Norse Code

by NorsePony

Rating: teen
Tags: Main 6, Slice of Life, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Romance, Princess Luna, Original Character, Comedy, Tragedy, Princess Celestia
Length: 11082

My short-short stories from Thirty Minute Ponies, collected in one place.

This is a single-author anthology, a collection of my short-short stories which are individually below the minimum word count the site allows. Subject matter will be varied, as that is the nature of the beast. Each chapter will be tagged in the title.

These stories are originally from Thirty Minute Ponies.

Published 2012-06-06 21:24:02 UTC
Last updated 2015-06-18 10:47:16 UTC

The Birthday - Slice of Life

“The Birthday”

My dearest foal,

I thank Celestia every day I wake up with you in my life, and my joy is all the greater today, on the anniversary of the day I first held you in my hooves. You are the best of me, and so much more than that. You allow me to see the world anew, and it is beautiful through your eyes. Always know that I love you so, so much.

-Mom

She added the final flourish to her signature and neatly spat out the pen onto the fine-grained wood of her writing desk. She folded the letter with a sharp crease, then slid it into a waiting envelope which was addressed with only a heart.

With the corner of the envelope pinched between her lips, she went downstairs. She carefully laid the envelope on the kitchen table, at the place facing the window, her daughter's favorite seat because she loved watching the ponies go by on the street outside. Then she began making a special birthday breakfast.

By the time the unicorn filly came bounding down the stairs, her pale purple hooves making a welcome clatter, all was in readiness—toasted clover and lightly fried apple slices on the plates, with small bowls of watercress-and-mushroom salad close at hand, and a stoppered bottle of slightly sweet oat vinaigrette by the vase of daisies in the center of the table.

The filly's gold-colored eyes widened into perfect circles of astonishment and a big smile burst onto her face. She hopped around the room in excited little circles. "All my favorites! Thank you mommy, thank you thank you!"

The gray mare grinned at her daughter's display and, laughing, shooed her to her seat. She turned to clutch a thick towel in her teeth and used it to lift a sweetly steaming pan of the filly’s favorite carrot-rhubarb muffins from the oven. She set the pan on the counter to cool and joined her daughter at the table.

The little filly was already reading the letter, its words written in a rough and uncoordinated scrawl: mama h ppy U day day day mama hapy U C pretty. The rest of the page was full of crudely-drawn hearts.

The filly finished reading, tears standing in her eyes, and threw her arms around her mother's neck. "I love you too, mommy!"

The gray mare's voice was full of emotion and love. "Mama."

The filly nodded against her neck. "I'm glad you're my mommy too."

The gray mare blinked tears out of her crossed golden eyes and smiled. Dinky always knows what I mean.

A/N: This short-short was originally written as a warm-up piece. I wanted to write about pony food, and it turned into Derpy cooking for Dinky’s birthday. I'm not sure how that happened, but I like it.

Twilight's Party - Slice of Life, Romance

“Twilight’s Party”

“Come on, come on!” Twilight chirped as she pulled Pinkie Pie down the street by the hoof she held. “I’ve set up a surprise party for your birthday and I want you to see it!”

Pinkie Pie giggled, punctuating it with a snort. “Sillypants, if you tell me about it, it’s not much of a surprise, is it?”

Twilight stopped mid-stride, causing Pinkie Pie to bump into her rump. Twilight didn’t notice; she was lost in thought, her eyes unfocused. “Huh. That hadn’t occurred to me.” She pursed and unpursed her lips, then brightened. “Oh well, now it’s just a regular party! Come on!” She bounded back into motion in the direction of the library, almost pulling Pinkie Pie off her hooves behind her. Pinkie Pie giggled again.

They halted in front of the library door. Twilight sat on her haunches and raised her free hoof to knock on the door in a complex pattern for a full five seconds. She turned to Pinkie and gave her a conspiratorial wink. “Clover’s Constant, expressed in hexadecimal. That way Spike knows it’s me, and that he needs to get ready for the surprise.”

Pinkie Pie covered her mouth with her free hoof to muffle her laughter. “Oh, Eggplant, you’re the cutest pony ever.”

Twilight cocked her head at Pinkie, visibly confused. “Thanks? Um, the surprise should be ready, so let’s go in.” Her horn glowed, and so did the door.

Inside, two presents and a small cake stood on the library’s central table, and Spike was nowhere to be seen. Twilight raised her head and called, over-enunciating each word, “Thanks for coming, Pinkie! Say, isn’t it your birthday?”

With a burst of confetti and a blast of the noisemaker in his lips, Spike leapt from behind the nearest couch. “Surprise! Surprise! Happy birthday, Pinkie!”

Pinkie looked around the otherwise-empty library, and her lips quirked in a grin.

Twilight saw it, and her face fell. “It’s not much of a party, I know. I’m no good at arranging this sort of thing.”

Pinkie sidled a step closer to Twilight and leaned against her. “You sillypants. A party with my two favorite people in the whole world? That sounds like a perfect party to me.” She motioned Spike over and gathered him into a hug. “Thanks, Twilight. Thanks, Spike.”

Twilight smiled and leaned her head against Pinkie’s. “Happy Birthday, Cupcake.”

A/N: This was originally written as a warm-up exercise shortly after I’d written “Darkly Dreaming Pinkie,” so I still had Twinkie on the brain.

Do That Thing With The Thing - Comedy

“Do That Thing With The Thing”

In the clean white front room of the boutique, two unicorns played.

“Oh, Rarity, I still can’t believe how good you are at that!”

White lips curled in a smile, and she did it again, eliciting a yelp, then a moan, from the lavender unicorn.

Twilight pushed her away. “No, no—oh Celestia—no, stop, cease, desist.” As the disappointed white muzzle lifted away, Twilight rolled and squirmed until she was facing Rarity. Purple eyes met blue with a practiced (secretly, in the mirror) hungry look. “Now it’s my turn.”

The hum of magic filled the air, followed an instant later by an unladylike grunt, shading into a moan. Twilight grinned.

Rarity spoke around the hank of her own mane clenched in her teeth. “Oh, Twilight, darling, it’s—Uh! Luna preserve me—marvelous! Do the thing with your horn again, and can you do the other thing too?”

Twilight wriggled closer and wrinkled her nose as she concentrated. The hum of magic intensified, and Rarity bit down on the hair in response. A long moment later, she found her breath and gasped, “Twilight! It’s— now, the time, with— with the rutabagas and the glitter!”

Twilight paused to cock her head at Rarity. “Are you sure? Last time—”

Rarity flailed her arms toward the hat rack and the tandem bicycle. “To Tartarus with last time!” She flipped over and thrust her head out of the turtle shell, fixing Twilight with a desperate glare. “It’s time! I need it! Get the rutabagas!”

Twilight saw that Rarity’s mood ring and mood go-go boots had turned from pink to tangerine, and she looked to the side and exchanged nods with the hedgehogs dressed as the cast of The Marechant of Venice. She reached out with her magic and lifted the rutabagas, glitter, and bucket of lead-free paint, a thrill running through her at hearing Rarity’s breath quicken in anticipation.

The front door of the boutique slammed open, and bright midday sunlight streamed in and illuminated the entire tableau. Applejack’s voice drawled through the room as she backed in, dragging a heavy bag in her teeth. “Heya, Rarity, I got those apples and apple accessories you wanted. I’m powerful curious as to what you need ‘em for—” Applejack turned around at last.

Twilight shut off her levitation spell, causing sixteen thuds, five squeaks, and two splats. A tight grin pasted itself onto her face. “Hi! Applejack! Lovely day, isn’t it? Listen, about all this—”

Applejack interrupted, almost a shout. “Eeeeenope.” She spun on her heel and walked out, closing the door firmly behind her.

Twilight let her hoof drop. “Uh . . .” She looked helplessly at Rarity.

The white unicorn looked back at her and raised an eyebrow. “Well, back to the rutabagas?”

This was my entry for Thirty Minute Ponies’ prompt #2, “Appleshocked”. The prompt was “Applejack walks in on a romantic moment between Twilight and Rarity.” I pushed the boundaries of Thirty Minute Ponies' rules with this one, heh.

No Words - Tragedy

"No Words"

They lay on the bed together, side by side, close enough to touch. Pinkie turned a page in the book. “The temple walls began collapsing around Daring Do, and she cast about for an escape—” She halted and looked at Twilight, who had tapped her shoulder.

Twilight’s mouth was open, her lips massaging the air as she searched in her head for a word. Her brow was knitted above angry, frustrated eyes. “W . . . what?” she forced out.

Pinkie smiled at her, hiding her pain. “Remember how Daring went into the temple?” Twilight thought a moment, then nodded silently. “Remember how she found the Dalybred Urn?” A shorter delay before the nod. “Good! Remember how when she touched the urn, it set off a trap?”

Twilight nodded in recognition, her mouth open as though to say, “Ah, yes, of course,” but she did not try to speak. Pinkie bit back a gentle reprimand. Twilight needed to speak, to exercise her brain. But she had remembered, that was enough for now.

Aphasia, the doctors had told her, and there’s nothing we can do. Pinkie had rushed to Canterlot and burst into the throne room, and had Princess Celestia not come willingly, Pinkie would have grabbed the monarch by the ear and dragged her all the way to Ponyville.

But even the mighty Celestia could do nothing for the hollowed-out unicorn. She said that the brain was too delicate for healing magic to be safe. She said that it risked changing the pony’s personality—Twilight’s personality—into someone unrecognizable. Behind closed doors, Pinkie had argued with her ruler, saying that it was worth the risk, that a Twilight who could not speak or write or carry on a conversation was already unrecognizable.

Celestia had shaken her head sadly, unwilling to lose her beloved Twilight. Then she gathered Pinkie to her with infinite tenderness and bore it while Pinkie hit and kicked her, hurling vile accusations and insults at her. At last, Pinkie’s anger had been spent and Celestia continued to hold her while she sobbed brokenly into the royal neck.

Celestia had laid herself on the floor next to the exhausted Pinkie Pie and quietly reassured her. Unicorns recovered from this sort of magically-induced trauma. Twilight had tried to cast a spell that was too great even for her vast power, and had injured her brain as a result. It was almost certainly not permanent, according to Celestia’s experience, though recovery was never easy. Pinkie had allowed her mind to be eased, and had made up her mind at that moment to do whatever she could to help Twilight become Twilight again.

Pinkie brought her eyes back into focus on the here and now. A warm summer breeze stirred the hospital curtains in the open window. “Where were we? Okey-dokey, here it is. ‘The temple walls began collapsing—’” Twilight tapped her again.

Twilight fought to force speech. “Thirst.”

“You’re thirsty?” Pinkie picked up the cup of water on the side table. “Here you go, Twilight.”

Twilight took the cup in her hooves and drank, easily and without a spilled drop, then set the empty cup on her own side table. She was in perfect physical health, other than being easily exhausted. It would have been much less serious if she had only lost a leg or the ability to walk. This injury cut deeper than that; it was, in many ways, worse than death. Pinkie forced her tears back, kept the encouraging smile on her face. She had to be strong for Twilight, to keep her talking so that she could heal, to keep her laughing so that she could live.

Pinkie lay a hoof down on the bed, and Twilight moved her arm to grip it tight, so tight. Twilight opened her mouth and struggled against herself for long seconds. “Read. More?”

Pinkie smiled at her. “For as long as you want, Twilight.” She turned back to the book and did what Twilight couldn’t.

A/N: This was originally written as an entry for Thirty Minute Ponies’ prompt #3, “Pangs”. The prompt was: "Twilight is grievously injured and only Pinkie Pie can save her."

Young New Music - Sad

“Young New Music”

The very old stallion sat on a park bench, near the bandstand. His body was wrinkled and shrunken in on itself like a dried apple, and he clutched a cane like a lifeline between his hooves. A fedora perched atop his sparse white mane, but below the brim his eyes shone, sharp and clear, young eyes in a wizened face.

On the stage, a young new band was playing, their instruments assisted by large speakers and amplifiers, the music more of a distorted electronic squeal than anything the very old stallion recognized as music.

He didn’t care much for it; it hurt his ears. But around the bandstand were young new ponies of every description, dancing like they were born to it, like this was the moment their entire lives had led up to. They danced like this moment would last forever and the music would never end.

But the very old stallion knew that the music always ended. And he had learned, especially now when his own concerto was playing its last movement, that the fact of the music’s ending meant that you had to dance all the harder while it was playing.

He looked at the young new crowd dancing to the young new music, and he watched their firm muscles move beneath their taut skins, and he saw their untroubled smiles below unclouded eyes, and he pitied them as he rejoiced for them as he envied them.

He closed very old eyelids over young eyes and remembered the words of a favorite poem:

They danced

until rivers of sweat

poured down their sides

until their muscles

trembled

until they panted for air.

They danced

with all that they had and

all that they were.

They danced

because it was when

they danced

that they were

free.

As the poem stepped through his mind, he heard the young new music afresh and realized that the young new band was playing the same music he had danced to when he was young, when he was new; it was only that it had changed to stay young and new and he himself had changed to become so very old.

He saw himself reflected in the ponies dancing to the music as though in a reverse funhouse mirror, one that improved your reflection to make you better than you are, that showed you as everything you wanted to be, carefree, and beautiful, and young, so young.

He closed his wrinkled eyelids again and tilted his head back and let the young new music wash over him and through him, and he imagined that one particular song was still playing. He imagined the curly mane compressing against his shoulder, and the smell of soap and perfume, and he smiled. “Oh, Eunice, do you remember?” he asked, silently.

He imagined her eyes—bright blue, undimmed in his memory—opening and taking in the dancing young ponies, and he imagined her smile and silent nod, and he imagined that she laid her head back on his shoulder, right on the spot that had been empty for so long. And she said, “Why don’t we dance anymore, Henry? What happened to us?”

And the very old stallion could only shrug his empty shoulders, and listen to the young new music, and press together his very old eyelids to hold back his tears.

A/N: This was written for prompt #8 at Thirty Minute Ponies. The prompt was named “Poetry In Motion,” and the prompt is at the bottom of this author’s note. That prompt produced a surprising number of dead ponies, and my entry was no exception.

The prompt:
They danced
until rivers of sweat
poured down their sides
until their muscles
trembled
until they panted for air.
They danced
with all that they had and
all that they were.
They danced
because it was when
they danced
that they were
free.

(Edited to add: Write a story about ponies dancing. The above is offered to help inspire you as to determining these ponies’ motivations, feelings about dancing, etc.)

First Loss - Normal

In the world-girdling forest, two sisters crouched. The elder-by-moments, who had taken to calling herself Celestia, cradled in her hooves the ashes of her beloved pet, Philomena. The younger-by-moments, who had chosen the name Luna, sat by her sister’s side and held her in an attempt at comfort.

Celestia was heartbroken. In all the world, the young world that stank of life and death in equal parts, Philomena was the first creature she had met apart from her sister who had not withered and died in mere decades. Philomena had become her trusted companion, the one creature she could trust not to abandon her to run beyond the gate of death, that threshold that was so tightly barred against the sisters.

But now, after centuries, she held the ashen corpse of her beloved pet and the sting of betrayal mixed with the familiar pain of loss. She had seen millions of creatures die in her short lifetime, had held many of them in their hooves as she watched their eyes shift focus to look beyond the gate. She had thought herself inured against the mere desperation of watching death. So why did this hurt so very much?

Celestia’s pink mane fell into her eyes, and her tears fell to mix into the rich humus of the soil. Luna leaned into her and stroked her shoulder, murmuring comforting noises. Celestia lowered her hooves, spilling Philomena’s ashes onto the soil in a small mound. She stared at the mound, at the flecks of ash remaining on her hooves, and she wanted to be angry. She wanted to rage at Philomena for her unjust abandonment, at Luna for her inability to make this pain pass, at the forest around them, redolent of death and life, for not caring about the pain of one little immortal.

In a rush, her emotions—her pain, her anger—left her, leaving a hollow void behind. She considered this, and found it good. The absence of feeling was better than the presence of pain. She stood, startling Luna. “We go.”

Luna stood, head cocked at Celestia. “Why?”

“Done crying. We go.”

Luna searched her face, shook her head. “Still crying. Why go?”

Celestia stomped a hoof, which sank deep into the hateful decaying dead humus. “Done crying! Not gonna cry more.” She turned and stormed away into the forest, not caring what direction. It was the same everywhere.

Luna gaped after her, then frowned and followed, catching up with a brief flutter of wings. Not more than a hundred paces later, a fireball erupted in the forest behind them. They both spun to face this terrifying new thing. The fireball dispersed above the canopy, became a smaller vortex of flame, and Luna’s sharper eyes saw to the heart of it first. She looked at Celestia, watched the shifting shadows on her sister’s face as the flaming thing flew closer, watched Celestia’s emotions laid bare on her face, uncertainty and fear shifting to curiosity, then to unfiltered joy as she saw it clearly.

Then the flaming thing was upon them and it hit Celestia, knocking her flat onto her back. When Luna blinked away the afterimages, she smiled, her eyes stinging with reflected happiness. Philomena’s gleaming head, new and bright, was pressed into the soft coat on Celestia’s chest, her brilliant new plumage spread over Celestia like a comforting blanket as they hugged each other and cooed happily.

Author's note: This was originally written for Thirty Minute Ponies Prompt #19, "Pet Detectives". The prompt was "One of the pets is gone."

That One Moment - Sad

We became the pink one’s friends, one after the other, to frighten and confuse her, to make her ripe for the taking. We became the white one, with her easily-exploited greed and desire for the beautiful. The blue one, with her burning need for self-aggrandizement. The yellow one, with her core of strength, so easy to turn back onto itself. But the pink one ignored us. No, worse. She enjoyed it. We were confused by this. None of us had ever encountered such a thing before, and knew not how to respond.

Then the pink one spoke, in a voice glowing with an emotion tantalizingly close to love. She giggled, and said, “Do me! Do me!”

Our confusion only grew. Creatures were meant to be frightened by us, so that their fear would break down the walls protecting their innermost selves, allowing us to become whatever they most desired, to drain them dry of love to feed us.

Ponies were especially vulnerable to our attack. They relied intensely on their individuality. It filled their selves to the brim, the sure and fallacious knowledge that they were utterly unique in all the world. Foolishness. Feeding on ponies was all too easy, once they had been cracked by our techniques, once they saw that they were transparent to us.

Why was this pony, this pink one, not responding as expected? We grew angry. We would make a show of duplicating the pink one down to the last iota, the last fiber of her self, so that she would look upon us and despair at being so known.

We reached into her, coursing down the channels of her mind with the speed of intuition. Knowledge of the pink one’s self flowed into us. The knowledge of the physical came first, as always: what it feels like to be trapped in one form, in one unchanging body, all alone. The pink one was . . . fluid. Bouncy, light as air and solid as stone, malleable yet always herself. We had never felt anything like it.

The knowledge of reflection came next: what the pink one thought of herself, the inner landscape which forms the lens of perception. The pink one was . . . content. An impossibility. No thinking prey was ever content! The pink one defied us. She was aware of her limitations, and did not fear to rely on others when needed.

The knowledge of perception came last: the world, filtered through the physical and colored by reflection, what lesser creatures than us thought of as the “personality” in their weakness and stupidity. The pink one’s perception flowed into us, and we were staggered. The pink one saw everything, including us, with love. Our mind swam with the pink one’s perception, her ability to love everything for what it is, even when it needed to be fought.

We became the pink one—Pinkie Pie—and looked at her through her own eyes, and found that we loved her. I realized that I could not help but love her, because she was beautiful and wonderful and perfect, exactly as she was. And when she changed, slowly over time as ponies do, I would still love her, because she would still be beautiful and wonderful and perfect, exactly as she would be.

I smiled at her, wanting her to see that I loved her, that I knew her for who she was, down to the last iota, the last fiber of her self, and I loved all of it, because she was herself.

My heart sank as she regarded me critically. “Eh . . . I’ve seen better,” she said, with finality.

In the next moment, I was struck by a blast of powerful magic and felt Pinkie’s self rip out of us in the torrent of power, leaving us as we had been before.

It was all right.

She loved us.

Author’s note: This story is from Thirty Minute Ponies’ Prompt #57, “Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes.” The prompt was “Despite how easily he changed physical appearance, the changeling remained utterly the same and unvarying on the inside … until the day he met Pinkamena Diane Pie.”

The Interview - Comedy

“Mr. Jar? Ah, hello, Mr. Jar. I’m Byline, from the Ponyville Independent Press.”

“Good afternoon, Ms. Byline. Please, come in.”

“Thank you for granting this interview, Mr. Jar.”

“Oh, my pleasure. And please, Mr. Jar is my father. Call me Jam.”

The reporter, a tan-coated earth pony, smiled graciously. “As you wish, Jam. I’ll set up the recorder, and we can begin.”

“Certainly. The living room will be fine. You can put the recorder on the coffee table.”

“That should work nicely.” Byline opened her notepad and readied her pencil. “Alright, we are recording. This is an interview with Mr. Jam Jar, Ponyville’s head quality assurance tester for jams, jellies, preserves, and compotes. Jam, how long have you been Ponyville’s JJPC tester?”

“Nearly 50 years, Byline.”

Her pencil moved across her pad. “That’s a long career. How did you get started?”

He settled deeper into his chair, and smiled across the years. “When I was just a foal, I knew I wanted this job. It was my dream to work with jams, jellies, preserves, and compotes, my dream to make them the best they could be for my fellow Ponyvillians. I studied hard, I trained hard, and when I graduated I was hired as an entry-level jelly sniffer. Now, jelly sniffing is tedious work, but rewarding. You should never underestimate the importance of the sniff test. When I was just a starter sniffer, I caught a bad batch that would have given half the town indigestion. That was when I knew for sure I’d found my calling, and from that moment on, I sniffed the jelly like the jelly had never been sniffed before.”

Byline nodded, and looked up from her notes. “When did you become the head JJPC quality assurance tester?”

“Oh, it was, let me think . . . about twenty years after that jelly-sniffing success. I’d been moving up through the ranks, from jelly sniffer to jam fondler, then later to compote nibbler. Finally I got the big promotion, the one that really made my career, and I became the Western Director of Preserve Preservation.”

“For the benefit of our readers, Jam, can you explain what preserve preservation is all about?”

“It’d be my pleasure, Ms. Byline. You see, the methods for making preserves have changed over the years, and one of the ways they’ve changed is the introduction of preservatives to keep the preserves preserved in Ponyville’s pantries. And the Bureau of Jams, Jellies, Preserves and Compotes has created regulations on the amount and type of preservatives which are allowed in preserves, to safeguard the health of Ponyvillians and also to keep a check on aggressive newfangledness which would negatively impact the flavor or bouquet of Ponyville preserves. In short, our duty is preserving Ponyville’s preserves to protect its perfect piquancy and preserve Ponyville’s primacy as the preserve of proper preserves.”

She stared at Jam a moment, then scratched some notes. “I see. And is it true that the FBIP was your creation?”

“The Full-Body Immersion Procedure? Yes, yes it was. And it’s the thing I’m most proud of in my entire career. The development of the FBIP was a huge leap forward in JJPC technology.”

Byline raised an eyebrow at him, tapping her pencil against the pad as she thought. “Why, though, is the FBIP only performed by you, specifically?”

“Because I’m the leading expert in jams, jellies, preserves, and compotes, Ms. Byline. By immersing myself in the product, I can leverage all my years of experience to evaluate the product’s quality directly, with all five senses. And since I instituted the FBIP 22 years ago, Ponyville has never had a case of food-borne illness from any jam, jelly, preserve, or compote. I take pride in that.” He leaned back with a satisfied smile.

“But, ah, when you’re in the product, what about your, ah, fruits and berries?”

He glanced down and crossed his legs. “Ms. Byline! I’ll have you know that the FBIP has always included a rubber-pants proviso. After all, we wouldn’t want any Jam in the jam, if you take my meaning. Not to mention that the pants reduce friction and help me really get close to the product, really intimate with it. All part of keeping Ponyville safe.”

Byline shuddered. “I think that will be all, Mr. Jar. Thank you again for the interview.”

“My pleasure, Ms. Byline. Have a pleasant evening.”

“And you, Jam.”

Byline walked around the corner and out of sight of Jam’s house before stopping to jot a final note in her pad. “. . .Mr. Jar is strangely obsessed with tubs of jelly.”

Author’s note: The original version of this is from Thirty Minute Ponies’ Prompt #75, “Seven More Days.” The prompt was “X only has one week left before retirement.” I had been feeling that my dialogue needed work, so I challenged myself to use mostly untagged and unattributed dialogue, forcing me to convey emotion strictly with the dialogue. Also I had a very silly idea that worked well as a dialogue-centric piece, so I ran with it.

Relativity - Comedy

Pinkie Pie and her five best friends were having lunch together at a pleasant outdoor cafe that they favored. Just then, Pinkie’s stomach rumbled, which drew stares from the others because stomachs rumbling during lunch are somewhat confusing, and then it faded away, leaving a belly-shaped divot in Pinkie Pie. This, as you might imagine, continued to draw stares.

The divot filled in a moment later as her stomach returned, and all eyes shifted to Pinkie’s face.

“Pinkie,” began Twilight, with some trepidation, “what just happened?”

Pinkie finished chewing and swallowing her bite of food. “It means it’s time.”

Eyes blinked and heads tilted all around the table. Fluttershy lifted a questioning hoof. “What time is it when your tummy disappears?”

Pinkie slugged back her glass of water and thumped it down onto the table. She threw a grin around at her friends. “It means it’s time for time.”

Applejack got out, “Wha—?” but by the second syllable of the word, Pinkie was already running off toward Sugarcube Corner.

The others threw money onto the table and took off after her. Catching up, Twilight said, “What does that even mean, Pinkie?”

“It means I’ve begun to fade out due to timeline instability, which means I need to use my time machine to make sure I continue to exist! Simple, see?”

Twilight spluttered, unable to form coherent words for a moment. “That makes even less sense than it did before! Time machines are a theoretical impossibility! And what do you mean, ‘make sure you continue to exist’?”

The group of them stormed through the front door of Sugarcube Corner and down to the basement, where a candy-striped chair stood in one corner.

Pinkie walked around it briefly, inspecting the connections on the various wires and leads coming from it. “Time machines are a theoretical impossibility, but the opposite of that is a practical possibility, and so I just flipped the signs on all the math and here we are—time machine!”

Twilight began spluttering again, building up a proper head of outrage at that premeditated abuse of mathematics. Pinkie’s nose disappeared, then returned a moment later. “Sorry, Twilight, but I really gotta go. Time’s a-wasting. Ha! Time travel joke there.”

Pinkie donned her saddlebags and tossed a towel, a trash bag, and a potion bottle labeled Formula 63 into the bags. She flung herself into the candy-striped chair and yanked the lever with an excited grin. The rest of the ponies covered their eyes against the bright flash the chair created. “See you girls sooooooooooooooon . . .” Pinkie called, her voice sounding like it was echoing from a great distance away.

Five ponies stood in the now-chairless basement. They exchanged glances.

“What the f—” Dash got out, before another bright flash filled the basement.

The chair was back, smoking slightly. In fact, it was smoking about as much as the pony seated in it. Pinkie Pie ashed her cigarette with a very satisfied smile.

Twilight grabbed her by the shoulders. “What just happened, Pinkie? I need answers!”

Pinkie took a long drag on her cigarette, puffed it toward the ceiling, and said, “Not much. Just had to go back and impregnate my grandmother. Fate of the multiverse kind of thing, you know how it is.” She tossed the empty bottle of Formula 63 into a trash can.

Twilight boggled at her. “But that— but how— what?”

Fluttershy blinked slowly, then raised a hoof. “Um, Pinkie Pie? Doesn’t that make you your own grandfather?”

Pinkie nodded. “It sure does.”

Author’s note: The original version is part of Thirty Minute Ponies’ Prompt #77, “All in the Family.” The prompt was “Two of the Mane Six have just learned that they’re related.” Obviously, I stretched the prompt to its breaking point by having Pinkie be both of the “two” the prompt called for. I regret nothing.

The Feathered Gods - Dark

The heavy, jingling tromp of armored ponies echoed down the alley and could be heard through the thickness of the oak door. Mistral threw a panicked look at the weathered wood.

“Hurry, children, hurry! Down into the cellar!”

“But Daddy!”

“Shush now, hurry along, and stay quiet, no matter what you hear, alright?” He looked at his eldest, a slip of a girl, just old enough to understand the gravity of the situation. She met his look with frightened but alert eyes, and he nodded at her. “Keep your brothers and sister safe, now, Silver Lining. Go to your aunt’s if . . . if you need to, alright?”

Her eyes were huge and damp, but she sniffled quietly and nodded, turning to herd her siblings down into the darkness of the cellar. Mistral covered the cellar hatch with a heavy rug as the armored steps outside came closer. He approached the door, and flinched as a mailed hoof knocked against it, his wings twitching up, his body begging him to fly away.

Bang! Bang! “Sun’s Blessing upon you! Have you heard the word of Celestia?”

He swallowed dryness and raised his voice. “I have, my lord! Thank you, may you find luck in your search for heathens!”

Silence. His thoughts fled to the cache of ikons safely buried in the cellar floor, the tiny crystal figure of Cirrus, he who grants us clear skies and cool breezes to fly in; the obsidian column which represented Nimbus, goddess of war and furious rage; and the golden decanter dedicated to Precipitus, the god of plenty. He swept his eyes around his tiny home, noting the sun disk over the mantel, a token of dedication to the new goddess, Celestia, the Risen Sun. He felt like spitting.

Crack! Mailed hooves bashed against the door, bending it inward with a sound like thunder. A tiny shriek from below his hooves, quickly muffled. Crack! The door snapped and banged open, hanging crazily on a single hinge. The Solar Knights marched in, filling the small room with the scent of zealotry and warm metal.

Cirrus, see me through this storm, he prayed. He bowed to the Knights, trying to still the quivering of his knees. “My lord Crusaders, I bid you welcome to my home. May the Sun light your path.”

The leader sneered at him. “Silence, heretic. We know you continue to worship the dead gods, in defiance of the Holy Sun.”

His bowels felt watery, but he forced a smile onto his face. “My lord, I don’t know what you mean. I tithe, I wear the Disk close to my heart, I thank the Risen Sun each morning and pray that She will warm me and light my path so that I may serve her and avoid the darkness. I have no need, nor any love, for the— the dead gods, my lord.”

The leader’s sneer became a smirk. “A heretic and a liar. Men, kill him.”

As steel whispered from scabbards, Mistral looked through his broken door for a last glimpse of the sky, and saw his neighbor speaking closely with one of the Crusaders, a neighbor whose belief in the Feathered Gods was as strong as his own. The Crusader reached for a fat purse at his belt, and the neighbor’s eyes lit up.

Nimbus, I beg you, exercise your rage.

The Crusader’s hoof changed course suddenly, grasping his dagger instead of his purse. The neighbor’s eyes widened for an instant before the hilt was protruding from her throat.

Mistral smiled and looked at the blue sky beyond the rooftops, ignoring the Crusaders in front of him. O Cirrus, smooth my flight to Stratus. The Crusader’s sword whistled through the air.

Author’s note: The original version of this story was for Thirty Minute Ponies’ Prompt #83, “Adventure, Ho!” The prompt was “The Crusaders go crusading.” In a rare turn of events, I had an idea for one of my own prompts. The original concept for this was a comedy, because the image of Crusaders going door-to-door like Jehovah’s Witnesses amused me greatly. To my surprise, this was the story that happened.

They're Back - Comedy, Random

Foreword: This story was written for a shortfic prompt, requesting humorous stories of fewer than 550 words. The prompt was: Pinkie Pie engages somepony in a glowstick fight in the dark.

Light caromed out of every window in the Ponyville Town Hall, illuminating the nearby buildings and the low-hanging night fog with garish neon colors flickering red to blue to green. A pounding beat rattled the windowpanes in time with the changing colors.

Twilight Sparkle glanced again at the invitation clutched in her hoof. With a resigned shrug of her eyebrows, she took a deep breath and pushed the door open.

The music leapt through the open door like a living thing, thickening the air with its vibrations. Her eardrums cringed, but she pushed through the door and closed it tight behind her. Inside, the music was even louder. The high notes vibrated her teeth in her jaw and the low notes punched the air out of her lungs. Twilight made herself keep walking, looking around for Pinkie.

Across the room, through the strobes and colored spotlights, Twilight caught a glimpse of poofy mane, colored crimson for an instant by an errant beam of light. With sinking heart, Twilight weighed her options. All of the Town Hall's furniture had been shoved up against the rounded walls and the enormous circular floor was crowded with ponies clustering around the DJ booth in the center. To cross the room, Twilight had no choice but to go across the dance floor. She gritted her teeth and plunged in.

Several minutes later, she pulled herself from between an overly enthusiastic couple who had not seemed to notice when she got between their grinding. She wiped the sweat from her coat as she caught her breath, and wished she'd had the forethought to bring a bottle of antiseptic spray. The dancers were funky, and not in the good way.

Pinkie spotted her as she was wringing the last drops out of her mane and gave her a big, excited wave. "Twilight!" Her squeal cut effortlessly through the deafening music. She left the ponies she was talking to and joined Twilight at the edge of the dance floor. "I'm pleased as pickleberry punch that you made it, Twilight!"

Twilight couldn't help but return Pinkie's smile. Pinkie's happy face was enough to push the dance-floor funk and the pain in her ears from her mind. "I knew it was important to you, Pinkie. I wouldn't have miss— uh. What's that?"
Way up, near the high ceiling, several dozen small lights bobbed and weaved. They were green and yellow and blue and moved like drunken fireflies. Twilight's first thought was that they were pegasi, but all the pegasi at the party were dancing or hovering just above head height. She squinted, but the darkness in the high domed ceiling prevented her from seeing anything.

"Pinkie, are those decorations? What are those?"

Pinkie sighed. "Ninjas." She reached into the depths of her mane and produced two pink glowsticks. "Rave ninjas. They know I'm honor-bound to do battle with them. Back in a jiff!" A strobe flashed, and Pinkie was gone.

"...What?"

The Future is Now - Cyberpunk AU

I take a swig of soycaf to wash down the bitter aftertaste of the narcostick. Combining narc and caffeine always makes me a little bit crazy. But tonight, that's just what I need.

Down the street, the gleaming armorglass cube of Canterlot Corp headquarters rises above the slums. The most powerful corp in the world, and my target.

My team and I are sitting at a food stall waiting on the go-code from our B-team. They're going to make some noise at a nearby facility and bring Cantercorp security down on them. The idea is that they'll be gone by the time security arrives. I hope so. I paid them in advance. That will shift security away from the main building, which will make our run easier.

That's the idea, anyway.

To my right is Big Mac, the best street samurai I could find who would work with a unicorn decker. He lives up to his handle. He's a tower of muscle with cybertech back legs. He's a pony, but he's supposed to be strong enough to give metaponies like minotaurs and trolls a run for their money. I've heard he can buck through a foot of ferroconcrete. Hopefully we won't have to find out.

To my left is the rigger, Fluttershy. She's a metapony too. A pegasus. Her drones orbit her head like a halo of gun oil. She calls the little one her "Angel." She's affixed a sticker of a cartoon rabbit right between its machine guns. She's got bags under her eyes and a tiny smile that never goes away. She creeps me the drek out. But word in the shadows is that there's nobody better watching your back while you're jacked in.

My commlink pulses. It's time.

I nod to my team, drop some newbits on the stall's filthy counter, and we leave.

Ten minutes later, we're inside. The 'bits I paid for that Cantercorp ID badge paid off. We were able to trot right through the secure employee gate and the exterior door. Security is light. So far, the plan is working.

My intel is good: there's a network jack right across the hall from the executive elevator. I tuck myself behind a potted plant and sling my deck off my back. I jack the deck into my head. The rush of speed and potential tingles in my brain. It never gets old. I grip the deck's external jack in my magic and move it toward the Cantercorp wall socket, but pause just before I jack in. I glance at my team. They see it, poised as they are on a knife-edge of tension, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Fluttershy nods at me. Her constant smile curves a bit. She probably thinks it's reassuring. "We've got you, Twilight."

Big Mac just nods and goes back to scanning the doors for movement. His hoofblades gleam in the fluorescent light.

It's now or never. I jack in.

An instant of displacement, wrenching disorientation as my mind and body argue over where I am and what I'm feeling. It passes as my brain wins, the data flow from the jack trumping my body's more distant inputs. The Matrix spreads out before me. I'm standing in a section of welcoming white and blue, the unsecured office net. A couple of ports away, the terrain changes to an angry red. That's the high-security Cantercorp intranet. My destination.

The red landscape climbs in towers and spires, false images representing their physical locations, functions, importance. I ignore it all. My target is behind all of it, at the exact center of the intranet. The tallest tower. Crusted black with ICE that will fry my brain if I'm not as good as I think I am. At the top of the tower, there is a brilliance like a lighthouse.

I bare my teeth in a grin. That light is the virtual presence of Celestia, Cantercorp's CEO. The unicorn who raised me, who taught me the secrets of decking. The unicorn who turned on me, casting me out into the slums.

She expected me to die like the pampered little security drone I was. She never expected me to return, running the shadows and more novahot than she ever was.

I launch myself toward the intranet, virtual hooves skimming inches above the false landscape. It's time for revenge.

Author's Note

This story was written as the prompt announcement text for Thirty Minute Ponies' prompt #433. The prompt was "reimagine My Little Pony as cyberpunk."

The Walk - Slice of Life

A polite scratching at the door roused Celestia from the papers on her desk. "Come in," she called.

The door opened, and Twilight Sparkle entered. She noticed the mounds of paperwork on Celestia's desk, and flushed. "I'm sorry to bother you while you're busy, Pri— um, Celestia."

"It's quite alright, Twilight. I know full well that you wouldn't come here without reason. What is it?"

Twilight hesitated. Celestia waited, unperturbed and patient, until finally the words spilled from the little alicorn. "I don't know who else to turn to. Ever since I— since I became—" She set her mouth and gave an impatient flick of her wings. "I've been feeling more and more . . . lost? I don't know how to put it. The responsibility, the power, the magic—it's too much. I don't know what to do." The last word was heavier than its single syllable, and Twilight's face fell as she said it.

Celestia rose gracefully from her chair and came around the desk to Twilight. She smiled. "Walk with me, Twilight."

Twilight nodded and followed. They went in silence down out of the tower that housed Celestia's office, across courtyards and through hallways, each filled with castle staff who bowed or curtseyed as the princesses passed through.

At last, they fetched up in front of a discreet door, lightly ornamented and made of blonde wood. Celestia nodded at it. "After you."

Reflexively, Twilight balked, but the new instinct smoothly replaced the old, and she opened the door with barely a pause. She went through the door, and gasped.

Celestia followed, smiling. Twilight was gaping, agog at where she found herself. It was a narrow arcade, a straight walkway that faded into the distance, lined on both sides with slender, arching columns twined about with flowering vines. The ceiling was unworked stone, creamy white and groined between each set of arches. The midday sunlight reflected into the arcade from the nearby parts of the castle, illuminating everything with a clean, directionless light that cast no shadows.

The floor was a mosaic of tiny tiles, each hardly the size of a tooth. They formed a single straight line down the center of the arcade, with innumerable and multicolored lines and curves splitting off from it at seemingly random intervals. Each of the branches went to its side of the mosaic and ended.

Twilight finally shut her mouth and managed to speak. "Where are we?"

Celestia's smile was kind, as always, but more distant than Twilight was used to seeing. "This is my Walk. Come, and I will explain." They walked at a brisk pace through the arcade for a few minutes before she continued. "I laid each of these tiles myself. I work on the Walk a little each day. Sometimes, I lay a single tile. Sometimes, I lay many more."

Twilight could only think to ask one thing. "Why?"

"It is a form of meditation. I walk the Walk, and then I add to it. You have noticed the branches, of course?"

Twilight was put off-balance by the seeming non-sequitur. "I, yes?"

Celestia nodded. "The central line represents my life. It is the path I chose. The branches . . . they represent the paths not taken."

Twilight stared at the dozens of branches within easy sight, turning that over in her head. Before she could formulate a response, Celestia continued.

"Each branch has a story. Each one represents a decision that I made, consciously or unconsciously."

"I see," Twilight said, though she didn't.

"I became an alicorn in a time of great need. So great was Equestria's need for a leader, it shaped Luna and me into leaders."

Twilight was as confused as ever, but she was eager to hear more of Celestia's history. "Yes?" she asked, hoping to elicit more.

"I felt the same doubts that you are feeling now. The potential and the responsibility crushed me under and drove me to inaction."

Twilight blinked, then nodded thoughtfully.

"It took me some time to realize that the mechanism of my . . . advent could guide me along the right path. That is when I started creating the Walk. The central line is an unbroken chain of decisions for the betterment of Equestria. It gives me purpose. Stability. You understand, now, how important that can be."

"I see," said Twilight again, and this time she did. "So I should find my purpose."

Celestia smiled at her. "I think you already know it, my faithful student, but it is very like you not to know that you know."

Twilight stared quizzically at Celestia, pondering her words. She hardly noticed when they stepped off the end of the mosaic onto naked white stone. She was still mulling over Celestia's enigmatic smile when her ears pricked up at a sudden burst of laughter. Laughter Twilight recognized.

Twilight's mouth fell open as realization hit her like a kick between the eyes. Seeing it, Celestia's smile widened into a grin. Celestia turned off the Walk into a shady garden nook, and Twilight followed around one corner and a second before coming upon what Celestia had brought her to see.

"Twilight!" Five voices cried out in welcoming unison. Her five best friends were here, in the heart of Canterlot, seated around a picnic lunch spread out on the soft grass. Their smiling faces were as warm as the summer sun.

Celestia leaned close to whisper, "Set your course by friendship, Twilight Sparkle. Make your own straight line following their smiles."

Twilight could only nod. She heard her friends get up in surprise and come to embrace her as she started crying great heaving sobs of relief.

Author's Note

This was written as a submission for Thirty Minute Ponies' prompt #452. The prompt was "A trip to the arcade."

The Cave - Adventure, Dark (depending on taste)

Light that filled the sky, and a clap of thunder like getting kicked in the head. And a tiny shape falling, trailing light behind it like a shooting star.

Oh, Celestia. “Twilight!” To Rainbow and Fluttershy: “Catch her! We gotta run!”

They flew up lickety-split and snagged Twi between them. You can always count on Fluttershy when the chips are down.

The light faded out of the sky and darkness replaced it - a darkness that swelled and grew up out of the dead grey horizon, a darkness with eyes and gleaming teeth in a smile that could swallow the world. “Morpheus is coming! Move, move! Get to that cave!”

The mouth split open and Morpheus’ voice pretty near shook the ground out from under my hooves. “Little ponies, what will you do without your Magic?” I could feel his smirk on the back of my head, but I just kept hightailing it for the cave. Rarity and Pinkie Pie kept right on up with me, too, running for all they were worth.

We rounded a boulder and there was the cave, shining from inside with that sweet light. I felt Morpheus growl more than I heard it, and the ground felt wrong all of a sudden. I jammed my hooves in and threw myself sideways into Rarity, knowing Pinkie would feel it too.

I caught a whiff of that shampoo of hers as we crashed down into a prickly bush. I hopped up fast as I could, and just in time, too. Some kind of oily black thing was climbing out of the hole that had opened up in the ground. It didn’t have eyes, but I could feel it looking at me. Rainbow had that look and I knew I had to head her off at the pass. I shouted, “Keep going! Get Twilight to the cave!” and I rushed at the monster while it was still hauling itself up.

I heard the girls head off, thank the stars. Last thing I wanted to worry about was this thing getting more than one of us. It roared at me as I came close. Its breath was like a summer outhouse. It lifted its shapeless hand to swat at me, and I jerked to the side as it came down in a whack that would have crushed a house. It reared back to hit again, but it wasn’t any kind of smart. It’d let me get over to its other hand. I spun and gave it a buck, neat as you please. My hooves sank into it a little in a way that made my skin crawl, but underneath the soft was all hard, and if it’d been a tree, I’d have bucked off all its apples and its leaves.

The monster roared again, with pain in it this time, and its hand slipped from the edge of the hole. It grabbed at the earth but couldn’t hold on, and in a blink, it was gone.

I hauled off and ran for the cave fast as I could, before Morpheus had any more ideas. Pinkie and Rainbow were watching me come. Rainbow looked half-impressed and half-envious. Pinkie just looked worried. I ran harder.

The clean light spilling out of the cave felt like a bath after a hard day in the fields. I had to squint against the gleam of the crystals studding the walls as I skidded to a stop.

“Nice kick, AJ!”

“You really showed that nasty old icky monster!”

I shook my head and peered deeper into the cave. “Never mind that. How’s Twi?”

Rainbow’s face fell and a flicker of mad lit in her eyes. She was upset that I’d reminded her. “She’s in the back. I think it’s not good.”

I sucked air through my teeth. “Where?”

Pinkie walked by. “Over here.” I tried not to see just how worried she looked.

They’d set Twilight down deeper in, around a corner to hide her from the outside. This was a safe place ‘cause of the crystals, somehow, but it was a good bit of caution anyway.

Fluttershy was fussing over Twilight, and Rarity was clucking and murmuring and doing whatever she could to help. The floor of the cave was gritty with a sandy muck that dug its way into your coat, but Rarity was laying right down in it, not even paying attention. That made my gut clench up. “How is she?”

Rarity ignored me. Fluttershy swallowed, but her eyes were steady as rocks when she looked at me. That mare’s been around a lot of pain and death with her animals. I couldn’t do what she does, I know that. So her words made my heart stop and think twice before it decided to go on beating: “It’s very bad.”

I sank down by them. My hat was in my hooves, twisting around without me making them do it. The apple necklace was cold against my throat. “What’ll we do without her?” Twi was the only one who could fight Morpheus. It had to be magic to magic, we knew that coming in. The rest of us were here to help however we could, but it was Twi’s show.

No one had an answer for me.

Twilight opened her eyes.

I started to say her name, all glad-like, but it clogged in my throat when I saw. Her eyes were empty, like she was already gone. Her lips moved like she wanted to talk, but the only sound that came out was a burbling rattle.

The rattle stopped like it was cut off with a knife. Fluttershy pressed her hooves to her mouth and a gasping sob worked its way around them.

I looked up at the ceiling, just to look at nothing for a while. I tried to breathe. How were we going to tell her family no NO fight Morpheus now? We had to help the Gloamlings, that was why we were here.

A seam of brilliant light walked its way across the cave’s ceiling. I blinked at it, sure my eyes were playing tricks with my tears, but it was still there. It went from floor to ceiling to floor, then it cracked like an eggshell and the hot white light flooded over me.

“. . .jack. Applejack. Wake up!” It was Twilight’s voice. I forced my eyes open against the light. It was Twilight’s horn, touching right between my eyes and glowing fit to burst.

When she saw me looking at her, she let it fade and sat back, breathing hard. She smiled, just the way I never thought I’d see again. I hadn’t had time to realize that I was going to miss it. “Thank goodness you’re awake. You can help me wake up the others.”

I felt like my brain had missed a stagecoach somewhere. “What?”

She pointed at the bodies of the other girls, who were sprawled and contorted like they’d collapsed in the middle of running. I looked around. We were in the cave still. Or maybe again? I levered myself up. My legs felt like I hadn’t moved in a week. They wobbled under me. I frowned in Twilight’s direction. “What happened?”

“Morpheus tricked us somehow. He got around my protection spells and used his sleep power on us. When I . . . died, in the dream, I realized what had happened and was able to break the enchantment.”

I grunted. “Master of Dreams, alright. Just like Luna warned us. So what’s the plan once we wake the others up?”

She smiled. “It’s all taken care of.”

I just stared at her. My eyebrow climbed on its own.

She went on, “He was here when I woke up. He didn’t expect me to wake up, and I took him by surprise.”

“You mean—”

She nodded and hitched her head to the side, pointing out toward the mouth of the cave, at a little bundle of rags and fur laying motionless on the floor. I hadn’t noticed it until then, ‘cause it was so small. “I tried to use the Elements on him, but with the rest of you still under his spell, they wouldn’t activate.” She looked down and pawed at the floor. “I had to really fight him.”

I teetered over to her and put a hoof on her shoulder. “I know you did what you had to do, Twi. You saved us, and you freed the Gloamlings.”

She touched my hoof with hers. “Thanks, Applejack.”

I smiled. “Now let’s get the girls up and get home.” I’d been too long away from the farm. Duty was duty, but I wanted to get back to my work.

A seam of brilliant light crossed her face like she was being unzipped from the inside. My heart thundered in my chest as I skittered back away. She tilted her head at me, horrifyingly puzzled. She cracked like an eggshell and the light surrounded me.

Author's Note

This was written for Thirty Minute Ponies' prompt #478. The prompt was "The only way out is if someone dies."

Beautiful Dreamer - Romance, Slice of Life

“Beautiful Dreamer”

In the night, Pinkie Pie awoke. She rolled her head to the side and looked at Rainbow Dash, still asleep next to her. Dash’s sleeping face always surprised her, how different it was from her habitual demeanor.

Pinkie loved Dash’s waking face, the curl of her lip, the lift of her eyebrow, the dare in her eyes; but her sleeping face was beautiful, and poignant, because it showed the Rainbow who lay concealed behind the Dash. In sleep, the pegasus’ face was open, vulnerable, tender. A small smile perched delicately on her lips and her brow was smooth and untroubled.

Pinkie wanted, as always, to kiss those smiling lips, to taste the happiness that let them smile always. But, as always, she raised a hoof to that brow and gently, oh so gently, brushed the multicolored forelock away from Dash’s forehead. It wouldn’t do to wake such a beautiful dreamer.

As though alerted by Pinkie’s attention, Dash shifted and rolled over. Pinkie slid closer and pressed herself to Dash’s back, feeling wings flutter against her chest. Pinkie draped her arm over Dash, wanting more contact with her bluebird. Still asleep, Dash moved her arms to clutch Pinkie’s arm against her chest, made a muzzy, happy noise, and snored.

Pinkie pressed her nose into Dash’s mane, her smile too wide to contain any other way. She shifted her arm an inch in Dash’s grip and pressed her hoof to Dash’s chest. The slow drumbeat of her favorite heart communicated through her hoof and spread warmth through her body pulse by pulse. She drifted to sleep to the beat of the best lullaby she could imagine.

A/N: This one was my entry to Thirty Minute Ponies’ prompt #1, “Hush”. The prompt was “Write a Rainbow Pie story in which one (or both) of the characters does not utter a single word of dialogue for the entire story.”

The Revelation - Comedy

“The Revelation”

The bearers of the Elements of Harmony stormed out of the ballroom. The Sun Princess left shortly after, her graceful movements contrasting with the restrained fury on her face.

As she passed, I brought my ceremonial spear up to my shoulder in salute, mirrored by Peytral on the other side of the enormous double doors. He and I turned to follow her through the doors, then we pulled them shut behind us and took up station on either side.

We waited and watched as the five ponies and one princess shrank into the distance of the long hallway. In my mind, I turned over the events that had just taken place, the wild accusations of the princess’s protege, Twilight Sparkle, the immediate and well-deserved backlash against her obvious lies, and her shock when her deception had been seen through so easily.

I shook my head a fraction. I’d heard, through the castle’s grapevine, that Twilight Sparkle was some kind of genius, a real dyed-in-the-wool prodigy. Even accounting for the usual inflationary effect of rumor, she must be plenty smart.

I spoke out of the side of my mouth. “Hey, Peytral, whadda ya think about that Twilight Sparkle, huh?”

He stared straight ahead and muttered through barely-parted lips. “No kidding, right? I thought she was some kind of smarty-pants, a real genius-type.”

“Yeah, same here. How could Twilight Sparkle be so stupid?”

I heard Peytral shrug, a characteristic shifting of the armor. “At least it’s not our problem.”

* * *

The next day, I struggled against the green goop which imprisoned me from hooves to neck, and ignored the foul breath of the horrible bug-like mockery of ponykind to stare at the dais at the end of the ballroom and the horrible bug-like mockery of princesskind standing atop it, who continued to gloat over having deceived everypony with her clever ruse.

I stopped struggling for a moment as I considered the events of yesterday. “Oh,” I said.

A/N: This was my entry for prompt #7, “Dare to be Stupid”, at Thirty Minute Ponies. The prompt was: The circumstances leading to, following, or surrounding somepony uttering the question, “How could Twilight Sparkle be so stupid?”

The Question - Comedy

In the dead of night, Rarity crept downstairs to her “inspiration room.” She glanced out of the window and saw nothing but empty street and dark houses. She nodded to herself and pulled the curtains closed.

A magical glow coruscated briefly off the walls as she lifted a heavy velvet cloth from a gilt-edged mirror. She smiled at it, anticipation and expectation thrumming in her chest.

She spoke to the mirror, her voice haughty. “Mirror, mirror, on the wall. Who is the fairest of them all?”

A ghostly face appeared in the mirror, shimmering into view as though it were swimming up through translucent liquid to press against the glass. Despite herself, Rarity shivered. The apparition’s mouth moved, and its words echoed in Rarity’s head. “Fluttershy is the fairest, my Queen.”

Rarity’s brows lowered and her upper lip rose. She looked daggers at the face with a scowl that would give any pony cause to think twice.

The mirror, however, was unfazed, the apparition continuing to stare blandly at her.

“You’re quite certain?”

“Yes, my queen. The fairest is Fl—”

Magical light rippled over the walls a second time. A large brick flew into the mirror, shattering the glass into splinters and knocking the gilt frame from the wall to crash to the floor.

Rarity dropped the brick from her magical grip and tossed her mane. “My, my, three defective mirrors in a row. I shall have to have a very stern talk with the shop girl about quality control while I am ordering the replacement.”

Author’s note: This one was written for Thirty Minute Ponies’ Prompt #44, “Shattered Glass.” The prompt was “Rarity breaks a mirror.”