t her name, and it was very mean. She almost wished that they would go back to just ignoring her, just like they had all those years ago. “What’s the matter, Klutzershy? Can’t reach the hoop?” Fluttershy tried not to think about their taunts as she gently lowered herself to the clouds. Daddy had told her not to worry about the other foals if they made fun of her, and had said she was supposed to hold her head high and show them that she wasn’t afraid. But she was afraid. It was like the time that she asked if she could sing for everypony at the after-breakfast meetings last Tuesday and the adults talked among themselves for a little while and eventually said that yes, she could. And when she went up onto the stage to start singing, everypony went really quiet and their eyes were all on her but they all looked a little bored and when Fluttershy started singing one of them called out “sing louder!” and it had scared her because soon everypony was calling out that she was too quiet and she wasn’t even singing anymore and Fluttershy thought that maybe she didn’t want to be a singer when she grew up. Fluttershy held her head up anyway, and said, “I find flying difficult. Please leave me to practice by myself.” The colts giggled and wandered off. Fluttershy was sure they were muttering something under their breath, but she was glad to know that Daddy was right about the other foals. So long as she held her head high, everything would be alright. Taking a deep breath, Fluttershy bent her legs to try once more, and pushed herself up into the air. This time, she was sure she would clear it. * The first time that Fluttershy wanted to kiss Rainbow Dash was at Hearth’s Warming Dinner that year. She didn’t do it then, of course, because they were still eating and sat across from one another at the table, but she would when dinner ended. She would get up from her place and trot around the table, past Mummy and Daddy and Rainbow Dash’s mummy and daddy, and kiss Rainbow Dash on the cheek really quickly before she could get up and zoom off like she always did after dinner. It had all started because she had started telling Rainbow Dash’s mummy and daddy all about the ground. “Oh, no,” Mummy had said. “Fluttershy, please, not over Hearth’s Warming Dinner.” “Oh come now, Sunny, let the filly tell her tale.” Rainbow Dash’s mummy leaned back in her chair and smiled. “I’m sure it will be very entertaining.” Fluttershy had looked up at Mummy and tried to say please and thank-you with just her eyes. Mummy had sighed and nodded, and so Fluttershy told the Rainbows all about what it was like on the ground, and all about the bunnies and butterflies and all the other animal friends she had made, and everything was going well until she had said that she wanted to go down and live there some day. Rainbow Dash’s daddy laughed. “That’s a lovely thought, Fluttershy,” he had said, “but the ground is simply no place for a pegasus like you. Don’t you want to stay up here in Cloudsdale, with your friends and family?” And Fluttershy had said that the ground was actually really nice and that maybe they could all move down there together because she didn’t want to leave her family and friends behind. She liked the Rainbows, and she liked Rainbow Dash, and she liked Mummy and Daddy. “No daughter of mine is going to live on the ground.” Mummy had raised her voice when she said that. Mummy never had to raise her voice around Fluttershy because she was a good filly and always said her pleases and thank-yous, so it was scary when Mummy did that. She didn’t want to be a bad filly, she just wanted to live on the ground with the bunnies and the butterflies and all the other animal friends she had made. “Really, Fluttershy, your mother just wants what’s best for you.” That was Rainbow Dash’s daddy. Fluttershy liked him. His name was Rainbow Blaze and he was always nice to Fluttershy, even when he laughed, and he would give her a little chocolate every time she went to visit. It was their little secret, he said, and she wasn’t supposed to tell Mummy or Daddy because they wouldn’t like her to be eating so many sweets. Fluttershy didn’t like keeping secrets from Mummy and Daddy, but she had promised not to tell and good fillies kept their promises. “If Fluttershy wants to go and live on the ground,” said Rainbow Dash, “then so do I. I’m goin’ where she’s goin’.” She remembered how Rainbow Dash had stood up for her when those mean colts had laughed and called her names, and she remembered the look on Rainbow Dash’s face at the time. It was the same look that was on her face when she said that. It was a bit of a scary look, but it made Fluttershy feel safe because it meant that Rainbow Dash was standing up for her, even if it was Mummy and Daddy and even if they were only being a little bit mean. And that was the moment that Fluttershy first wanted to kiss Rainbow Dash. By the time dinner had ended, and the two fillies had been given their fair share of telling-off for their defiance, and they had eaten all the little cakes with chocolate chips in them, she had forgotten all about it. * "Yes," Fluttershy replies at last. "I remember." Rainbow Dash laughs, chuckling to herself as she stretches out on the grass. "You wanna hear something stupid, 'Shy?" she asks, her voice quiet and low beneath her rough-around-the-edges laugh. Fluttershy frowns, but nods, brushing her mane out of her eyes with a wisp of breath, that she might better see her oldest friend’s face. “Sure,” she adds, quietly, when it is clear that Rainbow’s half-shut eyes aren’t looking her way. “I always thought I was gonna grow up and marry you, and we’d be like mum and dad.” Quiet words. They are meant to amuse, but beneath them is an uncomfortable warmth, a tone of embarrassment, like this isn’t just a reminiscence but a confession. And not for the first time, Fluttershy is struck with the overwhelming desire to kiss her friend. Just… kiss her. Nothing more and nothing less: the softest touch of lips on cheek, a fleeting contact of comfort and kindness. “Sorry,” Rainbow says, filling the silence with unnecessary words. “That wasn’t cool. Forget I said anything.” “If you want,” Fluttershy says. And then, after a while: “Rainbow Dash?” A pause. Rainbow Dash opens her eyes a little, and looks up; she looks sleepy, but content, despite her worries about what she had said. And her raggedy, stripey mane was still beautiful. “Yeah, ‘Shy?” Another pause. She bites her lip, but then thinks better of it, for who would want to be kissed by a bitten lip? It takes less courage to say the words than she had imagined. “May I kiss you? I mean, if you don’t mind. I just—” A brush of lips on lips, a sigh of catharsis. A weight that Fluttershy hadn’t even known was resting on her shoulders slides gently off her back and falls flat upon the ground with a final, satisfying thud. And that was all. the invitation “Pinkie!” Most ponies would have been scared by a loud voice of indignation so close to their ear, but Pinkie Pie wasn’t most ponies. She calmly put down her crayon, smiled, and looked up to see Rarity peering down at her handiwork with a look of dismay and horror. “Heya, Rarity!” She spun the invitation around, in case Rarity couldn’t read well upside-down. “I’ve been making a few changes to the invitation draft for the Masquerade, because your original was really good but you forgot to tell everypony about all the awesome things we had prepared for the party and if they didn’t know those things were happening then maybe they wouldn’t want to come?” She’d wanted to say more than that, but a white hoof against her lips cut her off as she drew breath. She settled for frowning instead, and watched as Rarity took a moment to compose her features, her eyes closing, her breaths slowing, her lips pulling into a thin line before being torn apart by the quick flick of her tongue sweeping around once, twice, and returning. “That was the proof copy of the invitation, Pinkie,” Rarity said, her voice soft and controlled, but only just. Pinkie wanted to respond, but the hoof was still in her way. “I’d put a lot of effort into making it just right. It was to be sent out to the copyists this afternoon. Do you really think I would have left out such important information if I didn’t think it would be right to do so?” Pinkie thought for a moment. If she said yes, it would sound like she was saying that she didn’t think Rarity knew what she was doing and that would be rude. But she would be lying if she said no. She honestly did think Rarity was making a mistake by not writing about all the important things on the invitation. Besides, she’d left this awfully large bit of white space at the bottom before the second pretty, swirly thing with all the leaves on it and it just looked like it needed to be filled. “Pinkie, darling, I know this isn’t the kind of invitation you would send, but this is a grand Masquerade, not a foal’s birthday party.” Rarity bit her lip, taking another deep breath. “Not that I don’t appreciate your enthusiasm and your style, dear, but there is a proper way to do these things. And it certainly isn’t to add some details on in crayon.” “What’s wrong with crayons?” Pinkie asked as the hoof dropped from her lips back to the table, and Rarity slouched into the chair across from her. “I’ve always used them in my invitations. I think they give them a more sincere tone. You know, warm and friendly.” Sighing and shaking her head, Rarity closed her eyes and raised her hoof once more—this time, to her own head, as she rubbed her temple in slow, heavy circles. It was some time before she spoke. “I know how important it is to be warm and friendly, dear,” she said, slowly, as if she weren’t quite sure of the words. Pinkie watched as her lips traced their outlines carefully, carrying the gentle, fragile syllables into the air. “But you forget that, sometimes, ponies may seek comfort in tradition? In formality? That sometimes ponies prefer things done the old-fashioned way? This is going to be the greatest party Ponyville has ever had the delight of playing host to—don't give me that look, dear, you said it yourself—and if we're going to pull this off we need to find just the right delicate balance between those "silly, fancy not-parties" I enjoy and your more carefree endeavours. “I guess what I’m trying to say, darling, is that crayon might not be the best tool for making our invitations look proper.” Proper. It was a silly word, Pinkie thought, because it meant “the way things were meant to be.” But how could something be anything other than what it was meant to be? No, proper wasn’t a useful word. She would much rather be “fun” or “entertaining”. Those words meant something: specifically, that whatever it was they were describing made somepony smile. And surely that was better than being proper? And if that invitation hadn’t been meant to have details written on in crayon, then surely it wouldn’t have had so much silly, empty space at the bottom that left just the right amount of room to write in? Rarity was studying the invitation now, carefully, floating it before her eyes in a pale blue glow. Her lips moved gently as she thought, muttering words without a voice to carry them beyond her thoughts. And all of a sudden, Pinkie Pie felt a very real ache in her chest, just where she could feel her heart thumping, and she had to look away. It felt just a little bit like doubt, and she wasn't sure if it was she or Rarity who was doubting. What was there to doubt? “My invitations aren’t proper?” she asked, her eyes cast down at the floor. She hadn’t meant to say that aloud; she hadn’t even realised she was thinking it. And why did her chest still hurt? The gentle rustle of falling paper, the quiet creak of a chair, the echoing crack of hooves on polished floor. Soon enough, white arms were draped around her neck, holding her gently. “I didn’t mean it like that, darling.” It was the softest of whispers, barely more than a breath, but Pinkie felt herself trying to flinch away from it. “I love you. You know that, right?” Pinkie nodded. Everything felt funny, as if the world were somehow no longer connected to her, as if she had secluded herself away inside her body like a rabbit hiding in a warren. It made her frightened, truly frightened, the way she had been when she thought her friends no longer wanted her, and there was nothing to laugh at to make the fear go away. Maybe dating Rarity hadn’t been the best idea. No! That couldn’t have been it. Where had that thought even come from? She’d been dating Rarity for months now, and had known her for years, and they were in love. Dating Rarity was the best idea Pinkie had ever had (even if it was really Rarity who’d had it) and that wasn’t going to change because of a silly invitation to a masquerade. “Pinkie, dear?” Rarity was nuzzling at her neck, softly, her arms caressing her shoulders and her back. “I’m sorry if I hurt you.” “I know you are, Rarity,” she replied. Her voice was cracking a little. She thought she could feel the dull pressure of tears threatening to form, and the ache still wasn't gone from her chest. “I just… Can I have a little time to think? Alone?” She looked up again, then, to see Rarity’s shining eyes looking down at her, caring and compassionate. There was some pain there, too, an uncertainty in her eyes that Pinkie thought must have been reflected in her own. Rarity nodded and, after a moment’s hesitation, leaned down to press her lips softly against Pinkie’s. Pinkie’s eyes drifted shut and her chin reached upwards, all by themselves, and it wasn’t until Rarity pulled back that the maretro, wednesday 8th march dear diary,There’s a quill gripped between her teeth, its barbs damp with warm breath and bent with gnashing thoughtfulness. There’s an inkwell on the table before her, and an open book beside it, the former too full and the latter too empty. She’s trying to write, but so far the only words she’s managed are: Dear Diary, There are other ~~mistakes~~ words there, too, but they were ~~lies~~ not the words she’d been looking for, and she’d had to cross them out. Most of the page is blank. It is the sort of emptiness that calls out to be filled, like a pregnant silence captured on a piece of paper. She had never liked pregnant silences. They were the worst kind of silence, always hanging heavily in the air ~~like this afternoon at Sugarcu~~. They weren’t the comfortable, companionable silences she and Mac would always fall into as they worked the farm, nor were they the reassuring, productive silences she and Bloom would fill with chores and homework each night. Those were nice silences. ~~She’d never shared a silence with Pinkie before~~ She’s trying to fill the silence, but so far all she’s managed to say is: Dear Diary, Because you can take back the things you’ve said on paper, if you ~~lie~~ don’t quite say them right. The silence of a page can be unfilled, but a silence in the air changes with each failed attempt to fill it. It’s more than just scribbles of ink crossed through or otherwise rendered illegible: it’s a new silence, a different silence. She wishes she could start again, because even if she’d only get two words in before being right back where she is now at least she’d have done something. She wishes they could start again, too, that they could wind back the clocks as easily as flicking back through pages… Dear Diary, Today Pinkie made a picnic and sneaked the entire thing into the orchards. We spent our lunch hours lying on the grass at the top of the hill, and Pinkie told me all about the customers she’d had in that morning, and about the twins’ being ill, and about twilight’s tired eyes and six coffees… A smile. Dear Diary, Pinkie dragged me all the way up the mountain to Canterlot to go to the circus because I let slip that I’d never been to one before. Turns out they’re a bit like a rodeo, only with all the ponies dressed up in the silliest costumes (the only matter of fashion Rarity and I are likely to ever agree on) and there’s none of the thrill of competition. Still, it was a good night out, and Pinkie had a lot of fun with it all, especially when she found the cotton candy… A chuckle. Dear Diary, Pinkie asked me out this afternoon… A tear. There’s a quill gripped between her teeth, its barbs damp and bent under the weight of rivulets of saltwater. There’s an inkwell on the table before her, a closed book beside it, the former too full of ink and the latter too full of pain. She’s trying to write, but she can’t bring herself to open the cover. A barb of feather tickles her lip, ~~like a kiss~~ and she opens her mouth a fraction to feel the damp, soft tendrils ~~caressing~~ slide over her skin. A moan-like sob pushes itself out of her throat, the very air in her lungs vibrating with the low, almost musical note. She doesn’t know if it is a sob of regret or a moan of longing or merely the sound of a lost soul crying out for its mate… There’s a quill gripped between her teeth, its barbs almost snapping under the pressure of determination. There’s an inkwell on the table before her, and the cover of the book beside it falls open with a thud, the former too full of ink and the latter not yet full of truth. She needs to write the truth out, but so far it’s all hidden behind the words: Dear Diary, There are other words, too, crossed out and ignored and forgotten, because they weren't the words she's looking for. Time after time she's started this from scratch, but everything she writes feels wrong and she always comes back to those damn words. This time, she doesn’t. Dear Diary, ~~I broke~~ ~~Today I learned that even though you might think you and your part~~ ~~I can still feel her lips~~ ~~why~~ Dear Pinkie, I realise now that what I said today wasn’t right. I don’t mean that I shouldn’t have broken up with you—you and I both know it wasn’t working. But I wasn’t kind, and now you’re hurting because of me. I’m sorry. I miss you already. I miss curling up with you and listening to you talk about all the things you’d done and seen that day. But if we kept going, we’d have made each other miserable. ~~Wouldn’t we?~~ Love (despite it all), Applejack x fallCome to me, my darling, and rest your body. Night has fallen; Luna has painted bright stars, Guiding ponies home by the constellations Dotting the heavens. See? Orion, standing so proud, points northwards. Sailors used to find their way home by tracing ‘Cross the sky a line from his saddle’s three stars Straight to Polaris. I remember, Twilight; it’s called the North Star. How could I forget all those wondrous stories? May I have another before I slumber? Darling, I’m tired. Have you heard the tale of the foolish Phaethon? There—he stands by Gemini, long forgotten. Ponies gave new names to his stars, his story Lost and discarded. (You know it though, don’t you? Yes, Fluttershy. Would you like to hear it? Mmm… Yes please.) Once, it’s said, Celestia foaled twin colts: Cycnus gave his people a home in Cloudsdale; Phaethon studied till he was Starswirl’s equal, Forging new magics. Phaethon disbelieved that his mother’s power Was enough to raise up the sun each morning. Wanting proof, he begged her to let him try it, Thirsting for knowledge. Pleading him to leave it to her, the Princess Knew her son would forfeit his life by failing. Phaethon, though, would not leave the matter be, and Tried it regardless. (Surely he wasn’t that foolish? It’s easy to be swayed by curiosity. You would know. I would.) Dawn did not come quietly. Burning sunlight Poured across the country like scalding water. When his strength was starting to falter, Phaethon Called for his mother. Up above them, over the clouds, the sun fell. Streaking downwards, plummeting through the cirri, All the lands below it were scorched; it threatened Total destruction. (Couldn’t Celestia have caught it? Phaethon was still trying to hold it. She couldn’t grasp it while his magic held. Oh. I see. Could he not let go? He was in too much pain. Is… is the sun really that hot? … yes. Oh.) Luna saw what had to be done. So long as Phaethon lived— Stop, please. Fluttershy? I’m sorry. I… I’m not sure I want to hear how this story ends. That’s alright, darling. It’s not the happiest ending. I don’t like unhappy endings, Twilight. I’m sorry. Are you going to bed? Yes. It’s been a long day. Thank you for the nice, quiet evening, though. No problem. Fluttershy? What’s the matter? Can I get a goodnight kiss? Of course. Goodnight, Twilight. x
a portraitOnce upon a time there was a timid young filly named Fluttershy who lived in Cloudsdale, just a few blocks down the road from the Cloudeseum (and if you turned right into the alleyway just before her house you'd find yourself looking up at the weather factory and on lazy afternoons before Daddy got back from work Fluttershy would sometimes go there and just sit and watch the clouds as they puffed out of the big horn and quivered their way through the sky.) Though she was meek and mild, and always said her pleases and thank-yous even if nopony could hear her, Fluttershy hoped that one day she might become a singer. She dreamed of standing before hundreds of ponies as she hummed to herself, trotting around her room, and of how happy she might make them. Fluttershy's favourite story in the whole world was the Tale of the Lonely Prince. Mummy read it to her every night before she went to bed, and her favourite part was when the Princess came and sang a song to the prince. Mummy would always sing it with her, and Fluttershy had learned the Prince’s part really well so that she could join in. And every night, when she got too excited from singing the song, Mummy would sing a lullaby to calm her down and it went Hush now, quiet now It’s time to lay your sleepy head. Hush now, quiet now It’s time to go to bed. Mummy and Daddy were both very good at flying, but Fluttershy was not. She found it frightening to be held up only by her wings, and liked having her hooves on the cloud where she was safe. Flying was difficult and scary, so whenever Fluttershy needed to fly somewhere she would climb onto Mummy’s back, and say her pleases and thank-yous even though nopony could hear her, so that Mummy could carry her. Sometimes, Mummy was too tired to carry her and said that she was getting too big, so Daddy would pick her up and let out a sigh as she clambered around on his back. Sometimes they would fly out to the picnic clouds at the edge of the city and Mummy would lay out a blanket so that the food didn’t get all soggy, and they would sit and laugh and eat together. Fluttershy liked those days best of all. There would always be a few little cakes with chocolate chips in them, and Daddy would always keep one aside just for her. And sometimes they would take the blue blanket instead of the green one. The blue blanket was a much bigger blanket and whenever Mummy or Daddy got it out of the cupboard Fluttershy knew that they would be going for a picnic with the Rainbows. Rainbow Dash was a nice filly, and had a pretty, stripey mane with all the colours in it, but she was too loud, and she ate too many of the little cakes with chocolate chips in them, and she didn’t always say her pleases and thank-yous. Fluttershy liked the days when they went for a picnic with the Rainbows because she got to play with Rainbow Dash, and she didn’t get to play with other fillies very often because the other fillies would fly away whenever she plucked up the courage to go and talk to them. It was mean of them to do that, because it took her a very long time before she was ready to say hi. Rainbow Dash wasn’t like the other fillies, though, and she was happy to talk with Fluttershy the whole way through lunch, describing all the wonderful things she’d seen that week. Fluttershy liked that. She could close her eyes and just listen. Hush now, quiet now Rest your wings and close your eyes. Let sleep carry you, And wave the world goodbye. Rainbow Dash’s mummy and daddy were very different to Fluttershy’s. Daddy said that they had gotten married even though they didn’t love each other, and Fluttershy understood that. There wasn’t much point in marrying somepony if they were going to break your heart like the Lonely Prince’s evil fiancée did, so you were much better off just marrying somepony you liked. Fluttershy was going to marry Rainbow Dash one day, because Rainbow Dash was a nice filly, and had a pretty, stripey mane with all the colours in it, and maybe she could learn to be less loud, and leave some of the little cakes with chocolate chips in them, and say her pleases and thank-yous. * Fluttershy did not want to be at flight camp, but mother had said that she had to go. She was a big filly now, and big fillies went to flight camp. She was too big to ride on Mummy’s back, and even Daddy struggled to keep them both in the air. And if Fluttershy didn’t learn to fly, Daddy had asked, how was she ever to get anywhere? But flying wasn’t getting her anywhere that walking couldn’t, and there were certainly a lot of places that Fluttershy couldn’t fly to but would be happy to walk to, like the picnic clouds or Foggy Fleece’s house. She didn’t quite understand why all the other foals were so excited to be flying here. It wasn’t fun, and she had to work really hard just to reach the lowest cloud-hoops. Fluttershy tried again, hopping up into the air and flapping her wings with all her might. She could see the cloud-hoop in front of her (she had picked the lowest cloud-hoop she could find and asked one of the instructors if they could please move it over to the side of the training ground, thank-you, so that she could stay out of the sight of the other foals), floating just a few inches in front of her face. If she could just pull herself up a little higher… “Hey, Klutzershy!” She didn’t know why the colts called her that. It wasn’t her name, and it was very mean. She almost wished that they would go back to just ignoring her, just like they had all those years ago. “What’s the matter, Klutzershy? Can’t reach the hoop?” Fluttershy tried not to think about their taunts as she gently lowered herself to the clouds. Daddy had told her not to worry about the other foals if they made fun of her, and had said she was supposed to hold her head high and show them that she wasn’t afraid. But she was afraid. It was like the time that she asked if she could sing for everypony at the after-breakfast meetings last Tuesday and the adults talked among themselves for a little while and eventually said that yes, she could. And when she went up onto the stage to start singing, everypony went really quiet and their eyes were all on her but they all looked a little bored and when Fluttershy started singing one of them called out “sing louder!” and it had scared her because soon everypony was calling out that she was too quiet and she wasn’t even singing anymore and Fluttershy thought that maybe she didn’t want to be a singer when she grew up. Fluttershy held her head up anyway, and said, “I find flying difficult. Please leave me to practice by myself.” The colts giggled and wandered off. Fluttershy was sure they were muttering something under their breath, but she was glad to know that Daddy was right about the other foals. So long as she held her head high, everything would be alright. Taking a deep breath, Fluttershy bent her legs to try once more, and pushed herself up into the air. This time, she was sure she would clear it. * The first time that Fluttershy wanted to kiss Rainbow Dash was at Hearth’s Warming Dinner that year. She didn’t do it then, of course, because they were still eating and sat across from one another at the table, but she would when dinner ended. She would get up from her place and trot around the table, past Mummy and Daddy and Rainbow Dash’s mummy and daddy, and kiss Rainbow Dash on the cheek really quickly before she could get up and zoom off like she always did after dinner. It had all started because she had started telling Rainbow Dash’s mummy and daddy all about the ground. “Oh, no,” Mummy had said. “Fluttershy, please, not over Hearth’s Warming Dinner.” “Oh come now, Sunny, let the filly tell her tale.” Rainbow Dash’s mummy leaned back in her chair and smiled. “I’m sure it will be very entertaining.” Fluttershy had looked up at Mummy and tried to say please and thank-you with just her eyes. Mummy had sighed and nodded, and so Fluttershy told the Rainbows all about what it was like on the ground, and all about the bunnies and butterflies and all the other animal friends she had made, and everything was going well until she had said that she wanted to go down and live there some day. Rainbow Dash’s daddy laughed. “That’s a lovely thought, Fluttershy,” he had said, “but the ground is simply no place for a pegasus like you. Don’t you want to stay up here in Cloudsdale, with your friends and family?” And Fluttershy had said that the ground was actually really nice and that maybe they could all move down there together because she didn’t want to leave her family and friends behind. She liked the Rainbows, and she liked Rainbow Dash, and she liked Mummy and Daddy. “No daughter of mine is going to live on the ground.” Mummy had raised her voice when she said that. Mummy never had to raise her voice around Fluttershy because she was a good filly and always said her pleases and thank-yous, so it was scary when Mummy did that. She didn’t want to be a bad filly, she just wanted to live on the ground with the bunnies and the butterflies and all the other animal friends she had made. “Really, Fluttershy, your mother just wants what’s best for you.” That was Rainbow Dash’s daddy. Fluttershy liked him. His name was Rainbow Blaze and he was always nice to Fluttershy, even when he laughed, and he would give her a little chocolate every time she went to visit. It was their little secret, he said, and she wasn’t supposed to tell Mummy or Daddy because they wouldn’t like her to be eating so many sweets. Fluttershy didn’t like keeping secrets from Mummy and Daddy, but she had promised not to tell and good fillies kept their promises. “If Fluttershy wants to go and live on the ground,” said Rainbow Dash, “then so do I. I’m goin’ where she’s goin’.” She remembered how Rainbow Dash had stood up for her when those mean colts had laughed and called her names, and she remembered the look on Rainbow Dash’s face at the time. It was the same look that was on her face when she said that. It was a bit of a scary look, but it made Fluttershy feel safe because it meant that Rainbow Dash was standing up for her, even if it was Mummy and Daddy and even if they were only being a little bit mean. And that was the moment that Fluttershy first wanted to kiss Rainbow Dash. By the time dinner had ended, and the two fillies had been given their fair share of telling-off for their defiance, and they had eaten all the little cakes with chocolate chips in them, she had forgotten all about it. * "Yes," Fluttershy replies at last. "I remember." Rainbow Dash laughs, chuckling to herself as she stretches out on the grass. "You wanna hear something stupid, 'Shy?" she asks, her voice quiet and low beneath her rough-around-the-edges laugh. Fluttershy frowns, but nods, brushing her mane out of her eyes with a wisp of breath, that she might better see her oldest friend’s face. “Sure,” she adds, quietly, when it is clear that Rainbow’s half-shut eyes aren’t looking her way. “I always thought I was gonna grow up and marry you, and we’d be like mum and dad.” Quiet words. They are meant to amuse, but beneath them is an uncomfortable warmth, a tone of embarrassment, like this isn’t just a reminiscence but a confession. And not for the first time, Fluttershy is struck with the overwhelming desire to kiss her friend. Just… kiss her. Nothing more and nothing less: the softest touch of lips on cheek, a fleeting contact of comfort and kindness. “Sorry,” Rainbow says, filling the silence with unnecessary words. “That wasn’t cool. Forget I said anything.” “If you want,” Fluttershy says. And then, after a while: “Rainbow Dash?” A pause. Rainbow Dash opens her eyes a little, and looks up; she looks sleepy, but content, despite her worries about what she had said. And her raggedy, stripey mane was still beautiful. “Yeah, ‘Shy?” Another pause. She bites her lip, but then thinks better of it, for who would want to be kissed by a bitten lip? It takes less courage to say the words than she had imagined. “May I kiss you? I mean, if you don’t mind. I just—” A brush of lips on lips, a sigh of catharsis. A weight that Fluttershy hadn’t even known was resting on her shoulders slides gently off her back and falls flat upon the ground with a final, satisfying thud. And that was all.
the invitation “Pinkie!” Most ponies would have been scared by a loud voice of indignation so close to their ear, but Pinkie Pie wasn’t most ponies. She calmly put down her crayon, smiled, and looked up to see Rarity peering down at her handiwork with a look of dismay and horror. “Heya, Rarity!” She spun the invitation around, in case Rarity couldn’t read well upside-down. “I’ve been making a few changes to the invitation draft for the Masquerade, because your original was really good but you forgot to tell everypony about all the awesome things we had prepared for the party and if they didn’t know those things were happening then maybe they wouldn’t want to come?” She’d wanted to say more than that, but a white hoof against her lips cut her off as she drew breath. She settled for frowning instead, and watched as Rarity took a moment to compose her features, her eyes closing, her breaths slowing, her lips pulling into a thin line before being torn apart by the quick flick of her tongue sweeping around once, twice, and returning. “That was the proof copy of the invitation, Pinkie,” Rarity said, her voice soft and controlled, but only just. Pinkie wanted to respond, but the hoof was still in her way. “I’d put a lot of effort into making it just right. It was to be sent out to the copyists this afternoon. Do you really think I would have left out such important information if I didn’t think it would be right to do so?” Pinkie thought for a moment. If she said yes, it would sound like she was saying that she didn’t think Rarity knew what she was doing and that would be rude. But she would be lying if she said no. She honestly did think Rarity was making a mistake by not writing about all the important things on the invitation. Besides, she’d left this awfully large bit of white space at the bottom before the second pretty, swirly thing with all the leaves on it and it just looked like it needed to be filled. “Pinkie, darling, I know this isn’t the kind of invitation you would send, but this is a grand Masquerade, not a foal’s birthday party.” Rarity bit her lip, taking another deep breath. “Not that I don’t appreciate your enthusiasm and your style, dear, but there is a proper way to do these things. And it certainly isn’t to add some details on in crayon.” “What’s wrong with crayons?” Pinkie asked as the hoof dropped from her lips back to the table, and Rarity slouched into the chair across from her. “I’ve always used them in my invitations. I think they give them a more sincere tone. You know, warm and friendly.” Sighing and shaking her head, Rarity closed her eyes and raised her hoof once more—this time, to her own head, as she rubbed her temple in slow, heavy circles. It was some time before she spoke. “I know how important it is to be warm and friendly, dear,” she said, slowly, as if she weren’t quite sure of the words. Pinkie watched as her lips traced their outlines carefully, carrying the gentle, fragile syllables into the air. “But you forget that, sometimes, ponies may seek comfort in tradition? In formality? That sometimes ponies prefer things done the old-fashioned way? This is going to be the greatest party Ponyville has ever had the delight of playing host to—don't give me that look, dear, you said it yourself—and if we're going to pull this off we need to find just the right delicate balance between those "silly, fancy not-parties" I enjoy and your more carefree endeavours. “I guess what I’m trying to say, darling, is that crayon might not be the best tool for making our invitations look proper.” Proper. It was a silly word, Pinkie thought, because it meant “the way things were meant to be.” But how could something be anything other than what it was meant to be? No, proper wasn’t a useful word. She would much rather be “fun” or “entertaining”. Those words meant something: specifically, that whatever it was they were describing made somepony smile. And surely that was better than being proper? And if that invitation hadn’t been meant to have details written on in crayon, then surely it wouldn’t have had so much silly, empty space at the bottom that left just the right amount of room to write in? Rarity was studying the invitation now, carefully, floating it before her eyes in a pale blue glow. Her lips moved gently as she thought, muttering words without a voice to carry them beyond her thoughts. And all of a sudden, Pinkie Pie felt a very real ache in her chest, just where she could feel her heart thumping, and she had to look away. It felt just a little bit like doubt, and she wasn't sure if it was she or Rarity who was doubting. What was there to doubt? “My invitations aren’t proper?” she asked, her eyes cast down at the floor. She hadn’t meant to say that aloud; she hadn’t even realised she was thinking it. And why did her chest still hurt? The gentle rustle of falling paper, the quiet creak of a chair, the echoing crack of hooves on polished floor. Soon enough, white arms were draped around her neck, holding her gently. “I didn’t mean it like that, darling.” It was the softest of whispers, barely more than a breath, but Pinkie felt herself trying to flinch away from it. “I love you. You know that, right?” Pinkie nodded. Everything felt funny, as if the world were somehow no longer connected to her, as if she had secluded herself away inside her body like a rabbit hiding in a warren. It made her frightened, truly frightened, the way she had been when she thought her friends no longer wanted her, and there was nothing to laugh at to make the fear go away. Maybe dating Rarity hadn’t been the best idea. No! That couldn’t have been it. Where had that thought even come from? She’d been dating Rarity for months now, and had known her for years, and they were in love. Dating Rarity was the best idea Pinkie had ever had (even if it was really Rarity who’d had it) and that wasn’t going to change because of a silly invitation to a masquerade. “Pinkie, dear?” Rarity was nuzzling at her neck, softly, her arms caressing her shoulders and her back. “I’m sorry if I hurt you.” “I know you are, Rarity,” she replied. Her voice was cracking a little. She thought she could feel the dull pressure of tears threatening to form, and the ache still wasn't gone from her chest. “I just… Can I have a little time to think? Alone?” She looked up again, then, to see Rarity’s shining eyes looking down at her, caring and compassionate. There was some pain there, too, an uncertainty in her eyes that Pinkie thought must have been reflected in her own. Rarity nodded and, after a moment’s hesitation, leaned down to press her lips softly against Pinkie’s. Pinkie’s eyes drifted shut and her chin reached upwards, all by themselves, and it wasn’t until Rarity pulled back that
dear diary,There’s a quill gripped between her teeth, its barbs damp with warm breath and bent with gnashing thoughtfulness. There’s an inkwell on the table before her, and an open book beside it, the former too full and the latter too empty. She’s trying to write, but so far the only words she’s managed are: Dear Diary, There are other ~~mistakes~~ words there, too, but they were ~~lies~~ not the words she’d been looking for, and she’d had to cross them out. Most of the page is blank. It is the sort of emptiness that calls out to be filled, like a pregnant silence captured on a piece of paper. She had never liked pregnant silences. They were the worst kind of silence, always hanging heavily in the air ~~like this afternoon at Sugarcu~~. They weren’t the comfortable, companionable silences she and Mac would always fall into as they worked the farm, nor were they the reassuring, productive silences she and Bloom would fill with chores and homework each night. Those were nice silences. ~~She’d never shared a silence with Pinkie before~~ She’s trying to fill the silence, but so far all she’s managed to say is: Dear Diary, Because you can take back the things you’ve said on paper, if you ~~lie~~ don’t quite say them right. The silence of a page can be unfilled, but a silence in the air changes with each failed attempt to fill it. It’s more than just scribbles of ink crossed through or otherwise rendered illegible: it’s a new silence, a different silence. She wishes she could start again, because even if she’d only get two words in before being right back where she is now at least she’d have done something. She wishes they could start again, too, that they could wind back the clocks as easily as flicking back through pages… Dear Diary, Today Pinkie made a picnic and sneaked the entire thing into the orchards. We spent our lunch hours lying on the grass at the top of the hill, and Pinkie told me all about the customers she’d had in that morning, and about the twins’ being ill, and about twilight’s tired eyes and six coffees… A smile. Dear Diary, Pinkie dragged me all the way up the mountain to Canterlot to go to the circus because I let slip that I’d never been to one before. Turns out they’re a bit like a rodeo, only with all the ponies dressed up in the silliest costumes (the only matter of fashion Rarity and I are likely to ever agree on) and there’s none of the thrill of competition. Still, it was a good night out, and Pinkie had a lot of fun with it all, especially when she found the cotton candy… A chuckle. Dear Diary, Pinkie asked me out this afternoon… A tear. There’s a quill gripped between her teeth, its barbs damp and bent under the weight of rivulets of saltwater. There’s an inkwell on the table before her, a closed book beside it, the former too full of ink and the latter too full of pain. She’s trying to write, but she can’t bring herself to open the cover. A barb of feather tickles her lip, ~~like a kiss~~ and she opens her mouth a fraction to feel the damp, soft tendrils ~~caressing~~ slide over her skin. A moan-like sob pushes itself out of her throat, the very air in her lungs vibrating with the low, almost musical note. She doesn’t know if it is a sob of regret or a moan of longing or merely the sound of a lost soul crying out for its mate… There’s a quill gripped between her teeth, its barbs almost snapping under the pressure of determination. There’s an inkwell on the table before her, and the cover of the book beside it falls open with a thud, the former too full of ink and the latter not yet full of truth. She needs to write the truth out, but so far it’s all hidden behind the words: Dear Diary, There are other words, too, crossed out and ignored and forgotten, because they weren't the words she's looking for. Time after time she's started this from scratch, but everything she writes feels wrong and she always comes back to those damn words. This time, she doesn’t. Dear Diary, ~~I broke~~ ~~Today I learned that even though you might think you and your part~~ ~~I can still feel her lips~~ ~~why~~ Dear Pinkie, I realise now that what I said today wasn’t right. I don’t mean that I shouldn’t have broken up with you—you and I both know it wasn’t working. But I wasn’t kind, and now you’re hurting because of me. I’m sorry. I miss you already. I miss curling up with you and listening to you talk about all the things you’d done and seen that day. But if we kept going, we’d have made each other miserable. ~~Wouldn’t we?~~ Love (despite it all), Applejack x
fallCome to me, my darling, and rest your body. Night has fallen; Luna has painted bright stars, Guiding ponies home by the constellations Dotting the heavens. See? Orion, standing so proud, points northwards. Sailors used to find their way home by tracing ‘Cross the sky a line from his saddle’s three stars Straight to Polaris. I remember, Twilight; it’s called the North Star. How could I forget all those wondrous stories? May I have another before I slumber? Darling, I’m tired. Have you heard the tale of the foolish Phaethon? There—he stands by Gemini, long forgotten. Ponies gave new names to his stars, his story Lost and discarded. (You know it though, don’t you? Yes, Fluttershy. Would you like to hear it? Mmm… Yes please.) Once, it’s said, Celestia foaled twin colts: Cycnus gave his people a home in Cloudsdale; Phaethon studied till he was Starswirl’s equal, Forging new magics. Phaethon disbelieved that his mother’s power Was enough to raise up the sun each morning. Wanting proof, he begged her to let him try it, Thirsting for knowledge. Pleading him to leave it to her, the Princess Knew her son would forfeit his life by failing. Phaethon, though, would not leave the matter be, and Tried it regardless. (Surely he wasn’t that foolish? It’s easy to be swayed by curiosity. You would know. I would.) Dawn did not come quietly. Burning sunlight Poured across the country like scalding water. When his strength was starting to falter, Phaethon Called for his mother. Up above them, over the clouds, the sun fell. Streaking downwards, plummeting through the cirri, All the lands below it were scorched; it threatened Total destruction. (Couldn’t Celestia have caught it? Phaethon was still trying to hold it. She couldn’t grasp it while his magic held. Oh. I see. Could he not let go? He was in too much pain. Is… is the sun really that hot? … yes. Oh.) Luna saw what had to be done. So long as Phaethon lived— Stop, please. Fluttershy? I’m sorry. I… I’m not sure I want to hear how this story ends. That’s alright, darling. It’s not the happiest ending. I don’t like unhappy endings, Twilight. I’m sorry. Are you going to bed? Yes. It’s been a long day. Thank you for the nice, quiet evening, though. No problem. Fluttershy? What’s the matter? Can I get a goodnight kiss? Of course. Goodnight, Twilight. x
