Lemon Sorbetby AnnuskaChaptersWindOrderMagicPinkie♥Pie [PPS]Sugar Rush [College AU]WhirlwindA ThousandLaughterDate #3 [PPS]Formal & CompanionLemon (Sorbet)WindShe didn’t always need to hear the words to know they existed in the spaces between them. She only needed to look; to see the way her girlfriend stood, spellbound, eyes transfixed, hair caught up in the wind. How she held her position, steadfast, until finally slipping her feet out of her canvas sneakers, pulling ankle-cut nylons away, stepping closer and away from the dry sand onto the bank where the tide kissed the earth the way they’d so often kissed one another; and she only needed to watch, watch the way her girlfriend’s chest rolled with the drawn breath, the way her eyes closed as she felt the salt water embrace her skin, the way she shrugged away her coat and leaned down to scoop the ocean into her palms, lift it with her and let it fall away between her fingers, slanted by the breeze— She didn’t always need to hear the words. She didn’t always need to speak the words. Sometimes, the wind was enough. Author's Note Based on the prompt "wind". OrderEach step up the staircase felt heavier than it sounded. Each step, slow and deliberate, felt like it carried the weight of an anchor, but sounded like nothing more than a gentle push down against the floor. Sonata didn’t intend for them to be so weighty, for them to sound so reluctant, as if she were pacing, hesitating, afraid— but maybe she was pacing and hesitating and afraid. No, she was definitely pacing and hesitating and afraid. But getting a text asking that she come over please, devoid of the usual uppercase letters and emoticons and excessive exclamation points characteristic of Pinkie’s texts had put a lump in Sonata’s throat and she had no idea what she was walking into. She hadn’t thought texts could sound so quiet, but Pinkie’s had, and it was frightening. Pinkie’s sister didn’t give her much insight, either. She’s upstairs was all she’d said. Sonata had learned not to expect much out of Maud, though. And now she came to the landing at the top floor, taking the few extra steps to Pinkie’s door and lifting her hand in a tentative fist to knock. The hesitant knocking was followed by a quiet beckoning for Sonata to enter, drifting barely audible through the door, and so she entered, just as quietly as the summons had been spoken. “I—I’m here,” she stammered, immediately wishing she could backspace her words the way she backspaced typos in a text. Of course she was there. What a dumb thing to— “I’m glad,” Pinkie said, again in a whisper. She sat upright in her bed, legs crossed, pillow in arms, staring off at nothing dazedly. There was some hint of relief in her voice, even if she didn’t look at Sonata as she spoke. The lump caught in Sonata’s throat once more and she tried to swallow it down. She’d many times been the one to call Pinkie, in need of company during a particularly unpleasant emotional phase, but never had she been witness to Pinkie in that same state – not like this. Cautiously, Sonata approached the bed and sat. Should she touch her? Would that make it worse? She didn’t even know what was wrong—oh. Maybe she should start there. Right. “What’s going on . . . ?” Finally, Pinkie’s eyes broke away from their aimless gaze and turned up toward Sonata – but only for a fleeting moment. “I feel like a burned out lightbulb,” she said, blinking once before lowering her eyes again. “Or a lamp with a burned out bulb. Or a whole room. I need a new one. A bulb, I mean. Everything’s all out of order.” Sonata glanced up at the light hanging from the ceiling, then back down at Pinkie. She tried to imagine what a burned out lightbulb might feel like, but conceptualising an inanimate object with feelings tripped her up; she had a difficult enough time getting too deep into the feelings of other people as it was. But Pinkie made her actually want to try to. A burned out lightbulb couldn’t light up anymore, obviously. It rattled in a faintly metallic way when shaken. Electrical currents were incapable of being conducted—oh. Burned out. Electricity fizzled. Light gone. “Um . . .” Sonata started, turning her gaze to the stuffed alligator sitting at the foot of the bed. A strange staleness settled into her with the thought of her girlfriend feeling as if she’d burned out, had the electricity fizzled out of her, the light taken, and she hesitated for a moment before continuing. “Like, usually I feel pretty upbeat and all, but . . . some days I just sorta . . . I dunno, feel flat.” Sonata looked back over at Pinkie. “Is . . . it like that?” Pinkie nodded, wordlessly leaning further into her pillow. Sonata watched before picking Gummy up and scooting closer. “I think maybe holding onto this will help more. Um. Than the pillow. I mean.” Sonata gingerly offered the stuffed alligator in trade. Pinkie looked at her again, and lifted her hands – but Gummy was set aside, and Sonata found herself with hands on her arms instead, and she allowed herself to be pulled into Pinkie’s hold. “I’ll be okay,” Pinkie said, resting her forehead against Sonata’s shoulder. “I just need . . . quiet today.” Breath quietly exhaled, a subtle nod, fingers through curly hair; that was Sonata’s silent response as Pinkie beckoned her to lie down next to her, resting their heads close and wrapping her arms around Sonata. And the staleness dissipated and Sonata settled into the quiet. Maybe it wasn’t that frightening after all. Author's Note Based on the prompt "order". MagicThree-fourths the total amount of hair over one shoulder, one-fourth pulled to the back. Start from the bottom, brush gingerly, move upward. Work tangles out gently, taking care not to tug and knot the hair up worse; lather metal comb with leave-in conditioner for extra help. Pat damp hair between a folded towel, not too rough; blow dry over the towel for faster results without the damage of direct heat, if necessary. Lay one-fourth section of hair over the opposite shoulder, ease out another one-fourth section from the remaining three-fourths. Repeat steps as needed. Sonata worked her hands through Pinkie’s hair in rhythmic syncopation, transitioning from one task to the next without so much as a cognisant thought. She was familiar with the thickly curly texture of Pinkie’s hair, and it was little different from Adagio’s; in fact, despite the slightly less tame nature of Pinkie’s hair, Sonata found it much easier to work through than Adagio’s ridiculously voluminous tresses. Not that Sonata was in a place to say much, herself; though mostly pin-straight, save for an ending wave, her own hair was just as full and long— if not longer. (She figured, though, that should Adagio ever straighten her hair, she might have even Sonata beat for length. Like, hair running for miles or something. Totally had her beat.) “Thanks for helping me with my hair while Maud’s gone, Sona,” Pinkie said as Sonata started on the second portion of hair. “I could’ve done it myself, but it takes foooreeeveeeer!” Sonata laughed, holding a few curls between her fingers as she reached down for the metal comb. “I help Adagio with hers, like, all the time. Okay, maybe not all the time, but enough times. And each time takes at least half a day, soooo . . . it’s like all the time.” Pinkie giggled, pulling her legs closer and crossing them beneath her. As silence filled the (rather small) space between them and Sonata returned to her automatic motions, another unconscious act crept upon her; quiet and under her breath at first, a hum barely audible even to herself, until it slowly grew and gained momentum in her voice— and before she could stop herself, she was vocalising formless syllables with no distinctive words. And it was in the middle of one of these syllables that she caught herself, and the sequence of events that followed were disorientating. First, she halted herself abruptly, not even allowing herself a chance for her voice to trail off, and panic filled her chest like water rushing over pools at high tide. She had always—okay, almost always—been very careful not to sing around Pinkie, as some sort of unspoken, self-imposed rule, and to think that she had broken that self-imposed rule in a moment of unconscious action was jolting. It was only when she remembered that both her gem and her magic were gone that the tide ebbed away, leaving in its wake stagnant, murky pools of some emotion she couldn’t name. Next, she lost her place in her sequence of motions, staring at the back of Pinkie’s head without a clue as to what she was doing, only able to focus on how she must’ve sounded. There wasn’t much that embarrassed Sonata, even in front of her girlfriend, but the loss of her singing voice was a sore subject to begin with; to bring it up through the very act of it was enough to make Sonata’s face burn red. It didn’t matter that she’d been taking voice lessons, that Pinkie was perhaps the least judgemental person in existence, or that she hadn’t even heard anything grating in her vocalisation; the stagnant staleness remained. It didn’t matter that Pinkie had, multiple times before, led Sonata in song post-voice loss; somehow, leading out herself, and with something as raw as wordless vocalising, bordered on terrifying. And finally, as silence overtook the melody that had been present moments before, a second voice pushed the silence back – and at the price of an imperfection in her wordless air, Pinkie tilted her head back to smile up at Sonata encouragingly. Sonata hesitated. Facing forward again, and pausing to take in a breath, Pinkie reached behind her. She took the brush from Sonata’s hand and set it on the bed, replacing it with her own hand instead as she started again, leading off into a melody begging to be accompanied as a duet. Timidly, Sonata started up again. Pinkie’s voice grew louder, as if urging Sonata to rise in volume as well, providing a safety net for any shortcomings. Only when Sonata followed did Pinkie let go of her hand, allowing her to return to the task of brushing out Pinkie’s damp hair. And so she picked up the brush and set to work again, and little by little, she let herself to get lost in the song she and Pinkie harmonised – and when Pinkie’s voice fell into a lull, allowing for Sonata’s to take prominence, Sonata let the panic hit her full force. She let it hit her, but she stood firmly— okay, she stumbled slightly, but regained her balance and stood fast, despite all the anxiety and insecurity telling her to stop and let herself be swept into the negativity. And after some long seconds of a solo aria, Pinkie joined her again. Sonata allowed Pinkie to lead again, quieting to breathe in deeply, before raising her voice once more – and this time, with slightly less trepidation. As she continued to work through Pinkie’s hair, Sonata’s voice steadied, and they continued the harmonising dance; it was almost akin to the one-on-one voice lessons she’d been gifted, but this felt more organic, more intimate, more . . . comforting, even despite all her worries. She imagined Pinkie would liken it to learning to ride a bike, or getting used to the taste of chili-flecked chocolate. Not that Pinkie needed to get used to the taste; it was one of her favourite flavour combinations. But Sonata had a little more difficulty adjusting. And rather than a bike or spiced chocolate, Sonata thought she herself might liken it to her relationship with Pinkie; something she had rushed headfirst into, forcibly halted, then slowly stumbled back into – with Pinkie’s help. Something she was still learning the ins and outs of, even when it had come so naturally to her before. And as Sonata pulled the entirety of Pinkie’s hair back after she had finished the last portion of it, they both ended their song in near-perfect unionism, save for an unsure note from Sonata. “Soooo?” Pinkie asked expectantly. “It’s still sorta damp,” Sonata answered, pulling her fingers through the detangled strands of Pinkie’s hair. “It’ll fluff right back up once it dries.” “Not my hair, silly!” Pinkie shook her head, turning around to face Sonata and hanging her legs off the side of the bed. “The singing!” Sonata pushed the assortment of hair products and tools aside, sitting next to Pinkie. She swung her feet for a moment before conceding an answer. “It’s still a little hard,” she admitted. “Even at Rarity’s, it’s hard to really get into it. Like . . .” Sonata hesitated, searching for a sensible way to describe it. Descriptive metaphors didn’t come to her as easily as they seemed to come to her girlfriend. “Like when you’re in a car that you can’t get to start without turning the key in the ignition at least, like, five times first?” Sonata laughed. “Like your car?” “The engine turns over on the third try when I’m really lucky.” Pinkie grinned, but the grin faded quickly. “It just doesn’t ever wanna do that with my friends in the car. Or my girlfriend. Good thing we don’t need it often!” Sonata sighed, looking down at her lap. “I don’t really need my singing without the magic, either.” “Maaaaybeee not,” Pinkie said slowly, reaching over for Sonata’s hand. “But there’s lots of things you don’t need in life that make life more enjoyable when you have them. Like, I probably don’t need to eat so many pancakes for breakfast, but breakfast wouldn’t be as fun if I didn’t!” “And you probably don’t need so many cans of whipped cream in your refrigerator,” Sonata added, giggling. “But it would be kind of weird if I were to open it one day and you didn’t have a shelf full of them.” She paused. “Actually, that would be like, really weird.” “Right?!” Pinkie looked at Sonata with wide eyes. “What kind of world would that even be?! Definitely not a fun one!” Pinkie shook her head and let out a sigh. She brushed her fingers against Sonata’s palm before grasping onto her hand and speaking again, more softly. “And you feel a lot better when you sing, don’t you?” “I used to,” Sonata said quietly. Rather than reply immediately, Pinkie continued to look at Sonata – as if awaiting further explanation – and Sonata exhaled softly, using her free hand to rub her temple. Pinkie really liked to discuss feelings – and though Sonata didn’t hate it by any stretch, and even found it to be relieving at times, it still didn’t come to her easily. “Like, I super appreciate you guys helping us – we all do – but it’s still so . . . not like how it used to be.” Sonata held onto Pinkie’s hand tighter and sighed. “I . . . think too much about it, ‘cause I feel like I can’t just do it any more. Then I get all self-conscious. And I . . . don’t even let myself try.” “You were doing it without thinking about it earlier,” Pinkie said softly. “I guess I was,” Sonata conceded, finding a small smile. “And . . . it did feel nice when we were singing together. It always does, but like, when I wasn’t thinking too much about it . . . it felt like . . .” “Magic?” Pinkie offered, grinning widely. “Yeah.” Sonata’s smile grew slowly. She turned her head to kiss Pinkie’s cheek, and before she could pull away, Pinkie caught her with a kiss on the lips, holding her there momentarily until tilting her forehead against Sonata’s and drawing a giggle out of her. After a moment, Pinkie pulled back, and Sonata followed her motions like Pinkie was the moon pulling back the ocean tide, leaning against her girlfriend and resting her head on her shoulder without a care for Pinkie’s still-damp hair. “Like magic.” Author's Note Based on a headcanon from Misago regarding Sonata singing to Pinkie while brushing her hair. Pinkie♥Pie [PPS]It had become a bad habit. It had been a habit before, done out of idleness, nothing strange for a teenage girl (or a roughly-teenage siren girl, for that matter) – checking her phone constantly, even when she knew there was no new message, no missed phone call, no voicemail awaiting her – but now it was a bad habit because she checked for one thing and one thing only. Pinkie’s name. The sad irony of it all was that she had only been able to have two text conversations with her, had only been able to smile dumbly to herself at the appearance of “Pinkie♥Pie” in her notifications for a night and half of a day, and had only been able to think about calling her. It wasn’t that she had planned to sabotage their relationship— herself— Pinkie— that very next day, but she had, it had happened, and all she unintentionally left herself with was this electronic remnant. Unintentionally. That was why she had left the necklace, after all; she couldn’t have handled that constant reminder of everything they had been, everything they couldn’t be, everything she wanted and couldn’t have; she couldn’t have stood to throw it in the bottom of a drawer like it was meaningless, yet think about it constantly, knowing it was there beneath a mess of scarves and hair ties just waiting for her to yield herself. But the thought that something as mundane as having her ex’s contact information could, too, serve as a constant reminder hadn’t occurred to her until she woke up the next day to a flood of missed calls and text messages and voicemails. She’d scrolled through the text messages, chest constricted and cold, she’d tabbed past the missed calls as if acknowledging them, barely able to even glance at the list, she’d ignored the voicemails, knowing that hearing Pinkie’s voice would only break her down further into even smaller pieces. If the text messages were anything to go by, she could just imagine how the voicemails sounded, and it wasn’t hard to hear Pinkie’s voice in her head fluctuating in tone between cheerful – we can get together and talk about this!; restrained – I understand if you need some time alone; and absolutely distraught – I’m sorry if I did something wrong. Imagining it was one thing; she wasn’t brave enough to actually hear it. She knew that Pinkie wasn’t much of one for strict formalities, and yet— We can talk, Sona. I understand, Sonata. I’m sorry, Sonata Dusk. That’s the course the messages had taken over the following weeks. Despite the disorderly jumble of messages the first night, there had been a pattern following that; hopeful and optimistic at first, as if she could get Sonata to come around, still padded with missed calls and voicemails – and then she seemed to pull back, guard herself with cautiousness, as if the affection would drive Sonata further away, still calling but leaving no voicemails – and finally, there was no petitioning for another try, no talk as if there was still mending to be done, not even a single call, only texted apologies as if seeking or even giving closure. And then nothing. And now Sonata was back to checking her phone constantly, even when she knew there was no new message, no missed phone call, no voicemail awaiting her, especially not from Pinkie Pie. And she hated that even if she had never responded to the texts, never answered the calls, never listened to the voicemails, it had been a paradoxical source of comfort. The maintained, one-sided contact had hurt, but it was a soothing pain; a soothing pain that reminded her no matter how badly she had messed up, Pinkie still cared and still wanted her. Sonata wondered if Pinkie knew she felt the same, even if she couldn’t say it. She had wanted to type a quick reply, return the calls, listen to Pinkie’s voice one more time— but even if the temptation had moved her fingers to the keypad or contact list countless times, something else always stopped her; a threat from Adagio that she would confiscate the phone and erase everything, a piercing stare from Aria as if to say ‘you know better’, a glimpse of red light reflecting off her necklace and onto the wall— a passing thought, an emptiness in her stomach, a dissonance in her head. None of that had to stop her, though. Not when the prospect of having to break communication again already did. That was what she had wanted, wasn’t it? For, despite the soothing pain, Pinkie’s attempts to reach out to her to come to a stop so that they could both move on and be happy? She knew that Pinkie had friends who would be there for her, ease her back into the upbeat cheerfulness that was natural of her – and Sonata had friends who were there for her, even if they couldn’t understand why Sonata had fallen so hard for someone who, regardless of the outcome of their relationship, could only be a fleeting part of her life. They didn’t have to say they were there for her (and of course, didn’t); she just knew it instinctively. She knew it when Aria made her favourite foods and when Adagio sat close to her on the couch with a book. She knew it when Aria reminded her of all the things she could do when they had their Equestrian magic back and when Adagio took her into town for new clothes. She knew it even when Adagio said things were better this way and even when Aria snatched her phone out of her hand and threw it on the bed. It was good that Pinkie had stopped reaching out, right? It was good, and it was what she had wanted. Then why couldn’t she stop turning the phone’s screen on, hoping to see “Pinkie♥Pie” in her notifications again? What difference would it make if Pinkie did text her again? Did she think that this time, she might finally have the courage to respond, even knowing that would really be the end of it? Did she think she would stop being afraid that once they started talking again, she wouldn’t be strong enough to break away? Did she think she could deal with it in some manner other than the painful way she had nearly a month ago, without an explanation and without any tact? Or did she just have some subconscious hope that there was a way for them to work? Sonata lifted her fingers to brush against the bevels of the gem hanging from her necklace, as if it would break the delusion. She knew it was impossible, and all the magic, all the power, all the control in the world wouldn’t change that. Nothing would change that – and it was time to stop hoping anything could. There were other things to do, other things to focus on. She didn’t need a bad habit to hinder her. Especially not one with no closure in sight. And so Sonata set the phone down and turned away. After all, this was something she’d done to herself; she’d gotten into something she knew would end terribly, she’d kept it going when she knew she shouldn’t have, and she put a stop to it terribly. Aria had told her to get over it – maybe it was about time she did. She could. She would. Step one had been putting the phone down and turning away; step two was walking away. Ignoring it, leaving it there regardless of what may or may not happen when it wasn’t there in her hand or her pocket. It shouldn’t have been so hard. It was only a phone. One, two, three steps. See? It wasn’t so hard. Four, five, six. It was only a phone. Hand on doorknob. She wasn’t missing anything – even if she was, it wouldn’t mean anything— The sound of the ringtone she had assigned to Pinkie’s number shattered her meditative thoughts and stopped her cold. The half-turned knob slipped from her grasp and the silence that followed the melodic chime was so pristine, she was sure she could hear the latch bolt sliding back into place. Her about-face turn was instantaneous, but had she been asked to recount the moment, Sonata would’ve described herself as existing in a state of slow motion; a slow turn, slow steps back to the bed, slow lifting of her phone, only breaking from the inertia when the message alert repeated itself, nearly causing her to drop the phone. Sonata tightened her grip, disallowing herself to read anything past “Pinkie♥Pie” before she slid her finger across the screen to unlock it— and even then, she tilted the device downward to the point of unreadability. Her stomach had knotted itself up, her breath was stuck in her throat, her heart beat heavily in her chest, and a million thoughts of all the bad ways the message could go raced through her head, intermingling with her attempts to calm herself: it doesn’t matter what it says, it never mattered, the worse the better, the easier it’ll be to move on. It took some mental detangling and a long minute of slow breathing, occupying her long enough for the screen to darken, but finally, Sonata lifted the phone, unlocked the screen again, and read the message: I wasn’t gonna text you anymore but I still can’t stop thinking about you. Silly, huh? You don’t have to reply. I just hope you’re okay and happy. Even if Sonata had managed to unknot her stomach and slow her wildly beating heart, it only served to open space for her heart to sink down slowly; and even if she had cleared her throat of ensnared breaths, it only gave sobs somewhere to catch; and even if she had stopped the marathon of thoughts running through her head, it only made her mind an absolute blank with nowhere for logic to go. With nowhere for logic to go, nowhere for it to stick and seep into her neurons and convey the message that yes, Sonata, responding was a bad idea, and no, Sonata, it wouldn’t change anything—without that, her fingers began to type rapidly, and she might have stopped a moment to marvel at how the device could so easily tell what her misspelt borderline-keymash words were meant to say, but she was far too busy getting every single word out to— The phone vibrated in her hands and Sonata stopped. My friend told me sending even one more message would just make it harder to stop, but I had to anyway before I did stop for good. So I guess that’s it. And... A long, piercing pause until finally another message appeared: …and that’s it. Sonata stopped and let her knees buckle beneath her and sat on the bed with more force than she realised she could have put forth. She stopped and blinked her eyes free of tears. She stopped and she reread the hasty, emotional response she had typed – and she erased it all. She erased it all, she turned the phone off, and she dropped it far enough from herself that she wouldn’t have to look at it. It was for the best, just like Adagio said. She needed to get over it, just like Aria said. That was it, just like Pinkie said. Author's Note Takes place sometime between chapters 4 and 5 of Pinkie Pie Swear. Prompted by the song I Almost Do by Taylor Swift. And also a persistent sort of mood. It's been a long past few weeks. Sugar Rush [College AU]“I caaaaan’t dooo thiiiis, Raaariiityyy.” With an unceremonious thunk, Pinkie Pie dropped her head and entire upper torso onto the table, completely erasing any visual proof that a textbook rested in the space her body now occupied. To accentuate her helpless complaint, Pinkie let out a heavy breath leading into a short whine. She hated studying in the library. It was too quiet. And though an MP3 player and earbuds usually were enough to keep the inattentive college student decently focused, she also had a habit of drumming her pencils too loudly against her study surface and had many times before been asked to relocate to another area on campus. Even with friends around to study with, they had to be careful not to speak too loudly – and constantly vigilant to make sure Pinkie didn’t get too loud. But Rarity needed the silence, and Pinkie had promised they could study together for their upcoming first exam in English class. “Can’t do what, Pinkie?” Rarity asked, pulling her own textbook back and away from the mess of pink curls invading the table. “I was sure to reserve a study room for us so that you could drum away to your heart’s content. I assure you, it’s become white noise to me.” “Not thaaat,” Pinkie replied in an exaggerated moan, slowly lifting herself up off the table. She pulled her hair out of her face and made an attempt to pull it back into its former (er, slightly) tamer state, but to little avail. “I think my blood sugar is low.” “Didn’t we just each lunch before walking here for that very reason?” Rarity rested the end of her pen against her lip and raised an eyebrow at Pinkie. “Y—e—s?” Pinkie asked slowly, offering her friend a sheepish smile. “But I’m not hungry, silly! I’m low on sugar. And I’m antsy. And I totally cannot get comfortable in here. These chairs are the worst! Ugh!” Breathing a heavy sigh, Rarity shook her head. She reached over to straighten out a crease in Pinkie’s textbook caused by the dramatic upper-body-dropping, running her hand lightly across the page before pulling the cover over top it. “How about this,” Rarity started, pulling her hand back to reach into her bag. She unlatched her wallet and pulled out a few bills, handing them to Pinkie. “Go get yourself a sugar fix, and bring me a bag of vanilla wafer cookies back. But don’t let the librarians see you with the food this time; I can’t afford a second strike with them. Heavens are they vicious!” Pinkie grinned, taking the money out of Rarity’s hand and nearly leaping up out of her seat and dashing out across the library – until she caught the glance of a student librarian, prompting her to slow considerably until she had cleared the building entirely. When Pinkie reached the cafeteria, she found the atmosphere to be much more to her liking; with the dining area all a-buzz with chattering students, music drifting from the overhead speaker system, and the shuffling of plastic trays in the food line, the cafeteria was most often Pinkie’s preferred study locale – though the clamour and din was unfavourable to her friends. Pinkie had no need for a tray or standing in line for an order off the grill, and so she bypassed the line and went straight for the dessert case, eyeing a particularly appealing slice of chocolate cake. She’d also need, of course, the bag of vanilla wafer cookies for Rarity (and also a granola bar, because she knew Rarity liked those), a chocolate bar for later, a bag of fruit snacks, strawberry milk— Pinkie’s hand stopped mid-reach, inches away from the dessert case door. Not for it already being wide open, and not for changing her mind (because she definitely hadn’t), but for the fact a cute girl stood spinning the cake stand around to find her desired treat. Like, a super cute girl. And not just any super cute girl; a super cute girl that Pinkie had seen around campus many times, but never had the opportunity to meet – which was totally unusual for her. She always made considerable efforts to befriend everyone in her classes, and as many people around her as possible, and yet somehow, this one particular super cute girl continuously eluded her. Of course, Pinkie would have waited patiently for anyone else to have finished choosing anyway, should they have been there first, but she found her gaze lured away from the enticing sweets and toward the blue-haired girl. There was always something about her that stopped Pinkie dead in her tracks, and it wasn’t just her cute demeanour – Pinkie knew a lot of cute people, many counted among her closest of friends – or the charming smile she’d been fortunate enough to catch a glimpse of a few times, or even the way the girl hummed sweetly to herself as she walked, just loud enough that Pinkie could hear. There was just something. And whatever that something was had Pinkie’s gaze trailing after the girl, even after she had retrieved her desired confectionery and turned to leave. Wait. Staring was rude. Stop staring. With some difficulty, Pinkie tore her eyes away from the mystery girl, waited for someone else to have a turn in the dessert case, and finally grabbed her slice of cake, thoughts running around wildly in her head. Okay, so staring was rude, but it wasn’t rude if she stopped the girl to strike up a conversation with her, right? Of course not, she did that with everyone she met! Why would she even question that? Pinkie grabbed a bottle of strawberry milk and turned to the candy shelves. She had no reason to overthink it now. Piling her sweets onto the register counter and fishing around in her bag for money, Pinkie glanced out toward the dining area of the cafeteria and felt something inside of her burst like a helium balloon full of confetti. Confetti that promptly rained down over her and adorn her hair like a sprinkle-topped cupcake. Not only was the cute mystery girl still nearby, she had paid for her things right before Pinkie had. She could still catch her! And as the cashier continued to punch in the prices of Pinkie’s assortment of goodies, Pinkie continued to keep an eye on the blue-haired girl, tapping her fingers against the counter in a manner that bordered on impatient. The girl stopped in the middle of the walkway, then stepped forward quickly when someone pushed past her. She turned around, back to the utensil station where she had just grabbed a plastic fork, and hurriedly opened her slice of cake. Was she in a rush? The girl glanced up, looked around— and as she did so, lost her grip on the cake and barely had time to react before it hit the floor. The look of utter dismay on her face was enough to make Pinkie’s mouth drop open. “Ahem. That’ll be 7.34.” Pinkie turned her head to the cashier, then to the girl – now leaning down to clean up the mess, dismally – and back to the cashier again before she exclaimed loudly, “Wait!” Loudly enough that the cashier, the students around her, and the blue-haired-cerise-eyed girl all stopped to look up at her. In the ensuing quiet, Pinkie pushed her way back to the dessert case, grabbed another slice of cake, and rushed it back to the register. By now the noise volume had risen again, and the other students carried on dismissively as Pinkie paid for her things, pulled them into her arms, and quickly made her way over to the poor, dessert-less girl. “Here!” she said with a wide smile, handing the strawberries-and-cream cake slice to the girl, who lifted her head to look up at Pinkie quizzically – again. It was a good thing Pinkie was reaching for the napkins and kneeling down anyway, because the look made her want to melt into a sticky pool of sweetness like a scoop of ice cream in the summer sun. “And, um, let me help you!” The girl blinked once. “Are you sure? You have a lot of—” “No problem!” Pinkie said eagerly, smile turning to a grin. Juggling everything in one arm wasn’t so hard, but unfortunately, using one hand to scoop up bits of splattered cake was. “Um,” the girl said with some hesitation. “Maybe if you . . . put some stuff on the table or your bag?” “Ohhhhhh. Right. Yeah.” Pinkie giggled. She turned a moment to carefully structure her items inside of her bag, taking care to pack strategically so that the cookies and chocolate and cake would be safe from suffering a similar fate as the cake on the ground, and when she turned back to the girl, she was greeted with another smile – and when she returned it, she was granted a giggle in kind. There was that ice cream-melting warmth again, but somehow more intensely. “You’re like a ray of sunshine or something,” Pinkie blurted out. Oops. “What?” the girl asked. “What?” Pinkie instinctively answered—asked?—back. For a moment, the girl’s smile vanished, replaced instead by a look of confusion—and the usually-foreign sensation of awkwardness began to creep up at the fringe of Pinkie’s nerves—until the smile returned, accompanied by an even sunnier giggle than before. With a breath that relieved her of the lesser pleasant butterflies fluttering around in her stomach (some, of course, simply refused to leave in the girl’s presence), Pinkie finished cleaning up the larger pieces of the spilt cake, and the girl followed after her in wiping the floor free of the smeared whipped cream. When Pinkie turned back to face her again, she found the two of them perfectly juxtaposed for Pinkie to offer her hand in helping the girl up – and so she did, pulling her to her feet with one hand and taking the dirty napkin from her with the other, ecstatic to finally have her face-to-face. Well, face-to-face minus the task of cleaning up smashed confectioneries. “Um, thanks for helping me clean that up,” the girl said, slowly taking her hand from Pinkie’s grasp and running it through her ponytail. “And for the cake. You like, totally didn’t even have to.” Pinkie shook her head, tossing the napkin into the nearby trash bin. “I wanted to! You looked so sad, and . . . well, it’s a lot nicer to see people smile!” Especially ice cream-melting sunshine-y smiles. “Oh! I’m Pinkie Pie, by the way.” “Sonata Dusk,” the girl—Sonata replied. Pinkie took a moment to repeat the name to herself mentally – and perhaps in the quietest of whispers – and as she did so, Sonata seemed to be meditating on a thought of her own, continuing before Pinkie had the chance to respond. “So like, I guess if I’m like a ‘ray of sunshine,’ it’s one of those really bright and direct ones that totally blind you as the sun’s going down, right?” Sonata grinned and Pinkie felt her heart jump. “Totally! The best kind!” she agreed, laughing a bit harder than the statement perhaps warranted, though not at all forcibly or fakely; she just couldn’t help it. Sonata was cute, sunny, melodic, and had a sense of humour? Though it was true Pinkie often really wanted to befriend even the most random of strangers, Pinkie found herself really, really wanting to befriend Sonata – and she had already accomplished step one. Now step two would be to ask for— “I gotta get going, but I’ll see you around,” Sonata said, snapping Pinkie from her thoughts. “I’m like, never gonna hear the end of it if I don’t meet my friends on time. Bye!” And without even the tiniest chance for Pinkie to get another word in, Sonata waved at her and all but dashed out of the cafeteria. And right then and there, Pinkie was more determined than she’d ever been to be sure she did, in fact, see someone around. But first, she had some treats to eat and studying to do with Rarity. Author's Note Based on the prompt "I dropped my slice of cake right after I bought it and you see how devastated I look, so you treat me to another slice". Also, I really love college AU settings. There will probably be more in this continuity later because it's really fun to write. WhirlwindA whirlwind. That was the only way Sonata could describe her—okay, no, not the only way, but one of the most fitting ways. Pinkie Pie, Pinkamena Diane Pie, a whirlwind sweeping into her life with gale force winds, tearing everything she knew apart with the ferocity of a tornado, lulling her like the eye of a storm in the heart of a hurricane, leaving confetti debris in her wake. And suddenly, whirlwind romance was no longer an empty phrase, but a pair of words with powerful impact. Author's Note Based on the prompt "whirlwind". A ThousandOne-thousand was one of those numbers that sounded much larger than it actually was. Well, it was a big number. It was a big number for counting to and a big number for purposes of hyperbole, like when she was super busy and said she had, “like, a thousand things to do” – though she did not, in reality, have a literal thousand things to do. It was a big number for passages of time – a thousand seconds (16 minutes, 40 seconds), a thousand days (approximately 2 years, 9 months), a thousand years (a really long time). But generally, it sounded much larger than it actually was. A thousand sheets of paper could make a single book or a gift of paper cranes. A thousand cupcakes was an appropriate number for a decently-sized party or wedding. A thousand grains of sand barely composed a handful. A thousand strands of hair through her fingers barely a small portion of the long locks they played a part to, a thousand words not enough to convey properly how she felt, a thousand stars overhead incomparable to the galaxies that were swirled up inside of her by even the smallest smile accompanied by those bright cerise eyes. A thousand seconds articulated by syncopated heartbeats would never be too many – no, they couldn’t even begin to be enough – nor would, nor could a thousand nights together. A thousand was not enough ways for her to express how much she loved every last thing about her – how much she loved her. The more-than-a-thousand little things that composed her very being, all the things that a thousand reasons could never begin to explain – and where to even start? the look she got in her eyes when mesmerised, the way the colour of her irises blossomed with awe? the interspersing of the words like and totally throughout her speech with the slightest melodic hint to it? the— “Heyyy. You like, totally zoned out.” —infectious giggling that interrupted her poetic thoughts? “I guess I was,” Pinkie returned with the dumbest of smiles as she looked down at Sonata looking up at her. Not that she hadn’t been looking at her before (for a thousand seconds – 16 minutes, 40 seconds – perhaps?), running through her mental list of all the things a thousand was too small a number to account for. “I was thinking.” Sonata relaxed where she sat, back against Pinkie’s chest, but her eyes remained fixed on Pinkie’s and her head remained tilted backward. “What about?” “Numbers,” Pinkie said, lifting a hand off the ground to pull through Sonata’s hair. First along her fringe – then the bit framing her face – then the loose strands, free of a ponytail for the night. When Sonata’s face took on a perplexed expression, Pinkie inhaled; something inside of her chest suddenly overfilled to the point of bursting, and she didn’t know whether it made her want to laugh or cry – or both? Definitely both. And she definitely couldn’t keep herself from giggling even as tears touched the edges of her eyes, and she definitely couldn’t keep herself from kissing Sonata’s head not once, or twice, but three times, just for good measure. “Numbers are really meaningless sometimes,” she continued before Sonata had the chance to question the eccentric behaviour – though she was doubtless all too familiar with Pinkie’s eccentricities by now, so maybe she wouldn’t have questioned it anyway – and before she lost her chance to keep the brimming tears at bay. “Like why would I need a thousand words to say something when ‘I love you’ does it super perfectly already?” “You wouldn’t?” Sonata guessed, laughing again. “I wouldn’t,” Pinkie affirmed. She paused a moment, placed a kiss against Sonata’s lips, and added, “I love you.” A thousand words could never be enough, but they didn’t have to be. She didn’t need to quantify a thousand, not when the echoing of her words was more than she needed. A thousand reasons, a thousand stars, a thousand moments – what did it matter to number any of it, anyway? That was silly. Author's Note Based on the prompt "thousand" and way too many sappy love songs. LaughterThe sight that greeted Fluttershy upon returning to the gymnasium was concerning, to say the least. Rather than the executives of the Party Planning Committee carrying out actual execution of their party plans, Fluttershy found the two in what appeared to be a precarious situation: one sitting at a table with her head down in her arms, and the other with her hands on the first’s heaving back, as if trying to ease her of whatever ailment was plaguing her. The sight, aside from concerning, was also blatantly unproductive – but productivity was the farthest thing from Fluttershy’s mind as she tucked the punch bowl she’d retrieved from the kitchen under one arm and hastened to Sonata and Pinkie. Stopping just short of the table, she looked from Sonata – now able to also hear her gasping – then to Pinkie, eyes wide. “Is . . . is she crying?” Fluttershy asked quietly, as if the supposition itself would further damage the already delicate situation. Pinkie opened her mouth to speak, but before she could utter a single syllable, Sonata sat up straight and all but flung her head back, revealing that her gasps and tears were not of a despondent nature, but rather of a mirthful one as a breathless laugh escaped her. “Technically yes,” Pinkie finally answered, looking somewhat concerned despite her inability to not smile at the sight of her laughing girlfriend. “And I super love hearing people laugh – especially Sonata! – but it’s, uh, kinda worrying that—” Sonata’s laughter was cut short by her own abrupt cough, and Pinkie quickly patted her on the back until the coughing ceased. “—that she’s been laughing for like, five minutes straight and can’t stop to breathe.” “Oh, goodness!” Fluttershy exclaimed, free hand flying to her mouth before she pulled it away to gingerly take hold of Sonata’s shoulder. She lowered herself slightly to look – or, try to look – Sonata in the eye. “Are you alright?” It took a few more moments of deep breaths, forcing the last of her giggles out, and Pinkie’s gentle patting, but gradually, Sonata calmed and her breathing evened out. “I—I’m good,” she assured, pulling hair out of her face with both hands. “I’m good. I’m totally cool.” “Are you?” Pinkie asked with a tinge of doubt. “Like, super absolutely cool,” Sonata reassured, pushing her palms against the edge of the table and tilting herself back in her chair. She then let go, allowed the feet of the chair to fall against the floor heavily, and slid the chair back to stand up, grabbing a bag off the table in the process. “I’m so good, actually, that I’m gonna finish putting up these streamers.” “What was that all about?” Fluttershy asked, looking at Pinkie after watching Sonata walk over to the point on the wall where the streamers left off. The situation had certainly been much less dire – or hilarious, rather? – when Fluttershy had left to pick up the punch bowl. “Oh, uh,” Pinkie hesitated, avoiding Fluttershy’s glance as she picked up a couple tinsel-laden centrepieces and piled them into her arms. “Super funny story! Literally?” Pinkie giggled with a touch of nervousness. “You know when you start thinking about something funny and you can’t stop and it maybe isn’t really appropriate to the situation but you gotta tell someone and the perfect person to tell is your girlfriend?” “Umm . . .” “So when we met in the middle with our streamers I blurted it out and of course I knew she was gonna laugh, duh! But I didn’t know she’d think it was funny enough that I’d have to walk her over here and sit her down! Usually the kind of thing that makes her laugh that hard is stuff like people walking into doors or tripping and falling.” Pinkie frowned slightly. “What did you tell her?” “Well . . . did you hear about the two guys who stole a calendar?” Fluttershy scrunched her face up. “No?” “They both got six months.” An abrupt thud sounded from only a few feet away as Sonata’s streamer roll hit an air duct instead of sailing over it, and Fluttershy and Pinkie turned to see her struggling to keep upright as a second fit of uncontrollable laughter struck her. Pinkie glanced toward Fluttershy with a sheepish smile. “I guess she likes puns, too.” Author's Note I've had this idea about Sonata laughing hysterically over some joke Pinkie told her in mind for aeons, and when I stumbled upon this very joke one night, I knew: it was perfect. (I knew it was perfect because I spent at least a whole minute laughing over it.) Date #3 [PPS]For all the years she’d lived as a human, there were still a surprising amount of things Sonata Dusk had yet to experience. Which wasn’t to say that there weren’t a lot of things she had experienced – and she had. There were things that she never got tired of experiencing, no matter how much or how little they stayed the same over time; there were things that changed just enough to stay interesting; and there were things she’d experienced so many times, she grew bored waiting for someone to make a new advancement, technological or otherwise, so that those things would become fun again. Lately, though, she was becoming much more aware of things she hadn’t experienced. Silly things that had never really seemed all that meaningful before, like seeing everyday objects that reminded her of someone, but accompanied with a bursting feeling inside that made her giddy, like the crash of a wave – or thinking of that specific person almost constantly, wondering how she was doing, what she was doing. It wasn’t unlike her to grab an item off a shelf at a store and grin at Aria or Adagio as she told either of the two that it was so them, and she rarely had to wonder about how or what they were doing given how close the three of them stuck together. Questionable things like taking off without giving her fellow sirens any information about where she was going or evading their questions when she did return home. She’d never even thought to do anything so reckless, contrary to what one might believe by looking at her. Exciting things like going on dates: real, actual dates! She’d spent hours at an arcade with someone before, but she’d never given all her ticket winnings away for the sake of that person – and she’d never been surprised with a starlight picnic in the park – and she’d definitely never been ice skating before. “I think you’re gonna suuuupeeer loooooveeeee thiiiiis!” Pinkie’s enthused, sing-song voice broke Sonata from her thoughts, and she turned her gaze away from the skaters out on the rink to look down at her companion. Pinkie was leaning down from the bench they sat on, presumably tying the laces on her skates, face obscured by pink curls. Smiling slightly to herself, Sonata slipped her canvas sneakers off and exchanged them for her own set of skates. “It doesn’t look too hard,” she said with a shrug, pulling the laces on the first skate taut. Pinkie sat up and pulled some hair out of her face as she turned to look at Sonata. “It’s not, really!” she exclaimed – then paused – then continued. “But it does take a little practise. Don’t worry, I’ll help you get the hang of it! It’ll kinda be like taking the training wheels off a bike and like I’m holding onto the bike until you get going and then let go and you don’t even notice and — bam! — you’re doing it all by yourself!” Sonata sat up and stared at Pinkie plainly. “But I’ve never ridden a bike, either.” “Really?” “No. Not really.” Sonata giggled, leaning back down to tie her second skate. “I’m like, totally ace at riding a bike. Like, so ace, I can cruise without holding onto the handlebars.” Pinkie laughed in kind. “Then this shouldn’t be that hard for you! I mean, it’s not exaaactly the same, but I bet you’ll be a natural!” She stood and put their shoes and coats inside a cubby, then turned and offered her hands to help Sonata stand. Standing on her own, even with the skates, didn’t seem that difficult to Sonata, but she wouldn’t turn down an opportunity to take Pinkie’s hand (or hands, in this case), and so with a firm grip, she let Pinkie pull her to her feet and guide her just outside the rink’s entrance. “Okay, first, you should try and balance here on the mats,” Pinkie instructed, still holding Sonata’s hands tightly. “Skating is all about balance, and balance is all about relaxation, and if you get tense, you’re more likely to lose your balance, and then you’ll be more likely to fall!” Sonata nodded. “So try and take a few steps here before we get out on the ice.” Sonata nodded again, smiling as she loosened her own grasp on Pinkie’s hands – and after a moment, broke into a laugh. “You’ve gotta like, let go of me first.” “Ohhh, yeah,” Pinkie giggled, opening her palms and pulling her arms away. The action was carried out a bit too quickly, and the second that her support had gone, Sonata found herself all but flailing to keep standing upright. With a sheepish ‘oops!’, Pinkie grabbed Sonata’s hands again and laughed quickly. “Uh, let’s try again.” This time, Pinkie lowered Sonata’s arms down into a position better suited for balancing solo, and eased her hands away from Sonata slowly enough to ensure minimal loss of balance on Sonata’s part. With a bit of readjustment to her stance, Sonata found herself standing fairly solidly all on her own, and grinned at Pinkie. “Totally easy!” After taking a few steps around on the mat and receiving a crash course from Pinkie on proper posture for skating and proper braking technique, Sonata declared she was ready to take on the ice, and so they entered the rink. “Okay, so, what you wanna keep in mind,” Pinkie said, continuing with her lesson while Sonata tried her best to balance on her feet and not look like she had no idea what she was doing, “is to start with something basic, like walking, then you can work your way up to the actual skating and fun things like gliding and jumps and spins! Well, probably not jumps and spins yet. Maaaybe gliding. Anyway, it’s good to start out holding onto the edge of the rink. And remember, relaaaaax!” “I’m completely relaxed,” Sonata insisted, holding onto the edge of the rink with both hands. Her declaration reminded her to actually loosen her grip on the wall. “See?” Pinkie giggled, but neither contested nor confirmed the statement. Instead, she skated just in front of Sonata and spun to face her. “Let’s do this: you start out walking toward me, and once you have that down, I’ll skate a little faster and you can follow after!” Well, that sounded easy enough. Ignoring the slight envy that came with watching Pinkie skate backwards so effortlessly, Sonata set one skate in front of the other a bit more clunkily than she would have liked, trying to remember all the tips Pinkie had bombarded her with some minutes ago: pick up your feet; focus on a central point with your eyes (Pinkie, in this case); try not to make sudden, rough movements; make sure your blades are level with the ice or you’ll trip easily. The first lap around the rink was about as ungraceful and slow-moving as possible, but halfway through the second, Sonata found herself naturally pulling one hand away from the wall and just barely holding on with the first. “You’re getting the hang of it!” Pinkie beamed, folding her arms behind her. “Now try and balance without holding on and without stopping!” Ever so cautiously, Sonata lifted her lone remaining hand up off the rink wall and the giddiness of her resulting laughter was enough to nearly knock her off her newly-achieved balance. She rediscovered equilibrium and looked back toward Pinkie with a huge grin. “I’m doing it!” “And doing super great at it, too! Ready to try going even faster now?” Nodding, Sonata eased her arms down and again ran through her mental list of tips. The glee and newfound confidence from actually skating on her own was enough to keep her from thinking too much about the amount of practise and skill that must have gone into Pinkie being able to skate backwards with her arms folded behind her back, and was probably best left that way. Even knowing they weren’t going all that fast didn’t deter her from feeling absolutely great about herself and her progress, a feeling only magnified when Pinkie led her away from the wall closer to the centre of the rink. After a few laps, Pinkie took a sharp increase in speed and spun around before slowing and falling parallel to Sonata once more. Now skating alongside her, Pinkie tilted her head toward Sonata, as if trying to nudge her with her hair. “Sooo . . . like learning to ride without training wheels, right?” “Yeah! And I’m gonna be totally ace at this, too!” Sonata began to giggle — and that’s when she lost her balance. Reflexively, Sonata threw her arms out to try and regain the balance she was losing control of, and when that failed, she grabbed onto Pinkie’s arm for support. Pinkie made a valiant effort to keep both herself and Sonata upright, but within seconds, the two of them had plummeted down, Pinkie falling first and Sonata tumbling over top of her. Sonata distinctively remembered Pinkie telling her not to stay down on the ice too long when falling— but unfortunately, she was too shocked to process that advice into actual action. All she could do was look wide-eyed at Pinkie – who suddenly burst into laughter. Despite all her warnings and horror stories about what happened when skaters got too close to people who stayed down on the ice too long, Pinkie let her head fall back and laughed so deeply that it shook Sonata, who was still leaning on top of her, out of her stupor. “Oops,” Sonata finally said, sheepishly. She sat up on her knees, watching Pinkie continue to quake, and quickly found herself falling victim to Pinkie’s infectious laughter, the two of them laughing so loudly that it would have been hard for any other skaters not to notice them there in the middle of the rink. When she’d gotten enough of her giggles out, Pinkie sat up, stood on her skates, and helped her date up as well. “You okay?” she asked with a smile. Sonata brushed the front of her jeans off with her hands, but found the ice shavings to have already melted. “I guess I kinda got ahead of myself.” “Everyone falls a few times. Or a lot of times.” Pinkie shrugged dismissively. “Falling can be fun, anyway!” She offered her hand to Sonata, and Sonata took it gladly, perfectly content to be done with speed training for the night. “Yeah,” Sonata said, glancing briefly at their interlocked fingers before looking forward and smiling to herself as they skated along leisurely. “Falling can be fun.” Author's Note I've always thought a lot about this particular date that didn't make it into the final cut of Pinkie Pie Swear. For a quick refresher, this takes place between chapters 2 and 3. (Official Date #2 was at an arcade and #4 a movie, for the record.) Formal & Companion“You’re absolutely sure about this?” she’d asked, pensively eyeing the prom ticket in her hand. “More than absolutely, silly!” her girlfriend bouncily replied. “Like, super absolutely?” she’d repeated some days later, tilting her head at the mid-length mahogany dress’ reflection in the mirror. “Well, duh, super absolutely!” her girlfriend exclaimed, holding the dress up to her shoulders. “But people still talk,” she’d said with hesitation the following week, sorting through hairstyle photos with her roommates. “People can say a lot of things that mean nothing,” her girlfriend reassured, practically smiling through the phone. “Things that mean nothing?” she repeated the night of the dance, running the eighth-note charm of her necklace along its silver chain around her neck. “People can talk all they want,” her girlfriend said, pulling her hand away from the pendant and into her own. “But why should I listen to them when I could be dancing with you instead? And anyway, you look amazing!” And with that, Sonata’s worries dissolved and she smiled and took Pinkie’s other hand and whispered, “So do you.” “So . . .” Pinkie let Sonata’s hands down slowly, taking two steps back to give herself room to offer Sonata a bow and her upturned hand. “May I have this dance?” Sonata giggled and nodded, resting her hand in Pinkie’s once again and allowing herself to be swept off to the dance floor. And when the catchy, upbeat songs they always danced to together in Sugarcube Corner played, the two of them emanated more energy than any other couple or group in the room; and when their friends joined them, they traded off partners and laughed at the swapping; and when an old, dreamy tune drifted from the speakers, they held close, and Sonata allowed Pinkie the lead. “Are you sure yet?” Pinkie asked softly, swaying her gently. “More than absolutely,” Sonata replied, lying her head against Pinkie’s chest. “Like, super absolutely.” Author's Note Based on the prompts "formal" and "companion", respectively. Addition (06.05.2015): Nebula Light did a very adorable reading of this drabble, which you can listen to here! Lemon (Sorbet)“I guess I could say you’re . . . sweet as pie. Hehe! Get it?” “Pfft, that was good! Wait, wait, I got one! I think you’re sweet as lemon sorbet!” At first, she giggled at hearing this – then she stopped, realising that lemons were not the sweetest of citruses, let alone fruits – and furrowed her brow. “Lemon sorbet?” “Oh, oh! It’s a dessert that’s sorta like ice cream but it’s just water, sugar, and—” “No, I know what sorbet is, Pinkie! But isn’t lemon, like, not sweet?” “Well, duh! Lemon’s super sour, but when you add sugar, it takes it down a notch! Like, you’re definitely not always sweet to other people but I’m probably more than sugary enough for the both of us so when we’re together it’s like this really great balance and you can still be you!” Sonata smiled. She liked still being her. Author's Note Based on the prompt "lemon".
WindShe didn’t always need to hear the words to know they existed in the spaces between them. She only needed to look; to see the way her girlfriend stood, spellbound, eyes transfixed, hair caught up in the wind. How she held her position, steadfast, until finally slipping her feet out of her canvas sneakers, pulling ankle-cut nylons away, stepping closer and away from the dry sand onto the bank where the tide kissed the earth the way they’d so often kissed one another; and she only needed to watch, watch the way her girlfriend’s chest rolled with the drawn breath, the way her eyes closed as she felt the salt water embrace her skin, the way she shrugged away her coat and leaned down to scoop the ocean into her palms, lift it with her and let it fall away between her fingers, slanted by the breeze— She didn’t always need to hear the words. She didn’t always need to speak the words. Sometimes, the wind was enough. Author's Note Based on the prompt "wind".
OrderEach step up the staircase felt heavier than it sounded. Each step, slow and deliberate, felt like it carried the weight of an anchor, but sounded like nothing more than a gentle push down against the floor. Sonata didn’t intend for them to be so weighty, for them to sound so reluctant, as if she were pacing, hesitating, afraid— but maybe she was pacing and hesitating and afraid. No, she was definitely pacing and hesitating and afraid. But getting a text asking that she come over please, devoid of the usual uppercase letters and emoticons and excessive exclamation points characteristic of Pinkie’s texts had put a lump in Sonata’s throat and she had no idea what she was walking into. She hadn’t thought texts could sound so quiet, but Pinkie’s had, and it was frightening. Pinkie’s sister didn’t give her much insight, either. She’s upstairs was all she’d said. Sonata had learned not to expect much out of Maud, though. And now she came to the landing at the top floor, taking the few extra steps to Pinkie’s door and lifting her hand in a tentative fist to knock. The hesitant knocking was followed by a quiet beckoning for Sonata to enter, drifting barely audible through the door, and so she entered, just as quietly as the summons had been spoken. “I—I’m here,” she stammered, immediately wishing she could backspace her words the way she backspaced typos in a text. Of course she was there. What a dumb thing to— “I’m glad,” Pinkie said, again in a whisper. She sat upright in her bed, legs crossed, pillow in arms, staring off at nothing dazedly. There was some hint of relief in her voice, even if she didn’t look at Sonata as she spoke. The lump caught in Sonata’s throat once more and she tried to swallow it down. She’d many times been the one to call Pinkie, in need of company during a particularly unpleasant emotional phase, but never had she been witness to Pinkie in that same state – not like this. Cautiously, Sonata approached the bed and sat. Should she touch her? Would that make it worse? She didn’t even know what was wrong—oh. Maybe she should start there. Right. “What’s going on . . . ?” Finally, Pinkie’s eyes broke away from their aimless gaze and turned up toward Sonata – but only for a fleeting moment. “I feel like a burned out lightbulb,” she said, blinking once before lowering her eyes again. “Or a lamp with a burned out bulb. Or a whole room. I need a new one. A bulb, I mean. Everything’s all out of order.” Sonata glanced up at the light hanging from the ceiling, then back down at Pinkie. She tried to imagine what a burned out lightbulb might feel like, but conceptualising an inanimate object with feelings tripped her up; she had a difficult enough time getting too deep into the feelings of other people as it was. But Pinkie made her actually want to try to. A burned out lightbulb couldn’t light up anymore, obviously. It rattled in a faintly metallic way when shaken. Electrical currents were incapable of being conducted—oh. Burned out. Electricity fizzled. Light gone. “Um . . .” Sonata started, turning her gaze to the stuffed alligator sitting at the foot of the bed. A strange staleness settled into her with the thought of her girlfriend feeling as if she’d burned out, had the electricity fizzled out of her, the light taken, and she hesitated for a moment before continuing. “Like, usually I feel pretty upbeat and all, but . . . some days I just sorta . . . I dunno, feel flat.” Sonata looked back over at Pinkie. “Is . . . it like that?” Pinkie nodded, wordlessly leaning further into her pillow. Sonata watched before picking Gummy up and scooting closer. “I think maybe holding onto this will help more. Um. Than the pillow. I mean.” Sonata gingerly offered the stuffed alligator in trade. Pinkie looked at her again, and lifted her hands – but Gummy was set aside, and Sonata found herself with hands on her arms instead, and she allowed herself to be pulled into Pinkie’s hold. “I’ll be okay,” Pinkie said, resting her forehead against Sonata’s shoulder. “I just need . . . quiet today.” Breath quietly exhaled, a subtle nod, fingers through curly hair; that was Sonata’s silent response as Pinkie beckoned her to lie down next to her, resting their heads close and wrapping her arms around Sonata. And the staleness dissipated and Sonata settled into the quiet. Maybe it wasn’t that frightening after all. Author's Note Based on the prompt "order".
MagicThree-fourths the total amount of hair over one shoulder, one-fourth pulled to the back. Start from the bottom, brush gingerly, move upward. Work tangles out gently, taking care not to tug and knot the hair up worse; lather metal comb with leave-in conditioner for extra help. Pat damp hair between a folded towel, not too rough; blow dry over the towel for faster results without the damage of direct heat, if necessary. Lay one-fourth section of hair over the opposite shoulder, ease out another one-fourth section from the remaining three-fourths. Repeat steps as needed. Sonata worked her hands through Pinkie’s hair in rhythmic syncopation, transitioning from one task to the next without so much as a cognisant thought. She was familiar with the thickly curly texture of Pinkie’s hair, and it was little different from Adagio’s; in fact, despite the slightly less tame nature of Pinkie’s hair, Sonata found it much easier to work through than Adagio’s ridiculously voluminous tresses. Not that Sonata was in a place to say much, herself; though mostly pin-straight, save for an ending wave, her own hair was just as full and long— if not longer. (She figured, though, that should Adagio ever straighten her hair, she might have even Sonata beat for length. Like, hair running for miles or something. Totally had her beat.) “Thanks for helping me with my hair while Maud’s gone, Sona,” Pinkie said as Sonata started on the second portion of hair. “I could’ve done it myself, but it takes foooreeeveeeer!” Sonata laughed, holding a few curls between her fingers as she reached down for the metal comb. “I help Adagio with hers, like, all the time. Okay, maybe not all the time, but enough times. And each time takes at least half a day, soooo . . . it’s like all the time.” Pinkie giggled, pulling her legs closer and crossing them beneath her. As silence filled the (rather small) space between them and Sonata returned to her automatic motions, another unconscious act crept upon her; quiet and under her breath at first, a hum barely audible even to herself, until it slowly grew and gained momentum in her voice— and before she could stop herself, she was vocalising formless syllables with no distinctive words. And it was in the middle of one of these syllables that she caught herself, and the sequence of events that followed were disorientating. First, she halted herself abruptly, not even allowing herself a chance for her voice to trail off, and panic filled her chest like water rushing over pools at high tide. She had always—okay, almost always—been very careful not to sing around Pinkie, as some sort of unspoken, self-imposed rule, and to think that she had broken that self-imposed rule in a moment of unconscious action was jolting. It was only when she remembered that both her gem and her magic were gone that the tide ebbed away, leaving in its wake stagnant, murky pools of some emotion she couldn’t name. Next, she lost her place in her sequence of motions, staring at the back of Pinkie’s head without a clue as to what she was doing, only able to focus on how she must’ve sounded. There wasn’t much that embarrassed Sonata, even in front of her girlfriend, but the loss of her singing voice was a sore subject to begin with; to bring it up through the very act of it was enough to make Sonata’s face burn red. It didn’t matter that she’d been taking voice lessons, that Pinkie was perhaps the least judgemental person in existence, or that she hadn’t even heard anything grating in her vocalisation; the stagnant staleness remained. It didn’t matter that Pinkie had, multiple times before, led Sonata in song post-voice loss; somehow, leading out herself, and with something as raw as wordless vocalising, bordered on terrifying. And finally, as silence overtook the melody that had been present moments before, a second voice pushed the silence back – and at the price of an imperfection in her wordless air, Pinkie tilted her head back to smile up at Sonata encouragingly. Sonata hesitated. Facing forward again, and pausing to take in a breath, Pinkie reached behind her. She took the brush from Sonata’s hand and set it on the bed, replacing it with her own hand instead as she started again, leading off into a melody begging to be accompanied as a duet. Timidly, Sonata started up again. Pinkie’s voice grew louder, as if urging Sonata to rise in volume as well, providing a safety net for any shortcomings. Only when Sonata followed did Pinkie let go of her hand, allowing her to return to the task of brushing out Pinkie’s damp hair. And so she picked up the brush and set to work again, and little by little, she let herself to get lost in the song she and Pinkie harmonised – and when Pinkie’s voice fell into a lull, allowing for Sonata’s to take prominence, Sonata let the panic hit her full force. She let it hit her, but she stood firmly— okay, she stumbled slightly, but regained her balance and stood fast, despite all the anxiety and insecurity telling her to stop and let herself be swept into the negativity. And after some long seconds of a solo aria, Pinkie joined her again. Sonata allowed Pinkie to lead again, quieting to breathe in deeply, before raising her voice once more – and this time, with slightly less trepidation. As she continued to work through Pinkie’s hair, Sonata’s voice steadied, and they continued the harmonising dance; it was almost akin to the one-on-one voice lessons she’d been gifted, but this felt more organic, more intimate, more . . . comforting, even despite all her worries. She imagined Pinkie would liken it to learning to ride a bike, or getting used to the taste of chili-flecked chocolate. Not that Pinkie needed to get used to the taste; it was one of her favourite flavour combinations. But Sonata had a little more difficulty adjusting. And rather than a bike or spiced chocolate, Sonata thought she herself might liken it to her relationship with Pinkie; something she had rushed headfirst into, forcibly halted, then slowly stumbled back into – with Pinkie’s help. Something she was still learning the ins and outs of, even when it had come so naturally to her before. And as Sonata pulled the entirety of Pinkie’s hair back after she had finished the last portion of it, they both ended their song in near-perfect unionism, save for an unsure note from Sonata. “Soooo?” Pinkie asked expectantly. “It’s still sorta damp,” Sonata answered, pulling her fingers through the detangled strands of Pinkie’s hair. “It’ll fluff right back up once it dries.” “Not my hair, silly!” Pinkie shook her head, turning around to face Sonata and hanging her legs off the side of the bed. “The singing!” Sonata pushed the assortment of hair products and tools aside, sitting next to Pinkie. She swung her feet for a moment before conceding an answer. “It’s still a little hard,” she admitted. “Even at Rarity’s, it’s hard to really get into it. Like . . .” Sonata hesitated, searching for a sensible way to describe it. Descriptive metaphors didn’t come to her as easily as they seemed to come to her girlfriend. “Like when you’re in a car that you can’t get to start without turning the key in the ignition at least, like, five times first?” Sonata laughed. “Like your car?” “The engine turns over on the third try when I’m really lucky.” Pinkie grinned, but the grin faded quickly. “It just doesn’t ever wanna do that with my friends in the car. Or my girlfriend. Good thing we don’t need it often!” Sonata sighed, looking down at her lap. “I don’t really need my singing without the magic, either.” “Maaaaybeee not,” Pinkie said slowly, reaching over for Sonata’s hand. “But there’s lots of things you don’t need in life that make life more enjoyable when you have them. Like, I probably don’t need to eat so many pancakes for breakfast, but breakfast wouldn’t be as fun if I didn’t!” “And you probably don’t need so many cans of whipped cream in your refrigerator,” Sonata added, giggling. “But it would be kind of weird if I were to open it one day and you didn’t have a shelf full of them.” She paused. “Actually, that would be like, really weird.” “Right?!” Pinkie looked at Sonata with wide eyes. “What kind of world would that even be?! Definitely not a fun one!” Pinkie shook her head and let out a sigh. She brushed her fingers against Sonata’s palm before grasping onto her hand and speaking again, more softly. “And you feel a lot better when you sing, don’t you?” “I used to,” Sonata said quietly. Rather than reply immediately, Pinkie continued to look at Sonata – as if awaiting further explanation – and Sonata exhaled softly, using her free hand to rub her temple. Pinkie really liked to discuss feelings – and though Sonata didn’t hate it by any stretch, and even found it to be relieving at times, it still didn’t come to her easily. “Like, I super appreciate you guys helping us – we all do – but it’s still so . . . not like how it used to be.” Sonata held onto Pinkie’s hand tighter and sighed. “I . . . think too much about it, ‘cause I feel like I can’t just do it any more. Then I get all self-conscious. And I . . . don’t even let myself try.” “You were doing it without thinking about it earlier,” Pinkie said softly. “I guess I was,” Sonata conceded, finding a small smile. “And . . . it did feel nice when we were singing together. It always does, but like, when I wasn’t thinking too much about it . . . it felt like . . .” “Magic?” Pinkie offered, grinning widely. “Yeah.” Sonata’s smile grew slowly. She turned her head to kiss Pinkie’s cheek, and before she could pull away, Pinkie caught her with a kiss on the lips, holding her there momentarily until tilting her forehead against Sonata’s and drawing a giggle out of her. After a moment, Pinkie pulled back, and Sonata followed her motions like Pinkie was the moon pulling back the ocean tide, leaning against her girlfriend and resting her head on her shoulder without a care for Pinkie’s still-damp hair. “Like magic.” Author's Note Based on a headcanon from Misago regarding Sonata singing to Pinkie while brushing her hair.
Pinkie♥Pie [PPS]It had become a bad habit. It had been a habit before, done out of idleness, nothing strange for a teenage girl (or a roughly-teenage siren girl, for that matter) – checking her phone constantly, even when she knew there was no new message, no missed phone call, no voicemail awaiting her – but now it was a bad habit because she checked for one thing and one thing only. Pinkie’s name. The sad irony of it all was that she had only been able to have two text conversations with her, had only been able to smile dumbly to herself at the appearance of “Pinkie♥Pie” in her notifications for a night and half of a day, and had only been able to think about calling her. It wasn’t that she had planned to sabotage their relationship— herself— Pinkie— that very next day, but she had, it had happened, and all she unintentionally left herself with was this electronic remnant. Unintentionally. That was why she had left the necklace, after all; she couldn’t have handled that constant reminder of everything they had been, everything they couldn’t be, everything she wanted and couldn’t have; she couldn’t have stood to throw it in the bottom of a drawer like it was meaningless, yet think about it constantly, knowing it was there beneath a mess of scarves and hair ties just waiting for her to yield herself. But the thought that something as mundane as having her ex’s contact information could, too, serve as a constant reminder hadn’t occurred to her until she woke up the next day to a flood of missed calls and text messages and voicemails. She’d scrolled through the text messages, chest constricted and cold, she’d tabbed past the missed calls as if acknowledging them, barely able to even glance at the list, she’d ignored the voicemails, knowing that hearing Pinkie’s voice would only break her down further into even smaller pieces. If the text messages were anything to go by, she could just imagine how the voicemails sounded, and it wasn’t hard to hear Pinkie’s voice in her head fluctuating in tone between cheerful – we can get together and talk about this!; restrained – I understand if you need some time alone; and absolutely distraught – I’m sorry if I did something wrong. Imagining it was one thing; she wasn’t brave enough to actually hear it. She knew that Pinkie wasn’t much of one for strict formalities, and yet— We can talk, Sona. I understand, Sonata. I’m sorry, Sonata Dusk. That’s the course the messages had taken over the following weeks. Despite the disorderly jumble of messages the first night, there had been a pattern following that; hopeful and optimistic at first, as if she could get Sonata to come around, still padded with missed calls and voicemails – and then she seemed to pull back, guard herself with cautiousness, as if the affection would drive Sonata further away, still calling but leaving no voicemails – and finally, there was no petitioning for another try, no talk as if there was still mending to be done, not even a single call, only texted apologies as if seeking or even giving closure. And then nothing. And now Sonata was back to checking her phone constantly, even when she knew there was no new message, no missed phone call, no voicemail awaiting her, especially not from Pinkie Pie. And she hated that even if she had never responded to the texts, never answered the calls, never listened to the voicemails, it had been a paradoxical source of comfort. The maintained, one-sided contact had hurt, but it was a soothing pain; a soothing pain that reminded her no matter how badly she had messed up, Pinkie still cared and still wanted her. Sonata wondered if Pinkie knew she felt the same, even if she couldn’t say it. She had wanted to type a quick reply, return the calls, listen to Pinkie’s voice one more time— but even if the temptation had moved her fingers to the keypad or contact list countless times, something else always stopped her; a threat from Adagio that she would confiscate the phone and erase everything, a piercing stare from Aria as if to say ‘you know better’, a glimpse of red light reflecting off her necklace and onto the wall— a passing thought, an emptiness in her stomach, a dissonance in her head. None of that had to stop her, though. Not when the prospect of having to break communication again already did. That was what she had wanted, wasn’t it? For, despite the soothing pain, Pinkie’s attempts to reach out to her to come to a stop so that they could both move on and be happy? She knew that Pinkie had friends who would be there for her, ease her back into the upbeat cheerfulness that was natural of her – and Sonata had friends who were there for her, even if they couldn’t understand why Sonata had fallen so hard for someone who, regardless of the outcome of their relationship, could only be a fleeting part of her life. They didn’t have to say they were there for her (and of course, didn’t); she just knew it instinctively. She knew it when Aria made her favourite foods and when Adagio sat close to her on the couch with a book. She knew it when Aria reminded her of all the things she could do when they had their Equestrian magic back and when Adagio took her into town for new clothes. She knew it even when Adagio said things were better this way and even when Aria snatched her phone out of her hand and threw it on the bed. It was good that Pinkie had stopped reaching out, right? It was good, and it was what she had wanted. Then why couldn’t she stop turning the phone’s screen on, hoping to see “Pinkie♥Pie” in her notifications again? What difference would it make if Pinkie did text her again? Did she think that this time, she might finally have the courage to respond, even knowing that would really be the end of it? Did she think she would stop being afraid that once they started talking again, she wouldn’t be strong enough to break away? Did she think she could deal with it in some manner other than the painful way she had nearly a month ago, without an explanation and without any tact? Or did she just have some subconscious hope that there was a way for them to work? Sonata lifted her fingers to brush against the bevels of the gem hanging from her necklace, as if it would break the delusion. She knew it was impossible, and all the magic, all the power, all the control in the world wouldn’t change that. Nothing would change that – and it was time to stop hoping anything could. There were other things to do, other things to focus on. She didn’t need a bad habit to hinder her. Especially not one with no closure in sight. And so Sonata set the phone down and turned away. After all, this was something she’d done to herself; she’d gotten into something she knew would end terribly, she’d kept it going when she knew she shouldn’t have, and she put a stop to it terribly. Aria had told her to get over it – maybe it was about time she did. She could. She would. Step one had been putting the phone down and turning away; step two was walking away. Ignoring it, leaving it there regardless of what may or may not happen when it wasn’t there in her hand or her pocket. It shouldn’t have been so hard. It was only a phone. One, two, three steps. See? It wasn’t so hard. Four, five, six. It was only a phone. Hand on doorknob. She wasn’t missing anything – even if she was, it wouldn’t mean anything— The sound of the ringtone she had assigned to Pinkie’s number shattered her meditative thoughts and stopped her cold. The half-turned knob slipped from her grasp and the silence that followed the melodic chime was so pristine, she was sure she could hear the latch bolt sliding back into place. Her about-face turn was instantaneous, but had she been asked to recount the moment, Sonata would’ve described herself as existing in a state of slow motion; a slow turn, slow steps back to the bed, slow lifting of her phone, only breaking from the inertia when the message alert repeated itself, nearly causing her to drop the phone. Sonata tightened her grip, disallowing herself to read anything past “Pinkie♥Pie” before she slid her finger across the screen to unlock it— and even then, she tilted the device downward to the point of unreadability. Her stomach had knotted itself up, her breath was stuck in her throat, her heart beat heavily in her chest, and a million thoughts of all the bad ways the message could go raced through her head, intermingling with her attempts to calm herself: it doesn’t matter what it says, it never mattered, the worse the better, the easier it’ll be to move on. It took some mental detangling and a long minute of slow breathing, occupying her long enough for the screen to darken, but finally, Sonata lifted the phone, unlocked the screen again, and read the message: I wasn’t gonna text you anymore but I still can’t stop thinking about you. Silly, huh? You don’t have to reply. I just hope you’re okay and happy. Even if Sonata had managed to unknot her stomach and slow her wildly beating heart, it only served to open space for her heart to sink down slowly; and even if she had cleared her throat of ensnared breaths, it only gave sobs somewhere to catch; and even if she had stopped the marathon of thoughts running through her head, it only made her mind an absolute blank with nowhere for logic to go. With nowhere for logic to go, nowhere for it to stick and seep into her neurons and convey the message that yes, Sonata, responding was a bad idea, and no, Sonata, it wouldn’t change anything—without that, her fingers began to type rapidly, and she might have stopped a moment to marvel at how the device could so easily tell what her misspelt borderline-keymash words were meant to say, but she was far too busy getting every single word out to— The phone vibrated in her hands and Sonata stopped. My friend told me sending even one more message would just make it harder to stop, but I had to anyway before I did stop for good. So I guess that’s it. And... A long, piercing pause until finally another message appeared: …and that’s it. Sonata stopped and let her knees buckle beneath her and sat on the bed with more force than she realised she could have put forth. She stopped and blinked her eyes free of tears. She stopped and she reread the hasty, emotional response she had typed – and she erased it all. She erased it all, she turned the phone off, and she dropped it far enough from herself that she wouldn’t have to look at it. It was for the best, just like Adagio said. She needed to get over it, just like Aria said. That was it, just like Pinkie said. Author's Note Takes place sometime between chapters 4 and 5 of Pinkie Pie Swear. Prompted by the song I Almost Do by Taylor Swift. And also a persistent sort of mood. It's been a long past few weeks.
Sugar Rush [College AU]“I caaaaan’t dooo thiiiis, Raaariiityyy.” With an unceremonious thunk, Pinkie Pie dropped her head and entire upper torso onto the table, completely erasing any visual proof that a textbook rested in the space her body now occupied. To accentuate her helpless complaint, Pinkie let out a heavy breath leading into a short whine. She hated studying in the library. It was too quiet. And though an MP3 player and earbuds usually were enough to keep the inattentive college student decently focused, she also had a habit of drumming her pencils too loudly against her study surface and had many times before been asked to relocate to another area on campus. Even with friends around to study with, they had to be careful not to speak too loudly – and constantly vigilant to make sure Pinkie didn’t get too loud. But Rarity needed the silence, and Pinkie had promised they could study together for their upcoming first exam in English class. “Can’t do what, Pinkie?” Rarity asked, pulling her own textbook back and away from the mess of pink curls invading the table. “I was sure to reserve a study room for us so that you could drum away to your heart’s content. I assure you, it’s become white noise to me.” “Not thaaat,” Pinkie replied in an exaggerated moan, slowly lifting herself up off the table. She pulled her hair out of her face and made an attempt to pull it back into its former (er, slightly) tamer state, but to little avail. “I think my blood sugar is low.” “Didn’t we just each lunch before walking here for that very reason?” Rarity rested the end of her pen against her lip and raised an eyebrow at Pinkie. “Y—e—s?” Pinkie asked slowly, offering her friend a sheepish smile. “But I’m not hungry, silly! I’m low on sugar. And I’m antsy. And I totally cannot get comfortable in here. These chairs are the worst! Ugh!” Breathing a heavy sigh, Rarity shook her head. She reached over to straighten out a crease in Pinkie’s textbook caused by the dramatic upper-body-dropping, running her hand lightly across the page before pulling the cover over top it. “How about this,” Rarity started, pulling her hand back to reach into her bag. She unlatched her wallet and pulled out a few bills, handing them to Pinkie. “Go get yourself a sugar fix, and bring me a bag of vanilla wafer cookies back. But don’t let the librarians see you with the food this time; I can’t afford a second strike with them. Heavens are they vicious!” Pinkie grinned, taking the money out of Rarity’s hand and nearly leaping up out of her seat and dashing out across the library – until she caught the glance of a student librarian, prompting her to slow considerably until she had cleared the building entirely. When Pinkie reached the cafeteria, she found the atmosphere to be much more to her liking; with the dining area all a-buzz with chattering students, music drifting from the overhead speaker system, and the shuffling of plastic trays in the food line, the cafeteria was most often Pinkie’s preferred study locale – though the clamour and din was unfavourable to her friends. Pinkie had no need for a tray or standing in line for an order off the grill, and so she bypassed the line and went straight for the dessert case, eyeing a particularly appealing slice of chocolate cake. She’d also need, of course, the bag of vanilla wafer cookies for Rarity (and also a granola bar, because she knew Rarity liked those), a chocolate bar for later, a bag of fruit snacks, strawberry milk— Pinkie’s hand stopped mid-reach, inches away from the dessert case door. Not for it already being wide open, and not for changing her mind (because she definitely hadn’t), but for the fact a cute girl stood spinning the cake stand around to find her desired treat. Like, a super cute girl. And not just any super cute girl; a super cute girl that Pinkie had seen around campus many times, but never had the opportunity to meet – which was totally unusual for her. She always made considerable efforts to befriend everyone in her classes, and as many people around her as possible, and yet somehow, this one particular super cute girl continuously eluded her. Of course, Pinkie would have waited patiently for anyone else to have finished choosing anyway, should they have been there first, but she found her gaze lured away from the enticing sweets and toward the blue-haired girl. There was always something about her that stopped Pinkie dead in her tracks, and it wasn’t just her cute demeanour – Pinkie knew a lot of cute people, many counted among her closest of friends – or the charming smile she’d been fortunate enough to catch a glimpse of a few times, or even the way the girl hummed sweetly to herself as she walked, just loud enough that Pinkie could hear. There was just something. And whatever that something was had Pinkie’s gaze trailing after the girl, even after she had retrieved her desired confectionery and turned to leave. Wait. Staring was rude. Stop staring. With some difficulty, Pinkie tore her eyes away from the mystery girl, waited for someone else to have a turn in the dessert case, and finally grabbed her slice of cake, thoughts running around wildly in her head. Okay, so staring was rude, but it wasn’t rude if she stopped the girl to strike up a conversation with her, right? Of course not, she did that with everyone she met! Why would she even question that? Pinkie grabbed a bottle of strawberry milk and turned to the candy shelves. She had no reason to overthink it now. Piling her sweets onto the register counter and fishing around in her bag for money, Pinkie glanced out toward the dining area of the cafeteria and felt something inside of her burst like a helium balloon full of confetti. Confetti that promptly rained down over her and adorn her hair like a sprinkle-topped cupcake. Not only was the cute mystery girl still nearby, she had paid for her things right before Pinkie had. She could still catch her! And as the cashier continued to punch in the prices of Pinkie’s assortment of goodies, Pinkie continued to keep an eye on the blue-haired girl, tapping her fingers against the counter in a manner that bordered on impatient. The girl stopped in the middle of the walkway, then stepped forward quickly when someone pushed past her. She turned around, back to the utensil station where she had just grabbed a plastic fork, and hurriedly opened her slice of cake. Was she in a rush? The girl glanced up, looked around— and as she did so, lost her grip on the cake and barely had time to react before it hit the floor. The look of utter dismay on her face was enough to make Pinkie’s mouth drop open. “Ahem. That’ll be 7.34.” Pinkie turned her head to the cashier, then to the girl – now leaning down to clean up the mess, dismally – and back to the cashier again before she exclaimed loudly, “Wait!” Loudly enough that the cashier, the students around her, and the blue-haired-cerise-eyed girl all stopped to look up at her. In the ensuing quiet, Pinkie pushed her way back to the dessert case, grabbed another slice of cake, and rushed it back to the register. By now the noise volume had risen again, and the other students carried on dismissively as Pinkie paid for her things, pulled them into her arms, and quickly made her way over to the poor, dessert-less girl. “Here!” she said with a wide smile, handing the strawberries-and-cream cake slice to the girl, who lifted her head to look up at Pinkie quizzically – again. It was a good thing Pinkie was reaching for the napkins and kneeling down anyway, because the look made her want to melt into a sticky pool of sweetness like a scoop of ice cream in the summer sun. “And, um, let me help you!” The girl blinked once. “Are you sure? You have a lot of—” “No problem!” Pinkie said eagerly, smile turning to a grin. Juggling everything in one arm wasn’t so hard, but unfortunately, using one hand to scoop up bits of splattered cake was. “Um,” the girl said with some hesitation. “Maybe if you . . . put some stuff on the table or your bag?” “Ohhhhhh. Right. Yeah.” Pinkie giggled. She turned a moment to carefully structure her items inside of her bag, taking care to pack strategically so that the cookies and chocolate and cake would be safe from suffering a similar fate as the cake on the ground, and when she turned back to the girl, she was greeted with another smile – and when she returned it, she was granted a giggle in kind. There was that ice cream-melting warmth again, but somehow more intensely. “You’re like a ray of sunshine or something,” Pinkie blurted out. Oops. “What?” the girl asked. “What?” Pinkie instinctively answered—asked?—back. For a moment, the girl’s smile vanished, replaced instead by a look of confusion—and the usually-foreign sensation of awkwardness began to creep up at the fringe of Pinkie’s nerves—until the smile returned, accompanied by an even sunnier giggle than before. With a breath that relieved her of the lesser pleasant butterflies fluttering around in her stomach (some, of course, simply refused to leave in the girl’s presence), Pinkie finished cleaning up the larger pieces of the spilt cake, and the girl followed after her in wiping the floor free of the smeared whipped cream. When Pinkie turned back to face her again, she found the two of them perfectly juxtaposed for Pinkie to offer her hand in helping the girl up – and so she did, pulling her to her feet with one hand and taking the dirty napkin from her with the other, ecstatic to finally have her face-to-face. Well, face-to-face minus the task of cleaning up smashed confectioneries. “Um, thanks for helping me clean that up,” the girl said, slowly taking her hand from Pinkie’s grasp and running it through her ponytail. “And for the cake. You like, totally didn’t even have to.” Pinkie shook her head, tossing the napkin into the nearby trash bin. “I wanted to! You looked so sad, and . . . well, it’s a lot nicer to see people smile!” Especially ice cream-melting sunshine-y smiles. “Oh! I’m Pinkie Pie, by the way.” “Sonata Dusk,” the girl—Sonata replied. Pinkie took a moment to repeat the name to herself mentally – and perhaps in the quietest of whispers – and as she did so, Sonata seemed to be meditating on a thought of her own, continuing before Pinkie had the chance to respond. “So like, I guess if I’m like a ‘ray of sunshine,’ it’s one of those really bright and direct ones that totally blind you as the sun’s going down, right?” Sonata grinned and Pinkie felt her heart jump. “Totally! The best kind!” she agreed, laughing a bit harder than the statement perhaps warranted, though not at all forcibly or fakely; she just couldn’t help it. Sonata was cute, sunny, melodic, and had a sense of humour? Though it was true Pinkie often really wanted to befriend even the most random of strangers, Pinkie found herself really, really wanting to befriend Sonata – and she had already accomplished step one. Now step two would be to ask for— “I gotta get going, but I’ll see you around,” Sonata said, snapping Pinkie from her thoughts. “I’m like, never gonna hear the end of it if I don’t meet my friends on time. Bye!” And without even the tiniest chance for Pinkie to get another word in, Sonata waved at her and all but dashed out of the cafeteria. And right then and there, Pinkie was more determined than she’d ever been to be sure she did, in fact, see someone around. But first, she had some treats to eat and studying to do with Rarity. Author's Note Based on the prompt "I dropped my slice of cake right after I bought it and you see how devastated I look, so you treat me to another slice". Also, I really love college AU settings. There will probably be more in this continuity later because it's really fun to write.
WhirlwindA whirlwind. That was the only way Sonata could describe her—okay, no, not the only way, but one of the most fitting ways. Pinkie Pie, Pinkamena Diane Pie, a whirlwind sweeping into her life with gale force winds, tearing everything she knew apart with the ferocity of a tornado, lulling her like the eye of a storm in the heart of a hurricane, leaving confetti debris in her wake. And suddenly, whirlwind romance was no longer an empty phrase, but a pair of words with powerful impact. Author's Note Based on the prompt "whirlwind".
A ThousandOne-thousand was one of those numbers that sounded much larger than it actually was. Well, it was a big number. It was a big number for counting to and a big number for purposes of hyperbole, like when she was super busy and said she had, “like, a thousand things to do” – though she did not, in reality, have a literal thousand things to do. It was a big number for passages of time – a thousand seconds (16 minutes, 40 seconds), a thousand days (approximately 2 years, 9 months), a thousand years (a really long time). But generally, it sounded much larger than it actually was. A thousand sheets of paper could make a single book or a gift of paper cranes. A thousand cupcakes was an appropriate number for a decently-sized party or wedding. A thousand grains of sand barely composed a handful. A thousand strands of hair through her fingers barely a small portion of the long locks they played a part to, a thousand words not enough to convey properly how she felt, a thousand stars overhead incomparable to the galaxies that were swirled up inside of her by even the smallest smile accompanied by those bright cerise eyes. A thousand seconds articulated by syncopated heartbeats would never be too many – no, they couldn’t even begin to be enough – nor would, nor could a thousand nights together. A thousand was not enough ways for her to express how much she loved every last thing about her – how much she loved her. The more-than-a-thousand little things that composed her very being, all the things that a thousand reasons could never begin to explain – and where to even start? the look she got in her eyes when mesmerised, the way the colour of her irises blossomed with awe? the interspersing of the words like and totally throughout her speech with the slightest melodic hint to it? the— “Heyyy. You like, totally zoned out.” —infectious giggling that interrupted her poetic thoughts? “I guess I was,” Pinkie returned with the dumbest of smiles as she looked down at Sonata looking up at her. Not that she hadn’t been looking at her before (for a thousand seconds – 16 minutes, 40 seconds – perhaps?), running through her mental list of all the things a thousand was too small a number to account for. “I was thinking.” Sonata relaxed where she sat, back against Pinkie’s chest, but her eyes remained fixed on Pinkie’s and her head remained tilted backward. “What about?” “Numbers,” Pinkie said, lifting a hand off the ground to pull through Sonata’s hair. First along her fringe – then the bit framing her face – then the loose strands, free of a ponytail for the night. When Sonata’s face took on a perplexed expression, Pinkie inhaled; something inside of her chest suddenly overfilled to the point of bursting, and she didn’t know whether it made her want to laugh or cry – or both? Definitely both. And she definitely couldn’t keep herself from giggling even as tears touched the edges of her eyes, and she definitely couldn’t keep herself from kissing Sonata’s head not once, or twice, but three times, just for good measure. “Numbers are really meaningless sometimes,” she continued before Sonata had the chance to question the eccentric behaviour – though she was doubtless all too familiar with Pinkie’s eccentricities by now, so maybe she wouldn’t have questioned it anyway – and before she lost her chance to keep the brimming tears at bay. “Like why would I need a thousand words to say something when ‘I love you’ does it super perfectly already?” “You wouldn’t?” Sonata guessed, laughing again. “I wouldn’t,” Pinkie affirmed. She paused a moment, placed a kiss against Sonata’s lips, and added, “I love you.” A thousand words could never be enough, but they didn’t have to be. She didn’t need to quantify a thousand, not when the echoing of her words was more than she needed. A thousand reasons, a thousand stars, a thousand moments – what did it matter to number any of it, anyway? That was silly. Author's Note Based on the prompt "thousand" and way too many sappy love songs.
LaughterThe sight that greeted Fluttershy upon returning to the gymnasium was concerning, to say the least. Rather than the executives of the Party Planning Committee carrying out actual execution of their party plans, Fluttershy found the two in what appeared to be a precarious situation: one sitting at a table with her head down in her arms, and the other with her hands on the first’s heaving back, as if trying to ease her of whatever ailment was plaguing her. The sight, aside from concerning, was also blatantly unproductive – but productivity was the farthest thing from Fluttershy’s mind as she tucked the punch bowl she’d retrieved from the kitchen under one arm and hastened to Sonata and Pinkie. Stopping just short of the table, she looked from Sonata – now able to also hear her gasping – then to Pinkie, eyes wide. “Is . . . is she crying?” Fluttershy asked quietly, as if the supposition itself would further damage the already delicate situation. Pinkie opened her mouth to speak, but before she could utter a single syllable, Sonata sat up straight and all but flung her head back, revealing that her gasps and tears were not of a despondent nature, but rather of a mirthful one as a breathless laugh escaped her. “Technically yes,” Pinkie finally answered, looking somewhat concerned despite her inability to not smile at the sight of her laughing girlfriend. “And I super love hearing people laugh – especially Sonata! – but it’s, uh, kinda worrying that—” Sonata’s laughter was cut short by her own abrupt cough, and Pinkie quickly patted her on the back until the coughing ceased. “—that she’s been laughing for like, five minutes straight and can’t stop to breathe.” “Oh, goodness!” Fluttershy exclaimed, free hand flying to her mouth before she pulled it away to gingerly take hold of Sonata’s shoulder. She lowered herself slightly to look – or, try to look – Sonata in the eye. “Are you alright?” It took a few more moments of deep breaths, forcing the last of her giggles out, and Pinkie’s gentle patting, but gradually, Sonata calmed and her breathing evened out. “I—I’m good,” she assured, pulling hair out of her face with both hands. “I’m good. I’m totally cool.” “Are you?” Pinkie asked with a tinge of doubt. “Like, super absolutely cool,” Sonata reassured, pushing her palms against the edge of the table and tilting herself back in her chair. She then let go, allowed the feet of the chair to fall against the floor heavily, and slid the chair back to stand up, grabbing a bag off the table in the process. “I’m so good, actually, that I’m gonna finish putting up these streamers.” “What was that all about?” Fluttershy asked, looking at Pinkie after watching Sonata walk over to the point on the wall where the streamers left off. The situation had certainly been much less dire – or hilarious, rather? – when Fluttershy had left to pick up the punch bowl. “Oh, uh,” Pinkie hesitated, avoiding Fluttershy’s glance as she picked up a couple tinsel-laden centrepieces and piled them into her arms. “Super funny story! Literally?” Pinkie giggled with a touch of nervousness. “You know when you start thinking about something funny and you can’t stop and it maybe isn’t really appropriate to the situation but you gotta tell someone and the perfect person to tell is your girlfriend?” “Umm . . .” “So when we met in the middle with our streamers I blurted it out and of course I knew she was gonna laugh, duh! But I didn’t know she’d think it was funny enough that I’d have to walk her over here and sit her down! Usually the kind of thing that makes her laugh that hard is stuff like people walking into doors or tripping and falling.” Pinkie frowned slightly. “What did you tell her?” “Well . . . did you hear about the two guys who stole a calendar?” Fluttershy scrunched her face up. “No?” “They both got six months.” An abrupt thud sounded from only a few feet away as Sonata’s streamer roll hit an air duct instead of sailing over it, and Fluttershy and Pinkie turned to see her struggling to keep upright as a second fit of uncontrollable laughter struck her. Pinkie glanced toward Fluttershy with a sheepish smile. “I guess she likes puns, too.” Author's Note I've had this idea about Sonata laughing hysterically over some joke Pinkie told her in mind for aeons, and when I stumbled upon this very joke one night, I knew: it was perfect. (I knew it was perfect because I spent at least a whole minute laughing over it.)
Date #3 [PPS]For all the years she’d lived as a human, there were still a surprising amount of things Sonata Dusk had yet to experience. Which wasn’t to say that there weren’t a lot of things she had experienced – and she had. There were things that she never got tired of experiencing, no matter how much or how little they stayed the same over time; there were things that changed just enough to stay interesting; and there were things she’d experienced so many times, she grew bored waiting for someone to make a new advancement, technological or otherwise, so that those things would become fun again. Lately, though, she was becoming much more aware of things she hadn’t experienced. Silly things that had never really seemed all that meaningful before, like seeing everyday objects that reminded her of someone, but accompanied with a bursting feeling inside that made her giddy, like the crash of a wave – or thinking of that specific person almost constantly, wondering how she was doing, what she was doing. It wasn’t unlike her to grab an item off a shelf at a store and grin at Aria or Adagio as she told either of the two that it was so them, and she rarely had to wonder about how or what they were doing given how close the three of them stuck together. Questionable things like taking off without giving her fellow sirens any information about where she was going or evading their questions when she did return home. She’d never even thought to do anything so reckless, contrary to what one might believe by looking at her. Exciting things like going on dates: real, actual dates! She’d spent hours at an arcade with someone before, but she’d never given all her ticket winnings away for the sake of that person – and she’d never been surprised with a starlight picnic in the park – and she’d definitely never been ice skating before. “I think you’re gonna suuuupeeer loooooveeeee thiiiiis!” Pinkie’s enthused, sing-song voice broke Sonata from her thoughts, and she turned her gaze away from the skaters out on the rink to look down at her companion. Pinkie was leaning down from the bench they sat on, presumably tying the laces on her skates, face obscured by pink curls. Smiling slightly to herself, Sonata slipped her canvas sneakers off and exchanged them for her own set of skates. “It doesn’t look too hard,” she said with a shrug, pulling the laces on the first skate taut. Pinkie sat up and pulled some hair out of her face as she turned to look at Sonata. “It’s not, really!” she exclaimed – then paused – then continued. “But it does take a little practise. Don’t worry, I’ll help you get the hang of it! It’ll kinda be like taking the training wheels off a bike and like I’m holding onto the bike until you get going and then let go and you don’t even notice and — bam! — you’re doing it all by yourself!” Sonata sat up and stared at Pinkie plainly. “But I’ve never ridden a bike, either.” “Really?” “No. Not really.” Sonata giggled, leaning back down to tie her second skate. “I’m like, totally ace at riding a bike. Like, so ace, I can cruise without holding onto the handlebars.” Pinkie laughed in kind. “Then this shouldn’t be that hard for you! I mean, it’s not exaaactly the same, but I bet you’ll be a natural!” She stood and put their shoes and coats inside a cubby, then turned and offered her hands to help Sonata stand. Standing on her own, even with the skates, didn’t seem that difficult to Sonata, but she wouldn’t turn down an opportunity to take Pinkie’s hand (or hands, in this case), and so with a firm grip, she let Pinkie pull her to her feet and guide her just outside the rink’s entrance. “Okay, first, you should try and balance here on the mats,” Pinkie instructed, still holding Sonata’s hands tightly. “Skating is all about balance, and balance is all about relaxation, and if you get tense, you’re more likely to lose your balance, and then you’ll be more likely to fall!” Sonata nodded. “So try and take a few steps here before we get out on the ice.” Sonata nodded again, smiling as she loosened her own grasp on Pinkie’s hands – and after a moment, broke into a laugh. “You’ve gotta like, let go of me first.” “Ohhh, yeah,” Pinkie giggled, opening her palms and pulling her arms away. The action was carried out a bit too quickly, and the second that her support had gone, Sonata found herself all but flailing to keep standing upright. With a sheepish ‘oops!’, Pinkie grabbed Sonata’s hands again and laughed quickly. “Uh, let’s try again.” This time, Pinkie lowered Sonata’s arms down into a position better suited for balancing solo, and eased her hands away from Sonata slowly enough to ensure minimal loss of balance on Sonata’s part. With a bit of readjustment to her stance, Sonata found herself standing fairly solidly all on her own, and grinned at Pinkie. “Totally easy!” After taking a few steps around on the mat and receiving a crash course from Pinkie on proper posture for skating and proper braking technique, Sonata declared she was ready to take on the ice, and so they entered the rink. “Okay, so, what you wanna keep in mind,” Pinkie said, continuing with her lesson while Sonata tried her best to balance on her feet and not look like she had no idea what she was doing, “is to start with something basic, like walking, then you can work your way up to the actual skating and fun things like gliding and jumps and spins! Well, probably not jumps and spins yet. Maaaybe gliding. Anyway, it’s good to start out holding onto the edge of the rink. And remember, relaaaaax!” “I’m completely relaxed,” Sonata insisted, holding onto the edge of the rink with both hands. Her declaration reminded her to actually loosen her grip on the wall. “See?” Pinkie giggled, but neither contested nor confirmed the statement. Instead, she skated just in front of Sonata and spun to face her. “Let’s do this: you start out walking toward me, and once you have that down, I’ll skate a little faster and you can follow after!” Well, that sounded easy enough. Ignoring the slight envy that came with watching Pinkie skate backwards so effortlessly, Sonata set one skate in front of the other a bit more clunkily than she would have liked, trying to remember all the tips Pinkie had bombarded her with some minutes ago: pick up your feet; focus on a central point with your eyes (Pinkie, in this case); try not to make sudden, rough movements; make sure your blades are level with the ice or you’ll trip easily. The first lap around the rink was about as ungraceful and slow-moving as possible, but halfway through the second, Sonata found herself naturally pulling one hand away from the wall and just barely holding on with the first. “You’re getting the hang of it!” Pinkie beamed, folding her arms behind her. “Now try and balance without holding on and without stopping!” Ever so cautiously, Sonata lifted her lone remaining hand up off the rink wall and the giddiness of her resulting laughter was enough to nearly knock her off her newly-achieved balance. She rediscovered equilibrium and looked back toward Pinkie with a huge grin. “I’m doing it!” “And doing super great at it, too! Ready to try going even faster now?” Nodding, Sonata eased her arms down and again ran through her mental list of tips. The glee and newfound confidence from actually skating on her own was enough to keep her from thinking too much about the amount of practise and skill that must have gone into Pinkie being able to skate backwards with her arms folded behind her back, and was probably best left that way. Even knowing they weren’t going all that fast didn’t deter her from feeling absolutely great about herself and her progress, a feeling only magnified when Pinkie led her away from the wall closer to the centre of the rink. After a few laps, Pinkie took a sharp increase in speed and spun around before slowing and falling parallel to Sonata once more. Now skating alongside her, Pinkie tilted her head toward Sonata, as if trying to nudge her with her hair. “Sooo . . . like learning to ride without training wheels, right?” “Yeah! And I’m gonna be totally ace at this, too!” Sonata began to giggle — and that’s when she lost her balance. Reflexively, Sonata threw her arms out to try and regain the balance she was losing control of, and when that failed, she grabbed onto Pinkie’s arm for support. Pinkie made a valiant effort to keep both herself and Sonata upright, but within seconds, the two of them had plummeted down, Pinkie falling first and Sonata tumbling over top of her. Sonata distinctively remembered Pinkie telling her not to stay down on the ice too long when falling— but unfortunately, she was too shocked to process that advice into actual action. All she could do was look wide-eyed at Pinkie – who suddenly burst into laughter. Despite all her warnings and horror stories about what happened when skaters got too close to people who stayed down on the ice too long, Pinkie let her head fall back and laughed so deeply that it shook Sonata, who was still leaning on top of her, out of her stupor. “Oops,” Sonata finally said, sheepishly. She sat up on her knees, watching Pinkie continue to quake, and quickly found herself falling victim to Pinkie’s infectious laughter, the two of them laughing so loudly that it would have been hard for any other skaters not to notice them there in the middle of the rink. When she’d gotten enough of her giggles out, Pinkie sat up, stood on her skates, and helped her date up as well. “You okay?” she asked with a smile. Sonata brushed the front of her jeans off with her hands, but found the ice shavings to have already melted. “I guess I kinda got ahead of myself.” “Everyone falls a few times. Or a lot of times.” Pinkie shrugged dismissively. “Falling can be fun, anyway!” She offered her hand to Sonata, and Sonata took it gladly, perfectly content to be done with speed training for the night. “Yeah,” Sonata said, glancing briefly at their interlocked fingers before looking forward and smiling to herself as they skated along leisurely. “Falling can be fun.” Author's Note I've always thought a lot about this particular date that didn't make it into the final cut of Pinkie Pie Swear. For a quick refresher, this takes place between chapters 2 and 3. (Official Date #2 was at an arcade and #4 a movie, for the record.)
Formal & Companion“You’re absolutely sure about this?” she’d asked, pensively eyeing the prom ticket in her hand. “More than absolutely, silly!” her girlfriend bouncily replied. “Like, super absolutely?” she’d repeated some days later, tilting her head at the mid-length mahogany dress’ reflection in the mirror. “Well, duh, super absolutely!” her girlfriend exclaimed, holding the dress up to her shoulders. “But people still talk,” she’d said with hesitation the following week, sorting through hairstyle photos with her roommates. “People can say a lot of things that mean nothing,” her girlfriend reassured, practically smiling through the phone. “Things that mean nothing?” she repeated the night of the dance, running the eighth-note charm of her necklace along its silver chain around her neck. “People can talk all they want,” her girlfriend said, pulling her hand away from the pendant and into her own. “But why should I listen to them when I could be dancing with you instead? And anyway, you look amazing!” And with that, Sonata’s worries dissolved and she smiled and took Pinkie’s other hand and whispered, “So do you.” “So . . .” Pinkie let Sonata’s hands down slowly, taking two steps back to give herself room to offer Sonata a bow and her upturned hand. “May I have this dance?” Sonata giggled and nodded, resting her hand in Pinkie’s once again and allowing herself to be swept off to the dance floor. And when the catchy, upbeat songs they always danced to together in Sugarcube Corner played, the two of them emanated more energy than any other couple or group in the room; and when their friends joined them, they traded off partners and laughed at the swapping; and when an old, dreamy tune drifted from the speakers, they held close, and Sonata allowed Pinkie the lead. “Are you sure yet?” Pinkie asked softly, swaying her gently. “More than absolutely,” Sonata replied, lying her head against Pinkie’s chest. “Like, super absolutely.” Author's Note Based on the prompts "formal" and "companion", respectively. Addition (06.05.2015): Nebula Light did a very adorable reading of this drabble, which you can listen to here!
Lemon (Sorbet)“I guess I could say you’re . . . sweet as pie. Hehe! Get it?” “Pfft, that was good! Wait, wait, I got one! I think you’re sweet as lemon sorbet!” At first, she giggled at hearing this – then she stopped, realising that lemons were not the sweetest of citruses, let alone fruits – and furrowed her brow. “Lemon sorbet?” “Oh, oh! It’s a dessert that’s sorta like ice cream but it’s just water, sugar, and—” “No, I know what sorbet is, Pinkie! But isn’t lemon, like, not sweet?” “Well, duh! Lemon’s super sour, but when you add sugar, it takes it down a notch! Like, you’re definitely not always sweet to other people but I’m probably more than sugary enough for the both of us so when we’re together it’s like this really great balance and you can still be you!” Sonata smiled. She liked still being her. Author's Note Based on the prompt "lemon".
