Fallout Equestria: Wild Winter

by Salted Pingas

Rating: teen
Tags: Profanity, Violence, Crossover, Dark, Alternate Universe, Drama, Original Character, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Adventure, Sex, Fallout
Length: 6217

Native Dancer returns home to Mother.

A submission for the Wild Winter/Thawing Spring group project as well as a continuation of my submission for the Fallout Equestria ABC: Dangers of the Wasteland group story. Reading the latter isn't necessary, but strongly recommended.

After barely surviving a blizzard in the dead of the wasteland's Wild Winter, Native Dancer returns home to see her mother. However, not all is as it seems at a first glance.

Sex tag for teen sex (i.e. fade to black), though a mature version is available off-site. Profanity for a few bad words.

Fallout Equestria logo by the extremely talented and very sexy artwork-tee, snowstorm edit by me.

Published 2020-08-21 20:50:00 UTC
Last updated 2020-08-21 20:50:00 UTC

Walking in a Winter Wasterland

Author’s Note: The following story is a continuation of my submission for the Fallout Equestria ABC: Dangers of the Wasteland group story. While reading it isn’t necessary for this one, it is recommended. Furthermore, this story contains Teen clop (Pretty much kissy-kissy huggy-huggy then fade to black). However, a Mature version is available off-site for those who would rather read that. None of the story changes in the Mature version, it just has actual in-depth clop. Whatever version of the story you choose to read, I do hope you thoroughly enjoy!

A trickle of sunlight from a rising sun found a pair of wastelanders snuggled tight in a sleeping bag in a cave. Their clothes lay near the cool remains of a fire, laid out the night before to thaw from their near-death treks through a blizzard. Only the flames and the deep maw of the cavern they’d sheltered in (and, it could be argued, their lascivious acts therein) had kept them alive through said blizzard.

Sunlight had been streaming in from outside for some time before Native Dancer and Wrought Iron stirred; neither had done much sleeping the night before, opting to pass the dark hours of the night with certain other activities.

A frown pursed Dancer’s lips in her brief post-sleep haze, who was this warm hunk of flesh she was snuggled up next to? The passionate memories of the night prior quickly returned and a small smile overthrew the frown. Iron made a soft noise as Dancer snuggled up close to him, feeling the curvature of his warm flesh against her own.

“Morning?” His frosted breath curled in the cold air, eyes held shut in order to - perhaps - reminisce on the events of last night.

“I’d say midmorning at the earliest,” Dancer threw a glance towards the cave entrance where the blizzard had deposited a good heap of slushing snow, “Why? What’s your rush?”

“Mm, no rush,” Iron shifted, he cracked open an eye to look at her, “You?”

“Well the blizzard’s cleared so it’d probably be a good idea to start off…” She let her words trail off.

“Probably?” Iron turned his face to her.

“Probably,” She brought their lips together in a kiss, their bodies following suit.

* * * * *

It was late morning, bordering on midday, when Dancer and Iron found themselves clothed once again in their wintery garments. Nothing could be done to revive the fire, so Iron was forced to break his fast with a can of cold beans. He tipped the can in Dancer’s direction as she packed her gear.

“Appreciate the gesture, but I’m not hungry,” she declined, hefting her saddlebags.

“After all that?” Iron gestured to where their shared sleeping bag had lain.

Dancer shrugged.

Iron mirrored the gesture and continued polishing off the can.

After the one-sided brunch, the pair had to tackle the snowy remains of the blizzard blocking them in. There was a small patch of light atop the mound of snow choking the cavern’s gullet, but hardly sized even for Dancer’s thin form.

A pair of trowels were brandished and an escape hole carved out, birthing the pair out into a blindingly white world. Dancer hissed as the biting air chewed at her nose and the tips of her ears, pulling her parka hood up over her head as she squinted into the snowlight.

“Y’know, sometimes I miss the constant overcast we had before the Lightbringer went and tore the clouds down,” Iron commented, slipping on a pair of snow goggles.

“Normally I’d disagree,” Dancer replied, adorning her own pair of goggles to ward off the sunlit snow, “But right now? Yeah, I see your point.”

“Any chance I can change your mind about coming with me, too?” Dancer turned to him. His eyes and most of his upper face were blocked by his goggles, but his smile was warm and inviting, maybe even a little charming, “Even just for a little while?”

Dancer sighed, reminiscing briefly on the quality time they’d spent over the last twelve or so hours, “I’d love to...but unfortunately I’m needed back home, that big old contract and everything.”

“Who would miss you? You said the contract’s already been sent by magic fire…” His face turned a little pouty. She was sure his goggles hid a pair of puppy dog eyes.

“Mother, for one,” Dancer gave him a sideways glance, a quick grin splitting her face, “do you not remember two truths and a lie last night? She might string you up and make you suffer for as long as she can...”

“Me? A proper gentlecolt?” He placed a hoof at his breast, “You could introduce me!”

“You’ll thank me later for declining.” She forced herself to turn and go before his words and his looks could entice her into joining him. He was certainly a nice buck and his words were genuine, but she didn’t want to have to break his heart.

“Hey!” She took a peek over her shoulder at his call. He hadn’t moved to leave or to follow her, a hoof raised high.

“Yeah!?” She called back.

“If you’re ever in Stone Cove, ask around for me! I’m the regular handybuck!”

She gave a quick salute and was back on her way.

* * * * *

She had trouble forgetting about Wrought Iron as she crunched her way south through the snow. Any other day and she might’ve taken him up on his offer, good ponies with a keen sense and a set of valued skills weren’t something to scoff at. But the blizzard had put her behind schedule as it was, and with Mother in her current state, well...to keep her waiting would be the wrong choice.

So she was off back the way she’d come. The roads (or, rather, the rubble that used to be roads before the war) were all iced in or snowed over. Here and there a crumbling or ramshackle bridge rose up over a gorge or frozen river. Once the bridge had collapsed and she was forced to crawl across the crackling ice, worrying all the way and breathing a sigh of relief when she made it across.

“Phew,” she would’ve wiped her brow, but in the sub-zero temperatures sweating could be a death sentence.

A small puff of snow at her hooves was followed near-instantaneously by a sharp crack of a rifle. Dancer jumped away with a shout, taking just enough time to spot a pair of ponies up the riverbank before bolting in the opposite direction. A supersonic crack in her ear nearly made her leap back onto the ice, but between falling through without proper weight distribution or losing traction on the slippery surface such an action would get her killed.

Her pistol came free in the green light of her magic, twisting and emptying with rapid-fire pulls of the trigger. She didn’t expect to hit anything, but hoped that the raiders, or bandits, or whoever wouldn’t take that chance. She used the moment to gallop up the riverbank, charging across the snowy wastes.

If she could just break line of sight...another supersonic crack from a near-miss made her yelp and nearly take a tumble. She righted herself and gave a final burst of speed when she spotted a low hill, bounding up the slope and diving down the other side out of view of the shooter.

* * * * *

Almost a minute later crunching snow heralded the arrival of her attackers.

“Hold up, Pit!” A feminine voice snarled, “Bitch could be waiting for us, go slow!”

Two sets of hooves crunched carefully up the slope of the hill, revealing a unicorn mare with a rusty bolt-action rifle and a much larger buck with what had once been a shovel but now was an axe held tight in his maw. Both were clad in cheap winter garments with more patchwork than original cloth.

After sweeping the backside of the hill with her rifle and spotting only small rocks and naked shrubbery, the mare brought it to her eye and started scanning for Dancer. Wasting no time, the buck followed Dancer’s footprints, stopping short with a puzzled expression.

“Tracks’re gone, Ring!” Pit said after spitting out his crude axe, squinting down again.

“The hell you mean ‘they’re gone’?” Ring lowered her scope and glared at her partner in crime, “Hasn’t been nearly long enough for them to disappear!”

“Just what I said, look!” Pit pointed to where the tracks went deep, “She jumped here,” he trotted down the slope, eyes scanning the ground, “Then nothing!”

“Well she didn’t just up and fly away! I saw the horn while she was scooting over the ice, she wasn’t a pegasus!”

“An Alicorn, maybe?” An undercurrent of fear laced Pit’s voice.

“Smallest Alicorn I ever saw, she was regular pony-sized!” Still, the same undercurrent laced Ring’s voice as she held her rifle closer and gave a worried look around.

“Let’s just get back to our spot,” Pit said after a moment’s silence, “Next time, shoot when they’re nearly at the shore and don’t miss.”

“Screw you!” Ring waited a moment longer before following Pit, “Damn scope’s off.”

“If you can cycle the bolt with your magic, I can try shooting.” Pit’s voice faded back over the hill.

“No, it’s the scope!” Ring’s final protest faded with her presence.

Silence filled the void on the backside of the hill.

After another minute or so, Native Dancer burst naked from the snow with a flash of magical light. Her teeth chattered out a curse that frosted in the air, her coat stood on end, tail tucking against her backside.

Teeth chattering and limbs quaking she lit her horn for a modicum of warmth, digging through the snow for her garments and saddlebags. She dressed in the former, slinging the latter over her withers. Fortunately, nothing had frozen too badly and with a final glance back to memorize the location of where the bandits were she began to run to build up some much-needed body heat.

* * * * *

A smile spilled across Dancer’s face as she crested a final hill and beheld a quaint little town called Nevermore. Home to just over three digits of ponies, it thrived on its own outside of most trading routes. In springtime one might find farmland surrounding it on all sides, growing crops of all kinds in the Lightbringer’s sunlight. But for now that sunlight just glared off of plains of white snow.

Dancer spied ponies shoveling snow from the winding road that strolled through the town, some of them with their horns, others with shovels clutched in their maws. A number more flew about the rooftops, knocking snow down to the ground; some pegasi had settled down here after the Lightbringer’s war, most wanting to forget those troubled times or start anew.

Some, it was suspected, had wanted to be forgotten by certain courts and grand juries both above and below the clouds. But the ponies of Nevermore held no grudges and had accepted their feathered kith without question. It certainly helped that the weather over Nevermore had never been better.

Wasting no time, Dancer zeroed in on one of the farmhouses on the eastern outskirts of the town. Their main export resided in the two large stables off to one side where the brahmin rested. Were spring or summer upon them the surrounding fields would be a small mix of crops, trees bearing what fruit they could.

But in the winter, only snow sprouted across the fields and weighed down the branches of naked fruit trees. A handful of her brothers and sisters were clearing the trees of snow and shoveling it from the pathways, one flitting about the rooftops to ensure they weren’t being weighed down.

“You’re late,” was the only greeting she got as she made her way to the farmhouse, stopped by one of her brothers. A pair of pegasus wings were tucked neatly against his sides.

It took her a moment to identify his name.

“Held up by the blizzard, Thyme,” Dancer said, looking around, “You know, that thing that rolled through here yesterday by the looks of it? Big, white snowstorm? Ring any bells?”

“Mother’s not happy,” he ignored her quips, giving her a mirthless smile, “Might be I could put in a good word or two if you share what you brought back…”

“Not enough to share with you and Mother,” Dancer countered flatly, it was a half-lie, “Now you gonna let me in or what?”

“Not enough for me and Mother?” His tone was mock-heartbroken, “What a shame, she was expecting more out of you, Pla—”

Dancer’s horn flashed and Thyme’s eyes constricted as he crumpled to the side, clutching at his crotch where the telekinetic blow landed.

“Not outside, Secret Thyme,” she hissed in his ear with a scowl.

“Why’d you have to go for the balls?!” Thyme hissed back, squeezing his eyes shut.

“You chose your own anatomy.” Dancer pushed past him.

The inside of the farmhouse was warm, a fire crackling in the fireplace. One of her sisters spared her a simple glance as she watched a boiling pot on a wood-burning stove top. Dancer trotted through the living room and past a bathroom to find herself at a closet. This she opened, disrobing and hanging her cold-weather gear next to a few other sets. Then she turned to the hidden trapdoor in the floor which led to blackness. Without any hesitation she descended.

Down she went, only the light of her horn to guide her. She breathed deeply, taking in the cold, clammy smell as though it were fresh air. The black walls around her swallowed her magical light, leaving her alone in her own little shell of brightness.

In spite of the lack of features or sounds she navigated her way through the long corridors and junctions. Memory alone sufficed to guide her to her destination, a green glow emanating from up ahead.

As she crossed the threshold into the large, green-lit antechamber she beheld a monster. Even seated the beast towered over her, its limbs long and thin with holes sprouting like liver spots. Its head was a facsimile of equine, long snout with a pair of canine fangs and a moss-like membrane resembling a mane. A jagged horn thrust itself upwards like a sickly tree from its scalp, ending in a point that could skewer a pony through.

Any other creature would’ve turned and fled, screaming obscenities or bloody murder and leaving behind them a trail of waste.

Native Dancer merely regarded the slumbering creature for a moment, “Mother!” she called.

Mother gave a sudden snort, lurching awake in her charcoal throne. Old chitin popped as she stretched her long joints, a pair of translucent wings fluttering briefly before settling. A long, low hiss emanated from her jowls as they popped open wide in a yawn, serpentine tongue flicking out. Green eyes with slitted pupils snapped open, focusing lazily on Native Dancer, sizing her up.

“Platysma, daughter,” Mother spoke with a sharp smile, “I barely recognized you in that form.”

“Sorry,” Platysma looked down at herself. Her horn flashed, green flames licking up her form as if burning away her pony flesh to reveal the starved changeling drone beneath, “Forgot I was wearing it.”

“Hmm, no matter,” Mother adjusted herself in the throne, “The contract from Northtrot was received on time. You, however, are a day late. Did the storm hold you up?”

“Yes, Mother,” Platysma admitted. In an effort to soothe any of Mother’s displeasure, she continued, “Though I think you’ll find the love I collected to be more than satisfactory to make things up. Let’s just say that a pony stallion and a sleepless night were involved...” Platysma gave a lascivious, fanged smile.

Mother grinned appreciatively, her maw opening to receive the harvested love. Like the inverse of a mother bird and her chick, Platysma relaxed the sphincter of her emotional lacunae as a mother bird would empty her crop. Love-energy trickled out of her as a strand of blue smoke. Mother’s own lacunae began to suck it down.

She could taste the love-energy as it left her, almost like one might taste their previous meal in a burst of vomit. The sensations of her night spent with Wrought Iron filled her sinuses as it passed back through her, his lust for her in those intimate moments so very delicious. The taste was thick and almost creamy like yak ice cream, but hot like a mug of hot chocolate or cider.

Of course, it left her feeling empty inside once Mother had fed. The memory of their night together was still stored in her gray matter, but his raw emotional energy was gone. Now it was just a regular, old memory.

Once Mother had been given the lion’s share Platysma closed her sphincter, watching Mother’s pleasant expression as she digested the delectable love. Her eyelids opened, eyes rolling back forward as her tongue came out to lick her lips.

“Very good, Platysma,” Mother cooed. But then she cocked her head to one side, as if trying to peer behind the drone, “May I ask where you left this lover of yours? Do tell me you managed to enthrall him?”

Mother was almost never satisfied, but Platysma was already ahead of the curve.

“He went another way, unfortunately,” It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the entire truth either, “However, on my way back I did scout out a pair of ponies that no one will miss. Bandits who took a shot at me. Only a day or two’s travel, if I took a brother or sister along we could have them back before week’s end.”

“Hmm,” Mother considered, eyes tracing up to the high ceiling. Platysma’s buggy blue eyes followed, seeing a vast array of storage pods. Most of them were empty, only a hoofull holding ponies who appeared to be in some sort of REM sleep. None of them had been taken from Nevermore, all of them wasteland ponies no one would miss too dearly.

‘Like Wrought Iron…’ Platysma thought with a quick pang.

“Very well,” Mother’s eyes fixed back on Platysma, her body settling back down into her throne, “Do be a dear and fetch these ponies for our larder, take Thymus with you. He hasn’t been out in a while, deserves some fresh air.”

“Yes, Mother,” Platysma hid her scowling emotions, turning to leave for the surface.

* * * * *

Platysma, now back in her winter gear and ‘Native Dancer’ unicorn form trotted back out into the cold. Thymus, in his ‘Secret Thyme’ pegasus form, still held a pained expression on his face. He gave her a quiet glare and shifted his hind legs closer together when she turned to him.

“What?” He glowered.

“Mother wants us to collect a couple things for the larder.” Even sequestered far beyond earshot of any pony in Nevermore, Platysma was careful to speak in code, “Go stock up for a four day trek.”

“Finally,” Thymus’ scowl turned into a predatory grin and he gave his wings a quick flap, “I’m starving.”

* * * * *

The ramshackle pair of buildings were hardly more than sheds, cobbled together from bits and pieces of the old world. Both had square cut-outs in place of windows, though these were sealed tight on account of the season. When summer came they would be unbolted and left open to let the cool breeze inside.

Neither was well insulated, and while the larger of the two had a fireplace the chimney was crooked and might not last through the season. A rusty pipe stuck out of the top of the second one, leading to a squat and equally rusty potbelly stove within.

A few crooked trees sticking miserably from the snow made a pitiful perimeter around the buildings, located atop a small hill on account of the springtime rains.

The two bridge bandits trotted up the hill as the sun was setting, bathing the snow with its soft, orange glow. Though the majesty of the sight was lost on a fuming Scope Ring as she stomped her way to the larger building.

Spike Pit sighed as she nearly ripped the door from its hinges, flinging it aside. He cringed a little bit when she slammed her rifle down next to the door. His axe joined it, placed more gingerly, before he shut the door behind him.

The interior was a reflection of the exterior.

A single load bearing beam marked the center of the building, a slab of sheet metal used to split it into two rooms. The room attached to the door housed the crooked fireplace and a well-used mattress with thick sheets resting on a couple wooden pallets; the rest of the floor was packed dirt.

The second room housed a simple spark generator attached to a small refrigerator (both of which were turned off) and a cobbled-together gas stove that looked like it might explode on ignition. The bandits’ smell confirmed that there were no bathing quarters, and one would have to step outside or sacrifice a rusty pot to relieve themselves.

“You can’t win them all,” Pit spoke up as Ring rummaged around in the fridge, popping the top off of a sparkle cola bottle and chugging the slushy contents.

“We only got one today, Pit!” Ring spat back, returning to the first room and plopping her butt down on the bed. She took another large gulp from the bottle, “Two, if you count that bastard that fell through the ice, but we didn’t get any of his stuff.”

“No, but you still hit him,” Pit tried to cheer her up as he sat down next to her. His reward was the half-empty bottle of cola tilted towards him in Ring’s magic. Pit took it in his maw, tilting his head back to finish it.

“Wasted a bullet,” Ring grumped.

“Well, there’s always tomorrow,” Pit tossed the bottle into a growing pile in the corner next to the door, making it clink loudly against its numerous comrades. He made a mental note to toss the bottles outside...eventually, “But for now…” he continued, lifting his forehooves to her slumped shoulders and rubbing gently.

Her annoyance at the day’s earnings made her resist him, but only briefly before she sighed and pulled off her parka and layered upper garments. The chill inside bit into her bare hide, but Pit’s hooves were warm against her knotted muscles. She let him work the kinks out of her sore withers as she started a fire in the fireplace, striking a match and watching the flames crackle to life.

Their lips met as night fell and their flesh joined shortly thereafter, the crackling fire dancing across their naked bodies.

* * * * *

“Pit.”

The stallion’s sides rumbled as a soft snore tumbled out of his sleeping form.

“Pit!” Ring hissed again, jabbing the buck with a hoof.

“Hmm?” He let out a quick snort, sitting up and peering around the room. The fire had died down to coals that glowed in Ring’s eyes as she glared at him, “What?”

“Your snoring woke me,” She scowled, “Now I’m cold, go get some more firewood, will you.” She didn’t ask.

“Mmph,” Pit settled down for a moment and rubbed his sleepy eyes.

“Pit!”

“All right, all right! Just gimme a moment,” He eventually got to his hooves, trotting over to the door and throwing his parka over his head. The wood shed was only a short trot away, he wouldn’t be gone long.

Ring shuddered against the burst of cold air that swept in when Pit opened the door, the fire’s coals flaring for a moment. In the quiet that followed she bundled all the sheets around herself, getting snug with a soft smile on her lips and closed her eyes.

A flash of flames had them open a moment later.

“Pit?” Ring sat up in the bed, her eyes finding an equine form by the fire. Its head snapped to her, eyes locking onto her own.

“What?” Pit asked. He turned back to the fire, making the coals flare up as he blew on them.

Ring rubbed her eyes, looking between the door and the buck, “I didn’t hear you come back in…” her eyes scoured the room, “I thought I said to bring in more wood.”

Pit’s frown was barely perceptible in the darkness, “I did, you were fast asleep,” he smiled, “I didn’t want to wake you. As for the fire, new wood’s burned down. Brought it in maybe an hour ago.”

“Oh…” Ring said, but her frown remained. It seemed as if no time had passed, but she’d slept like that before; closing her eyes one minute and the next waking up to sunlight streaming in through…

Pit distracted her with a sudden kiss, his mouth pressed into hers and seeking reciprocation. After a moment she granted him access, letting their tongues mingle for a moment.

“You going to try for round two, then?” Ring’s voice was tired when she broke the kiss.

“Something like that,” Pit smiled. His body was warm as he snuggled up against her, his lips brushing past hers and down to her soft neck. She didn’t resist his soft lips, but neither did she respond.

Cold air brushed up against her flesh as he pulled back the bedsheets, but his lips were warm as they pressed into the fluff on her chest. She couldn’t help but shudder just a little bit, dismissing it as the cold, but knowing it was not.

Her soft belly rose and fell as her kissed her there now, smiling up at her.

His kisses went lower still.

* * * * *

“That was good,” Ring smiled, nuzzling up against Pit’s warm, fuzzy chest.

“For me, too,” Pit nuzzled back, “Like you wouldn’t believe.”

“Really?” Ring asked with a doubtful expression.

“Really,” Platysma grinned as green flames revealed her true form.

Ring screamed as the changeling pinned her down, horn flaring as she grabbed for her rifle. Platysma spat a wad of green goop on the mare’s horn, her magic fizzling out and the weapon clattering to the floor.

“What are you!?” The mare half-screamed and half-sobbed, staining the bed sheets as she lost control of her bladder.

“Not an alicorn,” Platysma sank her fangs into the mare’s neck, feeling her vocal cords strain as she let out a cry of fright. Platysma injected the mare with venom before pulling back out. She let the mare continue to sob and wet herself as the venom ran its course, Ring taking on a slack-jawed look as it overpowered her.

Cold air bit at Platysma’s chitin backside as the door opened behind her.

“You took your sweet-ass time,” Thymus grumbled, followed by a thralled Pit. The pony was carrying a bundle of firewood, which was placed dutifully on the embers. Thymus waved Pit away and got the fire going again, the pony stumbling back with a silly look on his face.

“Yes I did,” Platysma said matter-of-factly, giving her brother a sharp grin before turning back to her prey.

The same loopy expression was spreading across Ring’s own features so Platysma stepped away from the mare. The fact that she didn’t bolt across the room was a good sign.

“Up,” Platysma gestured and her thrall obeyed, looking somewhat drunk as she did so, “Change the sheets,” she gestured again and her thrall obeyed. She let a satisfied smile spread across her fanged maw, turning to the fire where Thymus was curling up. Before he could react she gave him a quick kiss, regurgitating a small amount of Ring’s carnal love that she’d stored in her lacunae, “That’s for waiting patiently in the wood shed.”

“That’s all?” Thymus asked as she settled down next to him, enjoying the fire against her hard flesh.

“Don’t push your luck,” Platysma replied without even a glance, “The lion’s share of the work gets the lion’s share of the love. When you scope out some lowlifes you can do things your way.”

“Hmph,” Thymus pouted, settling his head on his forelegs, “The only time Mother lets me out is when I’m being nymphsat by somebug like you.”

“It might help if you took protocol more seriously,” Platysma pointed out before settling down on the fresh sheets of the bed, “You nearly called me Platysma when I returned the other day.”

“So? No ponies around, none within earshot,” Thymus turned his head towards the fire, following the occasional spark like a bird of prey watching a rabbit, “Besides, so what if I call you ‘Platysma?’ Maybe some non-bug thinks it’s a pet name or something stupid like that.”

“Thymus,” Platysma bit back a growl in her voice, getting back up and trotting over next to Thymus, he fixed her with a quiet glare, “You clearly didn’t pay attention to culture class if you think that’s anything like a pony name.” She cut his opening mouth off as she continued, “No, listen to me, Thymus. Let’s pretend for a moment that you name drop somebug in front of a pony. Maybe they don’t think about it, maybe they just go on with their life and chock it up as a fluke or something.”

“Like they would,” Thymus cut in.

“Or maybe they start thinking a little too hard, they start investigating our farm, start to put the pieces together. What happens then?”

“We kill them,” Thymus answered succinctly, “Or thrall them and drain their love. If it’s a male, Mother could use them to make another generation.”

“That’s the best case, sure, but let’s pretend that things go wrong. Please tell me you paid attention during history, the Chrysalis Culling that happened during the war?” Thymus nodded, “Ponies slaughtered us as a safeguard, Thymus, and they’ll do it again if they find out that Mother survived! All we are now is a bad chapter in Equestria’s history, if anypony remembers us it’s as a monster that lived under the bed once. If they find out we’re still around and kicking? Especially now that Equestria is uniting again!?” Thymus scooted back a bit as Platysma’s voice hinged on hysterical, raw terror leaking out of her like bitter smoke from an electrical fire, “We’re a hive of a couple dozen, we can’t even stand against Nevermore if they rose against us!”

“But that’s why we’re in Nevermore, they wouldn’t...” Thymus trailed off, the gears in his head starting to turn in a different direction.

“Sure, they don’t care about the Enclave war criminals or the ‘changed’ slavers or rapists who ‘found Celestia’ and turned from their bitter paths,” Platysma lowered her voice and tone, trying to get her point across without looking manic, “But those are all ponies that they’re wiping the slate for. Ponies, Thymus, not changelings. We’re just as much predators to them as griffons were in the dark ages, parasites that subsist on their love with succubus queens that harvest their sperm to produce more drones.

“That is why we need to be careful, do everything we can to look legitimate. We harvest crops, we raise brahmin, we pretend to be good neighbors to ponies good at looking the other way. It’s a delicate process, a delicate balance of half-lies and misdirections, and we need to maintain it or face total annihilation. We can’t have a single crack in our facade or the whole kingdom will crumble to dust.”

“All-Mother alive,” Thymus muttered to himself, “when you put it like that…”

“Yeah, it’s terrifying,” Platysma said, glad she’d gotten through Thymus’ thick chitin, “there’s a reason that Mother’s so selective on who she sends out. I’m good at telling ponies the truth while lying to their faces.”

“Among other things,” Thymus gave a half-hearted snort, flicking his head towards where her thrall was standing. His tone didn’t quite reach accusatory as he continued, “Though it doesn’t account for your overall track record of bringing back thralls…”

“What do you mean?” Platysma asked, already knowing the answer was Wrought Iron and ponies like him. The ones she didn’t bring back to the larder.

“You’re too good at this...” Thymus again indicated her thrall, “...to only ever bring back harvested love and no thralls. Everybug thinks it’s because you’re a pony-lover or something, I think even Mother suspected it. But you’re not, are you?”

Platysma suddenly looked very uncomfortable, shrinking back a bit and casting worried glances towards their silent thralls as if they might tell on her.

“What if there’s another way…” the quiet words fell slow from Platysma’s lips, not quite forming a question. Thymus was silent, the only sound the crackling of the fire. After a moment, Platysma’s eyes lifted to Thymus’ matching pair, “We don’t have to be monsters under the bed,” she said with growing conviction, “But to do that, we need to follow a different path. We can’t get away from our nature, we need love to survive just as ponies need food and water.” Thymus sensed the ‘but’ before it came, “But what if we shifted our aim a little?”

“Even I know griffons are just bitter resentment and greed,” Thymus said, “Dragons aren’t much better...unless you mean zebras?”

“Criminals,” Platysma answered, hesitating again for a moment, “If you tell Mother I’ll deny it and she’ll believe me, but I let a potential thrall go when I was on my way back from Northtrot,” Platysma didn’t need to be a changeling to sense the sudden spike of anger that split through Thymus’ mind. To deny the hive a potential thrall!? “I did it because he was a good pony, a benefit to society.” Something dawned on Thymus and his head darted to their thralls, his anger cooling slightly, “These two, on the other hoof, shot at me unprovoked, they’re bandits, scum. Scum that ponies would be content to hunt down and hang or otherwise execute...”

“We become...lawbringers?” The words sounded absurd to Thymus as he said them.

“Think about it for a second,” Platysma started gaining speed, turning quickly to point at their thralls, “Think about what we just did! We neutralized two ponies that the NCR would have taken days to track down, maybe weeks, and they would’ve just executed them. They’re dead ponies as far as the law is concerned, but we can repurpose them, harvest them for love in a place where they’ll never escape! We don’t have to be the monster under the bed for everypony, just the bad ones!” Platysma took a breath, “But that has to start from the top down, it has to start from Mother and trickle down to the rest of us.”

“What happens if there aren’t any bad ponies and the larder’s empty?” Thymus posed a counter-argument, “Do we just starve?”

“I won’t pretend it’s a perfect system, if it was I’m sure Mother would have seen it by now. But I do legitimately think that it’s a better system than scrounging around for scraps, keeping our numbers low so we can survive on what little we keep for the larder. I know we can do better than this, that we can be better than this! It’s a feeling in my chitin, there’s something more for us out there, something more than just being cockroaches afraid of the light! We can be more than just a bad hoofnote in pre-war history, we can become a part of the greater society that we once haunted!”

Silence fell again, the fire grumbling low and reflecting in Platysma’s bright eyes as she stared at Thymus, hoping for some sort of response. Turmoil brewed beneath his blue eyes, membranous wings twitching now and again as his brain processed it all.

“I…” he eventually spoke, eyes distant for a few short seconds before locking onto Platysma’s, “I don’t know…”

Platysma deflated, but only a little, “Just think about it, okay? Maybe bring it up when you’re at home, I almost never get more than a day or two to sit about before Mother’s sent me out into the wastes again.”

“You’re good at what you do,” Thymus admitted with a small smile, looking uncomfortable giving praise.

Platysma felt something glimmer inside of her, a brief spark off of some internal flame. A quick flash and then nothing again. It gave her pause, what had that been? It had almost felt like...

“What?” Thymus drew her from her reverie, her wonder fading as he rose a chitin brow at what must have seemed a starry-eyed expression.

“I dunno, probably nothing,” Platysma gave her head a quick shake. She looked to the darkness outside, “Let’s get some sleep, long trek ahead of us carting these two back home.”

“Dose them back up in the morning?” Thymus flashed his fangs and settled down on the dirt floor in front of the fire.

“Sure,” Platysma nodded, taking the mattress.

As she closed her eyes and felt the soft embrace of sleep start to wash over her, a startling realization poked in from the back of her head.

It had almost felt like love...