Femboi and Chill

by shortskirtsandexplosions

Rating: mature
Tags: Second Person, Other, Original Character, Equestria Girls, Main 7 (EqG), Random, Slice of Life, Sex
Length: 12837

Your name is Cherish Lynne, and—for a boi—you've been uniquely girlish and feminine all your life. This used to bother you, but now you relish in it. Since you've become the go-to snuggle buddy for a gorgeous gaggle of girlfriends, life's been good.

Your name is Cherish Lynne, and—for a boi—you've been uniquely girlish and feminine all your life. This used to bother you, but now you relish in it. After all, since you've become the go-to snuggle buddy for a gorgeous gaggle of girlfriends, life's been good.

If only you could tell these new women in your life how deeply you feel for them... long for them, even. You suppose that you have to figure out to what degree you actually "desire" them first... but it's dang hard to concentrate when you're falling asleep in their loving arms every night, being told in sweet fragrant whispers how pricelessly precious you are.

Is it selfish to long for more? You suppose that's just what princesses do...

Tags: [M/FFFFFFF] / Snuggle Pr0n / Lots and Lots of Femboi Snuggling / Almost Zero Sex--Predominantly "Platonic" Cuddles / Persistent Teasing of an Adorably Diminutive Femboi Protagonist / Crossdressing/Feminization / Semi-Pet-Play / Harem Fic Without the Moistplosion

Art by t-Hoodie

Published 2019-02-02 00:50:02 UTC
Last updated 2019-02-04 10:30:53 UTC

Girlfriends and Chill

Author's Note

Art by Twilite-sparkle-plz

This is an ongoing fanfic concept. My first "non-oneshot" of the early 2019 Sissy Skirts Bridge-Burning Tour(TM). While it's not a daily, expect it to look and feel like one. It's simply a series of gratuitous vignettes starring the Humane 7 of EqG and my femboi OC Cherish Lynne. Cherish has been a very special part of my heartfelt imagination for quite some time now, and now he/she/they are getting their chance to shine, one cuddly chapter after another.

I have several "harem fics" like this planned, but they're all long and involved and take forever to manifest from thought-onto-word-processor. With this concept, I'm just jumping into it. This is purely me enjoying myself (when has that been new), and I hope others get to enjoy themselves while reading it too.

I'm grateful to the artists who--over time--have been gracious enough to bring "Cherish" to life. Now it's my turn to attempt the same.

This story will not be heavy on sexual stuff. At least not at first. It's rated M because--for me, at least--it's super dense sissy/crossdress pr0n. With lots of squirmy pink goodness.

Maybe later, I'll have slightly "moister" things happen. And when I do, I'll be sure to tag the chapters accordingly.

Until then, expect predominantly cuddly/fluffy/teasing bits. That's the bread and butter of this fic.

Tee-hee... "butt-er"

Girlfriends and Chill

“Oh Cherissssssssssh!” Rarity's voice echoes harmoniously across her penthouse apartment. “Cherish Lyyyyyyyyyyyyne!”

“C-coming!” you stammer, pouring the last of the buttery popcorn into a large ceramic bowl. You slap the microwave door shut, temporarily deposit the empty bag onto the kitchen counter and... hop down from the footstool you were using to reach it all. Reaching two trembling wrists up, you grasp the bowl with heroic hands and carry the hot salted bounty towards your destination.

The lights dim as you enter Rarity's living room—which has become a veritable No-Man's-Land strewn all over with sleeping bags, pillows, blankets, gossip magazines, brushes, make-up kits, and lots and lots and lots of bare feet. Seven beautiful young women are settling down before a wide screen television for a night of cinematic fun-times, and your toes are being added to the mix, cautiously girl-stepping through the mine field of estrogenical detritus to arrive at the center of the “audience.” It's a wonder that Rarity would allow her own home to get this bomb-crater'd with chaos, but—for her friends—she makes exceptions.

And you're among them—you with your dangerously petite stature, limping about in one of Fluttershy's old high school bedshirts: a frilly yellow and pink thing that reaches down your slender legs to just below your knees. Beneath the article, you feel tender and naked—wearing nothing else but lilac-colored nylon panties. But that's okay. Here—among these college friends you've made these past few months—you feel safe. Safe from regret... safe from embarrassment... safe from judging...

“Finally!” Rarity stretches out on a red sofa, having the whole piece of furniture to herself. After all, she's the host. “Couldn't carry on without you, darling—”

“Enough talk!” Pinkie Pie squawks, and her pink hands reach across your vision of Rarity to ensnare you. “Let's get snuggling with the snackies!”

“Gaaah!” you yelp, eliciting a giggle from the rest of the women as you collapse in Pinkie's arms, nearly dropping the entire bowl of popcorn to the unblemished carpet.

...well... not so much “safe” from cuddles.

“Heeheee!” Pinkie Pie hugs you from behind. You've collapsed in her lap, surrounded by tangled bedsheets and overlapping pillows. A stuffed alligator brushes across your exposed thigh as you fumble to sit upright with her ample bosom pressing against the back of your neck. “I've got the pretty pretty princess popcorn dispenserrrrrrr!” She ruffles your pixie short blonde hair before reaching a hand into the bowl to scarf up some puffy kernels. “Nomfff! Hmmmmmm-mmmm! Sluttery-buttery!” She grabs another palmful and reaches it around, almost cramming it into your tender face. “Wanna have a bite, Chi-Chi?”

“N-no thanks!” your voice cracks. There's a chill in the room. You blush, realizing that the hand-me-down nightshirt you're wearing is riding up. You try tugging it down to cover the exposed sliver of pink panty-lace peeking through, but it's no use. You hear more giggles, so you resort to pulling a blanket over yours and Pinkie's lower limbs. That does the job. “I... uh... I'll wait until the rest of you girls have had your share first!”

“Awwwwww...” A warm, velvety voice. You smell the vanilla perfume before you even see her, and soon you're feeling Fluttershy's tender lips feather-brushing the side of your cheek with a sisterly kiss. “That's so sweet of you, Cherish.”

“Yeah yeah—whatever!” a voice cracks, and the “smallest” of the women reaches her blue hand in, snatching a huge wad of popcorn. “All the more for us!” Rainbow Dash settles beside you and Pinkie, munching away. “Mrmmmfff... Mrmmmff—shdard da vilmm awruddy!”

“We're getting to it!” Sunset Shimmer growls from across the room. A slight, womany sigh. “Twilight... sweetie... what's wrong? Can't get past the menus?”

“I'm trying to figure out if we should have subtitles on or not!” the bookish lady responds, adjusting her glasses. “I was trying to take a vote, but then Cherish came back with the popcorn and everyone got distracted.”

“I don't think it's that important, Twi—”

“Of course it is! Democracy is always important! There's eight of us here and the tie-breaker goes to Spike.”

“Spike's back at your place.”

“Yeah, but I have his cell phone number.”

“Pffft! You gave your dog a cell phone?”

“Well, he's got a Youtube channel so why not?”

“Hee hee hee hee!”

Through all of this, Applejack's voice cranes in through your distant peripheral vision. “Gosh dang it, Pinkie! Please tell me you ain't gonna hog 'em throughout the entire movie!”

You blink. You open your mouth to say something—

“Uh uh!” Pinkie Pie manages between popcorn scarfs. “Cherish got to sit with you all throughout Wreck-It Ralph last week!”

“But this week we're watchin' one of them scary horror flicks!” Applejack's green eyes glisten in the dim light from the plasma screen. “What if he's frightened? The poor angel deserves some strong arms to make him feel safe-like—”

“Pllbllbllbbb!” Pinkie raspberries across room. Your nostrils fill with the scent of popcorn butter and cotton candy. “Nuts to you! Here—with me—he can feel safe and well-fed!”

“Uhm...” Fluttershy's cheeks turn pink from across the pillow'd sea. “...I could certainly use some strong arms around me, Applejack.”

“Tch...” The farm girl blows out the side of her freckles, pouting with crossed arms. “T'ain't the same.”

“Maybe... uh...” You nervously smile, imprisoned between Pinkie's possessive arms and the popcorn bowl. “...maybe we c-could switch at intermission?”

“Girls!” Rarity's voice sharply pierces the moment. “Stop fighting! Honestly! This is undignified of young ladies such as ourselves! The movie's two hours long, from what I hear. We'll all get plenty of time with our favorite little princess.” Then, after a punctuating sigh, she smiles slyly into the shadows of her lavish apartment. “Besides... this is my home. Once the final credits roll, he's all mine.”

“Look, who cares who gets passed the frilly basketball boi!” Rainbow Dash's voice drones, eyes rolling. She glares across the room. “Sunset! Twilight! Why the heck hasn't the movie started yet?!”

“Like I said—I'm waiting on you girls to stop bickering so we can cast a vote on—”

“Screw subtitles! They cramp my style!”

“But—democracy—Rainbow—”

“Screw it! I'm declaring a dictatorship!” SWOOOSH! In a magical blur, Rainbow Dash now stands behind Twilight, bending over to grab the blu-ray remote. “Yoink!”

“Hey—!” Twilight stammers, causing Sunset to giggle.

SWOOOOOSH! Rainbow sits back down next to you and Pinkie. “Finally! She clicks a button, and the opening title crawl begins. “Let's get the chainsaws and guts rolling!”

“Boy howdy!” Applejack scoots up towards the television.

“Weee-eeee-eeeee!” Pinkie hugs you tighter, resting her grinning chin on your rounded shoulder. “Are you ready to get freaked-out, Chi-Chi? Huh?! Huh?! Huh?!?”

“I... uh...” You can't stop trembling. The half-empty bowl of popcorn rattles in your weak-wristed grasp. A dainty clearing of the throat, and you smile wanly into the blood red title screen flickering before you and the girls. “I'm ecstatic!”

“Awwwwww...” Pinkie nuzzles the nape of your neck, solacing you with her warm breath and melodic voice. “Don't you get all squirmy-squirmy! Auntie Pinkie Pie's here! Everything's going to be okie-dokie-lokie!”

“I know...” You breathe in. You breathe out. “...what's to be sc-scared of?”

Fashion and Chill

“Awwwwwwwwwwwwww...!” Rarity purrs. Sliding over under the silk-sheets of her queen-sized bed, she drapes her arms around you and holds you close. “You poor, precious thing! The movie's long over, Cherish! Those big nasty-wasties with their horrid lawncare equipment can't hurt you now! They never could!”

“Mmmmm-mmmmmmm...!” You whimper, your face pressed deep in the plush recesses of one of her enormous feathery bed pillows. It's been less than half-an-hour since the movie ended... a movie that you barely watched, on account of how often you covered your face with an empty popcorn bowl while Pinkie Pie cradled you from behind. Nevertheless, in the tiny shutter-blink moments that you did catch, several bloody images have been forever engraved into your mind. “...guh... h-how can a single person have so many entrailssss?”

“It was all make-believe, darling!” Rarity's voice squeaks. You feel her gentle hand stroking the back of your hair, lingering on the pixie-short bangs above your ear. “Movie magic! Even if the cinematic wizardry was used to create scenarios of evisceration and torture... uhm... st-still!” She chortles amicably. “You must admit that the lace-white gowns those characters were wearing contrasted deeply with the crimson blood splatters that ensued—”

“Guaaaaaaaaaaaaaah...” You stuff your face even deeper into the pillow—everything about the bed is lightly-scented with the same fragrance as Rarity's perfume, and you try drowning yourself in it to wash all the gore away from your mind. “...so... much... screaming...”

“N-now now, Cherish! Just... just calm down! Please—you shan't vomit all over my bedsheets!”

You look up, sniffling slightly in the darkness. “But I'm not going to—”

“~Just come here, darling~” She sweeps you closer in alabaster arms. Rarity wears a lace blue nightie that scarcely covers her cleavage, and there're double slits in the lower half of the outfit that show off her shapely snow-white legs. Such an ensemble would drive most men into wild, drooling states. At the moment, all you can think of is how you wish you had a camisole of your own to match. Then—as she holds you close to her warm, tender chest—all you can think about is how much her perfume must cost... and if maybe you could borrow a tiny bottle of it sometime. “Oh... oh Cherish...” She strokes your shoulders before raising a finger to caress our chin. “Why must you tremble, so? It will all be okay, precious thing! ~I promise you~”

“I... uh...” You gulp, nevertheless glad to feel her closeness. You surrender to her embrace, resting your face into her shoulder—which somehow feels softer and more serene than any feather pillow. “I-I guess I just need a few minutes to forget all the stuff I saw—”

“Shhh-shhhh...” She rubs her nose against yours, smiling in the dim light of a nearby alarm clock. She's like a pale guardian angel, emerging from the shadows of her room to protect you. “You rest now. Just let me do the talking.” She cranes her neck up, facing her bedside table. “Alexa! Play Disney Princess Lullabies!”

A chime, and soft guitar and piano keys flutter through the room.

You sigh, frowning slightly. “Rarity, I'm twenty-one.”

“Uh uh uh—!” She taps your button nose, smiling down at you. “Here—in my arms—you're ageless. Besides...” She lies the both of you down lengthily with a contented sigh, rolling the blankets over and encircling her arms around your tiny figure. “...don't pretend our precious little Cherish isn't a princess in training...”

You close your delicate eyelids, remembering past conversations... past confessions... past giggles and cheek-pinches. “You're right,” you squeak... and you feel your heart skip a beat.

She feels it too. “Hmmmmm-hmmmmm...” An inward chuckle, and she gives your body the tenderest of little squeezes. “Such a little sweetheart. What ever would we do without you, dear?”

You squint into the darkness of the room. At the bottom of her doorframe, there's a thin sliver of light. The sleepover continues; the rest of the women haven't fallen asleep yet. You can still hear them chattering and chuckling away in the living room. Nevertheless, Rarity has invoked her ownership of the apartment to sweep you into her bedroom prematurely.

“These days leave me feeling so stressed out...” The fashionista continues, her humming voice vibrating through her chest to massage you, laced with that same delicious perfume that you can't stop envying. “All these commissions and deadlines and fashion shows that I have to prepare for.” Her hands run slowly through your hair, caressing and—well—cherishing. “Surely, I can't complain. I've done well for myself since graduating from CHS. I can balance a college curriculum with my freelance work and I'm moving up and up and up but...” A slight whimper, accompanied by a melodramatic sniffle. “Sometimes I feel that the Glamorous Life simply... isn't so glamorous at times!”

You nod, resting your face in the only place that's afforded to you. It turns out to be the very top of her bust, and your chin slips into the upper precipice of her cleavage. “You...” He choose your words carefully, breathing lightly so as not to sputter against her immaculate skin. “...you're an inspiration to us all, Rari—”

“What would the tabloids say?!?” she carries on, her voice lilting like an actress on a soap opera. Her fingers run deeper and faster through your hair, like she's trying to find a pearl hidden somewhere in your scalp. “How would the world react to the up-and-coming Queen of Fashion admitting that sometimes dresses and dress-making just doesn't thrill her as much as it's supposed to?”

You're silent. You just lie there, nestled in her loving arms, waiting for the monologue to continue.

And it does, striking newer and more dynamic chords: “But what they don't know is that—while the stress gets to me at times—the love of beauty never dies! It's always there... hidden... finding more and more ways to bloom. And sometimes—a lot of the times, actually—a refined lady such as myself simply needs to find real sources of beauty in this world and... and recharge.”

You know what's coming next. It both amuses and flatters you. Nevertheless, as it comes—with her loving lips kissing you platonically through your hair—you feel yourself blushing. Every time.

“Mwah! That's why I'm so lucky we found you, darling. That's why we're all so lucky. You're one of a kind, Cherish. You empower and rejuvenate us. More than any spa could ever do! And I mean that! From the bottom of my heart!”

You clear your throat... if only to hide the emotion in your voice that cracks every time. “I'm m-more than happy to be a supportive... friend, Rarity.”

“Oh, you're so much more than that, dear!”

Your heart lifts...

Rarity hums, nuzzling you again. “You're our gentle little princess!”

...and then your pulse glides back over a familiar valley of sighs.

“Heheheh...” You chuckle, bringing your voice momentarily low—something that you find harder and harder to achieve these days. “What else are boys for?” you suggest.

Rarity's voice frolics right past that. “Oh, I must make you a new ensemble, Cherish!” You feel a slight tug on the night shirt you are wearing. “Fluttershy's hand-me-down looks adorable on you, but you deserve more!”

You remember the last time you looked in the mirror. You think about the pastel yellow of Fluttershy's old high school shirt... the pink butterflies plastered along the chestline... the translucent fuchsia layers of playful lace that lined the collar, sleeves, and hem.

“But I-I like Fluttershy's hand-me-downs—”

“How about a pink flower-embroidered camisole?” Rarity muses, stroking your hair again. “Ooooh! One that flares out at the bottom in ruffled layers? Like a teeny-tiny bedtime ballgown! Eee-hee-hee! It'll be like the ones I designed for Sweetie Belle! Oh, how I would love to weave such whimsy yet again!”

Your heart catches in your throat upon imagining what she's just described. You feel a stirring deep inside your... your... well... inside something. Something soft, hidden, and fragile. You can't quite put a word to it, but you try anyways.

“That sounds...” You wheeze. “... … ...pretty?”

Rarity carries on. “Oh, what about a satin nightcap? No. Too vintage. Besides, you never ever perm your adorable Tinkerbell 'do anyways. Hmmmmmmm... A fluffy pink bedrobe? Terry-cloth with silk ribbons and sleeves? Laced with faux fur microfiber? I mean, you don't seem the bedrobe-wearing type, but maybe if you tried it you would like it, darling! Any excuse to get you in pink, after all. And slippers... yes... not bunny slippers. That's not your calling card, after all. But maybe if I embroidered adorable little tiara-as into the sandal straps? Wouldn't that just be delightful? And then...”

Rarity carries on and on, doting on all the ways she could dote on you, fashionably. It's sweeter than any song.

You smile, submerged in the fragrance of her warmth and her words. Beyond, a gentle lullaby plays over the smart speaker, and it carries you on a diamond coach into slumber, where the sequin sea of Rarity's voice envelopes you for the evening.

Apples and Chill

Fruit. Sweet, tangy, juicy fruit.

Each bite is somehow more succulent than the last. You savor the moment with tiny, dainty bites—wishing it could last forever. As you wish same from the toasty afternoon sun bleeding through the leaves of the tree above you... and the homely scent of grass and wildflowers dancing in the breeze, sprinkled with the spice from apple groves lingering in the fields below.

It's a warm Saturday afternoon at Sweet Apple Acres. You sit on a spread picnic blanket beneath the cool shade of a branching oak tree. You feel the tickle of grass through the plaid patchwork fabric beneath your bare legs. You're dressed in a modest white summer dress, with a thin layer of crinoline residing secretly beneath. The gown ends just below your knees, and there's a sapphire silk sash just below the bust, tied into a ribbon in the back. You've taken your sandals off, exposing your pink-painted toenails to the kissable air of the country. Just a few inches away from where your legs are draped—like you're squatting side-saddle on an invisible horse—there's a broad-rimmed summer hat with a blue ribbon to match your sash. It's weighed down by a romance novel that you've brought with you, so as not to blow away in the warm summer winds.

Yet another breeze flitters past you now, tickling your ears beneath the sapphire-blue ear-rings you're adorned with. Between the playful wind and the sweetness in your mouth from the apple bites, you let loose a muffled giggle, careful not to let loose an unladylike spittle of fruit mush. Every once in a while, you reach into a tote bag and grab a silk handkerchief to dab your pink lips clean.

This moment is far too serene to be real, and yet here you are... courtesy of the young woman who invited you there... the woman whom you see marching up the hillside right now.

A pulse of anticipation lilts through your heart. You swallow the last morsel you've bitten, slide the half-eaten apple into a ziplock bag, and dust off your hands—

“Oh no, darlin'!” Applejack huffs and puffs, cresting the top of the hill and entering the shade of the same tree you're under. “Dun you stop on my behalf! That's Sweet Apple Acres' finest!”

You swallow and smile and say, “I really came just to hang out with you, AJ.”

“And here I kept ya waitin' long enough as it is.” She pauses, towering above you with her hands on her hips as she catches her breath. She's dressed in a flannel shirt tucked loosely into loose-fitting jeans, speckled with dirt and sawdust. A red-patterned bandanna wraps around a messy bun of blonde hair nestled atop her gorgeous crown. Freckles glisten with sweat, caught like porcelain in the waning glow of the sun. “I'm awfully sorry, Cherish.” She gulps, her breaths finally evening out. “My plum foolish brother forgot to tell me that there was a heap of apples needin' to be hauled from the east field to the barn. Otherwise...” She swipes her brow. “...I would have sat down with ya a heck of a lot sooner!”

“It's okay! Really...” Your grin is a soft one. You can't help but admire the well-toned muscles of her arms beneath those rolled-up sleeves... and how shamelessly she sports her un-dainty strengths to the clear blue sky. Applejack owns this land, this home, this earth. And—as your legs shift beneath the ivory folds of your gown—you'd be content with her owning you as well. “I've been enjoying myself this whole time! The view from up here is quite lovely, AJ.”

“So...” She folds her arms and arches an eyebrow, smirking. “...been fancyin' me from afar while I did work, huh?”

You positively feel your pupils shrink. A warmth spreads hotly through your flustered face and upper neck. “I... uhm...”

“Heh heh heh...” She waves a dismissive hand. “I'm just teasin' ya, hun.” She exhales heartily, gazing at you and... gazing some more. “Heavens to Betsy... just look at you...” The woman wipes her brow again—this time a slow and contemplative gesture. “Like a sweet carnation in the month of May.”

You swallow a sweet lump down your throat and fold two little hands together. “Awwwww... you're too sweet, AJ...” Your eyelashes flutter in the breeze. “...you... y-you really like the look?”

“Darn tootin'!” She grunts slightly as she folds her tired muscles and sits down next to you, her back to the oak tree on the edge of the picnic blanket. “Rarity really outdid herself this time. Can't even tell that you're actually a boi beneath all that flowy goodness!”

You chew on your bottom lip, glancing away from her suddenly. “Yes... well...”

“Awww shoot.” Applejack winces hard. She's an honest person, especially when she feels guilty. “A thousand pardons, sugarcube. I didn't mean nothin' cross by that! Well, poor choice of words... but...” She clears her throat. “You know h-how bad I am at this sort of etiquette. Been a while since you and I had a chance to sit and gab. How... uh...” She smiles kindly, her lush green eyes a direct channel to her heart. “...how would you like me to address you, anyhow, sweetie?”

A comfy breath rolls through you. Applejack doesn't mean any harm... and somehow that eases you more than anyone trying to... well... try. Besides, you're not even sure how you could legitimately answer her question. Everything's gone so fast these past few months. One day, you were just a tiny lonesome young man limping across the crowded Canterlot University Campus, fidgeting uncomfortably in a hoodie and khaki shorts, trying to keep your voice low against its earnest desire to sing. Then, the next moment, you were wearing sundresses and being carried—giggling—over shallow puddles by the chivalrous arms of a woman your age. And the purses... oh goddess, the purses.

“You can...” You look back up at Applejack, smiling sweetly, remembering the tanginess of the apple bites and seeing it once more in how her freckles light up at hearing you. “...you can treat me however you like, Applejack.”

She exhales slowly—with immeasurable relief. Her grin is a soft one, accompanied by a hand that reaches out to caress your bangs. All the girls do this—they play with your golden pixie hairdo every chance they get. But with Applejack—somehow—it feels different. It feels motherly. Her voice deepens, remaining womany in only a way that Applejack can maintain it, with her southern belle drawl that slowly twirls like a falling apple blossom.

“Alright then, darlin'.” A momentary hesitation, but then those freckles swim in a rosy sea. “I'm mighty happy to have such a pretty lady-friend over to share a picnic with.” It's honest.

You chew our lip again, only through a smile this time. “Then s-so am I,” you stammer. It's also just as honest.

Applejack's limbs relax, and she reaches a hand up to her bandanna—unraveling it with a mighty tug. “Whew... land's sakes!” She tosses her head, and that gorgeous waterfall of blonde locks flails loosely in the breeze, turning her back into the rustic goddess that she is. “Can't believe what a workout that was!” She leans back against the tree, settling into the sweat still clinging to her. “T'ain't nothin' like what I do on the weekdays, but somehow it felt a mite bit toughter—on account of knowin' you've been waitin' here this whole time.”

You shake your head. “You really shouldn't have rushed just for me.”

“Daylight's fadin', sugarcube,” she says. “And it's already enough of a shame that I wasted the whole afternoon—”

“A-Appleja-aack!” You giggle into a closed fist, smiling up at her. “Relax! I enjoyed the car ride here! I enjoyed talking with you! I love your home and this tree and the apple that you gave me—”

“Really?” Applejack squints at you. “Yer enjoyin' the sample?”

“Yes!”

“Yer not just blowin' hot air up my skirt? Well... guess yer the one wearin' the skirt...”

“I can finish it right now if you like!”

“Oh! Uhm...” She waves from where she sits, and suddenly it feels like a mile away. “Be my guest!”

You fidget slightly as you reach back into the ziplock bag, glancing at the lengths of the picnic blanket pattern between you two. “You... uh...” A hopeful cough. “You can sit closer if you like?”

“Pffffft!” Applejack tilts the brim of an invisible hat. “Cherish, darlin', I'm sweatier than a thirty-pound hog at feedin' time! T'ain't proper to mess ya up with my... uh... un-neatness. Besides...” She rolls those perfect emeralds. “Rarity would kill me if she found out I dirtied up that prim and proper dress she made ya.”

“Oh...” You blink down at the half-eaten apple in your grasp. “...well, I guess that makes sense. I won't argue with that.”

All is silent, save for the whistle of the wind through the tree branches above. You sense a little bit of squirming... and then a whole lot of squirming. Applejack fidgets and fusses like a bomb about to go off... until at last it does. “Awwwwwww shucks. To heck with it!” Her strong arms reach out and grasp you by the waist. “C'mere, you!”

“Aaackies!” you yelp, then roll into a cascade of giggles as she hoists you across the picnic and into her lap. She hugs you from behind, seating you squarely between her legs until her whole body is framing you in Unbreakable Country Woman(TM). Once the first two waves of your giggles have subsided, your nostrils become acutely aware of just how sweaty Applejack is. The air tastes sour... and more than a little bit dank. But—somehow—laced as it is with the warmth of her loving presence and the spicy scent of fruit lingering everywhere, it's more than manageable. In fact, it's several succulent degrees beyond alluring. You no longer feel squeaky clean in her sweaty embrace, and yet you don't feel dirty either. What you do feel—in no small way—is helpless. You cling to the work-hardened bars of that living prison and take a bite of the apple to christen the moment.

You sense her golden head leaning in from over your shoulder. “Still tasty?”

It takes a while to finish the bite. After swallowing, you inhale her country goodness once more, and you try to ignore the sudden wetness forming at a pinprick spot towards the front of your lace panties. “Very.”

“I plucked that from the east orchards. Them's the finest orchards.” She notices that your skirt is riding up, so she tugs it down slightly before doing the same gesture to your sash and shoulders—keeping Rarity's “doll” nice and tidy. “We always use them to sample for potential buyers.”

“I thought you sold all your stuff at your own vendor in the town market.”

“A heap of it, sure! But we make most of our bucks doin' business with Barnyard Bargains and caterin' for special events.” She wraps her strong arms around your chest, sending a chill of delicate delight through your nubile frame. “Not to mention Cider Season. But... ehhh... that's months away. Shucks... I really gotta get started on schedulin' for that. Granny Smith's too forgetful each passin' year to do it right and Big Mac's strengths are in his heart and muscle, not so much his noggin'.”

“Maybe Twilight can help you? She's good with scheduling.”

“Why—that's a grand idea! I just might do that, Cherish! Thanks a'plenty for the suggestion!”

You smile, shrugging into her sweat. “It's what I'm here for!”

“Yer here for a lot of thangs, I reckon.” Applejack leans in, resting her head—her face against the back of your scalp. “And I'm happy for each and every one of them.”

You're both silent for a while... save for the crunchy sounds of your persistent, dainty apple bites.

You feel her breath against your head... followed by a lengthy humming sound. “Dear Goddess... just how come you smell so... so... so wonderfully, Cherish?”

You're almost finished with the skin of the apple. It feels clear at this point that its redness has transferred over to yours. “I... uh... I dunno, really...”

“There has to be some magic to ya, darlin',” Applejack says. She's so delightfully close this whole time, and you sense her inhaling you once again. The hug grows tighter... and yet more tender. “You have got to be plum magical. It's the only explanation.”

“It's a crazy large world out there, Applejack,” you say sweetly. “There's bound to be other men just like me.”

“Nuh uh. I dun believe it,” she says. Firmly. “Not in a million years.”

Your heart skips a beat. You don't know how to respond to that.

“To be so precious... so delightful... so gentle and sweet-like... without even having to try...”

You gulped. “I'm simply that way because of you girls. Since you found me—”

“The point I'm tryin' to make is that you was made to be found, sugarcube. I believe it with my whole heart. Things as special as this... as special as you dun happen by accident with me and the girls. Ever since Equestrian magic came in, things have happened for a reason. You're here for a reason... and it's a real blessin', Cherish. Truly, it is.”

“I...” You fight back tears. It's so easy to break you... to squeeze your heart with gentle strokes and leak your feelings. It's a struggle at this point to hold the apple straight in your palms. “...I'm glad to know you f-feel that way, Applejack. I... uh... I really do...”

She continues speaking, the stride of her words not stopping for anything. “I want you to know this, darlin'. Even if none of the girls say so, I'm gonna say it now.” She caresses your head and neck, speaking past your ear. “We're gonna protect you, Cherish.”

“Huh?”

“I'm gonna protect ya, darlin'.” You sense her smile in your peripheral, and it tickles your heart—perhaps not the reaction Applejack is looking for, but—“So long as I'm around, ya ain't got nothin' to worry about, ya hear? Yer safe with me.”

You can't help but giggle. “What do you have to protect me from, Applejack?”

“Anythang, I reckon. Dun matter. But the fact of the matter is that we found ya and we ain't lettin' nothin' bad happen to ya. Ya hear?”

You endure a long, contemplative breath. Deep down inside—there's no denying that you've always wanted to hear someone say this, especially someone among your new set of gorgeous friends. There are other things you would like to hear them say—or maybe you're scared to hear them say—but that's neither here nor there. All you need to do right now is live up to your name.

So you do.

“I hear you, Applejack. And thank you.”

“Good... now... maybe that will make you forgive me.”

You blink. “Forgive you for what?”

“I can already tell I've stained yer shirt with sweat.” She huffs. “Rarity's gonna gut me like a fish.”

You giggle yet again. “Can't have that, can we?”

“Ah well. Good thang we've got a bath and a washin' machine at the homestead!” She squeezes you, and you sense her winking. “That'll fix it nice and good, right?”

“Heeheehee... sure thing!”

“I'm sure I've got one of Apple Bloom's old nightgowns lyin' around. You could wear that by the fireplace while I fix yer dress back up.”

“Sure... that sounds... sweet,” you say. And you take a final bite of apple, and that's sweet too.

Studies and Chill

“Uhhh... Twilight?”

The duvet of her already plush bed is soft, with patterns of stars and purple constellations that squish under your light posterior. You're dressed in a comfy pink hoodie with matching shorts and long striped socks. Everything about this moment is the living embodiment of chill, and the only thing that stands out is the relatively rigid placement of Twilight Sparkle's left arm as it wraps around your chest—feeling in no small part like the metal safety bar of a roller coaster seat.

You bring your hands up and grip her wrist. She'd be considered an exceptionally slender, petite young creature—if not for the fact that you are also in the room.

“Are you... sure that you're relaxing?”

“Uh huh,” she drones. The starry glow from various nightlights glisten off her spectacles. She sits with her back against a cushion of pillows as she holds you from behind, and her free hand is making circular gestures in the air. This controls a magical field that telekinetically orbits numerous things in a tight circle around the bed: notepads, pens, calculators, graphing calculators, an abacus, and even a laptop. Somehow—with magical-mental ambidexterity—the bookish college girl works deep into her current assignment, floating the necessary object closer when the time comes to extend the length of her extenuating calculations. “As relaxed as I will ever be,” she states, and yet her voice sounds like a vibrating cheese grater.

You try to look back at her. Everything about this room—the way it's painted, the way it's neatly arranged—feels deep and purple and thoughtful. Just like her. You struggle to find warmth, although you don't blame the young woman. It's very cold up in space, and the atmosphere of this planet is just far too limiting for her expanding thoughts.

“But... uhm...” You try on a playful smile. “...are you sure you can concentrate?”

“I asked you over so that I could concentrate,” she says, eyes darting through thick lenses at the objects, notes, and tools floating about. “And—so far—I must say it's doing wonders.” A thoughtful blink, and then the robotic eye movements resume. “Sunset Shimmer's advice is on the nose as always.”

“Just... uhm...” Your fingers squeeze her arm. Although she's “hugging” you, there's still something tense and stiff about the gesture. It must be tough for Twilight to relish the closeness of a friend when her mind is a million miles up in orbit. “Just what are you working on?”

“My latest astronomical research project for the Everton Independent Study program,” she pronounces. She pauses the laptop in mid-glide and creates a string of words across a program, followed by a complex mathematical computation. “Hypothetical Theorems on Gravitational Redistribution as a Result of Cross-Universal Quantum Disturbances.”

You blink. “Oh.” Your face scrunches up. “Does... that have something to do with the mirror portal or something?”

“It's the baseline inspiration for my theorem,yes,” Twilight says, nodding as she looks past you at a floating calculator. “It's based on a conversation I had with Sunset the other day. She says that—with the gravitational distortion caused on a microcosmic scale from the wormhole effect of the portal to Equestria—it's likely that a certain distortion to time and space could conceivably be detected with the use of variably-distributed atomic clocks...”

“Wow. That sounds...” You squirm slightly in her grasp, trying to breathe better. “...atomic.”

“Mmmhmm.” She nods. “I'm just trying to come up with a figure that will best summarize my postulations.”

“Any way I can help with that?”

“You're helping just enough by being here.”

You look at yourself... and at the arm that's got you pinned in place. A nervous smile crosses your lips. “You sure about that?”

“You can try talking.”

“Wouldn't that distract you, Twilight?”

“Mmm-mmm...” She shakes her head, her violet ponytail flouncing slightly behind her head. “Sometimes I turn on sports broadcasts on the radio while I do schoolwork.”

You giggle explosively, feet kicking against the bedspread. “You?! Twilight?! You listen to sports broadcasts?”

“I just like the background noise,” Twilight says. “It puts me at ease.”

“That's... interesting...”

“Quite...” Twilight continues rotating tools and notes closer and further and closer. “I stems from my BBBFF.”

“Shining Armor?”

“Yes. When I was much younger, I would come into his room and sleep on his bean bag while he did homework with the sound of footbasket games in the background. Or hockeyball. I never really learned the sports... I just knew that he liked it. And I was happy that he was happy. Sometimes I'd snuggle up to him on the couch and fall asleep as he watched the big game on the tv.”

You smile genuinely. “Awwww... that sounds really sweet.”

“Uh huh.” She telekinetically twirls and twirls her things about the room. “Anyways, feel free to talk about anything you want, Cherish. It'll help.”

“Anything at all?”

“Yes. The less pure silence, the better.”

You tongue the inside of your mouth, staring up at the star-patterns still glued to Twilight Sparkle's bedroom ceiling from elementary school years. You think about all the things you could tell her... the things you've longed to tell her... to tell all of the girls...

Things like how you almost sort of wish that they would give you a schedule for... for... well... for this. Every day of the week finds you at a different household, but where you're going and who you're going to be with seems to be revealed to you at the last second with very little input on your behalf. Sure, you could say “no” at any given time, but so far you have yet to do so. Perhaps because you're afraid to. Perhaps because this “roll” of visits and hang-outs and snuggle “dates” have left you feeling so sublime, so adored, and so very much the opposite of alone that you can't find the strength to boldly interrupt it.

You think about telling Twilight Sparkle how adorable she is. How “girly” she is. Not “girly” in the same way that Rarity or Pinkie Pie or—egads—Fluttershy—is. But these past few months you've come to admire how perkily Twilight carries herself. How prim and proper she dresses... and yet how playful her hairdo is and how demure and uncertain her way of simply standing around is. How tender and fragile she looks, like she's always needing to be hugged, and yet she's so incredibly confident and stalwart in how she looks at the world... how she analyzes the most complicated of things and makes the whole universe so manageable for the whole of her friends. Her head is in the stars, and still things go over it, and it makes you giggle and it makes you want to hug her... and see others hug her... and see her brought to all the smiles and happy tears that she deserves.

You think about telling her that she's the kind of girl you've always admired... the kind of girl you've always longed to look and feel like. A casually pretty girl. Yes, being glamorous and princessy is a very dreamly thing, but you wish you could express to her—express to anyone, really—the simple, pure, unfiltered joy you feel in the concept of walking around with satin-lace underwear beneath your everyday clothes. Of being allowed to curtsy instead of bow. Of being acquainted with flowers and the color pink. Of sitting down every time you go. Of carrying a purse. Of having a visible bra-seam. Of being strong and soft all at once... to always have that demure and dainty fallback beneath all the convoluted layers of what society thinks, fears, and imposes.

You think about explaining to Twilight how much you wish you were in her place... how much you wish you were in her shorts... wearing her shorts... being her... having that same soft skin and tender flesh... that rugged struggle beneath such a delicate facade. Yes, even having all of the annoying things about being a woman: the regular biological hurdles and high maintenance both sanitary and cosmetic that it's practically an infinitely-expanding art form to conquer—and yet done so with such inspiring finesse. You know that if all of these things came true, you would undoubtedly regret it and choke on your own silly desires—and yet a part of you pines for it anyways.

And then you wish to tell her that you know that there's so much about you—for whatever blissfully lucky reason—that almost matches her to a T: the softness, the demure stature, the femininely-coded expertise that you've either inherited or mastered after twenty-one years of sashaying across this earth. You think about confessing to her that you're as close you could ever be to her—or someone like her—literally snuggling there on her bed in her room in her holiest of holy demains... and yet you still feel like something is lacking. Like you're never more than halfway there, and even if you did reach that same heavenly spot... it still would leave you wanting for more.

You want to tell her how happy you are after these last few months of being befriended by these lady friends... and yet how starved you feel... and how guilty you feel for feeling that way.

You want to tell Twilight that every time you feel like giggling, you also feel like crying, and the only thing damming it all in is being held close... and you wish she could stop focusing so much on her Everton studies so she could hold you closer.

You long to tell her all these things...

...but you settle on something else instead.

“Your parents are nice,” you finally manage, smiling sweetly into the purple haze of her telekinesis. “If your big brother's anything like him, I would like to meet him as well.”

“Hmmmm...” She takes a long breath. A warm one. You feel a slight twitch to her fingers. They curl and uncurl from where her wrist drapes off of you. “That would be nice, actually. You should meet Cadance—my future sister-in-law as well. She would absolutely adore you.”

“Really?”

“I could see her trying to make you into the flower girl for their wedding.”

“Heeheehee...” You smile, blushing tenderly. “That's a happy thought.”

“Uh huh.”

You fidget slightly. “Do... do you think your parents are curious?”

No response.

You tilt your head back. “Twilight?”

“Huh?” She snaps out of an intense mathematical calculation, glancing at you. “Curious about what?”

“About... why you brought a strange man into your bedroom?”

“You're not exactly a stranger at this point, Cherish.”

“Even still...” You clear your throat. “I'm a boi... and we're both just... chilling in here...”

“Well,” she murmurs, eyeing her floating array of resource tools. “It's not exactly that way with you, Cherish.”

You close your eyes, enduring a calm breath as you cling tighter to her arm. “Yeah. I guess you're right.”

Silence.

“Besides...” Twilight muses. “If it was Timber whom I brought in here, things would be understandably different.”

You reopen your eyes. Your limbs tighten; your lungs fill. Then, you speak: “How is Timber doing these days, Twilight?”

“Oh. Timber...?” There's a flicker to the telekinetic field. A warm breath rolls through Twilight, and you can tell from the inflection in her voice that the egghead is smiling. “Oh. He's just... fantastic.”

“Really?” You glance back at her. “That's a word I've never heard used to describe him before.”

“Oh, but he is... in his own little ways...” Her wrist relaxes. “His goofy... dorky ways...” Her arm loses tension, draping lovingly around you. “Like when he tries to be sly and flirtatious...” The orbiting objects float lower and lower to the bed, the magic dimming, replaced by the tender mirth in her voice. “...and he attempts to show off by being strong and sweaty. Always smelling of pine... always...”

“Heehee...” You smile as you feel her hug growing tighter. “When was the last time you both hung out together?”

“Oh... j-just last Tuesday!” She practically hums. Twilight gazes past the walls of her room, snaking in another arm to hug you tight. The objects are no longer enchanted, and right now it's just you, her smile, and her words. “We went to the aquarium together. He tried to impress me by naming all the species he could see, but he was incorrect about at least twenty of the mollusks he pointed out. Then we started talking about global warming and how it's a good thing that none of our friends live in Florida. And then we went out for lunch, and he suggested this Mexican place that serves 'the raddest quesadillas.' And I told him how I don't like cheesy foods and he freaked out and got all chivalrous and tried to take us to a place that only sold vegan stuff and it was soooooo adorable how he fretted over somehow offending me—which he didn't. Timber's a big goofy show-off, but deep down inside he really only wants me to feel happy and respected.”

“Uh huh...” You sigh away a bittersweet cloud, closing your eyes as you relish in how closely she's holding you. “Tell me more. Like... what do you two plan on doing on your next date?”

“Oh! The planetarium! He used to pick me up there when I volunteered, but we've never actually both gone just to watch a laser light show. They've got some event planned to the music of The Arcade Fire. Ever heard of them? I haven't—but Timber loves them to death. He says a lot of people call them 'too hipster,' but I dunno. They sound alright to me. I love the way Timber's face lights up whenever a song he enjoys comes on the radio. Why, this one time, we were riding around in his pickup truck and...”

Ensembles and Chill

“~Oh Cherish~” Rarity sing-songs from the next room of her penthouse. “Do come out, darling! It's quite fine! There's nothing to be shy about! You're among your friends!”

“Yeah, Chi-Chi!” Pinkie Pie squawks, doing a little jump. You can feel her feet pounding into the apartment's white carpet floor from around the corner. “Come onnnnnnnn down the runway!”

“Uhm... what runway?” Fluttershy's voice murmurs tenderly, giving you an ounce of strength.

“Why, the invisible runway that exists in Rarity's head at all times, silly! I mean... duhhhh! That's her secret, Cap'n!”

Sunset Shimmer's voice sounds off. “He's been in there a long time. Maybe we shouldn't force him—?”

“Pff! Paff!” Rarity pff-paff's into the air. “Don't be silly! We're not forcing anyone to do anything! This is just... erm... helping the butterfly out of the cocoon, as t'were!”

“A butterfly analogy?” Fluttershy exhales in a noticeably dry tone. “Really, Rarity?”

“Chi-Chi has a proboscis?!?” Pinkie gasps. “Since when?!”

Rarity harmonizes once more towards your end of the apartment: “~Cherisssssh~” Her voice echoes like that of a chiding mother's. “~Don't be a sad sally and make a waste out of all my heard worrrrk!~”

At long last, your pink sandal'd feet scuffle out of the restroom where you spent the past fifteen minutes changing, fidgeting, then squirming.

As you round the corner, you make out four figures standing casually across the white-colored furniture.

“Yeesh, Rarity...” Sunset sports a humored grin, her arms folded. “Way to put on the guilt trip—” Just then, her turquoise eyes widen in your direction, and she nearly slips off the back of the couch that she's leaning against. “Wow-wow-wee-wah!”

“Ooooooh!” Pinkie Pie does a little jig in place, smiling from ear to ear. “Double wow-wow-wee-wah!”

“Fffff—!” Fluttershy sucks in her breath. She cups both hands to her chin as her cheeks burn a bright pink. “Oh gosh! Oh gosh oh gosh oh gosh! Rarity!” She's basically squeaking at this point. “She's... I-I mean he's so adorable!”

That gives you enough encouragement to stand in place, looking up with a tender, lip-biting smile. Your fingers toy with one another—sheepishly—causing a series of thick plastic bangles to rattle along your wrists. “... … …I look like a teenage mall rat.”

You're not wrong. The ensemble is petite—made for an equally petite cherub such as yourself. The top is a baby-pink blouse made of a soft material—almost terry cloth. It ties behind the shoulders with a thick strap, exposing a bit of modestly open back. All across the bust, a string of hot pink sequins is embroidered in a lazy squiggle that approximates an 80s-style graffiti'd “heart.” In fact, the whole outfit screams “cute 80s teen pop,” along with the black pleated skirt stenciled all over in kid-drawn cartoon hearts that match the pastel pink belt that slips around the waist, fitted in the center with another heart, this one shiny and silver. At long last, your pink sandals with black soles completes the entire look. Your tender face even has a sliver of pink eyeliner and matching lip gloss, and it somehow turns pinker as you continue to blush under the heat of so many lavishing girl-eyes.

“Hmmf!” Rarity sashays over like the fashionista she is, her chin tilted up. “A 'teenage mouse' is more like it! Be fussy and squirmy all you want, Cherish—but this ensemble of mine just screams teenage heart-throb! As does your natural beauty, dear!”

“I'm twenty-one,” you whimper for the millionth time in these women's presence.

Rarity continues as if you've said nothing. “And—~confession tiiime~—I've recycled this design from something I drew up for Sweetie Belle when she first did her tour singing! Never got to make it before, but nowww? Eee-hee-hee!” It's the young lady's turn to regress into a squealing teenager. She hugs you from behind, nuzzling the back of your feathery blonde head. “Ohhhhh Cherish! ~You're just the doll I need in these trying tiiiimes!~”

“Huh... wow, Rares...” Sunset smirks. “Seems like you're always reusing Sweetie's designs on Cherish. I detect a pattern here.”

“Oh go soak your bacon-bitty head!” Rarity waves a dismissive wrist. “So what if it's a good pattern?! When in season!”

At this precise moment, everyone in the room—especially you—has become acutely aware of a whining sound, increasing rapidly in tonality. Like an overheated tea kettle or a bomb about to go off.

“Mmmm-mmm-mmm-mmm!” It turns out the noise is coming from Fluttershy. She's spent this whole time scuffling towards you. “So. Cute!” Her eyes are full of stars as she holds two arms out. “Must. Hug. Him!”

“Uh uh uh—!” Rarity holds her back with a single finger delicately booping the young woman's nose. You feel a pang of regret, but it's washed away as Rarity smiles at the others in the room. “I've saved the best for last!” She looks at you, eyelashes fluttering prettily. “Do a little twirl, princess!”

“Uhm... do I have to...?” you mewl. It's not that you don't like the outfit, it's just that—

Rarity's eyelashes continue fluttering. Prettily.

Goddess dang it...

“Okay...” You exhale, flexing your arms out as you gather balance and strength. “Just for you, Rarity.” Then—with a slight palpitation in your slender chest—you do as you are commanded. You instantly feel a draft, and it can only be from the pleats of the skirt lifting up, flaring, and settling down as you come to a ballet-style stop, curtsying. “Ahem... ta-daaaa!”

“Ohhhhhhhh good gosh goodness!” Fluttershy can't seem to decide whether to pull at her face, her hair, or the planet's atmosphere. “It's like he's sprouting from a black-and-pink flower! Cherish, I'm sorry—!” At first you don't know what she's apologizing for, until she suddenly lunges forward and puts those restless hands to use, hugging you tight... tighter... tightest. “I c-can't help it! You're the absolute cutest thing!” She's kissing at your ear.

You don't even pretend to protest.

“Fluttershy!” Rarity protests. “Darling! Our beloved Cherish spent a good half-hour perfecting his make-up! Don't ruin it with your lipstick!”

“I'll gladly go to prison,” Fluttershy giggles, nuzzling you before sharing a close-up wink. “Lipstick prison.”

You gulp and put on a tender smile. “I wouldn't mind skipping parole.”

“By the waaaaay... Cherish...” Sunset is giving a thumb's up, wagging her bedroom eyes. “Baby blue! It actually looks good on you!”

You blink curiously at her... but then instantly blush. Still clinging to Fluttershy, you reach a hand back and tug-tug-tug down at your skirt. “I'm... n-not exactly a fan of h-how short it is...”

“Oh come on, Chi-Chi!” Pinkie Pie walks in, shrugging with a smirk. “So what if it's a bit showy?! We should all have more faith in short skirts!” She holds her arms out and grins at the other ladies. “Eh? Ehhhh??” Nothing. “Wow. Really? That one's obvious!” She rolls her eyes, placing her hands against her hips. “Buncha knee-jerk downvoters, I swear!”

“Pssssst!” Rarity leans in to Sunset Shimmer, eyes thin, narrow, and plotting. “If you must know, I chose the color. And that's not all that's baby blue!”

Sunset blinks in confusion. So Rarity leans in and whispers in her ear. A few milliseconds later, Sunset leans back sharply and barks: “You made him a training bra?!?”

“Yes, and?!” Rarity shrugs. “It completes the ensemble! The ensemble is most important, darling!”

“Woohoo!” Pinkie cheers at random.

“Longue vie à l'ensemble!”

“Celestia on a bike, Rarity?” Sunset nervously rubs the back of her head. “Are we dressing up our boifriend up or trying to catch a predator(TM)?!?”

“Uhm...” Two yellow fingers start lifting up the edge of your blouse. “C-can I see—?”

You gently bat her hand away. “Flutters!” You huff and puff.

“Well?” Pinkie Pie leans in with a smile. “How does it feel, Chi-Chi? Supportive?”

You squirm ever so slightly, feeling as if you're constantly being hugged in the most tender of places. “Uhm... snug.”

Fluttershy giggles.

“Ohhhhh Cherish...” Rarity walks over and tickles your chin. “Poor little thing. Always having to endure our little games. You're so sweet, patient, and open-minded.” She smiles warmly. Genuinely. “I suppose it's why we do love you so.”

You breathe a bit easier, taking a moment to lovingly pat Fluttershy's hand while you nod at the others. “Well... so long as you're all happy with it... with m-me, that is.”

“We want you being happy even more so, Cherish,” Fluttershy gently insists.

“Quite right!” Rarity says, then airily flounces her way towards the far end of the room. “Which is why I got you a little something extra! Think of it as a reward, darling! For all that you've gone through!”

“Let me guess...” You try your best to sound sarcastic. “A training bra with tiaras on it instead of butterflies?”

“!!!” Fluttershy gasps, clasping her hands together. “It's got butterflies on it?”

“Flutters...” Sunset chimes, stifling a laugh.

Rarity turns to face you—down her lengthy, invisible runway, like a femme high noon. She's holding something behind her back. “~Cherish~ Close your eyes, darling.”

You gulp. “Uhm...”

“Do no fret. You shall love this. I promise you.”

These new women in your life may be fond of teasing you. But you've learned enough about the whole gorgeous group to trust them with your life. After a quiet nod, you close your eyes and hold your breath.

The clatter of Rarity's heels intensifies in volume, and soon you feel sandwiched in the warmth of both hers and Fluttershy's closeness. Then something light-weight and leathery is placed gently in both of your palms.

“There. Now open them, dearie.”

You do as you're told—again. This time, however, the gasp of delight comes from your tender lungs. Your eyes grow into bright sapphires as your hands go numb, nearly dropping the gift bequeathed to you.

And that gift is a glossy black purse with a quilted surface. Each point of meeting seams is dotted with a tiny plastic pastel pink heart. They—along with a girlish bow made of felt pink fabric near the leftmost handle of the container—perfectly complement the tiny blouse-and-dress combo that you are so delicately packaged in. At first, you didn't really buy that someone like you could be sweet enough, pretty enough, and sugary enough to fit the ensemble that Rarity has made. But somehow right now—as you see a semblance of your breathless face reflected in the dark polish of the handbag, complete with subtle pink eyeshadow and rosy cheeks—you totally and completely believe that you are every bit the doll that they have purposed.

Or—much more heavenly true—that they have found.

“~Ta-daaaa~” Rarity's songlike voice is soft, breathy, and patient. She smiles at you with sisterly eyes. “We all know how much you adore purses, my dear. And we thought that... it was high time you got something of your own... one that you can show off...”

“One that you didn't order off of Amazon,” Sunset drones.

“Shhhh!” Rarity hisses at her, then smiles at you again. “We simply adore you, Cherish, and you make our lives so much more beautiful when you are around. I do hope it isn't too terribly much to ask that you... humor us like this on occasion? Hmmm? I know it may seem silly, but we do truly enjoy it. You, I mean. Especially the small things...”

You want to thank her. You want to look at her. But both things are impossible, on account of the tears squeezing out of both eyes.

“It's just so... s-so...” You whimper, close to sobbing. Your hands tremble to keep grasping the handbag. “... so girlyyy...”

“Oh heavens!” Rarity's voice cracks. “He's going to run his makeup! Fluttershy! Do something!”

“Oh gosh! Oh gosh!” You feel Fluttershy grasp the purse and rummage through it. “There are no tissues, Rarity! It's empty!”

“Well of course it is! It's not a used purse, you silly goose!”

“Quick, Fluttershy!” Pinkie squawks. “Lick Chi-Chi's face!”

“Not helping, Pinkie Pie—” Rarity growls.

“Everyone calm down,” Sunset drones, marching over. You smell her perfume tenfold as she hands you a handkerchief. “I've got this. Here you go, Cherish.”

Sniffling, fighting hyperventilation, you dab your eyes until the crisis is averted. As your vision clears, you notice the initials “T.S.” on Sunset's hankie, accompanied by a starry pattern—

“Soooo...” Sunset snatches the article back and stuffs it into an interior jacket pocket. She turns to smile at the others with folded arms. “...are we going out, or...?”

“Darn tootin' we're-a-scootin'!” Pinkie Pie yodels, already grabbing her shoes and tote bag. “Let's get to the mall! Stat! The Sprinkle Store is having a sale on candy corn! I gotta get an early jump on October!”

“Smashing!” Rarity exclaims, fast-walking across the house. “I'll fetch my things! Fluttershy, would you mind driving us?”

“Not at all!” Fluttershy stands up, lingering just long enough to give your shoulder a loving squeeze through the pink blouse. “Ready to come along?”

“But... uh... I...” You fidget noticeably. “In this?” You tug again at the short-short skirt. “It's just so... so...”

“Won't lie, Cherish...” Sunset scoops up her messenger bag from the nearby table. It's battlestations and every women is grabbing her handbag. “...you are super adorbs in that.”

“Heehee!” Pinkie nods. “Yeah! He'd fit right in at a Claire's!” She hops in place. “Oh! We should totally go there! Can we? Can we? Can we?”

“It's just that... I...” You brush a hand through your pixie blonde bangs. “...I-I've never worn something so... drafty in public before. It'll feel weird...”

“Weird as in... pretty?”

“Sunset—” But before you can begin to protest.

“Cherish...” Fluttershy leans over to smile face-to-face with you. “There's nowhere you can be safer than with us. I promise... we will take care of you.”

You look at her. Then you look at Sunset and Pinkie Pie.

They are also nodding, smiling yet sincere.

“I... I'll be safe...” You repeat. Breathily.

“Of course you'll be, darling!” Rarity shuffles back in, somehow dressed in a whole new outfit with matching bag for the outing. “Don't you know by now? You can be as pretty as you were born to be with us.”

You feel a new warmth come over you. You look up at Fluttershy, and that toastiness doubles as you hug your new bag to your chest and murmur: “C-can I take my new purse with me?”

“Heeheehee...” She kisses your forehead and beams. “Of course you can. Now hurry up and put your things inside!”

“What she said.” Rarity opens up a compact and spruces herself up at the last second. “A good lady is prepared.”

Stifling a squealing cheer, you rush off to do as you're told... once more. In the distance, you hear Pinkie chuckling: “If you think he's this emotional over a purse, wait until we buy him a pony!”

“Really?!” Fluttershy gasps.

“Hahaha!” Rarity punctuates her laughter with the clap of her compact closing. “Pinkie's just kidding, darling!”

Sunset grumbles as she marches out the apartment door first. “She'd better be...”

Rambles and Chill

“...after all, we found Katie in the street. Alone. Cold. Hungry. She was mature at age three—the vet said—but her small size meant that she was probably malnourished as a kitten. Nevertheless, she lived. A stable, strong cat. And my parents felt it was okay to adopt her...”

You realize you're not dreaming.

Your eyes flutter, and you squint thinly across the shadows. All you see is an ocean of blankets, glazed over with an amber sheen from a nearby nightlight. The sheets, the air, the whole room smells like sweet vanilla. Yes, you remember being laid down in Fluttershy's bed, but something about this fragrance... this warmth is too intense to be a simple memory of what brought you there.

Sure enough, you feel a soft pair of arms enfolding you from behind. She's spooning you, with her ample bosom pressed softly to the back of your shoulders. When she speaks, you feel the edge of her chin brushing against the top of your head, and the whole bed vibrates gently with her whispery breaths.

“I'll never forget when she gave birth. The month before, it looked like Katie had swallowed two bowling balls. I expected her to give birth to a litter of live ponies. What did come out of her were so tiny and fragile that I just... didn't know what to do but giggle and coo. I was age four at the time... maybe five, and my whole world lit up as if with Christmas tree lights. There were six tiny little mewling baby kittens. They were the most adorable things I had ever seen. They were also... very thin. Weak. I thought it was just because they were infants. How could I have known that Katie birthed them prematurely... and that the sad look on my parents' faces meant something...?”

You blink. You don't know when this one way conversation began, but you are not about to interrupt it. For all she knows, you're still asleep. You lie still and motionless, absorbed into her arms... her softly rolling words.

“One by one... every morning and evening... I watched as the kittens became still... never to move again. At first, Mom and Dad attempted to make excuses. But they became harder and harder to maintain with each passing death. 'Oh, darling, she's gone on vacation! A kitten vacation!' 'I think he's just playing hide and go seek!' 'I don't know what to tell you, dear, but you'll see her again someday!' By the fourth time Katie loss a member of her litter, I think they... realized they had to stop pretending. But they didn't really give a proper explanation either. I don't blame my parents. I wouldn't know how to look after my daughter's feelings in such a situation myself. But I think they also knew that... I understood. Or that I was beginning to.”

A deep breath, and she hugs you closer. You feel her jaw tightening against your scalp as she speaks firmly into the darkness.

“I told myself that Katie was not going to lose all her babies. Somebody had to do something. So... when there was only one kitten left—I decided I would stay with it. Look after it. Never leave its side. And it put up a fight... a very brave and... challenging fight. There were times when it fell asleep and I was most certain it wouldn't wake up again. But...”

Her lungs sigh, and her grip of you lessens slightly.

“...he lived. He survived the next morning... and the morning after that. And soon, Katie's one surviving baby was walking around on its paws... eating on its own... even playing with me and my parents whenever we stepped on past the nest Katie had made in the bathroom closet. My parents attempted to congratulate me... insinuate that I was the reason for it living. I think I knew better. It was simply the strongest of the litter—that or pure luck. I'm not sure. But... but simply being with it for so long... and feeling it nuzzle me and just... sensing its warmth intensifying as it struggled against all the elements and pulled on through... well... the whole experience forever made me in love with precious fragile things... as well as forever afraid.”

One hand reaches up and strokes your hair—softly, so as not to “wake” you.

“He ended up being sent off to an adoptive family who always wanted a cat. My parents named him Cocoa. Secretly—in my mind—I named him “Hope.” Because—so long as he was without me—I had no way to know or guarantee if he would ever... well... stay alive. The miracle of his life was just so spectacular and... and d-delicate. If something had gone amiss—Hope would have gone the way of five brothers and sisters. And... eventually... he would go the way of them. It's been nearly twenty years; I doubt he's still on this earth now. I grew up from a young age dwelling on this. It made me very sympathetic, I think, but also very skittish. I mean... it's not the root of it all with me, but it certainly contributed to a lot of it. I've always known that—no matter where you are, or what you do—there is always something to dread. For all of us. And... s-sometimes... sometimes I think that's why I allow myself to get scared by the smallest, silliest of things—everyday. It's because I need to distract myself from the true horror. And... as selfish as it sounds... I really like it when my friends come to my rescue. Call me a damsel in distress, but I really... truly do...”

She sniffles, and you feel the bed quivering slightly in tune to her melancholic tone.

“And I think it's also why I've always wanted to look after cute, helpless little animals. They're all so fragile... we are all so fragile. We can all be plucked up and tossed into the dark at any moment and there's no way to stop it. But... but we can make every moment we spend here precious. There are just... s-so many ways to be pretty... and happy... and kind and loving and adoring to one another. Mmmmfff... that's why I'm always so keen on doting on the small things... and also why I just... c-can't handle scary stuff when I can't do anything to distract myself from it. That's wh-why I walked out of that movie early. I know that Rainbow Dash is upset with me. Sunset and Applejack are probably losing their patience as well, but they're too gracious to say it out loud. I'm always ruining my friends' fun. There are just... things I can't handle. They're much fewer than anyone gives credit for. But the small things... the things I can control... the things and animals and... p-people that I can hold and care for and love on... … ...they're what makes this life worth living, even in spite of the fear. And it's more about distracting myself. It's... it's about teaching others what I first felt with Hope. It's about showing them... that we're all precious... and we're all beautiful... and we all deserve to be held close on into the night... even the night that will never end...”

You hear her sigh, and she hugs you tighter again. Her voice is shaky... made of glass.

“Maybe someday I'll tell you all these things, Cherish. Deep down—beneath all of the beautiful... beautiful layers—you're just as much an adult as the rest of us. I guess I just... just can't help but keep pretending a little longer. So long as the rest of the girls do as well... I don't feel so bad about it. Maybe that's not something to take pride in but...”

Suddenly, you stir. You tighten your limbs... then untighten them. A tiny sound escapes the back of your throat, like a trilling sound.

She freezes in place, her arms and legs locking still. She acts as if a bomb went off.

You play act a yawn, stretching... stirring some more. “Mrmmmfff... pretty... pr-pretty dresses—”

“Oh shhh-shhh-shhhh...” She strokes your shoulders, your neck, your chin.

You roll over slowly. Once you face her—still engulfed in her hug—you curl up tighter and surrender into her warm chest and arms. You clutch the sheets between you, clenching your eyes shut, purposefully-looking tense.

“Shhhhhhhh...” You feel a soft hand carressing your chin. “...go back to dreamland, Princess. Shhhhhh-shhhhh.... Everything is fine. Don't let me disturb you...”

You wait for her to finish talking, and you relax your upper muscles. Your eyes rest close, and you manage the slightest of smiles as you “drift” away.

There's a slight squeaking noise, followed by a sniffle. She hugs you close and you feel her lips press to the top of your brow for a kiss. Followed by a second. Then a third—each gentler than the last.

“I-I'm so glad we found you,” she whimpers. Her tears carry the scent of vanilla until they blend with your soft skin as well as hers. “Oh goddess... I'm so very glad we did...”

You feel her arms encircle around you, her fingers playfully running through your pixie-short hair. There's a bittersweet shudder, but—in your mind's eye—you know she's smiling in the dark.

“...you should have seen Angel's face the first time you visited. Somehow... he knew he was in for some competition. Which is silly, of course. I love all of my precious little friends equally. Did I ever tell you about the time Rainbow's pet tortoise visited and Angel kept tipping him over? I had to come up with a way to make them both get along, because I knew—with all the times that Rainbow comes to visit my home—Angel and Tank would be meeting each other constantly. So, with Applejack's and Twilight's help, we devised an escape room. Hmmmm... it's not simple for a tortoise and a hare to work their way out of an escape room. But the activities were really creative! You want to know about some of them? So... Tank and Angel had to find a key hidden to open up a mini-fridge that was actually a secret passage into a tiny pet photo-developing room...”

Zonk and Chill

“Mmmmmmm...” You snuggle the pillows closer, smiling tiredly. Deliriously. “...hrmmmm... love this filmmmmmmmm...”

You hear voices giggling all around you. They drown out the noise of a television set humming indistinguishably across the room.

“Is... is he okay...?”

“Pfft! You tell me! He could barely friggin' sit up straight after limping in here.”

“Don't be so hard on him, Rainbow. The poor thing's had a long day.”

“I'm not being hard on him! I just think he's gonna start drooling all over Fluttershy at this rate...”

“Oh... uhm... it's quite alright. I-I don't mind.”

“Heh... I think we all know that by now, Flutters.”

“... … ...what's that supposed to mean?”

“Mrmmmff...” You stir, rubbing your eyes as your petite figure curls up in your blouse and capris. The scent of a long day of running errands in the big city for your girlfriends wafts gently off you. Your tiny toes curl up, and a sandal slips off, falling into the ether. “Turn... mrmmmf... the volume up...”

“Cherish... maybe you should go lie down in the other room, sweetie.”

“N-no! Let him stay! Pleeease?”

“Fluttershy, darling, he's practically a zombie at this point. An adorable little zombie—granted—but he does deserve his beauty sleep!”

“What if he starts snoring? I don't want it ruining the movie.”

“He does not snore! He's quiet as a mouse when he sleeps!”

“And... uh... just how do you know that, Flutters?”

“... … … ...I can be observant too, y'know.”

“Heh heh heh heh...”

“Ghhhhh...” You cling tighter to the warmth beside you. A single eye squints, sees the bright rectangle of the television far away, and closes tightly against the stabbing glow. “Mmmmm... wanna...” You yawn. “...wanna...” You yawn again. “... … ...get to Anna singing First Time In Forever...”

“Snkkkkt—!”

“Cherish, we're watching The Conjuring 2, not Disney's Frozen.”

“Heeheehee!”

“No! Shhhh! Let's get her to wake up in the middle, expecting Oolaf! Then YAAAARGH!”

“Rainbow Dash!!!”

“Hahahaha!”

“Shhhh! Will you girls please be considerate? He's been so helpful to us all today. Our dutiful little boi deserves some shuteye.”

“You really should just... help him to bed, Flutters.”

“Yes. What Twilight said.”

“But he d-doesn't live here! Besides... uhm... isn't it Sunset's turn this evening? To... take him home after movie night—?”

“I don't think Chi-Chi's gonna last that long! He's zonkers than conkers!”

“Just put him in your room and come back, Fluttershy. I'll trade places with you tonight.”

“Ohhhhhhhhhhhh Sunset. I... I'm so sorry. I mean... are you sure that's okay?”

You squirm from all the talking, yawning for the millionth time. You cuddle tighter against the warmth next to you, delighting in the vanilla scent wafting over you... and the gentle set of fingers running lovingly through your hair.

“Hehe... it's fine, Fluttershy. I think this arrangement was written in the stars tonight.”

“Guess somebody's gonna get super special after movie-cuddddddles!”

“Shhhh! Pinkie! Not so loud!”

“The longer he stays in here, the longer we delay the movie.”

“Hmmmmm...” You nuzzle your cheek deep into warm, lightly pulsating softness. “Phweeeeee... comfy pillowssssss...”

“Pfffft... yeah, Cherish. You enjoy those 'pillows.'”

“Oh my goodness! Uhm... oh dear...”

“Better hurry, Flutters, or you'll poke one of his eyes out.”

“Okay. I... I can do this... I can do this...”

“Thatta girl!”

“You've got 'em!”

“See? Told you on the car ride home that Chi-Chi is suuuuuper light! Light as a feather!”

“Light as a f-feather... got it...”

The world shifts... floats...

You feel as if you're gliding on a cloud, away from the noise and brightness...

So that only her delicate voice caresses you, along with those soft, protective arms.

“Awwwww... oh Cherish, you really are more and more like a doll every day...”

“Mmmmmm...” You rub your cheek against a silk-clad shoulder. “...some things are worth melting for...”

“Hmmmm-mmmmm...” A motherly chuckle. You're laid down in a softy downy crater of plush blankets. Slender hands remove the last sandal from your feet before draping a duvet over your figure. “Good night, Angel,” she says, kissing close to your button-nose. The scent of vanilla lingers, accompanied by a stammer. “Uhm... make that 'Angel Jr.' In case he's listening. I-I don't want him seeking jealous revenge on you over night.”

“Heeeee...” You curl up under the sheets, smiling into slumberland. “...jealous revenge...”

“... … ...alright.” Footsteps, growing distant. The lights vanish—save for a rosy glow from an outlet somewhere. You're surrounded by her scent, but her seraphim voice whispers across the cosmos with hope and adoration. “I'll join you later. Save some dreams for me, hmm?”

The sound of a door creaking shut.

Then...

...blissful silence... if only to imagine her still giggling.