The Voices Told Me to Hug You

by Aquaman

Rating: teen
Tags: Anthology, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic
Length: 17180

A collection of stories and story bits that weren't long enough to justify solo posts. Mostly Writeoff/Speedwrite entries, with a couple other more unique projects here and there.

You know what they say: you haven't really made it as a writer until you take advantage of your fleeting Internet fame to inflict a bunch of micro- and speed-fiction on your followers that wasn't long enough for you to feel clean posting them as individual stories.

If you're wondering who "they" is in this scenario: it's me. "They" is singular now. It's 2019 the entire year that encompassed March 2020 the 2020 decade 2021 [insert current year, time is a social construct], and we live in the future.

Posted in as close to chronological order as I can remember. Story ratings vary from E to T, mostly for bad words and heavy themes here and there.

Published 2019-09-08 19:00:01 UTC
Last updated 2021-02-04 00:23:57 UTC

Perspective/Point of View/Outlook (June 2013) [E-Rated] [Pound Cake] [Pumpkin Cake] [Slice of Life] [Drama]

Author's Note

Starting off strong with a quasi-experimental thing I tried to do in a Writeoff once. The three components of this story were originally all separate entries in the Writeoff but meant to be read together; the idea I had at the time was that people would read all three, piece the narrative together, and think I was a very clever boy.

Spoiler alert: it didn't work. At all. But when combined, the three parts do actually make a coherent story, so at least this version is baseline functional.

Perspective/Point of View/Outlook (June 2013) [E-Rated] [Pound Cake] [Pumpkin Cake] [Slice of Life] [Drama]

Of all the bakeries in all the world, she’d probably say, you had to walk into mine. His sister had always loved old stories like that one; when they were young, he’d hardly ever seen her without a book floating in front of her nose or tucked beneath her foreleg. Her first words were from a cardboard page in the nursery. Her last ones to him had been a line from a silent film they’d seen his last night home, the final words from a mare to her departing lover, printed onto her noiseless lips by white text on a black placard:

“Don’t be a stranger.”

The door to the bakery was open, and the smell of rising dough drifted out from behind it. Above its frame, a pink-painted sign announced its name to be, as it always had been and would be, Sugarcube Corner. She hadn’t bothered to change it, then. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know what that meant.

In any case, there wasn’t any real surface to knock on, so he just sort of stood outside waiting for her to come out, so he wouldn’t have to make the decision to go in. And it was only a few seconds before she did, before she ducked out from behind the counter and stood in front of him silently, stoutly. In a different world, that alone might have meant something to him, but here in this one all he could think about was how much she hadn’t changed in all in the last six years. Her shoulder-length mane was still a fiery orange, her hooves were dusted with flour and still a bit on the small side, her eyes still reminded him of lightning at midnight. Her horn, glowing with sky-blue light, held a cookbook in midair by her side.

“Hey, Pumpkin,” he said.

“Pound,” she intoned. For a moment, neither of them spoke.

“Did you come here to apologize?” she finally asked.

“If I did, would it make a difference?” he asked in return. She didn’t seem to have an answer to that, so they went back to just staring at each other and thinking their own private thoughts.

“I just wanted to see you again. I just...” he started to say, but without the composure to be able to finish. “I wanted to come home.”

Home. What a magical, distant, stars-awful concept. There’d be a lot of good things about staying there: a warm bed, a few hot meals, a chance to meet the adorable little mare poking her head out from behind her momma’s leg, a niece he’d never even gotten to know the name of. But there’d also be a lot of waiting, a lot of staring out the window wondering when the breeze would come back in, when he’d step outside and know he only had a moment to say goodbye before it whisked him away again. A whole lifetime of it. Pumpkin would bake her cakes and Pumpkin would follow in their parents’ hoofsteps, but he would always be looking for a way out. He would always wake up in the early morning, gasping for one more second, one more adventure, one more drop of memory to throw into a sea of millions. And he would spend years reminding himself why he wasn’t getting another chance. Why he didn’t deserve one.

“Can I come in?” he asked.

“Are you going to stay?”

Well, that was the eternal question, wasn’t it? Are you going to stay, Pound Cake? Are you going to run away like a coward because you don’t think anyone wants you around? Or are you terrified of taking the risk, because you know all too well it can’t possibly last? Because you know that this is only a weekend stopover, that come Monday you’ll be back in Cloudsdale meeting with new clients and taking on new contracts, and keeping a running tab at a ground-level saloon because it’s the only way to forget that it’s been five-and-a-half years since you’ve sent a letter home, and three since she stopped sending them to you?

With a tiny sigh, Pumpkin lifted her hoof and pushed the door open a little further, and in that moment he finally made a decision. Come hell or high water, he would stay this time. He would tell her why he didn’t write, why he laid awake at night wondering how the bakery was doing, why his shame had kept him from doing something he ought to have done years ago. He’d torn his family apart to chase after a dream, and now he was back. Now he could start mending the wound that had never scabbed over.

Now the next time she asked him that, he could give her an answer.

===

It felt strange, Pumpkin thought, having another body in the kitchen with her. It reminded her of when her parents had still been around, when they had taught her how to hold a whisk right and how to invite the heat into a croissant. It reminded her of when it had been like this before, when she’d been able to turn around and see him standing there with that cheeky grin, up to his elbows in batter without a clue in the world of what to do with it next.

“She looks happy,” said the stallion on the other side of the room. He wasn’t covered in any batter now. He’d offered to help, but she’d told him was fine on her own.

Pumpkin let the spoon she was stirring with fall gently back into the bowl, and followed his gaze all the way over to her daughter. Vanilla was six now, ready to start school in the fall. She loved sitting on the counter while she was baking, hoping to catch a morsel from each batch out of the oven. How like him, she always thought.

“She in school yet?” he asked next. Of course he wouldn’t know. A few years ago, she might’ve excused him for that. He’d been away for a while. They’d parted on quite agreeable terms. He promised that next month he’d have time to reply to a letter or two.

“Next fall,” she replied. “How’s the job in Canterlot going?”

“Awesome. You wouldn’t believe how much of Equestria still hasn’t been properly surveyed. Even the settled areas need a few guys to fly around and figure out where they can afford to put a house down.”

Pumpkin lit her horn, and the spoon lifted up and began rotating again. “I suppose you travel a lot, then.”

“Too much,” he answered quickly. “You lose track of things out there. Of what’s really important.”

Like your family, Pumpkin thought. Like your own flesh and blood. Like anything that isn’t bright and free and beautiful enough for you to allow it into your perfect, free life.

“Oh?” she said, pulling the spoon out and tasting the mix. Too sweet. Needed more body to it.

“Yeah,” he said. A patch of warmth spread over Pumpkin’s shoulder; he’d placed his hoof there delicately, as if he were afraid he’d break her if he moved towards her too fast. “And I did. I got lost and I screwed up a lot of things, and I... I want to start making it up to you. Right now. This whole weekend, it’s just you and me and Vanilla. We’ll go to the park, we’ll goof off, we’ll remember how good things used to be, and I’ll be there for it. Okay? Can you... I mean, do you want me to do that? Are you okay with that?”

Oh, what a question to ask now. Am I okay with that? Well, he’d never apologized. He felt bad about everything, apparently, but he’d never said he was sorry about leaving them behind without so much as a postcard for six years. And yet, she couldn’t help but smile, couldn’t help but feel the weight in her chest lift up a little bit. How like him, she thought. Clumsy, clueless, but still trying. Still absolutely sure everything’s going to work out in the end.

His optimism was infectious. It always had been. And now, for some incomprehensible reason, she felt a little bit of it work its way back into her heart again. Maybe this time he would be there. Maybe this time he would stay.

“Sure,” she said, and his grin was all it took to convince her she’d been right. He hadn’t fixed anything by saying what he’d said, but he was trying. And for now, for this one weekend, maybe that could be enough.

===

Despite being a pegasus by birth, Vanilla Cake knew very well what magic sounded like. Mommy used it sometimes when she was in the kitchen making a cake or a tray of cupcakes; her horn would light up and shoot off sparks the same color as her eyes, and the sparks would sing to her, tinkling and chiming against the air as they soared off Mommy’s horn and danced around a spoon or a spatula or a big giant whisk as big as her hoof.

The Stallion was the one using it now; she called him that because she’d never figured out his name. He had just showed up yesterday, and Mommy had let him in and talked to him for a while like they had known each other forever. She didn’t seem to like him at first, and Vanilla herself didn’t quite like him either. He wasn’t Mommy’s friend, for one thing. Vanilla had friends, two other fillies who lived down the street and were called Cirrus and Buttercup, and she saw them every day when she went outside to play. That’s what friends were: ponies you saw every day, ponies you liked to be around. Vanilla had never seen the Stallion in her life before.

More importantly, he was a pegasus just like her, and pegasuses couldn’t use magic. Everypony knew that. So when she woke up that morning and heard magic in his room, she knew she had another reason not to trust him. How could she be friends with a pegasus that wasn’t even a real pegasus?

Already in a grouchy mood from being woken up so early on a Sunday, she followed the Stallion downstairs as he trotted out of his room and down the stairs, nearly knocking her over as he passed with his tan wings stretched out and his brown mane messy from rolling around in bed. She was still navigating the landing halfway down when Mommy saw him trying to leave, when he turned around with a look like he’d been caught doing something bad. Which he probably had been. Pegasuses who weren’t really pegasuses probably told a lot of other lies too.

“Pumpkin, I-I’m so sorry,” he started saying, “This isn’t... it’s not my choice, I told him I was off this weekend, they’re being completely unreasonable...”

To her credit, Mommy wasn’t buying it. In fact, she looked a weird kind of happy, like she knew this was going to happen. Like she knew the Stallion wasn’t really her friend either.

“Look, I promise I’ll write sometime and I’ll be back as soon as I can... it’s just that I got this letter now from the boss and he actually bothered to magic it out here just to tell me I’m fired if I don’t...”

“It’s fine. Just go,” Mommy said. Her eyes were hard. She was mad.

“I...”

And that was all. The Stallion muttered something that Vanilla couldn’t hear, and then he was gone, out the door and into the sky faster than she’d ever seen a pegasus go. She watched him fly for a bit, wondering whether he was a pony like the princesses who could fly AND do magic, and then Mommy was next to her and pulling her back up the stairs, telling her to go back to bed and quit staring ‘cause it’s not polite.

“Who was that stallion, Mommy?” she asked just before Mommy closed her door again.

“Nobody,” Mommy said. She was still mad, but her eyes were watering now too. “Just an old friend.”

After Work (April 2014) [E-Rated] [Scootaloo] [Dark]

Author's Note

Another old Writeoff entry, but one I'm honestly still proud of (and if I recall correctly, it placed pretty well in the contest too). Just wasn't long enough for a solo post and never could think of a good way/reason to expand it to over a thousand words.

After Work (April 2014) [E-Rated] [Scootaloo] [Dark]

My job is thankless, but somepony has to do it.

For a few moments the filly just clutches onto me, her eyes wide and her muzzle pressed up against my chest. Through her fur I can feel her lungs struggling to expand, her ribs vibrating with nervous energy. Her tiny wings are still buzzing, still rustling from the wind that moments ago had pinned them back against her spine.

“W-whoa!” she says, her exclamation bookended by foalish giggles. “T-thanks!”

I tilt my own wings and shift upright in midair, and she slides forward right into my hooves. So small. I only need one foreleg to contain her, but I hold her with both anyway. She’s light as a feather, just like all foals her age.

“You’re… a really good flier,” she pants. “Someday I’m gonna fly like that, but…”

She wiggles a bit and tries to look over my shoulder, but my wings block her view of the canyon floor. It’s a hundred and fifty feet from the bottom up to the ledge she leapt from. The gorge dwarfs her. I tower over her. Most ponies would be terrified to come near us. I look her in the eyes, and all I see is embarrassment, commitment, resilience. Red cheeks under an orange coat and a purple mane. She’s giggling again.

“I guess maybe not today,” she says.

My job is exhausting, but I don’t know who else could do it.

We ascend slowly, carefully. The filly has her head up under my chin, dug in close like instinct is telling her to assume I’ll let go of her. She jumps out of my grasp when we reach the ledge, wobbling a little as she lands. Part of her already wants to try again. For once, curiosity tickles at my throat.

“Why did you fall?” I ask.

“Well...” She grimaces and works her tongue against her teeth, as if she’s just tasted something foul. Her mouth is dry. I know this because mine is too.

“W-Well, I wanted to come practice flying,” she says, “and I thought I was doing really good and so I thought maybe I could go a little higher, and then the wind blew really hard and the ledge was… I-I couldn’t…”

She bites her lip. Her wings are buzzing again. There’s more red on her face than orange now. “Thanks again for catching me.”

The filly is beaming, and inside me something is burning. I want to say something, but I won’t. She wants to fly again, but she can’t.

My job is difficult, and there are times I don’t want to do it.

“I shouldn’t have done that, huh?” the filly says. Some ponies would cry after what just happened, but her eyes are dry, pointed at my folded wings. Her pride glows in her cheeks, her hair, from the feathers and follicles of her messy wings. She forgot to preen them this morning.

“That’s all right,” I tell her. “It was just one little mistake.”

We stare at each other, unblinking, unafraid. I know what’s burning now, because it’s burning in her too, glowing red and orange and purple and bright… but fading. The adrenaline is wearing off. She glances at the canyon again, and for a breath of an instant, her pupils dilate.

“Do you…” She scuffs her hoof against the ground. Behind her, the horizon is dark, studded with white seeds that will grow into a canopy of endless night. “Do you think I’ll ever be able to fly right?”

The hardest part of my job is never the ponies. It is never the mothers, the fathers, the sons or the daughters. It is never the excuses, the curses, the pleas or the lamentations. It is never the silence. It is never the screams.

It is the questions. It is the numbness. It is my definition. It is my answer.

My job is impossible, and yet it must be done.

Instead of speaking, I take her hoof in mine and look up. When we float off the ground, wings still, hearts fluttering, her eyes crumple in confusion. I let go of her, and she doesn’t fall. Her cheeks split into a grin, and she rises with me towards the stars, never looking back. Never looking down towards the canyon. Where she wanted to fly. Where she fell. Where beneath the shadows there is still orange, still purple, still red.

Where I caught her.

My job is eternal, and eternity is beautiful.

OC Slamjam Entry (May 2015) [E-Rated] [OC] [Slice of Life]

Author's Note

Hey, guess who's absolutely not still salty at all in the slightest four years after getting bodied in the first round of a contest that seemed like a perfect fit for him and for which he was desperately excited to write several rounds worth of fics?

Not this guy! Not one bit.

Anyway, here's my Round One entry which lost by the narrowest of margins and which I still really love to this day. OCs were my Bristle (my own) and Luster Lock (~~my eternal nemesis~~ a solid contestant who made it at least a couple more rounds, IIRC).

OC Slamjam Entry (May 2015) [E-Rated] [OC] [Slice of Life]

It was five minutes to midnight by her best guess, but in all honesty it could’ve been four. She couldn’t stop thinking about pastries, and it was messing up her count.

The mask’s fabric itched as it brushed over her feathers, and stretching it out between her wingtips only made the amulet knock up against her collarbone. Ratty old thing--the mask was, at least. The amulet was new, its charm so fresh she could feel the rumble of dozing magic vibrating through her ribs. Miss Radium of Trottingham had bought it that morning, from a stallion who’d never asked for her name nor given his own. It would be worth the expense come night’s end. All of this would be worth it once the count in her head ran down.

Two hundred and seventy. Four and a half minutes. She thought about taking flight, but the mask dug into her pinions before her wings could spread far enough. Why had she even brought the stupid thing along? Nobody was awake to see her. No wandering eyes wondered who’d be out at this hour. The night guard wouldn’t start his shift for another two hundred and sixty seconds, and the only things he’d find after she’d gone were an open door, an empty safe, and a perfect, intricate, exquisite silver lock swinging from its latch.

Two-forty-five. Keep the count. Focus. The lock was her father’s design, but he wasn’t here to see it guarding gaudy jewelry that’d be out of season before any real ones had passed. She knew all its thumbturns and tumblers like the hairs in her fetlocks, but she wasn’t here to let some pension-fund prick leave it to rust and rot away. She had the master keys strung on a ring inside her soon-to-be-filled saddlebags, and that was why the owner of 342 Millennium Avenue was going to regret deeming her pride and joy unworthy of the price he’d been contracted to pay for it. The Hoofington constable refused to come to Canterlot and chase after her client himself, and the guards here would’ve gone on about lawyers and civil suits and six months in court for a settlement outside of it. They would’ve taken his side and blown her off. They would’ve just wasted her time.

She wasn’t wasting time. She was doing something about it. She was making things fair.

Two-hundred-ten. Thirty seconds until the switch. Beyond the cast-iron fence ringing the estate, she could see the stallion on duty rolling his shoulders and scratching behind his ears. In moments, he’d leave his post and go home for the night, and three minutes after that his replacement would take it up himself. Both guards enjoyed a few minutes between shifts to talk in private, and neither cared much for their employer’s insistence on constant vigilance. She’d heard the household’s head groundskeeper complain about them two days ago, when she’d trimmed the back hedges in Tiptop’s clothes while Tiptop herself thought she had the day off.

One-ninety-nine. The guard’s sigh carried all the way to the fence. It had taken her half an hour to convince Tiptop she worked for the maintenance crew too. Somepony had surely seen her fumble with her clippers, or spend too much time staring at the building’s back door. That Lower Quarter warlock probably had friends all over the city, cursing amulets with security countercharms and stalking anypony fool enough to buy one. She didn’t know anything about the house’s interior. She didn’t even know where to find the safe once she got inside it.

One-ninety-one, and they didn’t know her either, nor would she give them any way of finding her out. She’d dyed her mane, changed her name, used every trick of subtlety and subterfuge Trixie’s magic shows had taught her. She’d leave no hoofprints behind tonight, no calling card, no message to even explain why she had to do this. There would be no trail of crumbs leading out of the city, snaking into a one-room locksmith shop in Hoofington, showering onto the floors and lingering in the cracks between the boards. This would be easy. This was the right thing to do.

One-eighty flat. The guard was leaving. The count hadn’t stopped, and she was thinking about pastries again.

Time to go.

With her gloved hoof inside it, the mask looked more like a fungus growing out of her sole. Splotches of green and silver shone through the pitch she’d smeared over it, enough to gleam in the full moonlight that forced her to hide behind one of the fence’s stone pillars. When she grabbed the mask’s fringe in her teeth, the stretched-out eye sockets almost looked sad, like they wished they could see what she used to see through them. She’d been sentimental bringing it, that was all. Thieves were supposed to have masks, and the Radium Maiden had only ever worn the one. She didn’t have to bother with it this late at night. She’d probably just throw it away once she finished.

One-seventy.

There was room in her saddlebag, though.

One-sixty-eight.

She couldn’t just leave it out here.

One-sixty-six.

Somepony would find it.

One-sixty-four.

Somepony would follow the crumbs.

At one-sixty-flat and with the mask halfway back in her bag, Luster Lock heard somepony clear their throat. She bit her tongue so she wouldn’t scream, and stuck out a hoof so she could catch the mask again. When the stallion standing in the street made no motion towards her, she narrowed her eyes and did her best to make them look darker than her mask.

“You didn’t see anything,” she told him. One-fifty-two. “Just walk away. This isn’t your business.”

The stallion shrugged, and as he shifted she saw a bit more of him: dark coat and mane, but both brown instead of pure black, she thought. Bulky plastic canisters hung on either side of his withers, and each of his forehooves bore some kind of tool: a flat-headed broom curled into the crook of his right hoof, and what looked like a dustpan strapped to his left.

“Can’t argue with that,” he said. “What didn’t I see, though?”

“Are you deaf?” she growled. One-forty-four. She didn’t have time for this. “I said go.”

“Because the way I see it,” he went on anyway, “320 scoops up every technomagical gadget he can find, and 353’s over there a veritable diamond mine.” The stallion tilted his chin first to the left and then to the right as he spoke, and once his gaze settled back on the house behind the fence, he shrugged again. “Not much to 342 here but the garden, and even that’s seen better days. That’s just what I see, though. Snobby rich folks with their snobby rich stuff.”

“I don’t remember asking you what you think you see,” she informed him. “And for your information, this is personal.”

He cocked his head again. “I thought it wasn’t my business.”

“I thought I told you to go away!”

Luster cringed as the shuttered windows of 342 repeated her shout back at her. One-twenty-nine. Not that it mattered much now. “You work for Lord Zirconio, don’t you?” she asked the stallion, only for the sake of hearing him say it. “He must have kno… did he send you to stop me?”

The moonlight caught the stallion’s eyes as he glanced towards 342 again: hazel streaked with dappled beige, like cedarwood bark caught between sundown and dusk. “Is that who lives there?” he asked, his brow furrowed. “Hmm. He always struck me as more of a duke.” His lips twitched, and for a moment the shadows almost made it look like a smile. “If it makes you feel any better, I’m no guardspony, for him or anyone else.”

One-eighteen. She wasn’t convinced. “Then who are you?”

Now he was smiling. “Call me curious.”

And now she was gritting her teeth. “You ever hear what they say about curiosity?”

“No, but I’ve heard what they say about cats with nine lives.” He sounded pretty proud of that little quip, apparently enough to prop his broom under his shoulder and stick out a hoof in greeting. His mane was definitely brown, now that she could see it properly, but grown out enough to look a bit unkempt. If he’d bothered to style it, it might have looked handsome. “My name’s Bristle. I’m a street sweeper.”

“You don’t look much like a street sweeper,” she muttered.

One-oh-eight. “You don’t look much like a thief.”

“You don’t know anything about me,” she snapped, stalking forward a few steps before her mind could catch up with her body or her tongue. “You don’t know who or what I am.”

Bristle gestured with his hoof before letting it drop. “You did say I didn’t see anything.”

One hundred flat. “Why are you even still here?” At least she’d managed to stop herself before she got within hoof’s reach of him. “You’re not a guard, you’re not gonna do anything, so just shut up and leave me alone!”

“Are you a thief when you’re alone?”

“I am not a thief,” she said through her teeth.

Instead of arguing, Bristle nodded as if in agreement. “Exactly. You don’t look like one.”

Ninety-five. If this was what going mad felt like, Luster felt a powerful sympathy for the mentally disturbed. “What are you even talking about? What d’you mean, I don’t look like a thief?”

“You look bored,” Bristle said.

“I… what?”

“That’s why I was curious.” With a sigh, Bristle braced his forehoof against the base of his broom and leaned into it. “You look bored. Young mare, good-looking, out in the dead of night with her wings out and her hooves tapping every time she talks. The way I don’t see it, you’re looking for something new.”

Eighty-three. Luster fluttered her wings, and forced herself to keep still as she answered him. “I… it’s personal, all right? This is between me and Zirconio, and I don’t particularly care what you have to say about it.”

“Is he the one you’re bored with?” Bristle asked, because of course that wasn’t enough for him.

“No, I…”

It was never enough for anybody, was it?

“You know what? Yes. I am bored with him. In fact, I’m tired of him.” She was inches from his nose now, and couldn’t remember when she’d gotten that close. “I’m tired of ponies like him who think they own everything they can get their greedy hooves on, I’m tired of letting ponies like him walk all over me while no one does anything to stop them, and I’m tired of sitting around yesterday and tomorrow and every day after that waiting for the same thing to happen the same way again and again and again. And most of all, I’m tired of you acting all high and mighty and trying to tell me what I should think about it!”

Bristle shrugged again, and a terrifying urge to slap him shuddered through her forelegs. “I don’t have anything to think about it.”

“Oh, for Celestia’s sake, don’t patronize me,” she snarled. “The only reason you even looked at me tonight is because you want to play the hero for some poor little girl who can’t possibly know what she’s getting herself into. So don’t stand there smirking at me like you know the last thing about why I’m doing this, when I’m the one who’s out fifteen thousand bits and you’re a moondamned street sweeper who won’t see that much money for the rest of his moondamned life!”

Her breath returned a moment after she fell silent, then left her again just as quickly. Her face burned, and ducking out of the moonlight did little to hide it. “Stars, I-I…” she mumbled. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said… that was out of line.”

Once again, though, Bristle surprised her. “I’ve heard worse,” he said through a rough chuckle. He sounded ten years older than he looked, but not the slightest bit weary or depressed about it. “And you got me half-right. Odds are, I won’t have that much money saved up for a good long while. But I did have it once. And I do know why you’re doing this.”

Another shock followed the first: Luster’s eyes stung as she squeezed them shut, and all of a sudden Bristle knew better than to speak over her. “It’s not fair,” she murmured. “He just robbed me, after four months slaving over his stupid commission. Just up and walked off with it because he knew it’d cost me more to sue him than it would him to pay me what I’m owed. He had the gall to say I should be honored to even work for him, right there in my shop, with his pig-faced brat of a kid standing right by his side and spraying donut crumbs all over the…”

When she looked up, she couldn’t understand why the street sweeper hadn’t left. She’d lost her count again. Pastries were all she could think about. “How do you live like this? How do you do the same thing day after day, and never get any respect for it? How do you not just… snap?”

“You mean, how am I not bored?” They both nodded; her first, and him more slowly in response. “Way I see it, the sun doesn’t get bored rising. And I doubt it gets tired of setting.”

In the spare moment Bristle left between sentences, Luster straightened up and wiped her eyes. “You can’t possibly like street-sweeping that much.”

She expected a shrug, so much so that she almost didn’t noticed when one didn’t come. “I don’t get tired of it,” Bristle said. “I keep the city clean. I get to work with my hooves. I can look back when the sun gets up and see everything I accomplished while it was asleep. And when I can, I make sure the sun rises on me too.”

For the first time, Luster really looked at the mark on Bristle’s flank. At a glance, she’d seen a broom to match the one in his hoof, but the hairs in his mark’s brush looked too soft, and the handle suited for more delicate work.

“There’s a big difference between being tired and being bored. And like I said, you look bored.” With a grunt, Bristle wedged his broom between his shoulders and the dustbins on his back, and lifted a hoof in salute as he backed away. “But like I also said, I didn’t see anything. You have a good night now.”

Luster watched him go, and didn’t look back at the fence until the streetlamps in the distance grew too dim to see him by. The other night guard hadn’t appeared yet. The count was still going. She could find it again.

And once she did, she’d never lose it again. Once she did, she’d follow it for the rest of her life.

By the time the count ended, she’d reached the next block in search of a trash can. She could at least make Bristle’s job easier and get rid of the amulet herself. As for the mask, she figured she’d kept it. It itched too much to throw away, and now that she looked at it, the paint was wearing off.

Consistency (December 2015) [E-Rated] [Tirek] [Discord] [Dark] [Drama]

Author's Note

Fun fact: apparently I did actually go back and expand this Writeoff entry for FIMFic publication at some point, and then just... never published it. Oops. Anyway, this one was definitely fun to construct, and rereading it now I'm kind of sorry I let this one languish in my Google Drive graveyard for so long.

Consistency (December 2015) [E-Rated] [Tirek] [Discord] [Dark] [Drama]

He arrived with no warning, something Tirek didn’t expect. If anything could be expected of a creature like Discord, it was some degree of showmanship: swirling smoke, crackling flames, the stinging scent of ozone clawing at his nose. Instead, the Lord of Chaos simply was, where a moment before nothing had been--a ghost, still and silent, who just as soon might fade back into the mist.

“Have you come to gloat?” Tirek asked him. A rasping cough chased his words, itching in his throat before he swallowed it back. Weak though he was--devoid of magic and the strength to wield it--he still had his pride. So, it seemed, did Discord.

“I doubt it.” The draconequus raised a yellow-scaled claw, considering each talon with pantomimed disinterest. “Seems an awful waste of a trip to come all the way down here for that. It’s such a nightmare traveling through Tartarus this time of year. You wouldn’t believe the traffic.”

Tirek thought as much. Even for Discord, reaching this place was no easy feat. His cage had rusted away in time, but the veil of darkness around him remained, impenetrable and absolute in every direction. Only the cold stone beneath his hooves tethered him to reality, its unblemished chill his only anchor to what felt like an echo of life. His visitor’s identity notwithstanding, he couldn’t help but relish the change in scenery. Discord was, after all, the only visitor he recalled ever receiving down here.

“The Princesses sent you.”

Tirek’s statement was more accusation than question. In response, Discord merely shrugged, a pillar of rock rising behind him with the motion. His arm fell to his side when he sat down, but his claw stayed where it was, rotating in midair so he could examine its back side.

“In perfect honesty, it was their idea,” he admitted. As his talons rejoined his body, a hint of a smirk played across his lips. “Ironically, they thought I might… talk sense into you.”

Tirek laughed: a gravelly, knowing sound. “What fun is there in making sense?”

Discord’s smile grew. “What fun, indeed.”

Tirek sighed, for himself and Discord both. How low his former ally had sunk, and how completely this time. He’d been right to leave him behind, and wrong to show him mercy. The next time he was able, he wouldn’t make the same mistake.

“I was a fool to betray you,” Tirek began. “You’re more powerful than I ever was.”

“I am,” Discord confirmed. “And you were.”

“The ponies trust you,” Tirek went on. “Even after you double-crossed them. They’ve allowed you into my chamber. You could get me out.”

Discord dipped his chin, a thoughtful spark gleaming in his eyes. “I could.”

“Then let me help you! I’ll join you this time, follow your every command! Together, we could destroy the Elements of Harmony, make the Princesses grovel before us, take all of Equestria back for oursel--”

A sudden wheeze snuffed out the fire in his promise, and the hacking coughs that followed made the rest of it moot. When Tirek straightened again, Discord stood with him--his face expressionless, his eyes naked and dull.

“Lying doesn’t flatter you, Tirek,” he said, his brow taking on a judgmental tilt. “And believe me, you need all the help you can get.”

A scoff scratched at Tirek’s aching throat. “You’re one to talk,” he rasped. “What have you ever been but a liar?”

“Oh, many things,” Discord replied, counting off each answer on his golden-furred toes. “Joker, grinner, lover, sinner… and more than anything else, a fool like you.”

As Tirek glowered, Discord leaned forward and smiled again. “Oh, come now. Surely you must know that’s what we were. Liars who fooled Equestria, and fools who lied to ourselves. Did you ever really think you could hoard all of Equestria’s magic for yourself? Did you think the ponies who inhabit it would not object to such grotesquery… that they wouldn’t fight back?”

Discord went on before Tirek could respond. “Of course you did. Just as I did before you. It’s in our nature, you see--us poor, ambitious, ignorant imbeciles. Our strength came from our solitude, our total control over our every whim and desire. We bowed to no one, no pony, no thing…” He flicked his eyes away, his pointed glance sweeping around the formless cell. “And my oh my, just look at what it got us.”

“How gravely I misjudged you,” Tirek hissed. “Such power, such magical mastery over the very fabric of reality, and you’d rather wallow as a slave to those pathetic whelps than thrive as their master.” A raspy chuckle punctuated his charge, smoldering with equal parts malice and disgust. “Once I thought you were strong, but now I see the truth. You’re no better than the little ponies I conquered. In fact, I daresay you are one yourse--”

“I am not a pony!”

The venom in Discord’s retort at first filled Tirek with glee, but his satisfaction was short-lived. Discord composed himself within moments, and when he spoke again his tone was soft, almost to the point of sounding mournful.

“I am not a pony,” he said, “and I am not strong.”

So used to solitude as he was, Tirek found himself tongue-tied. The silence persisted for a moment, and then Discord continued.

“I suppose that’s what I admire about ponies,” he murmured. “They’re consistent. No matter how they suffer, under your hoof or anything else’s, they don’t break. They stay precisely the same: honest, humble, hardworking… merciful.”

“Consistent?” Tirek’s outrage gave him breath enough to voice it. “You’re Discord! The spirit of chaos! The last thing you should admire is consistency!”

“Is it?” Discord shot back. “Chaos is consistency, Tirek. Everyone doing the wrong thing, everything in its improper place… why, unpredictability is the most predictable thing there is! Now, deception, dishonesty, betrayal… saying one thing and meaning another. That is inconsistent. That is what you are, Tirek.” Discord’s grin grew wider--toothier. “And what I was for trusting you.”

Tirek’s anger grew cold in his chest. “The Princesses… you told me you mean to reform me!”

His visitor took one step forward, then a longer one. “No,” Discord murmured, “I didn’t.”

There was nowhere for Tirek to go. The darkness around his cell held him quivering in place. “What are you going to do to me?”

Discord towered over him. His claws were clenched. His smile was gone.

“Something a pony wouldn’t.”

And All the Drones and Workers Merely Players (August 2019) [E-Rated] [Chrysalis] [Changelings] [Comedy]

Author's Note

My entry into GaPJaxie's first Speedwrite contest, based on a truly obnoxious interpretation of the prompt "The Stars Are Gone" (because, see, they're like the "stars" of the show, and Chrysalis can't find them, so... never mind). It lost in the first round to the eventual winner, but I definitely still love it to death.

And All the Drones and Workers Merely Players (August 2019) [E-Rated] [Chrysalis] [Changelings] [Comedy]

A long moment passed, dark and terrible, before Celestia moved. Unfurrowing her brow from the knot she’d twisted it into a few seconds prior, she slowly lifted a hoof and pointed it straight ahead, singling out one pony amidst the crowd gathered before her.

“You’re not Rainbow Dash,” she said. “Are you?”

Rainbow Dash blinked, her eyes shifting back and forth as her comrades meekly shuffled away. “Uh… yes? Or wait, no. Which question am I supposed to answer?”

“The second one, I think,” Applejack advised, just as Rarity proffered the opposite suggestion.

“Ugh,” Pinkie Pie groaned, “this is always confusing! I hate these kind of… what’s the word for when someone asks a yes-or-no question and it’s not clear which answer is affirmative?”

“Tautology?” Fluttershy suggested.

“No, that’s when you repeat yourself with two different phrases,” Twilight chimed in. “Like, ‘tiny little shrimp,’ or something. Unless you meant a tautology in the traditional logical sense, which actually means–"

“Okay, stop!” Celestia shouted, her eyes squeezed shut behind the hoof she’d slapped in front of them. “Everyone… neutral forms!”

Another moment passed, short and awkward, and then one by one columns of green flame enveloped each and every pony in the room. In their places a moment later stood dozens of chitinous black changelings, each of whom specifically tried to stand in as non-eye-catching a way as possible.

“Now, then,” said Chrysalis, now demorphed from a pony princess into the towering, imposing form more befitting a changeling queen. “I am going to ask this question one time, and only one time… who in this room is supposed to be playing Rainbow Dash?”

Every changeling spoke up in the most innocuous, non-attention-hogging way possible, which is to say no changeling said anything at all. The only sound came from Chrysalis, as she took in a deep breath to hold trapped behind her bared, gritted teeth.

“My… faithful changeling hive,” she finally said, her emphasis on “faithful” echoing through the chamber like claws on a chalkboard, “you all recall the purpose of this endeavor, do you not?”

After another silent moment passed, she leveled a fearsome glare at the changeling who was most decidedly not Rainbow Dash, who even more decidedly seemed to wish he’d never been hatched. “Um… you did it again, your High…” he started to say, before the low growl rising in her Queen’s throat convinced him the point was moot. “To enslave the pony race by taking the forms of those whom they love the most, your Highness. And also kidnap the real ones first. I guess we’re supposed to start with that. And then… I guess vengeance?”

“VENGEANCE!” Chrysalis proclaimed, drawing a startled chitter from her current target and incredibly quiet sighs from every other changeling so blessed as to not be said target. “Against the ponies who ruined my previous master plan. For those ponies, I have planned unyielding and unspeakable horrors, torments and tortures so terrible they will beg for Tartarus rather than submit to another second of suffering! So, with that in mind, you wouldn’t want to know what I have planned for anycreature who ruins my current master plan, would you?”

The changelings present dodged the spotlight so well, they could’ve closed their eyes and imagined no one was even there at all. In fact, many of them were doing so at that very moment, aside from one who couldn’t help but whisper, “Okay, she has to be doing this on purpose…”

“Good,” she said, “then with that also in mind… where is the changeling I personally hoof-selected to take the role of Rainbow Dash?”

Several moments passed, each as ill-defined in exact length as the previous—and then finally, someone broke the spell.

“She said she didn’t want to be Rainbow Dash,” a tiny voice near the back replied.

“She didn’t…” Chrysalis tensed each and every muscle in her body in succession, a tried-and-true method of calming herself down that, one of these days, was bound to actually work. “What precisely does that mean?”

Even faster than they had Not-Rainbow Dash, the crowd parted to leave the changeling who’d spoken up on a truly tautological island all her own. “W-Well, she, um… said she didn’t identify with her role very well,” she mumbled. “She wanted to play somepony with more, uh… depth?”

Chrysalis stared at her like she’d morphed a second head. “They’re ponies,” she eventually intoned. “They don’t have depth.”

Now the crowd shuffled around a bit, stirred from general anonymity by the boldness of that statement. “Well, some do,” one near the front responded. “At least, more than others.”

“Rainbow Dash does have depth, it’s just kind of inconsistent with her actions sometimes,” another argued, accompanied by a few nods from the changelings gathered around him. “Now, Applejack, on the other hand…”

“Oh, for hive’s sake, don’t start with this again!” cried a changeling from the opposite side of the room. “Just because she has simplistic goals doesn’t mean she’s a simplistic-–"

“QUIET!” Chrysalis paradoxically screamed. With a few last murmurs and “Rarity’s way shallower anyway”s, the crowd settled down once more. “I do not even slightly care what role any of you want to play!” she hissed. “This is my plan. I am in charge, and that means that what I say will happen is what will happen! And I say that Mandible was, is, and will be until my moment of ultimate triumph: Rainbow Dash!”

At first, no one argued the point, or at least they all knew well enough not to do so when Chrysalis was visibly in “turn someone from a drone into a worker” mode. Once she seemed to simmer down, though, the changeling in the back hesitantly raised a hoof.

“I mean, Mandible does do a really good Fluttershy, though. Like, it’s really good. Mandible, show her.”

After a few seconds and another whispered bit of encouragement, green flames erupted from another spot in the back row, leaving behind what everyone had to admit was indeed an extremely good morph of Fluttershy. “Um…” she said, shuddering with every syllable, “I-I’m sorry, Queen Chrysalis, I… didn’t mean to be a bother. I can, uh… p-play Rainbow Dash if that’s what you’d like.”

Two forces went to war inside Chrysalis’s mind: one abject rage at the insubordination shown to her over the last several minutes, and the other begrudging admittance that, yes, Mandible’s impersonation of Fluttershy was really, really good. Much better than Carapace’s, at least. “Fine,” she muttered before she found her regal tone again. “Fine. I consent to this. Mandible and Carapace can switch roles. Now where’s Carapace?”

Several seconds passed before the named changeling revealed himself. “Actually, if we’re switching roles… can I be Rarity?” he asked. “I’d really like to be Rarity, if it’s all the same. I’ve been practicing her accent.”

“He has,” Mandible confirmed. “It’s pretty impressive.”

Chrysalis blinked, that being the only action she could stand taking at the moment that wouldn’t leave hemolymph stains on the walls and ceiling. “We are not switching roles,” she said. “This is a one-time–"

“Ooh, ooh, can I be Big Mac?” another changeling called out. “I like big morphs!”

“That… he is irrelevant. He bears no role in the coming–"

“I wanna be the Cutie Mark Crusaders!” someone else shouted.

“Those are three ponies, you can’t be all of them at on–"

“We wanna be Lyra,” a changeling right up front said, flanked by three grinning companions. “That’s fine, right? She doesn’t have a speaking role, really, so we could totally–"

“There cannot be four of one pony in a single town,” Chrysalis seethed. “How is this hard to understand?”

But it was too late. The room was lost. Chaos reigned as every changeling present buzzed with excitement, each claiming a role other than that which they’d been assigned.

“I call Mayor Mare!”

“Dibs on Minuette!”

“I’m Twilight Sparkle!”

“No, I’m Twilight Sparkle!”

“Let’s all be Twilight! Then we can all be alicorns!”

A great cheer rose up, the true Twilight indistinguishable from the horde of compatriots claiming to be her. The true Chrysalis, meanwhile, just collapsed back into her throne and buried her head in her hooves.

“This was so much easier when we were a hive mind,” she muttered to herself.

Not Great, Not Terrible (August 2019) [E-Rated] [Starlight Glimmer] [Double Diamond] [Party Favor] [Comedy] [Crossover]

Author's Note

This, my entry into Jaxie's second Speedwrite contest (Prompt: "Technically Not Terrible"), is arguably the dumbest thing I've ever written. It is also arguably one of my favorite things I've ever written, even though it once again went out in the first round (a real tendency of mine, huh?) to an eventual finalist.

Chernobyl's a great show, y'all. Go and watch it if you haven't.

Not Great, Not Terrible (August 2019) [E-Rated] [Starlight Glimmer] [Double Diamond] [Party Favor] [Comedy] [Crossover]

When the ringing in Double Diamond’s ears faded, an equally grating sound grew to replace it: the grinding crunch of stones tumbling overtop one another, as well as the rumble of billowing smoke and, far in the distance… a honking party favor?

No, Party Favor was on the day shift with Sugar Belle. Right now, it was just him, Night Glider, and Starlight Glimmer. And also, magisteel control rods didn’t honk. Nor did they crunch, typically, though rumbling wasn’t technically out of the question. So, technically, everything was still more or less normal.

“What…”

A bout of hacking coughs temporarily took the words from Starlight’s mouth. Double Diamond couldn’t blame her. Out of all the ponies in the Town, Miss Glimmer spent the least amount of time in the Cutie Reactor, busy as she was with Town-ly business. She was just here in a supervisory capacity, overseeing one final safety test before she loaded the rest of the Town’s cutie marks in the next morning. Of course she wouldn’t be accustomed to the conditions inside such a high-tech, powerful, definitely-not-on-fire facility.

“What just happened?” she finally managed to croak.

Double Diamond glanced at Night Glider, who glanced at the reactor, which hummed a happy little tune before crunching again. “Good news, Mayor Starlight!” Double replied cheerfully without turning around. “We’ve completed the safety test!”

“Well, you definitely did something,” Starlight said, in a tone Double Diamond could almost convince himself was level. “What’s the reactor’s power level?”

Double Diamond smiled. Now this he knew how to handle. “Night Glider,” he said, his skin prickling with raw magical confidence, “Mayor Starlight wants to know what the reactor’s power level is.”

Night Glider was still looking at the reactor--or rather, as it turned out, an afterimage of her was that quickly faded into butterflies shaped like shards of confetti. In reality, Night Glider was standing behind him, her face blackened with soot and her mane stood up on end. She must’ve gotten a new haircut. Double reminded himself to compliment her on it once the walls went back to their usual color.

“The reactor’s power level,” she reported, “is… very powerful.”

“It’s very powerful, Mayor Starlight!”

“Stop shouting!” Starlight shouted. “A number, Diamond. I need a number.”

“We have one very powerful reactor, Mayor Starlight!”

Overcome with pride in her townspony’s obedience and can-do spirit, Starlight raised a hoof to her brow and positively groaned. “Night Glider, what number is the needle on the main console’s dial pointing at?”

One of the Night Gliders blinked. Double Diamond was pretty sure it was the one that actually existed. “The Cutie Reactor’s power dial has been malfunctioning, Mayor Starlight,” Night Glider said in a wavery but still perfectly audible voice. “I’ve put in a request for maintenance.”

Starlight Glimmer blinked. Double Diamond was absolutely sure she did. “Night Glider, you’re the maintenance pony for this reactor. That’s your job.”

“Fortunately, I’ve also received a maintenance request for the reactor’s power dial. I’ll be sure to get to work on it right away.”

For a few moments, Starlight just swiveled her head back and forth between her two loyal and extremely non-luminescent subjects, before squeezing her eyes shut and sighing deeply. “Double Diamond,” she slowly said, “tell me my Cutie Reactor--the one meant to safely contain the Cutie Mark of everypony in our Town--didn’t just explode.”

Double Diamond snorted. “Of course not, Mayor Starlight!” he assured her through a toothy grin. “Cutie Reactor can’t explode. It’s scientifically impossible!”

“It certainly looks like it exploded.”

“It’s just a trick of the light. Localized magical anomalies happen all the time around active reactors.”

“There are chunks of changelite on the ground.”

Double Diamond laughed. “Oh, that isn’t changelite, Mayor. Changelite is an incredible rare mineral changelings use to suppress arcane control rods. We only use it inside the reactor’s core.”

“Which just exploded.”

“Cutie Reactor cores can’t explode, Mayor,” Night Glider helpfully reminded her. “It’s scientifically impossible.”

Starlight Glimmer blinked again. Double Diamond giggled, much the way a pony who was nervous would but also totally different in this particular case. “Okay,” Starlight said, “so if it didn’t explode, why is it on fire?”

“It’s not on…” Double Diamond started to say before the look in Starlight’s eyes--and the fact that she was floating six inches off the ground--inspired him to reconsider. “We may have had a slight technical fault during the test, but a small fire is nothing to worry about. The reactor’s core is still completely intact.”

Starlight seemed, in a word, skeptical. “Right. Because if it wasn’t intact, we’d all have just been exposed to a historically massive surge of unfiltered magic that would have wild and unpredictable effects on us, the reactor, and the Town in large.”

Double Diamond grinned, a feat made somewhat trickier by the fact that his teeth currently resembled black and white piano keys. “Exactly, Mayor Starlight!” he said. “You understand this reactor better than any of us!”

“It is literally your job to run the reactor,” Starlight growled.

“Except me, obviously. And I’m telling you the reactor’s fine, so… it’s fine.”

Starlight still looked, in a series of four-letter words coalesced into a single polite one, unconvinced. “Look, I’ll prove it to you,” Double Diamond said, grimacing through a hiccup that released a stream of pink bubbles into the shimmering air. “Night Glider, what does the arcameter read?”

Night Glider shuffled around in her saddlebag and pulled out a small black gizmo which immediately started screeching in frankly overblown alarm. “3.6 Poentgen per hour,” she read off its dial. “That’s the maximum this thing goes to, tho-”

“3.6 Poentgen per hour.” Diamond told Starlight. “Not great, not terrible. No more magic than you’d get from a chest X-ray. Perfectly normal for a reactor fire.”

Starlight stared at Double Diamond. Double Diamond stared back. Night Glider stared at her hoof, which seemed to have split into three smaller hooves which proceeded to bicker with each other. Pretty typical stuff for a day on the job. Double Diamond was sure he’d seen worse.

“Okay,” Starlight finally said, “just hypothetically, let’s say the reactor did impossibly explode. How long would it take for the magic to dissipate so we could come back and rebuild the reactor?”

“Well,” Double Diamond, “purely hypothetically… with the amount of magical energy contained in each control rod, and with a control rod for each cutie mark contained in the reactor, and with 50 ponies in the Town as of the last census…” Double Diamond’s teeth played a jaunty tune as he flashed them again. “You know, the Everfree Forest can be a lovely place to visit if you take the proper precautions.”

Starlight Glimmer blinked one last time. “Okay, I’ve heard enough. You two go to the clinic while I clean this up. We’ll gather a search party to go collect everyone’s cutie marks in the morning.”

“Excellent suggestion, Mayor Starlight!” Double Diamond said as he calmly sprinted for the exit. “Your leadership is exemplary!”

As her two townsponies galloped for the Town, Starlight rolled her eyes. “Lousy Stalliongrad engineering…” she muttered as she lit her horn. “No wonder everyone buys Equestrian.”

Trying (September 2019) [T-Rated - Profanity] [Apple Bloom] [Diamond Tiara] [Slice of Life] [Dark]

Author's Note

I meant what I said in my printed anthology's author note for "The Sum of Our Parts": I straight-up will not allow myself to write happy DiamondBloom stories. If it's any consolation, I always imagine things working out for them in the end, but all the important stories I have to tell about DT happen long before that.

(Also, I broke the streak with this one! Made it past the first round in a contest [Jaxie's Speedwrite again, with the prompt "We Tried"] and even won the whole thing in a landslide. Moral of the story: drink White Claws and watch football while writing, apparently it helps a lot.)

Trying (September 2019) [T-Rated - Profanity] [Apple Bloom] [Diamond Tiara] [Slice of Life] [Dark]

“This shit’s like cough medicine.”

Apple Bloom grimaced, her face a sign of silent agreement as she reached to grab the bottle back from Diamond Tiara. Ponett’s was far from the best vodka Equestria had to offer--arguably, it was exactly the opposite--but it was cheap, plentiful, and relatively easy for high schoolers to get their hooves on. All things considered, it could’ve been worse. After all, they could’ve been sober on a Friday night.

“No, seriously, it’s cough medicine,” Diamond went on, her aimless gesturing hoof the last thing Apple Bloom saw before she squeezed her eyes shut and took another pull. “It tastes terrible, it sucks to get down, but it’s got a bigger purpose, y’know? To... get us drunk. It makes sense. I think it makes sense.”

Once she swallowed, Apple Bloom smirked. “Never took you for such a poet.”

Diamond lolled her head to the side, wearing something like a smirk of her own. “You never took me for much of anything.”

“That’s what she said.”

Diamond flopped onto her back again, completely prone against the grassy hillside they’d settled upon. “You wish…” she mumbled before splaying one foreleg out and using the other to accept the bottle back. Apple Bloom could only shrug in response. Not much she could say to that after two years being as out as she and Dinky were. And on the binary scale of “would” or “would not,” Diamond was definitely a “would.” This deep into a fifth of Ponett’s, Apple Bloom was in the mood to be honest with herself.

“So what’s your purpose?” Apple Bloom slurred after a bit, not quite sure where she was going with the question but happy enough to just find out when she got there. “For.. self-medicating?”

“I just like getting fucked up,” Diamond said simply. She took a drink from the bottle, barely even flinching at the liquor’s burning aftertaste. “Better than the alternative.”

Again, Apple Bloom couldn’t argue. She held her hoof out to receive the bottle back. After a few moments of silence and no weight added to her foreleg, she turned to look at Diamond, who continued to stare at the sky.

“You know, you’re lucky,” Diamond eventually said.

“What d’you mean?”

“‘Cause you don’t have to try.”

Apple Bloom’s hoof fell to rest against the grass as she propped herself up on it. “Try what, what’re you… what?”

“You don’t have to try,” Diamond repeated, idly rolling the bottle’s base in a circle against her stomach. “Like, just being honest and generous and like… sharing booze and whatnot. You don’t even think about it, you just… it’s natural. You don’t think about it. You’re lucky.”

Even if she hadn’t been drinking, Apple Bloom wasn’t sure she’d have known what to say to that. “I mean… it’s not like I don’t think about it. Being nice and doing stuff like that, it don’t come natural…”

“Yeah it does,” Diamond snickered. “Yeah it fuckin’ does, don’t lie to me. You suck at it. At lying, not at… y’know.” With a blink, Diamond glanced down her torso and realized she was still holding the bottle. “See? Case in point,” she said as she finally passed it back over.

Apple Bloom took the vodka but didn’t drink it. “Diamond, you’re not a bad pony just ‘cause you have to try to be good. Everypony has to try. You think I don’t?”

“Nah, I mean, I know that,” Diamond said. She waited--and aimed a pointed look her companion’s way--until Apple Bloom drank again before continuing. “I know ponies try. I try. I try really hard. But for you, and Sweetie and Scootaloo and, like, fuckin’ everybody… it’s easy to try, y’know. Like, you… it works for you. You do good things and you make other ponies feel good and you feel good, and that’s all… how it’s supposed to be. I don’t know, fuck it. Gimme the bottle.”

Apple Bloom sat up, her head spinning in more ways than one. “Diamond, you… what d’you mean, how it’s supposed to be?”

“Nothing, never mind, just lemme-”

“Diamond.”

Diamond squinted, then scowled, then for a moment almost seemed on the verge of laughter. “Wait, since when are you my fuckin’ mom? Actually, don’t be, please, stars above. I actually like you. And you… tolerate me, so that’s--”

“Diamond, stop.”

“--better than nothing. Also, stop what? I’m having a great time.”

“I mean stop... I don’t just tolerate you, you’re my friend,” Apple Bloom said. “I care about you.”

Now Diamond did laugh. “See, that’s what I mean! It’s so easy for you. You’re just friends with everypony, and everypony likes you, and you don’t have to… like, your fuckin’ family likes you, even. Literally no matter what you did, your family would still be there, still… look at you like a fucking… equine being.”

For the first time in an hour, Apple Bloom sat up fully. When Diamond swiped for the bottle, she lifted it out of reach. “Diamond, what happened?”

“Nothing happened, what… why does something have to happen?” Diamond said. “Can I not just get drunk and hang out, is that not okay? Does everything have to be a fucking friendship problem like it was with your sister?”

“No, Diamond, that’s not--”

“I’m trying, okay? I’m trying to be nice, and fun and normal and every-fucking-thing everypony wants me to be, and sometimes I just want to try to get drunk and black out and forget how much of a fuckup I am at all of it, all right? Because you know what, at least I am trying. At least I’m sticking it the fuck out every moondamned day, even though I’m shallow and hollow no matter how many nice things I do, even though I just want to stay in bed and lie there and rip my own fucking skin off because I can’t stand the thought of even existing anymore. But at least I’m trying, right? At least I’m fucking trying.”

Apple Bloom didn’t say a word. Diamond stared at the sky.

“It’s all easy for you, and I don’t need to be fucking lectured about it,” Diamond said. “Gimme the fucking bottle.”

Apple Bloom rooted around until she found the bottle’s cap, then screwed it on and rolled the bottle out of reach. “Diamond, listen to me,” she said. “I don’t… you’re right. It’s easy for me. I don’t have to deal with half’a what you do.”

“Oh, yeah, poor Diamond Tiara, rich and famous and fucking--”

“Diamond, shut the fuck up.” Apple Bloom’s voice cracked on the last syllable. As she blinked away the moisture in her eyes, Diamond flinched like she’d been struck. “It ain’t all about money, or privilege or whatever other excuse you wanna cling to. You try so hard, and we all see it. All of us, I swear to Celestia. And I believe in you. I don’t care if you don’t, I do. I believe in how good you are and how hard you try, and if your parents or anypony else doesn’t, then fuck them. Fuck them.”

“I’d rather not, all things considered,” Diamond muttered--but she let her hoof drop, and didn’t ask for the bottle again.

“I believe in you,” Apple Bloom repeated. “And I’ll try too. Try to be there for you, whenever you need me. If you ever feel like that again, please tell me.”

Diamond kept her silence. Apple Bloom wiped her nose on her hoof.

“Do you… do you wanna stay over tonight?” Apple Bloom asked.

“I’m not trying to be a bother, I’ll be--”

“Diamond, do you want to stay someplace other than home tonight?”

Diamond blinked, and sighed, and stared at the sky. Finally, she murmured, “Yeah. Please.”

“Okay,” Apple Bloom said. “Then come on.” And when she stood up and extended her hoof to help her friend up, Diamond took it.

They left the bottle where it lay.

Friends of a Feather (December 2019) [E-Rated] [Gallus] [Silverstream] [Slice of Life]

Even after two years of study at Ponyville’s School of Friendship, there were a lot of things Gallus didn’t understand about pony culture--and rather than being whittled down over the years, the proverbial list instead seemed to grow longer by the day. Were their group song sessions magical, or just impeccably coordinated? How could they all collectively believe there were multiple flavors of hay? Seriously, how in the ever-widening world of Equestria did cutie marks actually work? (Apparently, even the ponies didn’t really have an answer to that last one.)

But most prescient on his mind currently was a simpler but no less crucial query: why, oh why did ponies only drink eggnog around Hearthswarming instead of the whole year round?

Another giant beakful of the stuff did nothing to calm the storm of thoughts rampaging through his mind. This was exquisite, delectable nectar of whatever gods ponies had--Question Number Five: Did Celestia and Luna count?--and yet the ponies only allowed it to be served around the winter holidays. What in the world were they thinking, these pudgy, peace-loving little prey animals--

Gallus grimaced, his last gulp curdling a little in the back of his throat. He’d spent a lot of time over the last couple years working those kinds of thoughts out of his system--those aggressive, antagonistic parts of Griffon culture that seemed endemic in everygriff he’d ever met before coming here. His family--what he supposed he ought to call Grandpa Gruff and the rest of his flockmates--never missed a chance to put down their technicolor neighbors as weaker than them, more cowardly, more blind to what real life was like and how much it usually hurt.

And it did hurt sometimes, of course--that was just the nature of life. But no one back home ever talked about any of the good things life had to offer too, like happy friends and warm fires and eggnog to drink with both. Right now, for instance, he had a mug of the stuff all his own, not to mention a blazing hearth in front of him and, behind him, tinkling laughter from Sandbar and Ocellus as they tried to explain that “decking” the halls didn’t mean what Yona and Smolder thought it meant. This was all good. Great, even.

And yet all it took was one fleeting thought, one bumpy hop back into an old mental rut, and the whole thing seemed soured somehow. Like it didn’t belong to him and never would, and some part of him knew that would never change. The part that made him cover the whole common room in purple goop last year just so his friends wouldn’t leave him alone here. The part that, even now, wondered why exactly they had really stayed in the end.

Gallus rolled his eyes and took another sip of nog. (Question Number Six: Did ponies call it that for short, or was it just something they definitely should do?) As if he hadn’t spent hours upon hours in Counselor Starlight’s--and more recently, Counselor Trixie’s--office going over this very thing. Now, of all times, was not when he should be agonizing over it again. Now was the time to bask in this fire and drink as much of this eggnog as possible, before the ponies inevitably banished it for months in favor of 42 varieties of hay shakes. Which, positive thinking notwithstanding, were all objectively gross. That wasn’t negative, that was just true.

“Hey, Gal-Pal. Enjoyin’ the nog?”

Ha! Another vote for his “nog” nickname. Gallus made a mental note to thank Silverstream later for supporting his beverage-renaming campaign, and to never ever acknowledge what she’d just called him. “Yes, I am,” he replied as Silverstream flopped onto the couch next to him, one talon hooked around a cup of her own. “And I’m gonna keep enjoying it until I physically can’t anymore.”

“You might wanna stop at some point,” Silverstream said with a giggle and a friendly nudge. “Don’t wanna have to roll you outta here.”

“To which I reply with that most famous of griffon catchphrases: ‘no promises.’” Another sip gave Gallus time to reconsider his statement. “Well, second-most famous. Most famous is probably still ‘Go away,’ except screamed really loud and with a bunch of claws showing.”

Gallus chuckled, and Silverstream did too, but she fell silent a few moments before he did. “I’m not kidding,” Gallus added, grinning. “They really do say that a lot. It’s kind of our thing.”

“It’s not your thing, though,” Silverstream replied. “You’re super friendly!”

“I’m also blue. Not exactly your typical catbird over here.”

“That just means you’re special, doesn’t it?”

Gallus bit back another smart response. Positive thinking, echoed Starlight’s voice from inside his head. “I guess it does,” he ultimately intoned. “Thank you, Silverstream.”

“You’re welcome, Gallus,” Silverstream replied, feigning formality to match his for a moment before her face split into a grin and she dissolved into a giggle-fit. Once it ended with a snort and a bubbly sigh, though, her face softened again as she glanced him up and down, like a doctor examining a patient who swore he wasn’t sick. He wasn’t sick, as a matter of fact, but he wasn’t blind either.

“The others send you over here?” he asked coolly. He supposed that would be in character for them--he had been sitting over here alone for a while, after all, and he did have a bit of an unfortunate history with this holiday.

“Nope!” Silverstream chirped. “Just looked like a comfy fire.”

“Hmm.”

A log shifted within the fireplace, spraying a cloud of sparks into the air that evaporated before they reached the brick surface of the hearth. Admittedly, it was nice having company over here, even if all they did together was sip their respective drinks and soak some delicious heat into their winter-blasted feathers. Whatever her reason was, he appreciated it. He realized suddenly that he ought to tell her so.

“I’m--” he began.

“I’m really glad you’re here,” Silverstream said.

Gallus blinked. For once, he found himself without a quick retort. “I mean it,” Silverstream said. “I know last year was really hard for you, and… well, I know it’s a little awkward now too.”

Before he could think to hide it, Gallus winced. “Am I that obvious?”

“Not reeeeally,” Silverstream lied. “I mean, you do have a tell. Any time you get quiet and sort of huddle off to the side like this, that’s a dead giveaway. Also, you kind of brood a bit, like…” Silverstream puffed out her cheeks and put on a look that suggested either deep consideration or stomach pain. “Not exactly like that, but you know what I--”

“Okay, okay, I get it. I brood. I’m a brooder,” Gallus conceded with a smile. “And yeah, I guess I… I don’t know. I’m glad I’m here too. It’s just the holidays are… they’re, um…”

“A reminder,” Silverstream finished for him. “Of… things you thought you were past.” When Gallus looked over at her, she was staring at the floor. “The Storm King attacked Mount Aris a week before Hearthswarming,” she went on. “Last year we were still celebrating being free, and everything went fine and all, but this year it’s… I don’t know either, I guess.”

“It feels like you’re backsliding,” Gallus said, repeating a word he’d heard Starlight use once. “Like, everything’s going great, but you’re so used to it not being great that you…”

“... keep waiting for it all to go wrong again,” Silverstream finished before putting on a wry grin. “Yep. Pretty much nailed it. Hooray for reliving trauma!”

Gallus shrugged and raised his nog glass. “‘Tis the season,” he said as Silverstream clinked her cup against his. They spent a moment draining their respective drinks--honestly, how could the ponies possibly have the willpower to go without this for so long?--and then returned to staring at the fire.

“I’m glad you’re here too,” Gallus eventually murmured. He didn’t look at Silverstream and she didn’t look at him, but after a few seconds he felt the weight of her head nestle into his shoulder. They stayed like that, anchored to the couch and to each other, until the tempest in each of their heads simmered down into a squall. At least, that was what Gallus got out of it. He had to imagine it had been good for Silverstream too.

Question Number Whatever: Do ponies do ‘phrasing’?

On second thought, some questions were probably best left unanswered.

Author's Note

Seriously, though, I don't actually know how fictional characters are supposed to bond other than by reliving trauma. Sports fandom? Their mom's names? It's a mystery.

This one wasn't technically a speedwrite entry, but it was a Secret Santa-esque gift for another member of the speedwrite server. It's also now the second time I've written about my precious blue birb son, which is frankly embarrassing on a personal and professional level. Gotta figure out how to do that furry-OC-adoptable thing, but with a canon character for a dead show.

What Manners Maketh (January 2020) [E-Rated] [Rumble] [Spike] [Slice of Life]

Rumble opened the door to the kitchen quietly, but he wasn’t quite sure why he did. He hadn’t seen mane nor tail of another pony since he'd entered Princess Twilight’s castle a few moments ago, nor any sign that other ponies had been in here today. Now that he was a little ways inside, though, an alcove tucked off to the side of the main hall had come into view, where warm light--and the sound of idle male humming--had trickled out and washed over him as he approached.

He shook his head in yet another attempt to clear it, and rapped his hoof on the doorjamb to announce his arrival. The humming stopped, and a cheerful voice rose to replace it.

“Oh, hey, Rumble!” Spike called out. “Was wondering when you’d show up. Your brother said you’d be over by noon.”

“Yeah,” Rumble said, trying not to glance at the wall clock that read twenty past the hour. “Got, uh… sidetracked. You got the stuff?”

“Yes indeed-y!” Spike said, sounding for all the world like his friend Pinkie Pie--and, at the same time, sending a weird twinge through Rumble’s chest. As Spike clambered off his stool and walked towards a bag of cooking supplies on an opposite counter, Rumble’s eyes scanned over him--his happy smile and his flour-dusted claws, and the frilly pink apron over his front. For pony’s sake, pink. What kind of…

Rumble shook his head once more--not that it helped anymore this time than it had before. And what was he supposed to do about it anyway? Spike certainly didn’t seem bothered. Nor did his big brother Thunderlane, for that matter. And as for himself… he wasn’t doing anything wrong. He…

“Hey, Spike?”

“Three cups of cubed tofu, paprika, cayenne, and… frozen peas!” Spike said, confirming each needed ingredient was present in the bag he picked up to deliver to Rumble. “Everything you need for a hearty Hayseed Gumbo! Sorry, you say somethin’?”

“Um…”

The weird feeling in his chest was back, and no amount of head-shaking or scratching was going to get it out. With a deep breath, Rumble resigned himself to being honest. “You mind if I ask you something kinda… personal?”

“Sure!” Spike said brightly, only to sour slightly a moment later. “Wait, this isn’t about a crush on Rarity, is it? Because I definitely can’t help with that.”

“No, it’s…”

Well, frankly, Rumble didn’t even know what it was, but he did his best to shape the weird feeling in his gut into something like a question. “Do you ever feel like you should be… I don’t know, different?”

“Different like… more handsome? Can’t help ya there either,” Spike said with a grin and a flex of his bicep. After a second, though, his face changed again. “Sorry, bad joke. Different how?”

“I mean, like… do you feel like you were supposed to be a certain way and something just… went wrong? And it’s not like you’re not happy, but you’re… you’re not sure that you’re supposed to be? It doesn’t make sense, never mind…”

“No, no, it does,” Spike said, setting the bag aside and dusting his claws on his apron. “You mean do I ever feel like I’m supposed to be more like a dragon and less like a pony?”

“No, that’s…” Rumble stammered. He knew he should’ve kept his big mouth shut--not talked about whatever this dumb feeling was. “I-I didn’t mean to say that’s a bad thing, it’s…”

“Hey, no sweat,” Spike said. “I know I’m different as much as anypony does. Buuuuut I get the feeling we’re not talking about me right now, are we?”

Rumble sighed. Thunderlane was right--he really was transparent. “It’s nothing,” he tried to tell himself out loud. “Or… no it’s not. I just don’t know how to talk about it. I don’t know why I feel like this.”

Spike’s eyes darted towards the saddlebag on Rumble’s flank, and a moment too late Rumble stuffed the protruding chef’s hat deeper into its depths. Really, really transparent. “Did something happen?” Spike asked, much softer than before.

“That’s just it!” Rumble replied. “Nothing happened. Nopony said anything, nopony yelled, ‘Hey, pansy, nice hat!’ Literally nopony has ever said anything like that to me, but… but why do I always feel like they want to? Why do I feel like I’m supposed to be tougher than this, or supposed to like different things, or like doing anything else but cooking like a…”

Rumble pressed his lips shut before he could finish his thought. As it turned out, he wasn’t the one who did.

“Like a mare?” Spike asked.

Rumble closed his eyes, huffed, and slowly nodded.

“Hoo boy,” Spike said. He reached behind his back to pull up a stool to sit down, gesturing for Rumble to do the same before continuing. “Kinda the billion-bit question there, huh?”

“I guess,” Rumble said once he’d gotten himself seated, forelegs wrapped around his saddlebag so the top flap would stay tightly closed. “So you don’t know either?”

“I don’t think anypony does,” Spike said. “I mean, I know it still bugs me sometimes. And…” He motioned towards his current wardrobe. “Clearly I’ve got some material to work with there.”

“It does?” Rumble asked. He didn’t know what he’d assumed specifically, but he definitely didn’t think Spike of all creatures could possibly be self-conscious. How else could he so easily slip into his whole “happy homebody” mold so easily, baking and sweeping and humming like everything a dragon wasn’t supposed to be?

“Yeah, man, are you kidding?” Spike answered. “It used to keep me awake at night. When we first moved to Ponyville, I had this whole fantasy about it: me, the mighty dragon hero, rescuing damsels and saving the day. It kept me going half the time, honestly. It made me happy.”

“Yeah, that’s the other thing,” Rumble said, leaning forward on his stool. “I remember when the Crusaders did that Cutie Mark Camp and I kept messing it up for them… I feel bad about it now, but it felt good then. Even though it wasn’t me.”

Spike nodded. “Same here. When you see yourself as a hero, sooner or later everyone starts to look like a villain. I did a ton of stuff I regret because I thought I wasn’t allowed to fail… but I learned from all that, and eventually I got better. More… comfortable with who I really was.”

“How?” Rumble asked. “What did you learn?”

Spike thought for a moment before responding. “I guess I figured out why I felt like that.”

“You were angry?” Rumble asked.

“I was scared,” Spike said. “But back then… yeah, that’s what it felt like. I was angry that I was small and helpless, so I acted like I wasn’t, and it felt good. But I think that’s how anger works: it feels good in the moment, but only because it’s supposed to keep you safe from bad things. If you’re angry all the time, you’re constantly chasing that good feeling and it’s harder and harder to find each time. It’s addictive, like… well, I don’t know what it’s like. Something you get addicted to.”

“So I’m just... angry?”

“I don’t think so. It’s different from being, like, mad at another pony for eating your leftovers or something. It’s more like… you’re scared of being different, because everypony is, and some part of you deep down is mad at yourself for being different. For making it harder to feel like you fit in, even though you actually do fit in just fine.”

When Rumble didn’t say anything, Spike kept going. “Dude, it’s not like I figured out any of this on my own. I talked to Fluttershy a lot about this, how she dealt with fear and how it was being different from your average pegasus or dragon. And kind of together, I guess, we figured out that we had to find that deep-down part of us that wasn’t thinking straight, and keep reminding ourselves that the better parts of us could be louder--that we could fight it. And that was something I understood already. I didn’t know how to be happy, but I knew how to be brave. And eventually, the first part came with the second.”

Once again, Rumble had nothing to say. He was lost in thought--lost in a part of himself that felt fiery and intoxicating and, for the first time, understandable. He sat in silence for several seconds, only surfacing once the ding of a bell sounded out from the back wall.

“Hey, subject change: want a brownie?” Spike said, springing up from his seat and donning a pair of oven mitts. “They’re preservative- and toxic-masculinity-free!”

“Toxic what now?” Rumble asked as Spike extracted his day’s work from the oven.

Spike shrugged, brownie pan in claw. “I dunno. Twilight said it once when I talked to her about all this. Probably an inside joke.”

“Probably,” Rumble agreed. “I should get going anyway. I’m already late.”

“Seriously, though, brownie?” Spike repeated, carving a hunk out of the pain and popping it immediately into his mouth. “‘Ey’re rea-y goo’!”

“I... think I’d probably have to wait for them to cool off first,” Rumble pointed out.

Spike considered the observation, swallowed, then nodded. “Probably,” he agreed. “Dragon tongues are pretty tough.” Suddenly, his face split into a grin, and he flashed Rumble a thumbs-up. “Hey, there you go! I’m great at being a dragon! Now go forth, young hero, and be great at being a pony!”

Rumble bit his lip as he backed towards the door. “No offense, but I definitely see why that fantasy didn’t take off.”

Spike rolled his eyes and sighed as Rumble finally made his exit. “Everypony’s a critic...” was the last thing Rumble heard before the door slammed shut. The castle was still empty, but this time it felt a lot warmer walking through it.

It was a bit chilly outside, though, he realized as neared the front entrance again. He might need to wear his hat.

Author's Note

Alternate title: "Just Guys Bein' Dudes"

Here's a speedwrite entry that I chose to make about social standards for masculinity ("toxic" ones, you might say), set inside a show made for little girls that grew a giant fanbase of ~~alt-right chuds for some cursed fucking reason~~ adult men. In retrospect, we probably should've had some more conversations like this as a fandom early on. Might've helped with, uh... certain things.

The Heat of the Moment (August 2020) [T-Rated - Profanity, Horse Kissing] [Apple Bloom] [Diamond Tiara] [Drama] [Romance]

“Diamond? That you?”

She jumps a bit when I say her name, then waits a bit before turning around--I see her shoulders rise and tense up, like hackles on a dog. But when she does turn, she’s all smiles. All teeth and gums, at least. As close to a genuine grin as I’ll see from anyone here tonight, I reckon.

“Oh my gosh, Apple Bloom!” She pushes herself off the baluster she was leaned against and wraps me up in a hug. I hug her back--it feels nice and warm, like an old happy memory. Which, I guess, she is. “I thought that was you I saw earlier! Stars above, I haven’t seen you since graduation, how have you been?”

“Well enough,” I tell her. “Business is good. Think we’ll have a new distribution partner in Vanhoover after tonight, long as he don’t think twice about it in the mornin’. How ‘bout you?”

“Oh, same old,” she says quickly. “I made CFO a few months ago, but, you know, I suspect nepotism was involved.”

I let out a whistle. “Family connection or not, that’s some big shoes to fill.”

“Well, you know what they say about ponies with big hooves!” Diamond’s laugh comes out airy and light--almost tinny, like it’s been played back over a gramophone. “Anyway, yeah, it’s been good. Stressful, but… what job isn’t?”

“True enough.” I could say more, but I don’t. I’m suddenly curious about something.

“Well, you look great,” Diamond continues after a long pause, smile still pasted on and glinting in the moonlight. “Seriously, that dress is… silver suits you. I would know, I suppose.”

“You would, huh?”

“Well… in a manner of, ah…”

Diamond swallows, and her smile falters when she tries to put it back on. I can’t help but sigh.

“Really has been ages, huh?” I say. Diamond gets caught between motions--I guess she couldn’t decide whether to nod or shrug, and ended up doing neither. A heavy feeling settles over my chest, a suffocating warmth that even the cool evening breeze can’t do anything about.

“Di, I’m a big girl, all right? It’s been years, we’re different ponies, you don’t need to act like--”

“I do!” She says it so fast she almost shouts. When she stammers to correct itself, it’s more like a whisper. “I mean, I… I wanted to see you. I’m glad I did. Really.”

I can’t help but chuckle. “You used to be better at lyin’.”

Diamond grits her teeth--I can see her jaw clench underneath her reddening cheeks. “You used to be easier to lie to,” she mumbles, looking away from me and up at the sky. She shivers when the breeze kicks up again. I feel like I ought to hug her again.

“How are you doing?” I ask her quietly, sidling up next to her at the baluster. “Really?”

“I’m…” she begins to say, before her teeth clench again. “I’d rather not go into it. It was nice to see you, Apple Bloom.”

Before I can say anything back, she’s turned around and started walking away, back towards the gala we both came out here to escape from. The heaviness in my chest suddenly lifts, so fast it pushes words out of my mouth before I’m fully ready to say them.

“Diamond, don’t walk away.”

She stops cold, flinches as if I’ve smacked her. I don’t know what exactly I said to make her do that, but I have an inkling of an idea that’s been squeezing my lungs shut ever since I walked over here. “You always do this when you’re upset,” I say. “You just walk away. And far as I’m concerned, we’re still friends no matter how long it’s been, so--”

“So what?” Her voice is icy when she interrupts. “What exactly do you want me to do?”

“I guess be honest, for onc--”

“Oh, is that all?” She whirls around, and there’s a scary look in her eyes--not hateful or even angry, but just blank, like the glass of a doll’s eye. “Sure, Apple Bloom, I can be honest. Let’s be honest for a change. Where should I start?”

“Di--”

“Let’s start with the gala. This… fucking gala, let’s start with that. If I’m being honest, I wish somepony would come up here with a torch and a barrel of oil and burn this place to the ground. Honestly, I wish I was brave enough to do it myself. I wish I was honest with all the trust-fund pricks and their stuck-up wives and the hopeless, desperate kiss-asses who lurch around these things looking for spare change in somepony’s art collection fund, all while three blocks away there are homeless ponies who’ll eat less in a month than some socialite puked up tonight. Stars, I wish I could tell them what I thought of us.”

“Why don’t you?” I ask.

“Because, Apple Bloom, I walk away. Because nopony wants to hear any of that, and it doesn’t help to talk about things that are never going to change. So thank you, goodnight, great to see you, I’m going home. And you can go back to… whatever you want to do with that stallion you were with earlier.”

I think back to my night schmoozing on behalf of the farm--to how my skin crawled when our new distribution partner wrapped his hoof around my shoulders and squeezed like it belonged there. Like I was part of the deal too. How could she think I wanted that?

“I did what I wanted to do,” I tell her. “I got a deal done. And what I wanted to do after that was come out here and take a breather, and maybe catch up with you and--”

“And what? Psychoanalyze me? Pity me? Apple Bloom, trust me, I don’t need it. Save it for somepony who deserves it. And just… leave me alone. Please.”

She didn’t think I wanted that, I realize a bit too late. She knew me better than that. And I know her better too. “It really bothered you that much?”

“Moondamn son of a bitch had the nerve to…” She catches herself--I guess before she got lost in honesty again. “He doesn’t deserve you. None of us do.”

“You’re not like the rest of them in there.”

“I always have been,” Diamond says, her voice cracking as her eyes begin to shine. “Since we were kids, through college, all the way to now, I just… every moment I spent with you was better than I deserved. Every moment.”

Guess my curious feeling was right. The heaviness in my chest was too. “That night after the party, in junior year. Diamond, we--”

“Talked about it, I know, I know, and I shouldn’t--”

“No, we didn’t talk about it,” I half-shout over her. “I didn’t let us. I didn’t know what I wanted, but I told you I did and I acted like it meant nothin’, and I’m sorry. I was confused and I was… I was scared, okay? I was scared too. Scared of graduatin’, of growin’ up, all that. And that’s okay, Di. We didn’t have to know what we wanted back then. We just… we did what felt right. We were honest. So don’t act like I’m too good for you or you’re not good enough for me, because I’m not and you are.”

She lifts a hoof and wipes her eyes. I don’t know where I’m even going with what I’m saying, but I’m not about to quit now. “You have no idea what you want,” I tell her. “Neither do I. And that doesn’t make us bad ponies. It makes us--”

I don’t get to finish. I don’t need to. Diamond’s already closed the gap between us, thrown her hooves around my neck, pressed her lips to mine and kissed me like she means to make up for every year since our last one in a single immutable moment. I taste salt from her tears, gin on her breath, the weight of night after lonely night spent staring at the ceiling and cursing myself for the biggest lie I ever told anypony: that it was great, but we probably shouldn’t do that again. That it was just a one-time thing. That it hadn’t meant to me what I knew it had meant to her.

It had. It did. It still does.

“I wanted that,” she whispers to me once she pulls away. “I wanted that so bad.”

I wipe my eyes, then hers. Finally, I’m going to be honest with her.

“Me too,” I whisper back. “I always did.”

Author's Note

Fun fact: every single time I've written DiamondBloom in my life, I've won* a contest with it, this one being the third instance of that. Super dope to discover your very own Monochromatic-tier power ship with which you can dominate all who stand before you right as the fandom for it draws to a close.

Anyway, this is technically the sequel to "The Sum of Our Parts," if you're into the idea of me finally not writing DiamondBloom as an angsty relationship-that-never-was. It was this time! Progress!

*Based on the logic that posting overtly racist shit on Reddit after winning a writing contest with a lowkey racist entry is the title-stripping equivalent of doping in cycling, I retroactively won EFNW 2019's Scribblefest with "The Sum of Our Parts." Just in case anyone felt like checking receipts.

Pillow Talk (November 2019) [T-Rated - Alcohol, Suggestive Stuff] [SciTwi] [Sunset Shimmer] [Slice of Life] [Romance]

In Sunset’s level-headed, totally unbiased opinion, Twilight was really cute when she was drunk. And she was especially cute when she was ranting about something while drunk. And right now, while she was drunk, ranting, and dressed in baggy plaid pajama pants and a sweatshirt with a tortilla-wrapped cat on it labeled “Purrito”... well, this pretty much broke the cute scale entirely. Weapons-grade, military-funded cute. Like Pim Slickens in that old movie Dr. Lovestrange, except instead of a nuclear bomb he was riding a big stuffed penguin and holding half a dozen labrador puppies.

Another one of Sunset’s opinions was that she herself just got kind of silly when she was drunk. But Twilight thought that was cute, so it evened out.

“... and yes, obviously the second act dragged a bit, but it was crucial to the entire movie’s theme that plans don’t always work and things aren’t always what they seem. Like, every shot reinforces that! And it’s played as a contrast to the roots of the series, which by the way, is fricking Space Wars! It’s always been cheesy and overwrought, that’s literally the whole…”

“Twi,” Sunset interjected, flopping her hand off her stomach and feeling around on the bed until she found Twilight’s heaving chest. “Twitwi. You’re being loud.”

“But Sunset, the nerds,” Twilight moaned, impotently flailing the floppy ends of her sweater’s overlong arms. “The nerds are wrong. On the Internet.”

“You’re a nerd, Twi.”

“I am not.” Twilight rolled onto her belly and then kept scooching so her chin could rest on Sunset’s ribs, at the perfect angle for a very serious expression preceding an extremely serious statement. “I am a geek. There is a critical dialickti… dialectical distinction. ‘Nerd’ is derogatory, ‘geek’ is earned. I work hard to be a geek.”

Sunset repositioned her hand on top of Twilight’s head, gently stroking her fingertips between strands of messy purple hair. Twilight let out a happy, self-satisfied hum and let her cheek tilt onto Sunset’s stomach, eyelids drooping and glasses askew. “That sounds exhausting,” Sunset murmured. “Ever consider just being a dweeb instead?”

“Hmm… nope,” Twilight said through pouty lips. “Geek is good.”

Sunset chuckled, the brief flexing of her abs enough to nudge Twilight’s glasses back into place. Her hand dipped down behind Twilight’s ear, right to the spot where scritches had maximum effect. “You’re a very good geek.”

“Best geek,” Twilight mumbled into her girlfriend’s belly button.

The matter thus settled, Sunset kept scritching, and Twilight sank deeper and deeper into a liquor-sponsored fugue state, softly mumbling and cooing whenever Sunset’s fingers found a particularly good spot. As Twilight started drifting off, though, a thought reoccurred to Sunset—one she’d had earlier that day but lacked the words to talk about the right way. Today was an anniversary of sorts, and she wasn’t sure whether it was one Twilight wanted to remember—but this was a happy moment, right? Maybe she should just phrase it like that. Just tell Twilight the truth.

“Hey, Twi?” Sunset said.

“Mmm?”

“I’m… I’m really glad you’re here.”

Twilight hummed happily. “I’m glad I’m here too,” she murmured, briefly pressing her lips against a patch of skin Sunset’s t-shirt didn’t quite cover.

“I mean, I… you know what, never mind. Just happy. That’s all.”

Sunset closed her eyes and leaned back against her pillow, but she could still feel Twilight lift her head off her stomach, and then a much heavier weight settle over her hips. When she looked up again, Twilight was straddling her, her hands braced against Sunset’s ribs and still wrapped up in the ends of her sweatshirt sleeves.

“I know what you meant, Sunny,” Twilight said. “I know what today is.”

Sunset couldn’t help but wince. “I’m sorry, babe. I shouldn’t have-”

“No, you should have. I’m glad you did,” Twilight said. She sat up a little straighter, raising one arm to brush her bangs out of her face. “And I guess… okay, I don’t know how else to say this: I’m glad I did. In a weird way. Y’know?”

Sunset let her hands come to rest on her girlfriend’s hips, but otherwise didn’t react.

“Yeah, okay, you don’t know. That’s kind of a dark way to phrase it. I mean that, like… a year ago was the worst night of my life. But you were there for me. My family was, all my friends. It was such a… like, I spent so long in this hole, this big black pit that I couldn’t escape from, and then to see all of you there for me at my lowest point…”

“Of course we'd be there,” Sunset said, lifting a hand to Twilight’s cheek. Twilight leaned into it, her eyes closed in thought. “Of course…”

“I know. Of course you would. But… when you’re in that place, in that hole, you don’t know things like you would normally. Like, what was it you said to me after I got out of the hospital? When I told you I thought you wouldn’t come?”

Sunset grinned at the memory--a black day punctuated by a sudden silly moment. “‘The smartest girl I know just said the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.’”

“Exactly!” Twilight giggled. “Like, that’s exactly it. It makes you stupid. You think you’ll never get better and never feel anything good again, and a year later I’m here and I… I feel great.” She wiggled her hips a bit. “You feel great.”

Sunset lifted her other hand so she could cup both around Twilight’s chin. “You did that, Twi. You worked hard, you did what you needed to, and you beat it.”

“I mean… y’know, it’s still there, kind of,” Twilight admitted, though she lightened the blow a bit with a kiss pressed into Sunset’s palm. “Like a scar that kind of hurts when you stretch wrong. But you manage it, y’know? Like you said, you… do what you need to. And you guys all helped and you were so good to me and I just… God, I’m drunk.”

With a snort, Sunset grabbed Twilight by the shoulders and yanked her down on top of her, ignoring her girlfriend’s muffled squeak as she squeezed her with both arms and legs. “I love you too,” she said, lips brushing against the side of Twi’s neck as she spoke.

“I love you,” Twilight said, pushing herself up a bit so she could dangle her face above Sunset’s—and then, briefly, glare down at her. “Hey, wait, I’m supposed to go first! You can’t start with ‘I love you too’!”

Sunset pondered the matter for a moment. “Hmm,” she replied. “Sounds like something a nerd would worry about.”

“Oh my God, you…”

The laugh still bubbled in Sunset’s chest even after it escaped her lungs, warming her from head to toe as she hugged Twilight tight and cut off her protests with a firm kiss on the lips. After a few seconds of flailing, Twi’s own lips softened, and the room fell silent but for the blissful sighs that slowly left each of their noses.

“We’re still fighting,” Twilight eventually muttered into Sunset’s mouth. “We’re gonna fight about this later.”

Sunset’s hand slipped down Twilight’s back, all the way down to the top of her pajama pants. “Later?” Sunset asked as she slipped her thumb slyly inside the elastic waistband.

“... Later,” Twilight begrudgingly agreed as her head dipped to Sunset’s neck and her hand slipped under her shirt.

Author's Note

Hey, look, a happy AU ending to Zealots of Canterlot! Probably would've been a nice thing to publish within a couple months of the original fic going up, instead of a full year and a half later! Oops!

Anyhow, another speedwrite entry/long overdue anthology post here. If I recall correctly, I was either challenged by the prompt or by myself internally to write just the sappiest, cutest romance scene possible, and I made it a debrief from a suicide attempt anyway because I'm a deeply, deeply broken person. But I'm also funny and apparently good at sappy cute romance writing, so it evens out.