Christmas With A Cat

by My Little Epona

Rating: everyone
Tags: Slice of Life, Original Character, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Comedy, Other, Random
Length: 8968

Three short stories about my OC's holidays with her family.

Twinkle Cat's family is pretty crazy! Read about their holiday adventures in these three short stories!
(Yeah, I know this description sucks. I tried, okay? I'm just not feeling it right now.)

As you may know.....I didn't like these stories very much and was debating posting them at all. My friends convinced me to, and at any case, I hope you like them better than I do!
--MLE

Published 2020-01-04 16:00:01 UTC
Last updated 2020-01-04 16:00:01 UTC

We Know The Holiday Begins Because Our Decorations Are Trying To Eat Us

We Know The Holiday Begins Because Our Decorations Are Trying To Eat Us

It was absolutely beautiful out, as any town would be at this time of year.

Snow drifted softly, produced from a sky thick with pale gray clouds, forming fluffy drifts on the ground. Children laughed and cheered, chasing each other through the streets of Ponyville. Stallions and mares greeted each other as they passed, calling out wishes of good will and love.

In addition to the festive snow showers, there was a tall evergreen tree that stood in the center of the town square. Pegasi fluttered around it, hanging decorations here and there on the long, bristly branches. Colored lights were strung from house to house, blinking with holiday cheer.

And then…there was our house.

The only undecorated house on the entire block.

I shifted my weight slightly, leaning against the back of the couch. My sky blue eyes roamed the scenery outside again, resting on the bountiful, cheery décor.

I sighed, my breath fogging up the window, and I lifted a purple-furred hoof to draw a sad-looking face in the steam. It looked quite appropriate against the backdrop of our front yard—cold and gray, devoid of the color and light that adorned the others.

“Mom?” I asked, hopping off the couch and trotting to the kitchen. “I’ve been thinking—isn’t it about time we decorate our house?”

Mom paused in her work, turning to look thoughtfully out the window. The view was of the street outside our house, adorned with décor even if it was a street not often visited.

“Well…” She chewed her lip, clearly hesitant. “We really should have them up by now. But getting them would mean….well…you know.”

The memories her words provoked made me shiver. Our gazes met, then turned to the side…looking at The Door.

The Door lead to a dark, bone-chilling place.

It was a place where shadows dwelt and monsters thrived.

It was a place of unspeakable horror.

It was……

The Basement.

Ooh! I think I just made a great title for a horror film! And I wasn’t even trying!

“Well…..wedid get rid of last year’s leftover….creatures.” I pointed out. “I mean, what are the odds something spawned down there within the past year? Shouldn’t it be probably maybe sort of okay to try and kind of go down? Maybe?”

“Well, I don’t know.” Mom sighed. “After all, you remember last year.”

“You just won’t let that go, will you?” Both mom and I jumped as my older sister, Song Bird, poked her head through the door, looking disapproving. “Because in my defense, I had no idea that turnip was haunted.”

“Please don’t bring that up.” I said, the memories making me shudder. “That Hearth’s Warming was a nightmare.”

“Okay, but really.” Song Bird waved a pale pink hoof through the air to accentuate her point. “The salespony looked fairly normal.”

“Normal?” I protested. “He had three eyes and you call him normal? What even possessed you to by a turnip?”

“It just felt like a good idea at the time!” Song protested, shrugging. “Besides! I didn’t know he had three eyes at the time. He was wearing a dark cloak.”

“And that didn’t send up any red flags?” I insisted.

“Stop arguing.” Mom sighed.

“Hey, are we talking about last years decorations?” My younger brother, Book Whiz, trotted into the kitchen. “Does that mean we’re going to start decorating soon?”

“It means we’re thinking about it.” Mom corrected.

In perfect sync, we all glanced at The Door again.

“….we could draw straws.” Book suggested lamely.

“Are ghosts immune to spontaneous combustion?” I wondered. “You know, purely out of curiosity.”

“We’re keeping you far away from any lighter fluid.” Mom said firmly.

“We could flip a coin?” Song Bird said, shrugging.

“Guess a number between one and ten?” I offered.

“Arm wrestle?”

“Race?”

“Super Smash Bros tournament?”

“Whoever gets chewed on by the cat gets to go down last?”

“But Twinkle, that means you.”

“My point exactly!”

“I think we’ll pull names from a hat this year.” Mom decided. “Come on. Let’s get this done today! To the living room.”

Soon afterwards, most of our family was gathered in the living room. We all squished onto the three couches, grouped around the long coffee table in the center of the room. The meeting included mom, Song Bird, me, Book Whiz, and my three younger brothers Teddy, Sir Rights-a-Lot, and Wiggles.

….okay, “Sir Rights-a-Lot” is a nickname.
And old, beat-up hat lay on the table, full of crumpled scraps of paper. Each paper had a name on it—that is, except for Wiggles, because he was only a toddler.

The hat became enveloped in a shimmering purple aura as mom levitated it into the air, tossing it a couple times to shuffle the paper inside. She closed her eyes, reaching out with a sky blue-colored hoof, and tapped the edge of a scrap.

We waited with bated breath as she grabbed the paper in her magic, levitating it away from the hat, which she set back down on the coffee table.

She unfolded the paper, smoothing out the creases, and cleared her throat.

“……..Book Whiz.” She read.

“Noooo!” My brother moaned, flopping over on the couch. “Come on! Out of everypony it had to be me!”

“Chin up!” Song Bird smiled cheerfully. “There’s a very high chance you won’t die.”

“If there was a life-threatening situation living in our basement, Princess Celestia would know by now.” I said, attempting to reinforce my sister’s claim.

“Doesn’t make me feel better.” Book grumbled, burying his face in a pillow.

“If you die, can I have your nerf guns?” Teddy asked.

…….did I forget to mention we’re all very nice and absolutely love each other?

“Are you sure ghosts are immune to spontaneous combustion?” I said. “Cause I bet Book could use a flamethrower down there.”

“Well, if he gets a flamethrower, can I take his place?” Teddy asked, bouncing up and down in excitement.

“No flamethrowers.” Mom said sternly.

“Aaaaww!” Teddy and Rights-a-Lot said at the same time.

“Pitchfork and a torch at least?” Book begged, hugging the pillow to himself.

“Okay, first of all, do we evenhave a pitchfork?” I asked. “And if we do…how come I didn’t know?”

“For two reasons.” Mom said. “Reason one, we don’t actually have one. And reason number two, even if we did, we’d never tell you.”

“Do you know how many uses a pitchfork can have in daily life? A fork, a gardening tool, a golf club, a weapon during riots….”

“Sometimes I worry about you.” Song sighed.

“Well, Twinkle’s murderous tendencies aside, there’s really no point in putting this off.” Book Whiz sighed, standing up. He’d seemingly resigned himself to his fate. “I never thought I’d die young, but...everypony has a time to go. I just this is just mine.” He walked over to the door, and we all trailed after him.

“Oh, please.” I snorted. “Stop being so dramatic. You’ll be absolutely fine!”

“I’m 100% in agreement.” Song assured him. “But…..if you see something with glowing eyes and lots of teeth staring at you, then….I wouldn’t suggest making any sudden movements.”

“Can I scream?” Book asked.

“Screaming’s probably fine.”

“Oh, and if you see something that looks kind of like a platypus and a donkey had a baby, and then that baby coughed up a hairball, then you should run.” I said. “Wise words. The triforce cat pony has spoken.”

“I thought you didn’t want to think about the haunted turnip?” Song quipped.

“Just warning him…..”

Book Whiz braced himself, shoving open the door. It revealed endless black depths of black blackness below, with a single, rickety staircase disappearing into those depths….

Yeah. Not much of a description to go on, but it’s pretty accurate.

Just go with it, ‘kay?

Thanks.

Book took a deep breath,tentatively setting foot on the first step. He gave us a nervous look, then began descending into the darkness below.

“Are you sure I can’t have a flamethrower?” He whined, every step becoming more and more hesitant.

“Very sure.” Mom said.

“Are you sure I can’t have a flamethrower?” Teddy asked.

“Even more sure.”

After a second, silence reigned. Book Whiz had vanished, and though we all strained our ears for some hint of sound….everything was completely quiet.

“….Book?” I called, peering into the shadows.

“I’m good!” Book Whiz reappeared, trotting up the stairs. We all gave a collective sigh of relief.

“It seems pretty clear down there.” My brother glanced behind him. “I didn’t see anything—but I also didn’t turn on any lights. I think they’re burnt out.”

“Typical.” Mom sighed. “But let’s go.”

I breathed a barely-perceptible sigh of relief.Maybe…maybe this year would slide off without a hitch.

The three Unicorns—my mom, Song Bird, and I—lit our horns. The combined, multicolored light illuminated the steps, revealing where they met the floor below. Mom trotted down first, then signaled for us to follow her.

We huddled together nervously, keeping a sharp eye out for anything moving. Beyond the range of magical light, everything was an impenetrable mass of dark shapes and shadows, and that heightened our awareness.

But...nothing happened.

We touched down on the cold concrete floor of our unfinished basement, and nothing leapt out and bit us…like it had last year.

Or the year before that.

Once, we had vampire bats. That was an interesting holiday.

Luckily, the decorations weren’t stored too far from the staircase. My sister was nominated to walk the three extra steps and grab the plastic crates that our décor was contained in.

“Okay, got the decorations.” She crept backwards, levitating three large, dented, red and green boxes. “I think we’re good.”

Mom nodded, continuing to scan the shadows. I moved aside to let Song back onto the stairs, and we grouped around her as she began trotting upwards again, decorations floating before her.

If there was one thing we’d learned about our basement, it was that strength was in numbers.

Scratch.

We froze.

“No. Sudden. Movements.” Mom ordered in a fierce whisper.

Scriitch scratch scratch.

I turned very, veeery slowly.

“Do….you see something?” Song asked quietly, voice trembling.

“We’re looking.” Mom said. “Sssh.”

A shadow flickered in one of the corners.

“There!” Teddy hissed, pointing at it. We all whipped around, turning to look that way. I summoned the courage to cast my horn light upon that area.

Something dark and spiky-looking hissed at me, scuttling beyond reach of the light. All I caught sight of were long, dark tentacles.

“Okay, there’s definitely something there...” I said, trying to keep my voice from trembling.

“Everypony, up the stairs.” Mom ordered. “Slowly.”

The other nodded, muscles tense as they began to slowly creep up the stairs.

Apparently, whatever was in the basement didn’t like the idea of it’s prey escaping.

There was a massive roar, and the thing leapt at us, looming in the light of my magic. Song screamed, dropping the container of decorations on the stairs. Mom bucked the creature in the face, shoving the rest of us up the stairs.The thing screeched in pain, falling back and allowing us time to escape.

“Go!” Mom barked. “Now!” Luckily, Book Whiz remembered to grab the décor, clutching it in his wings as we sped up the stairs.

We hurtled through the door, and I slammed it closed, throwing my body against it.

“Well...” Teddy panted. “That (gasp) was (wheeze) weird.”
“At least we trapped it in the basement.” Book set down the box, wiping sweat off my forehead. “Now we don’t have to worry about it coming upstairs!”

Of course…...as soon as he said that…...something slammed against the door.

The tiny amount of non-existent upper body strength I had couldn’t hold against it. Why exactly was I the one holding the monster at bay?

The door snapped off it’s hinges, and I leapt forwards to avoid being crushed beneath it. The monster roared at us, leaping free of the basement shadows.

Now that it was in full light, I could see it clearly.

It’s main body was circular in shape, a jagged-looking hole through it’s center. At first I assumed the hole was where mom had bucked it, but then I realized it was actually natural. Long, squid-like tentacles stretched forth from it’s sides, flickering to and fro menacingly. It was spiky, a dull tan, and overall looked like a piece of foliage.

“Wait...” I said. “Is that….”

“Last years Christmas wreath?” My sister finished.

The monster seemed to reply for us, roaring again.

How did it do that? It didn’t even have a mouth!

“RUUUNNN!” Book yelled.

We took his advice, scattering down the hallway and diving into different doors. I zipped into the living room, flipping over a couch to take refuge behind it. I was joined by Song, Teddy, and Book. The monster wreath thankfully followed us, leaving my mom to grab my two youngest brothers and take them to a safer place.

The monster, which I decided to name Fluffy, tore into the living room. I fired a weak, sputtering beam of magical energy from my horn, which burnt a hole in our wall, but missed Fluffy by about three feet. It seemed to scare him, however, and he retreated, picking up shoes from the hall and whipping them towards us by way of attack. Footwear rained from the sky, thudding against our meager shelter.

“I DIDN’T EVEN KNOW WE HAD THIS MANY SHOES!” I yelled.

“Guys!”Song pounded her hoof into her other one. “We need to form a plan!”

“Plan?” Book’s eyes were wide and suddenly bloodshot. “There is no plan. We’re trapped, cut off from reinforcements! WE’RE DOOMED!”

At this panicked cry, I slapped him over the face, prompting a painful yelp.

“Pull yourself together, man!” I yelled. “We didn’t come here to fail, did we? We have a mission to do!”

“Wait, we do?” Teddy said.

“Of course!” I sniffed. “Our mission is to...um….” My voice trailed off. “To….uh...um….okay, sue me. I lied. We don’t have a mission.”

“……..what were we talking about?” Song asked.

I shrugged.

“Can you believe it’s still throwing shoes at us?” Book sighed, risking a peek out from behind the arm rest. “Did you even know we had this many shoes? I swear they even all look the same. What is happening?”

“Guys, I need you to cover me!” Teddy barked, startling us. “I have a plan!” He pulled a cushion from the couch’s inverted seat, holding it in front of him.

“Cover you with what?” I asked curiously.

“I don’t know. Just cover me!”

“Well….sure.” Song shrugged. “I guess we can do that.”

“I’M GOING IN!” Teddy leapt out into the open, hiding behind the cushion. Shoes slammed into it, carrying the force of an avalanche behind them, but he held.

“FEAR NOT, DEAR BROTHER!” I yelled, jumping up and standing on top of the couch, striking a dramatic pose. “WE WILL PROVIDE COVER WHILE YOU CARRY OUT THIS DARING MISSION—”

A shoe nailed me in the face.

I fell backwards, behind the couch.

“Rude.” I scoffed, trying to realign my eyes. “You just can’t let a pony finish a speech, can you?”

“GUYS! I REALLY DO NEED SOME FORM OF COVER!” Teddy yelled.

“Oh, that’s right.” Song realized. “Um…..”

We all looked around. The ground was thick with shoes—seriously. We don’t even have this many. This was a whole Payless’s worth of shoes—but other than that, there was nothing we could use to help Teddy.

“Sorry!” I called. “I think you’re on your own! Maybe we should have thought this out a little more...”

Teddy groaned. He dug through the shoes—which were now waist deep—continuing to use the cushion as a cover against the barricade before vanishing into the next room.

“Welp, I suppose we’d better get comfy now.” Song yawned loudly, leaning against the couch. “We could be here for quite a while.”

“Uuuugh.” I groaned, slumping back. “I wish I had a book or something. This sort of thing is always way more exciting when it comes to action movies.”

“I’m hungry.” Book sighed.

“Do you know where mom is?” I asked.

“Well, she’s not in this room.” Song pointed out.

“Well, thanks, Captain Obvious.” I said, rolling my eyes. “I had no idea..”

“How would I know where she is?” Song said, spreading out her arms. “I haven’t seen her.”

“MWA HA HAAAA!!!!! YOU WILL SUFFER!!!!!!!”

“Oh, it’s Teddy.”

The rain of endless shoes stopped, and we tentatively peered over the edge of the couch.

Teddy had somehow managed to get hold of a pair of hedge trimmers, and was in the midst of an epic battle with Fluffy.

The trimmers sheered off one of the scraggly tentacles, and the monster gave an angry roar.

“DIE!!!!!!!!!! DIE YOU VILE CREATURE!!!!!!!!!” Teddy swung the gardening tool like a sword. Fluffy roared a challenge in return, swiping at him with a tentacle.

“Popcorn?” Book offered, holding out a plastic tub with his wing.

“Ooh! Thanks.” I said, taking some. Mmm. It was crunchy and buttery. “…...wait a second. Where did you get that?”

Book shrugged.

Splat. Squish. Splatter.

Liberal amounts of sticky golden sap spurted over the floor.

“Oh….ooh….um….” Song raised a hoof halfway, an uneasy expression on her face.

Splut. Splot. Splosh.

“Um….Teddy?” I said, eyeing his crazed expression. “Maybe you should—ack!” I ducked a splatter of sap. “Maybe you should easy up a bit.”

Splitter. Slosh. Splat.

“Okay.” Song said firmly. “No more hedge trimmers.” She stepped out from behind the couch, and was instantly drenched in the sticky liquid.

“Eeeeeew.” I shuddered. Song looked down at herself, standing flank-deep in shoes that all looked like each other, dripping golden sap, watching our deranged brother hack at the finely-minced Fluffy.

“Okay. Trimmer time is over.” Book leapt into the air, his wings vibrating as he soared over the stretch of sap-coated shoes. He hovered cautiously above Teddy, then kicked them out of his grasp when he saw an opening.

“Think you got him?” I asked, crunching on some more popcorn.

“Where did you even find those?” Song asked.

“The hedge trimmers?” Teddy said. “Behind the refrigerator.”

“Behind the what?” I said, perching on top of the couch. “Okay. We should probably add that to our list of places to clean. Right next to ‘beneath the piano’.”

“But if we disturb their homes, the dwarves will be mad!”

I blinked a couple times.

“……..not gonna ask.”

“Woah.” We jumped, realizing mom was back. She stood in the hallway, just beyond the crime scene that was Fluffy’s death bed and the avalanche of footwear. “What happened here?”

“Um, magically cloning shoes?” I offered. “And Teddy with hedge trimmers?”

“…...not gonna ask.”

“Hey, that’s what I said!”

“Well, now we have to get this cleaned up.” Mom sighed. “Preferably before dad comes home. Because the front door is a little bit blocked by shoes and such—he’d probably have to come in through a window.”

“Well…at least we got the decorations.” Song said, offering half a smile. It was a fruitless attempt.

Yup. This was a great start to the holiday.

Author's Note

........I don't know what I'm doing with my life anymore.

Of Making Cookies And Matter That Is (Hopefully) Edible

Author's Note

Warning: IF YOU LIKE BAKING THIS STORY MAY TRIGGER YOU. I DON'T BAKE LIKE THIS IN REAL LIFE.
This one is actually my favorite story out of the bunch.....hope you enjoy it!

Of Making Cookies And Matter That Is (Hopefully) Edible

Of Making Cookies And Matter That Is (Hopefully) Edible

I stared at the kitchen counter.
It towered miles over me, terrifying and unscaleable as the cliffs of Tartarus. Untouchable as the surface of the sun. Unbeatable as Dark Souls.

Okay, okay, maybe I was being a tad dramatic. Surely baking these cookies couldn’t end up too bad.

At least…not as bad as last time I tried…

…right?

I gave a nervous swallow. The counters seemed to get taller.

Last time I made the typical Christmas sugar cookies, the Schmooze was born. And I did NOT want to repeat last year. Seriously, I still don’t know what went wrong! I mean, you use a single mutation spell on a cup of oil because you don’t have butter, and the next thing that happens is that your batter eats the measuring cup!

...yeah. Maybe I should have payed more attention to the expiration date on the oil to.

I reread the recipe for the ninth time.

I checked the ingredients for the fifth time.

There could be no debate.

I, truly and surely, was ready.

With a sudden energy, I grabbed a plastic measuring cup, plunging it into the bag of flour. A thick, choking cloud arose, but that didn’t stop me! I spun around to deliver the cup of flour into the metal bowl, and with a dramatic flair—

Clonk.

I immediately moved from a fire-driven beast ready to bake to a whimpering puppy, curled up on the floor.

“Okay, who put that cabinet there?” I mumbled, rubbing the rising lump on my head. After a second I got to my hooves again, wincing carefully and watching where I was moving this time.

The spice cabinet hung wide open, and my earth-shaking collision with it’s door had caused something inside to tip over, falling into a handy receptacle right beneath it…the bowl that I was going to use to make cookies.

I lit my horn, picking up the small plastic container of spice. Wait….what even was this?

“Creole????” I said, raising an eyebrow. “Oh well. Now spicy sugar cookies are a thing. It’s just, uh…outlining the nature of our unique holiday experience! Yeah, that’s it. We have every right to use whatever we want in our cookies! This is a free country!”

I screwed the cap back onto the creole, putting it back into the spice cabinet. I ignored the heap of red in the bowl, picking up the measuring cup of spilled flour and dumping it on top of the creole.

Hmm.

This was only half a cup. I need 2 3\4 cups. I peeked into the top of the bag, trying to see how much was left. Huh...I mean, there wasn’t a lot here. I could probably just use the rest of the bag! Save the effort of having to measure.That would take too much time.

I levitated the bag into the air, tipping it upside down above the bowl. The result was a thick cloud that probably polluted the surrounding area and helped advance global warming.

I hacked up my lungs, waving my hooves around to try and ward off the cloud of flour. It….didn’t really work. But thankfully, after a bit the cloud settled on it’s own.

I peered into the bowl again. Hmmm. Now this looked like more than was needed.

Ah well, I could just double the amount of other ingredients!

I tossed aside the bag of flour, which made it halfway into the trash can, or at least far enough to satisfy me. I brushed flour of the recipe, squinting at the tiny black scribbles of hoofwriting.

Stir together flour, baking soda—

Wait wait wait—didn’t we use baking soda to clean? Why in Equestria were we putting it in cookies?

Maybe I’d skip that one. No one wanted cleaning fluid in cookies, so why put in baking soda? So weird.

Okay, next was baking powder! I knew we used this for cooking. Okay…..1\2 teaspoon.

I slid open the drawer in which we kept our measuring spoons. Hmm….which one was a teaspoon? I squinted at the tiny plastic print. Who designed these things? Why are the labels so freaking tiny?

I chose the one I hoped was a teaspoon. Okay, half of this…..how did I get just half? Usually when you pour from a container, you get a whole thing, not half of a thing.

Well, I’d just have to try!

I tipped the baking powder container upside down, dumping it into the teaspoon. Um…..I got a little more than a full one…..eh, it’s fine. I set the container aside, then dumped what was in the teaspoon on top of what had overflowed inside the bowl.

Well…..this was going great so far! I felt really good about these cookies.

Oh—! I’d forgotten to set the oven to warm up. Um...375 degrees? Wow—that sounds like a lot of degrees!

I frowned, trying to figure out the oven’s overcomplicated interface.

Oh, what the heck. I’ll wing it.

I set the white knob labeled “temperature” to the highest setting. That had to be near 375.

Okay, back to my lovely cookie dough. So far, it was just a giant pile of powders. Flour, baking powder, creole….all essential to create the perfect cookie! But according to the recipe, I needed to mix it. And I knew exactly how.

I’ve never been a big fan of the traditional way of baking. Why use a knife when you could use a blender? Why hoof-wash dishes when you could use a hose? And...why use a regular wooden spoon when you could an electric whisk?

I levitated the pieces of the whisk down from the highest shelf in one of our cabinets. We affectionately called the whisk the “magic wand”, because it could be a whisk or a mini blender-type thingy makjiggy.

I assembled it as best I could for someone who doesn’t know how to follow directions, and then plugged it into the wall. All right…the time of your reckoning has come, flour!

I turned the electric whisk’s speed to “15”, and then added “turbo”. This flour looked hard to mix.

The whisk was inserted into the mix….and then…honestly I don’t even know what happened.

Looking back, I can come to the conclusion that the bowl exploded.
A choking mix of flour and everything else filled the air, causing me to cough. Even worse, it stung, because of the ridiculous amount of creole in it. Hmmm. Maybe keeping that spice in wasn’t the best idea.

I dropped the whisk on the floor, grabbing a towel from where it hung in front of the stove. A cloud of this magnitude required the big guns.

The towel was quickly soaked in water from the sink, and I flapped it about through the air, beating back the flour.

“BACK!!!!” I yelled. “BOW TO YOUR MASTER!!!! WHO HAPPENS TO BE ME!!! I AM BAKING QUEEN!!!”

At this point, I was really glad the rest of my family wasn’t home. I was already questioning my own sanity—I didn’t need anyone else pointing hooves.

After time (too much time), the cloud settled again.

“Well.” I commented. “That certainly looks mixed.”

Next on the recipe was wet ingredients. Apparently you were supposed to mix these in a different bowl…? Naw, it was a waste of space. It would just make another bowl unnecessarily dirty, adding to the already massive amount of cleanup I would have to do. I’d just toss it in with the dry stuff.

I hummed a carol, spinning around to grab the egg carton.

Clonk.

“DARN YOU YOU CABINET DOOR!!!!” I yelled, clutching my head again. “IF I WIELDED THE ELEMENTS OF HARMONY YOU’D BE ON THE MOON BY NOW!!!!”

Plop.

Greeeeat. Had something else fallen in?

I stood up again, kicking up flour from the liberal layer that coated the floor. Yup, something had fallen in all right. What now?

….was that dill weed?

What sort of weirdo uses dill weed to cook?

“These are some unique cookies.” I commented, pulling the glass container of seasoning out of the bowl and putting it back in the cabinet.

It was too much work to try and pick out all the tiny little green leaves. I’d just leave them in.

Anyway. Where was I? Oh right. Eggs.

I continued whistling my happy carol, picking up two of the smooth white ovals and tossing them in the bowl. Immediately after doing that, I stopped and frowned. Something felt wrong.

I checked the recipe again.

“Oooh!” I said. “You’re supposed to crack the eggs! That makes sense!”

I glanced at the bowl, where the eggs had cracked by themselves. I had a feeling the shells weren’t supposed to be there.

Oh well. If I put it in a blender, it would be fine, right?

Now I needed to add butter and sugar. More specifically, I needed to “cream” it. What on earth did “cream” mean?

Eh. I’d just melt the butter, then mix it in. And the sugar would be easy!

“Okay...one cup butter.” I muttered. “Easy….how many sticks are in one cup?”

My instincts reared their derpy-looking heads, telling me that it was two sticks in a cup. But I learned not to trust my instincts—especially not when they had that expression. So I went with five, because that seemed like the reasonable thing to do.

Five sticks of butter, all wrapped up in their cute little papers, went flying into a glass measuring cup.

Hmm. Microwaving all this would take too long. This time…I’d just use magic. It wasn’t a mutation spell! It would be fine…

I ignited a tiny spark of magic on my horn, and sky blue flames erupted around the measuringcup.

“ACK!” I yelled, leaping backwards. “TOO MUCH!!! TOO MUCH!!! WAY WAY TOO MUCH!!!!!”

I dropped the flaming cup onto the counter, grabbing the wet towel I’d used on the flour. I smacked desperately at it, smothering the fire beneath the piece of fabric.

The paper on the butter had incinerated into black ashes, and the butter itself had turned dark brown. Very, very….very dark brown.

Hmm….I’d read somewhere that browned butter was actually used in recipes. I don’t know what it was supposed to add, but hey, the flavor was unique enough already! What was one more strange thing?

“Nutty, spicy, dill weed-flavored cookies, here I come!” I said. I may have just been hallucinating from all the flour I inhaled, but this was actually starting to sound…good.

…let’s be honest I was probably hallucinating.

I dumped the liquified butter into the bowl, chipping some weird black crusty bits off the bottom of the measuring cup with a chisel. I guessed the crusty bits were supposed to go in too? Maybe they gave the cookies texture or something.

“Okay….sugar!” I said. This part would be easy. After all, you could never have too much sugar! Pinkie Pie was a living example of that.

I levitated the huge bag of sugar into the air above the bowl, panting from the exertion. It was extremely heavy...this was hard. How much was I supposed to add? Oh yeah….1 1\2 cups. That probably wouldn’t be too hard….

I picked up the plastic cup to measure out the sugar, but then my magic gave out. I guess it decided it wasn’t going to carry this darn heavy bag anymore.

The many-pound bad of sugar crashed into the bowl, sending up a cloud for...the third time? The fourth? I was losing count by this point.

Mm….I liked this cloud, though. I was sweet.

After it settled, covering the floor in a new grainy coat, I examined the bowl again. I think….I may have added three times as much sugar as was needed.

But I mean, you can never have too much sugar!

….right?

“Crap!” I realized, smacking my head with a hoof. “I forgot to double everything else!”

One more egg—this time, the shell was pre-cracked—went flying into the mix. An unmeasured hoof full of baking powder followed it. I figured the butter would probably be okay.

Okay….now for vanilla!

I levitated the tiny bottle down from the cabinet. Wait….I was supposed to add only a single teaspoon? What? This was the main flavor of my cookies. Well...that is….it was supposed to be. I figured the flavors of creole and dill weed might kinda fight against the vanilla. But I couldn’t add only a single teaspoon! THESE COOKIES NEEDED FLAVOR, PONIES!GOOD FLAVOR!

I humphed, tossing the recipe aside. The cap was unscrewed, the whole contents of the tiny bottle dumped straight into by dough.

Mm mm. These were looking good.

Time for more mixing!

I grabbed the whisk from where it was lying on the floor and cranked the speed up. After all, it would be a lot harder to mix this wet stuff than it was to mix the dry stuff. So, I turned it up to “35”, and set it on “ultra max turbo”.

….why did this even have a setting like that?

I took a deep breath, then pressed the button to turn it on.

The likes of the spectacle that occurred immediately after would probably startle even the most battle-hardened of Princess Celestia’s army. I mean, who knew a whisk could drill through wood? Any time I want something quickly or efficiently* decimated, and that thing is made of wood, I’ll just use a whisk!

….okay, maybe it’s not THAT efficient.

The cabinets in front of me were immediately destroyed, the shredded remains of their doors hurtled through the air at high velocity. I tried plunging the whisk into the batter, but it didn’t really want to move down, so….I let go.

…..perhaps not my best idea.

The whisk went crazy, leaping through the air in a demented attempt at freedom. The rapidly spinning tines drilled straight through the tile floor of the kitchen, vanishing into the dark depths of the basement beneath. As I stood by, watching helplessly, the cord snapped straight out of the electrical socket, diving after it’s main body…until the tool was lost.

Hmm. I’d probably have to get my mom a new one of those…

But in the meantime, there was a hole in the floor, wood chips covered the counters, and the cabinets...oogh. The cabinets had seen better days.

Besides, my cookie dough still wasn’t mixed!

I sighed. I could hoof-mix it. The other things….I wasn’t sure what to do just yet.

I trotted back over to the disaster scene of a bowl, sticking my hooves into the gloppy mess. Egg shells crunched beneath them as I strained to stir it, yanking my forelegs left and right. However, I overshot on one part, jerking too hard and stumbling sideways.

Clonk.

“OH, COME ON!!!!” I yelled. Adding injury to…well, even more injury, the still-open spice cabinet spat another plastic container at me, and it clonked against my head before falling into the batter.

“What is it this time?” I groaned, resisting the urge to rub the bruise on my head. If I tried, my hooves would probably get glued to my mane. “Cardamom? Cilantro?”

I levitated the container into the air, squinting to read the dough-splattered label on the front.

…cat nip?

CAT NIP??

CAT NIP?????

“WHAT KIND OF FAMILY KEEPS CAT NIP IN THEIR SPICE CABINET???” I yelled, panicking. I had no idea how ponies would even react if they ate this! Was it safe???

I dug frantically through the batter, trying to pick out the tiny dried leaves. Globs of the gummy substance splattered into the sink and on the floor as I tossed the foliage I found in that general direction. I had to get this all out.

“Well...think I got most of it…” I bit my lip, resting my hooves on the counter. The speckled, freaky, weirdly-colored batter was ready to be baked. I would be lying if I said I wasn’t scared, but I was also kind of fascinated….in a grossed-out kind of way.

“Okay…..roll rounded teaspoonfuls of dough into balls, and place onto ungreased cookie sheets. Doesn’t sound too hard.” But why on earth should I bother measuring it into teaspoons? Pffft.

Oh wait!

I couldn’t set it out just yet. I still needed to blend it to grind up all the eggshells...

Though some of the dough had oozed over the edge of the counter and glued the lower cabinets closed, I managed to yank one open. The door may have come off in the process, but at least I could get inside now!

I pulled the blender out from the cabinet. Hmm...there was no free counter space for me to set it down. I could either use the floor, or levitate it in the air…

Eh. I would just levitate it. It couldn’t be that hard.

Using a spatula, I painstakingly scraped every last drop of the unknown substance into the main body of the blender, tossing the spatula aside. It splattered against a wall, sticking immediately.

All right…here goes. I tapped the “on” button.

The blender began lurching violently back and forth through the air. I immediately abandoned the idea of holding it with magic, shoving it to the floor and throwing myself against it.

Dough splattered up the sides of the blender, threatening to shove the cover off and overflow. I hooked one foreleg around the main body, using the other hoof to cram down on the lid. My body shook violently, and I braced myself against the corners of the cabinet, trying to hold steady.

After a while, I slammed the “off” button, causing it to come to a screeching halt.

There…it should be nice and mixed up now. But even if it wasn’t, there was no way I was doing it again.

I scraped the matter back into the mixing bowl, simultaneously grabbing a spoon from the silverware drawer. Now it was time to scoop it onto a tray.

I dug up a spoonful of the dough, then dropped it onto the cookie sheet. The dough splattered, forming a flat-ish shape. Great! Cookies were supposed to be flat, right?

Time to finish up and get these in the oven!

While my culinary masterpiece was baking, I decided to make a valiant effort to clean up the kitchen. Not much I could do about the hole in the floor, but with some boards, nails, and a hammer, I did what I could.

Nopony would notice…

…unless they tripped on it…

…or walked through the kitchen at all….

Hmm. Maybe I could convince everypony to wear blindfolds every time they entered the kitchen.

All the dirty utensils I used instantly went in the sink, and after blasting them with about a lake’s worth of hot water, all the leftover batter was safely washed down the drain. I didn’t want anypony to see the uncooked version….cause it looked scary.

I hoped the cooked version would look better.

The flour coating every available surface was a little trickier to clean. After some...er...trial and error, I decided to use a vacuum, which sort of worked. It may be a tad….overloaded….but surely we can buy a new one.

…..right?

I was just disconnecting the smoke alarm when the oven timer finally went off, and I leapt down from the stool I was using in excitement. My cookies were finally done! And just in time. My family was due to get home from shopping any minute now.

I wafted away the smoke that filled the kitchen, searching for oven mitts. Gosh, where did I put those darn things?

I sighed. I could just levitate it….but there was something extra special about taking a baking pan out of the oven with your own hooves. It was a sense of pride…

Oh well. The special feeling definitely wasn’t worth burning my fur off.

I opened the door, coughing in the choking cloud of smog that billowed from it. Squinting tearfully through the haze, I caught hold of what looked like it had once been my cookie tray, carefully sliding it out of the oven and into the air.

Wait, why was it glowing?

BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP

“Ack!” I yelled. I’d forgotten to disconnect the smoke alarm upstairs.I dropped the tray on top of the stove, ignoring the worrying sizzling noise, and raced upstairs as fast as I could.

BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP

Oh...right. I was too short to reach it.

I desperately jumped for the darn plastic circle embedded in the ceiling, trying to hit the tiny button that would stop this awful noise.

“I’M JUST BAKING!!!!!” I yelled, flailing my arms in the air.

At this point, I was kind of worried the neighbors would see the smoke leaking from the windows and decide to call 911.

It wasn’t a big deal! I was just baking cookies!

At least there was no Schmooze hanging about the kitchen….

At least this year, we wouldn’t have to pay a fine for creating a new life form!

Below, I heard the door slam open, making the house shake.

“SWEET CELESTIA WHAT IS HAPPENING IN HERE????”

That would be Song Bird. Where was mom?

“NOTHING!” I said. “IT’S JUST FINE!! COULD YOU KEEP SHOPPING TILL I CAN GET THIS TO STOP???”

The door slammed closed again, knocking a picture off the wall. I assumed she took my advice.

“Curse you, tiny piece of plastic!!!!” I growled, finally giving up on reaching it. A beam of magic shot from my horn, blasting into the fire alarm. It exploded, leaving a burnt hole in the ceiling, and tiny pieces of plastic rained down on me.

But hey, at least it stopped!

I sighed, trotting back downstairs to check on my cookies.

“…what are those?” I said, wrinkling my nose.

Red flag number A—the baking sheet was glowing a reddish gold and dripping over the stove, giving off curls of steam. Red flag number B—the cookies were gone. I didn’t even know how to describe what was left.

So….imagine a turtle fell into cement, wandered onto the highway, and got flattened by a truck. Then a seagull ate that turtle before throwing it up again...into an active volcano.

Yeah, that seemed about right.

“What happened?” I demanded, flinging my hooves into the air. “What more do you need of me? I follow the recipe!”

Of course, the fire alarm in the basement stairway chose that time to go off. It was a very bad time to be an active fire alarm, because I was pretty mad at how my cookies turned out.

Of course…I didn’t know exactly what I was expecting…given my track record with baked goods…

“WILL YOU BE QUIET?!?” I shouted at the alarm. Of course, it didn’t give me an answer, because it was an inanimate object and if it did answer back, I probably would’ve run screaming from the house.

I grabbed a heavy object off the counter, trotting over to the basement stairs. The door was flung open, and I hurled the object at the fire alarm. It took it right off the ceiling, crashing down the stairs and leaving large dents in the wood.

“…oh.” I realized. “That was our only rolling pin.”

Oh well. At least it stopped the beeping.

All right. Next.

...at this point, I wasn’t sure if I actually wanted to waste frosting on these cookies. If dad was grilling our Hearth’s Warming dinner, than these would have come in handy, but otherwise I could think of no other use for them.

We certainly weren’t eating them, that was for sure.

Ooh! Maybe I could punch holes in them and hang them on the tree!

…nah. Black decorations—or whatever this color was—weren’t usually the most festive. Besides, I wasn’t sure if I could actually penetrate these things.

Um…..we could use them for frisbies…?

No, they weren’t large enough. If I glued several together then maybe, but there was no guarantee the glue would hold. Besides, we didn’t play frisby very often. And if somepony didn’t catch it in time, it would probably be able to induce a concussion.

The front door creaked open again, this time much slower and cautious.

“What in Equestria happened here?” Song Bird asked. I heard her coughing on the trace amounts of smoke still lingering in the air.

“I was baking cookies.” I said, wiping smudges of flour off my face.

“Ah.” My sister trotted into the kitchen. “No other explanation needed.”

“Meanie.” I pouted.

“Have they showed signs of intelligence yet?” Song asked, eyeing the charred...things…carefully.

“Nope. I don’t think these ones are sentient.” I informed her. “Want to try one?”

She gave me a look.

“Never mind.” I sighed.

War Hardens The Heart

Author's Note

I'm gonna apologize ahead of time for this story.....I kind of gave up near the end. I was also feeling depressed and emotional while I was editing. So....yeah. Definitely not my best work.

War Hardens The Heart

War Hardens The Heart

Deadly projectiles whizzed through the air.

The battlefield was littered with them, the ground churned up with millions of hoofprints.

I huddled behind the wall of my fort, panting desperately. My breath fogged up the frigid air, but my face was bright red and hot to the touch. I swallowed, watching the enemy fire rain down around me.

There was no way I could win.

It was time for me to make my final stand.

I gathered together my last weapons, levitating them in the air before me, then took a deep breath. I steeled myself, preparing for the worst…then leapt into the open.

Time seemed to slow down. My life flashed before my eyes.

It was strange….one could easily start a war, even without direct intention. Indeed, the true beginning of this one was a phrase, a simple phrase….

“Mom, can we play outside?”

(A Few Hours Earlier)

The fledgling stages of a snowstorm were beginning outside.

Thick drifts of fluffy white already engulfed the ground, dripping off the trees like a scene from a picture book. Ponies rushed to and fro, finishing errands before the brunt of the storm hit.

“Mom, can we play outside?”

“What?” Mom blinked in surprise, turning to look at the her of wide-eyed, pleading children gathered around her. “I don’t know….the forecast says it’ll really pick up. Also, even the cat didn’t want to go outside today. It’s pretty cold.”

“We’ll bundle up!” Teddy promised. The rest of us nodded energetically, agreeing.

“Pleeeease?” Rights begged.

“….okay.” Mom gave in with a sigh. “As long as you take Wiggles out with you. Come in when the snow gets heavy!”

“Yes!” I cheered. We scrambled out of the kitchen, running for the laundry room where our snow gear was kept.

We struggled into hats, coats, scarves, and fluffy saddles, bundling up as promised. Song Bird helped Wiggles into his things, and by the end, we all resembled Eskimos.

“Hang on a second.” Book stopped us briefly so he could run and get a measuring stick. “Okay. Let’s go!”

Teddy shoved the door open, and we poured out like water from a floodgate. The snow crunched beneath my hooves as I sprang forwards...and immediately tripped.

“Ow.” I said, my voice muffled by the ground in my face.

“Guys, I just measured the snow.” Book Whiz said. I pried my face off the chilly concrete, blinking curiously.

“What was it?” I asked.

“It’s already a foot deep!” Book cheered. “Can you believe it?”

“Wow, already?” Song said, amazed. “I’m going to get a head start on shoveling the driveway.”

“You do that.” I said. My sister vanished into the backyard, returning a few seconds later with a blue snow shovel levitating before her. She began scraping away at the heavy layers of snow that coated the concrete, tossing shovelfuls to the side.

“...I think I’ll join you.” I decided. I didn’t want to get called out for letting her do all the work.

“I’ll do it to.” Book decided.

We both joined in—me using a spare shovel, Book merely pushing it aside with his wings.

Eventually, Book got bored, and left to mess around with Rights and Teddy. Wiggles began to bother me and Song, saying he was bored, so I decided to take him sledding.

Our front yard was perfectly flat. There was no way we could sled on it. Our backyard had a steep slope, but was also full of plants. Thankfully, our super friendly neighbors had a large backyard with a fairly steep hill, and they let us play there!

I dragged our heavy, compact purple plastic sled out of the backyard. Wiggles trotted alongside me as I struggled up the hill, gasping.

“Sledding!” Book called, running over. Rights and Teddy followed him. “Can we sled to?”

“No!” Wiggles pouted, diving into the sled. “Mine!”

“C’mon.” I sighed. “You gotta share.”

“Noooo!” Wiggles shrieked, rolling over.

“Eh, it’s fine.” Teddy said. “We can body sled!”

“Body...sled?” I raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah!” Teddy threw himself onto the snow, plowing face-first down the hill.

“Lovely.” I said. “I think I’ll stick with the sled, thanks.”

We climbed up and slid down several times, but eventually I got tired of hauling the sled up every time.

“Okay.” I said. “I’m tired now. If you want to sled you can do it yourself.”

“Fine.” Wiggles pouted, sitting down with a thud. “I’ll just stay here.”

“C’mon, Twinkle!” Book said. “Try body sledding! It’s fun!”

“Fine...” I sighed.

I threw myself forwards. Snow flew in my face, soaking my coat as I zipped downwards. I yelped, but my mouth instantly became filled with snow before I crashed into a deep bank at the bottom.

“Wasn’t that fun?” Rights asked.

“Nope.” I said, spitting out a mouthful of frigid white. “My teeth hurt.”

“Guys, why don’t we make snow nests!” Book asked.

“Yes!” Teddy said. I leapt up, joining in the eager cheer.

Snow nests were these fort-type things we liked to make every winter. They were made by sitting in a spot on the ground and using your forelegs to scoop nearby snow right up next to yourself. They could be made very thick and strong, which is what we did with these ones. By the end, they really did resemble forts.

Without warning, Book snuck up behind me, dumping a pile of snow on my head.

“Ack!” I yelped, leaping up. My retaliation was to toss a few sloppily made snowballs at him, but I missed…hit Teddy instead.

“Hey!” Teddy said.

“Sorry!” I apologized. “I was trying to hit--” A snowball from Teddy hit my in the face.

At that point, Song decided to throw one at me for no reason.

“What is this?” I asked, pouting. “Gang up on Twinkle day?”

“It looked fun.” Song said, shrugging.

“This is war!” I yelled.

I dove into the nearest snow fort, scooping up a bunch of loose snow. I grabbed a piece of it, packing it into two snowballs. One I tossed at Song, the other at Book. This time I managed to hit Book, but missed Song, because she’d vanished behind the wall of another fort.

“Byyyye!” Teddy chirped, dashing away. “I’m going to sit this one out! I don’t wanna fight you!”

Book sped off to the nearest cloud, grabbing it and pulling it back over to where we were. He beat his cloud into shape, hiding inside the newly made fort.

“Hey!” I protested. “That’s cheating!” I used my magic to pop the cloud like a bubble, and while Book was hovering helpless in the air, Song used the opportunity to hit him with a snowball.

Book dove to the ground, taking refuge within his own snow fort.

The battle…had begun.

And…it continued.

For hours.

Many hours.

Pretty soon, Teddy got bored and went inside. It wasn’t long before he was also followed by Rights and Wiggles.

Surprisingly, the snow storm didn’t get any worst, but instead fizzled out and disappeared. At one point Dad came out once to finish shoveling the driveway, but we were too immersed in our battle to pay him any heed.

So yes, how easily one can start a war.

And how quickly that war can escalate.

As time moved slowly around me, I landed on the ground, whipping my hoof forwards and throwing the snowball.

But it didn’t get very far….and neither did I.

A stray projectile smacked into my face, knocking me backwards. I fell squarely on my back, thankfully cushioned by the snow beneath me.

Several more snowballs crashed on top of me, covering me almost entirely, until I couldn’t see anything but a fuzzy atmosphere of white.

There was a second of silence, telling me the battle had been paused.

“…Twinkle?” Song Bird’s voice said my name.

I waved a hoof weakly in the air to show I wasn’t dead, then let it flop limply back to the ground.

“Here, stop the game for a second.” Song said. Her hoofsteps crunched on snow as she ran over to me.

“I’m sorry!” She said. “Are you okay? Are you hurt? I didn’t mean to hit you that hard.”

“It’s fine.” I said, blowing snow out of my mouth.

At that moment, I noticed the crimson tinge of the sky. The clouds that had once held snow had faded away, turning into golden streaks.

“Hey, guys?” I said. “Don’t you think we should go inside now? It’s getting pretty late.”

“You’re right!” Song Bird said, glancing around. “Call a truce for today?”

“Hah!” Book snorted, coming up next to us. “I totally beat both of you.”

“Did not!” I protested, getting to my hooves and shaking the clumps of snow out of my damp mane. “I was obviously the champion here.”

“You got hit in the face!” Book said.

“…..let’s not talk about that…”

“Guys, stop arguing.” Song sighed. “It’s time we go inside now.”

“Okay, okay.” I gave in, rolling my eyes.

“Fine.” Book sighed, doing the same.

We set off across the yard. I shivered shivering slightly as my soggy, cold boots clung to my skin.

It had been a fun day, but I was even more glad to be heading inside…...to warmth.