The Risqué Risks of a Non-Standard Living Arrangement

Chapters

Chapter 1: Every Fourteenth
Chapter 2: Isosceles [NSFW]
Chapter 3: Reflections

Chapter 1: Every Fourteenth

The Sun.

He remembered the rule to not stare directly at it... but these days, its glow seemed so soft and faraway through the castle’s stained glass that he couldn't help himself. With little else to do at his post, Brick Break would catch his eyes locked on the nearest window more often than not, watching the bright celestial ball on its daily quest to reach the west horizon. There was probably a metaphor in there somewhere about something, but Brick wasn’t the type of pony with a penchant for flowery shit like that.

Then, there was the Princess; she indulged all manner of artsy interests, whilst he and the other guards simply stood watch or escorted her around the city. Though, the latter was usually a responsibility reserved for actual soldiers; sure, he’d occasionally fill in if a member of her routine security-detail left town on vacation or spent time on paternity leave, but such occasions were few and far between. It probably wouldn’t go over well if the tabloids and their horse-race journalists learned about a former bouncer being allowed to regularly safeguard their alicorn idol.

Hell, the idea seemed a bit wrong to him, and he was the one securing her chambers almost every day. Brick could only imagine the look on his mother’s face if she could see him now. Frankly, he’d submitted the same application and résumé to Canterlot Castle that he sent to about a dozen other places-- a shot in the dark, to be honest. He still had no idea how he’d landed the position or why the Crown’s bureaucratic prudes had chosen him.

Sometimes, Brick amused himself with the notion that the Princess herself had plucked his papers from the stack and spontaneously demanded he be hired; after all, she was nothing if not eccentric. However, the likelihood of that being the case was nearly zilch. It seemed far more probable that Raven Inkwell played some part in it; Raven shared the Princess’ sense of humour, and word around the Castle was that she’d come from humble beginnings before earning her position as Royal Secretariat.

There were no clocks outside the Royal Chambers, but any guard who needed those moving arrows to tell time with the sun visible in the sky wasn't worth his salt. Brick had memorized the Princess’ wake-up schedule down to the minute, and by now she was more than a little late to crack the door and greet her morning entourage. A change in schedule could prove troublesome, but Brick tried not to expend too much willpower worrying about it; for all he knew, the Princess did it to deliberately goad her guards.

As if on cue, the ancient hinges on her door creaked as it swung inwards. Then, the Princess emerged, stepping almost silently into the hallway with a sly smile. Brick’s eyes darted to her face before he forced them forwards again.

"Good morning, my little ponies~" Princess Celestia sang, her voice as regal and reassuring as ever. She turned and faced each of her three sentries, silently appraising them. Brick watched the other two’s mixed reactions in his peripherals before she finally came to him, and he could clearly see a large red orb affixed to her nose; it rested just below the smug, all-knowing look in her eyes that told him she’d already seen his double-take.

Brick raised an eyebrow. “Err… Your Highness?” It was the best he could manage whilst the other guards struggled to stifle their snickers.

The Princess simply tilted her head curiously, utterly irreverent to the absurdity of her current nasal accoutrement. "Hmm? Is something amiss?" The alicorn leaned forwards ever-so-slightly. Despite it being only the tiniest adjustment in distance between them, Brick could feel his pulse quicken as a bead of sweat rolled down his right temple.

“Your nose,” he rushed the words out.

"My nose?" Princess Celestia stuck out her lower lip just a bit, the closest he’d ever seen to the Princess pouting. "Whatever do you mean, Brick Break?"

“There’s, uh, a sort of red, clown… thing.” His voice trailed off towards the end of his attempt at an answer.

But, yes. Princess Celestia was wearing a clown’s nose-- a big, spongy, red one.

Right in the middle of her face.

There wasn't anything particularly funny about it, necessarily. It seemed sort of like your aunt trying to pull a prank on you— benign, harmless, and adorable to the extent that it reminded you that, despite her relative age, she had at some point in her past been not so much different than you. Sometimes, it made a good joke funnier. Brick didn't consider anything about clowns particularly humorous; in fact, they proved annoying at times. Yet here he was, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing.

There was something about the way she kept looking at him, so innocent and genuine, as though she'd just woken up with the thing on her face and not even noticed it. Brick had no idea why the stakes seemed so high, but it was suddenly imperative that he not crack first.

Oh, for all things good in this world, DON’T laugh first.

The Princess straightened her posture and looked about, checking the expressions of the other guards as though to test the accuracy of Brick’s testimony.

“Is this true? Something sullies the royal snout?”

An armoured mare trembled behind the alicorn, hardly able to contain herself, and the other stallion stationed beside Brick smiled openly, though he made no sounds. Still, nopony had outright laughed yet; so Princess Celestia tilted her head back and stared down the end of her own nose, crossing her eyes.

As the final sprinkle atop her silly sundae, the Princess shook her head back and forth, with the goal of dislodging the offensive red ball and flinging it from her face. The end result resembled something like a giraffe with its head stuck in a jar of peanut-butter. Brick watched the powerful muscles of her neck flex as she moved, twisting side to side, until the other smiling stallion finally threw in the towel: the guard let out a muffled “snrk” to stem the tide before a veritable tsunami of mirth knocked him over, and he collapsed on the floor with laughter.

“Pfft-- hahahaha!”

He hit the ground like a sack of heavily armoured potatoes, gasping for breath, incapacitated as if he'd taken an arrow to the knee. A fit of infectious giggles overtook the other mare.

The Princess allowed herself a motherly smile, content with her zany victory, and Brick couldn’t help but smirk too. Her magic pulled the tiny red puff off her nose and teleported it away in a blonde flash. “I saw it for sale in a costume-catalog the other day, and it spoke to me; I couldn’t resist. It would surely cause at least one of you to break.” She winked at Brick.

“An amusing prank and pun, Your Highness.”

The Princess almost frowned at his words and a soft sigh escaped her lips: “Oh fie. That’s like not laughing at a joke and then saying “that was really funny” afterwards.” For a moment, Brick wondered whether he should apologize to the Princess, but her next comment quickly derailed that thought. “Alas, a rather voracious appetite afflicts me today. Shall we?” She punctuated the proposal with an half-open wing gesturing towards the Great Hall.

“As you wish,” Brick answered, using the same words from yesterday. Then, he and she departed the doors of her quarters, leaving the other two guards to collect their composure and discourage the curious from disturbing the Royal Chambers.

Oftentimes, Princess Celestia pelted him with attempts at small talk as she strolled leisurely through the castle, probing him with harmless little questions and queries that nevertheless bounced off him like bits of gravel against his gilded horseshoes.

Today, however, she didn’t.

As he marched alongside her (careful to avoid standing directly behind the Princess), her jovial mood from earlier seemed to shift; she kept her eyes facing forward, and an awkward silence settled over both ponies. Brick scratched his head, or tried to, through his clunky helmet. The enchantment that bleached his coat white whilst wearing his full panoply caused the roots of his mane and tail to itch-- not unbearably, but noticeably… especially without the view of the sun through stained glass windows or the Princess’ endearing antics to distract him.

They approached the large double doors leading into the Great Hall, and Brick moved from one side of the Princess to the other, preparing to open the smaller portal that led into the kitchens. By now, he’d learned that Princess Celestia preferred to peruse the kitchens before dining and satisfy her urge for small talk (that he so often left wanting) by visiting the Castle’s culinary artisans.

Today, however, she continued onwards.

Having paused at kitchens’ entrance, Brick quickened his pace to catch up with the slightly taller alicorn. “Your Highness…?”

“Yes, Brick?”

“Don’t you want to speak with the Kitchen Staff?” He instantly regretted his inquiry: the moment after the words left his mouth, Brick realized first that the Princess of all ponies wouldn’t forget such a thing and, secondly, that he ought to feel relieved at not having so many ponies approach the Princess in such confined quarters; it was not uncommon for him to have to stand between her and kitchen-maids holding knives, pots of hot oil, or any other number of potential hazards. For all he knew, Princess Celestia’s little detours into that area could’ve been her own special way of stressing him for declining her repeated attempts at polite conversation.

The Princess stopped before the Great Hall and turned to address him before entering. “I already saw and spoke with them this morning.”

Brick’s brow furrowed, and he looked down for a moment. He reached back in his memory to the morning’s early hours when he first relieved one of the two Lunar Guards. He couldn’t recall seeing her outside the chambers at all, and the Royal Travel-Log hadn’t mentioned any midnight-excursions when he last checked.

“You may have found one unseen passage in the Palace, Brick, but I assure you: there are countless more, even ones that elude the Captain of the Royal Guard…” She paused, one hoof on the door. “I designed many of them with him in mind; it would be remiss of me to think all the coups and betrayal of the past five thousand years could not happen here.”

Were his armour’s enchantments not already blanching his coat, Brick was sure he’d look pale. One rarely heard grim words from the Princess in private, and never in public.

Following nearly a year of working in Canterlot Castle, Brick still couldn’t name a single member of the staff with whom he shared a close relationship. To him, work was work; at the end of the day, he did a job and collected compensation so he could live his life however he wanted outside of work. The act of “guarding” Princess Celestia seemed mostly pedestrian. Almost mundane, at times.

But moments like the one he’d just experienced tested the mettle of that philosophy and shook his Weltanschauung. Ponies saw the Princess as a beacon of hope, an ideal to emulate, and a paragon of peace; she served as a physical reminder that (regardless of their everyday stress and troubles) a new day would always dawn. Brick shared that sentiment for the most part and counted himself among the masses who preferred to live in the moment as mayflies, rather than ruminating on the centuries of strife in the years BC; Before Celestia, things were different... worse. In the millennia since Equestria’s founding, the Princess always remained, offering guidance and protection whenever her little ponies needed her. But moments like this had him questioning everything he thought about his life; it set him on edge.

Brick caught a glimpse of the Princess eyeing him with a sideways glance before she pushed open the double doors to the Great Hall and entered. The room always seemed so enormous when only the two of them occupied it; Brick’s eyes traced the thick columns along the walls up to overhead arches. Beams ribbed the vaulted ceiling; from there, long tapestries hung with events of various historical significance, ending in golden rope and tassels. Even Princess Celestia looked just a tad small by comparison, sitting at the head of the Hall’s giant bloodwood table, politely munching cinnamon toast and usually scanning either a book or reports of current events.

By now, Brick knew the Princess usually indulged her sweet tooth on the second course, opting for any number of vittles (most common amongst them being cheesecake, oatmeal creampies, and eggy bread with syrup). He closely monitored his own intake of sweets due to diabetes on both sides of his family; though, that pattern proved more of an inconvenience than a debilitating disease for their robust, earth-pony bloodlines. Regardless of his own diet, Brick remained largely ignorant of alicorn biology, and he tried not to think about the Princess’ shapely body whilst working.

“Brick Break,” she beckoned him to her side. He obeyed. The words “Are you well this morning?” and “How was your weekend?” served as the Princess’ usual catalysts for small talk. So, her new, more open-ended starter for today only increased his feeling of unease: “Are you alright, or no?”

Brick blinked once. Her large, pink eyes longed for an answer. Unsure of what she meant (he hoped), Brick offered the same safe reply as every other day.

“Fine.” A moment passed. He clarified: “I’m fine, Your Highness.”

“It seems you have something on your mind, Brick, and have for some time.”

“No, ma’am. Just another early Monday.”

The Princess’ gaze lingered on him a moment longer before she returned to her plate and finished her toast. “Very well.” She nursed a glass goblet of sugary orange-juice with both hooves, and rays of sunlight streaked through it. "Brick," Princess Celestia almost whispered, "might I ask you a personal question?"

“Of course, Princess.” He answered automatically, but something changed in the Princess’ face when she heard him utter her title. He couldn’t be sure of what it was; it was gone in an instant. Being the one to grant her permission-- even for something as insignificant as question-- heightened is anxiety. His conscience faintly warbled something in the back of his mind; its voice resembled hers so much.

“Are all things right at home for you, Brick?”

Again, he answered automatically: “They’re fine, Your Highness.” But he didn’t stop there, like he should have. “Why do you ask?” He mentally kicked himself for not letting the subject die.

“Oh,” the Princess said. She didn't seem taken aback-- Brick suspected there wasn't much in the world that could surprise her-- just contemplative, subsumed in the sincere thoughtfulness that seemed to govern her every graceful movement and gesture. Brick couldn't tell if she was hiding something behind the brief pause in conversation; hoping to outwit an immortal was well beyond his abilities, the little voice at the back of his head reminded him.

"Well," the Princess continued; the way she spoke seemed to stretch the seconds between words across eons of time, the listener hanging on her every syllable as if she weaved some tapestry of eternal enlightenment. “Curiosity, I suppose. It seems so much time passes by with myself in place at the Palace… almost like a fixture in a machine. A spinning cog, ignorant of events just outside her dream of perpetual motion.”

For the second time that morning, Brick felt the foundations of his world waver beneath the weight of what he heard; rarely were words criticizing the Princess spoken, and few of them belonged to individuals of positive repute. Yet, here and now, the Sun’s Avatar expressed disappointment in herself.

“Ignorant is a word I’ve never associated with you.”

At that, Celestia blushed; Brick felt his heart skip a beat. The distant gaze clouding her vision cleared, and she turned away from him for a moment. “Thank you, Brick.” She looked at him again, her eyes tracing the lines of his face. “I can see that I’ve disturbed you greatly. Please, don’t let me trespass against you further. Take leave for the remainder of today. Lieutenant Shining Armour should arrive shortly, and he can manage what duties of yours remain.”

“Your Highness, I--”

“Leave me, good sir.” The Princess’ white, motherly features seemed to harden into marble, and the pink pools of her irises turned to dense pearls as she issued the order.

Brick briefly considered staying, but his discipline quickly dismissed that thought. Instead, he snapped to a salute, quoting her coat of arms: “Axios!”

She dismissed him in kind: “Godspeed, guard.”

He passed Shining Armour at the entrance to the Great Hall, and the two stallions shared a short exchange of words before Brick departed Canterlot Castle for the Market District; there, he planned to procure fresh pasta and butter to calm his troubled mind. His armour probably needed oil and polish too.

“Yo, yo, yoooo.” Frosty's voice drifted into the kitchen, where Brick Break stood over the stove. He put down the spatula in his mouth to answer her.

“In the kitchen!”

The sound of hooves on hardwood echoed through the dining room behind him before Brick heard Frosty prop herself up on the pass-through window between both rooms.

“Howdy ho, how's it go?”

Brick rolled his eyes at her greeting. “Pasta's almost done.”

“Is that so? But I brought home Donut Joe's, though.” The stallion heard the rustling of a paper bag and looked over his shoulder. Surely, there was Frosty-- her gray hooves still dirty from the walk home and up on his countertop-- shaking fast food with one wing. She beamed at him with dimples on both cheeks, her eyes almost forced shut by her wide smile. “Mozzarella sticks and--”

“Caramel shakes?”

“Sweet caramel milkshakes,” Frosty quickly corrected him. “Salted caramel is for sycophants, and products of incest.”

He shrugged. “I'm surprised you don't like it, then.” Frosty stared at him for a moment, mouth agape, before cackling at his retort. Brick smirked and returned to the non-stick pot of noodles and boiling water. “Careful with all that dairy; it'll go straight to your thighs.”

“Psssh.” Frosty waved a hoof dismissively at Brick as he poured the pot's contents into a colander. He dropped two slices of butter into the warm, empty saucepan as she continued. “My metabolism could run circles around yours, old man. Besides, you complainin’ about havin’ eye-candy walkin' around your house? We both know how much you love “big” mares.”

One of Brick’s eyebrows arched at her. “Old man? I'm thirty.”

“Yeah, ancient, homie. You're older than me; so, you're old.” Frosty stuck her tongue out at him.

“If you say so.” Brick strode past the silver pegasus to the dining room's table.

“Oh!” Frosty flapped her wings and leapt into the chair across from him. “You won't believe what I saw on the way back from the shop today.” She virtually buzzed with excitement. “Guess!”

“I don't know. What?”

“C'moooon, guess. I'll give you a hint: it was in... the Art District!” Brick held in a groan at her mention of the hippies' den; a stallion of the Royal Guard and loyal soldier of the Sun, Brick feared few things, but the smell of that place... it haunted his nightmares. Well, that and the mares there, either drowning in dreads and draping themselves all over him or obese beyond measure and hardly able to hold themselves up. At least the latter were easy to escape.

“A sword-swallower?”

Frosty rolled her eyes and clicked her tongue. “You would think that. Nope, guess again!”

“A mime?”

“Oooo. Good guess, but no!”

“Was it--”

“Alright, I'll tell you!”

Brick chuckled as Frosty straightened up, raising her hooves in front of herself to emphasize the enthralling tale of her adventure into the bohemian First Ring of Hell.

“There I was, a lone mare (if you don't count the rush-hour crowd) wandering through the Art District when what should grace my soft, supple, defenseless ears but,” she paused for a quick breath, “the glorious sound of... the hurdy-gurdy!”

“A nerdy slurpy?”

“A hurdy-gurdy, Brick!”

“Close enough.” He shrugged at her pout. “Never heard of it.”

“Uncultured swine!” Frosty pronounced in her posh princess voice. “It's a minotaur instrument, dumb-dumb. Or at least that's what the unicorn playing it told me. Here,” she raised her hooves for emphasis again. “Imagine, like, a keyboard-guitar mixed with a violin. Or the love-child of a midget piano and his rich cello wife.”

Brick brought the tip of a hoof to his chin and looked up in contemplation. “Sounds less like a love-child and more like a botched abortion.”

Just as Frosty opened her mouth to reply, a knock came from the door, and she froze. Both ponies shared a look. Neither one moved until a second knock sounded. Brick spoke first: “Did you invite any pony over?”

“No, it's the fourteenth today.”

“I know.”

Brick pushed his chair back and moved towards the door. Frosty retreated into the kitchen, standing in front of the dry goods cabinet where they'd stashed a shotgun behind the oats on the second shelf.

The soldier braced his shoulder against the door and flattened an ear on the wood to listen. Hearing nothing suspicious, Brick adjusted his stance and prepared to open the door. He'd considered drilling and installing a peephole when Frosty first arrived, though learning about the existence of peephole-reversers quickly killed that thought.

Brick opened the door with one hoof and caught the object moving towards his face with the other. His own maroon hoof dwarfed the one he caught, and he stooped his neck to look at the smaller pony's freckled face.

“Coral. Hello, how are you?” His voice carried enough volume to both inform Frosty of their neighbor's arrival and inadvertently startle the miniature mare whose hoof he held. Coral's eyes widened and flicked from Brick's face to where their hooves joined; she immediately blushed.

“Oh my gosh, Mr. Brick! I'm so sorry-- I didn't mean to kick you! I tried knocking once or twice, but nobody answered. I was only gonna knock one more time, I swear! I didn’t want to scuff the wood, but then you opened the door and now I've assaulted a soldier and now we're holding hooves. That's got to be better than having a black eye though, right?” Coral's eyes begged Brick for some sort of affirmation from under her multicolored bangs. She silently screamed at herself for saying something so stupid: not having a black eye is better than having one right? She could be a real nincompoop sometimes, especially around strong, stoic stallions... especially ones named Brick.

The soldier released her dainty blue hoof and chuckled lightly. “I agree: not having a black eye is good.”

“Same,” she echoed. Silence reigned for a moment or two. “...so, uh, Mr. Brick. How are things?”

“Just sat down for dinner after a long shift. How are you?”

“Same...” she absentmindedly replied, before realizing her mistake. “...by which I mean, uh, not same. Since I'm here, y'know, and not at home. Eating dinner. Heh.”

More silence.

“I see. ...s’that for me?” Brick motioned to the letter resting on the small of Coral's back, hoping to suss out the reason for her visit and politely send her off as soon as possible.

“What? No. I mean... sort of. Is Hoarfrost home? It's for her. Mailmare must've dropped it in my mailbox by mistake, probably.” Coral bit the envelope and passed it to Brick.

“She's out, in the Art District. I'll give it to her when she gets back.”

“Lucky her.”

“What's that?”

“Nothing! Thank you-- I mean, you're welcome! Uh, goodbye!” With a burst of stunning speed, Coral suddenly galloped across his lawn, leapt over their shared fence, and slammed the door to her adjacent house shut in less than 10 seconds flat.

Closing his own door less hurriedly, Brick turned back to the dining room's table, where Frosty had already resumed munching away on her mozzarella sticks. She watched him approach and took a long drag of her milkshake before speaking: “She's cute. Don'tcha think?”

“I guess.” Brick hoisted himself back onto his chair and returned to his fettuccine al burro.

“Aaaaand, she likes you, dude. Like, a lot.”

He looked up to see a cross-eyed Frosty pulling a steaming string of cheese from the crust of a mozzarella stick with her teeth. Her wings fluttered slightly as she chewed its gooey goodness. “So?”

“You gonna FUCK her?”

“Frosty.” He eyed the pegasus sternly. “She's sixteen.”

“Yep! And as far as Celestia's concerned, that means she's up for grabs now; I did my homework.”

“Princess Celestia,” Brick corrected her. “Just because you can do something doesn't mean you should, Frosty.”

“Aight, I get it, I get it.” She raised both forelegs in surrender. “You don't wanna cross a line, even for an ass that fine and even if it ain't a crime. I just have a higher tolerance for the... clandestine.” Frosty winked at him, and he rolled his eyes.

“Hey. I spend time with you; if I lowered my standards any more, the Guard would ask me to... resign.”

“Your rhymes ain't nothing compared to mine, bro.”

“That's a double negative, DJ Hay5.”

“And that ain't how you say it, homie; it's DJ Haze-- not DJ Hay Five.” Frosty punctuated her phonetic superiority by blowing a very scholarly raspberry at the soldier. Brick shielded his meal out of reflex before some of her spittle could toucha his spaghet.

“Lecturing an Equestrian on how to speak Equestrian?”

“It's leet speak, old man. Get with the times and get some better rhymes.”

Brick half-smiled at her adorable insolence and slid the envelope from Coral across the table. “Here.”

“Mmm!” Frosty wiped her hooves on her tuft of chest-fluff before lifting the letter. Upon opening it, a deluge of photographs fell out. It piqued Brick’s interest, but he remained silent whilst she read.

After several more bites, he looked down at his meal in defeat. In his house, silence had become uncomfortable during the months since Frosty's arrival; something about her crystalline voice seemed to settle his often muddled mind. He exhaled: “Ah, damn it.”

Frosty looked up. “Huh?”

“Remember when you put diced chicken in my pasta last month?”

A mischievous grin cut across the mare's face. “Yeah... definitely one of my more expensive pranks. Why, what's up?”

“It tasted really fucking good.” Brick paused and chose his next words carefully. “I wouldn't mind trying it again.”

Her wicked smile melted into a more genuine, dimpled one of pride. A moment passed before Frosty blushed slightly, her face assuming a more artificial look once again. “Well, it was me who made it; so, it couldn't've been that bad.”

The two resumed eating until both ponies' plates laid bare and Frosty collected them for cleaning. Brick followed his friend to the kitchen’s sink, watching her work. The cabinets were always stocked full of food, especially nonperishables; ever since his youth, Brick despised seeing their shelves empty. Applesauce, canned pineapples, dried fruits, granola-bars, pretzels, trail-mix, yogurt-covered raisins-- whatever, as long as they always had something to eat.

Brick turned his mind to more pleasant things, to the present. “Who sent the letter?”

“It's from Cherry Berry. You remember her? I think you two met at Nightmare Night; she was a gargoyle, and I the bootylicious bugbear.”

“Your friend from Ponyville, the pink and yellow one?”

“Oh, yeah-- you're right, Brick: she is pink and yellow. I don't know how I could've forgotten that.”

“Hmm...” The soldier rested his chin on one hoof in mock contemplation. “Being colourblind might contribute to that, but it's a solid maybe.”

“Smart ass.”

“Fat ass.”

“Old man.”

“Leech.”

Frosty's jaw dropped in indignation. “Hey!”

“Freeloader.”

“Hold up, it's my turn!”

“Keep up or shut up, slut.”

The mare's nose scrunched up. She stuck her tongue out at the smug stallion.

“If you keep making that face, it might stick that way,” Brick warned her.

“I'm so done with you, yo.”

“Hi, Ms. Done-With-You. I'm Brick, but all the mares call me Thick.”

“Yeah, thick in the head maybe,” Frosty muttered, more to herself than her roommate.

“Depends which one you mean.” Brick wiggled his eyebrows salaciously. The pegasus put down the plate in her hooves and turned away from him, trying desperately to hold in her laugh. Ultimately, her efforts proved futile as an absurdly loud snort escaped her nose, followed by fully-bellied laughter. Brick smiled and watched her seize with mirth. Her eyes squeezed shut, Frosty's barrel heaved deep breaths as her wings fluttered and her tail twitched back and forth.

By the time his eyes reached her toned flank, her hilarity had largely subsided. Her cutie mark, an icy feather blowing in the breeze, reminded him of something. “Hey, Cherry flies hot air balloons, right?”

Frosty wiped her moist eyes with the back of a hoof before answering. “Heh. Yeah... that's what her letter's about: if I send her some bits, she buys film for her camera and sends me snaps of all the high-altitude birds she sees. Tree swallows, red-winged blackbirds, mute swans, great blue herons-- stuff like that.”

Bird-watching always seemed a strange choice of hobby to Brick, given Frosty's high level of everyday energy; he imagined that activity reserved for the elderly, or tree-huggers. Had he not known better, he would have thought the hippies in the Art District influenced her; however, she'd loved flight since the day they met. She once told him how the freedom and adrenaline of flying sharply contrasted the austere lifestyle of her homeland, where only certain castes were allowed to fly with impunity. Frosty and Cherry's shared love of aviation probably served as the primary reason for their friendship, now that he considered the situation more deeply.

Frosty continued, despite Brick’s internal monologue: “Actually, Cherry doesn't have her own balloon yet, but she just met a pilot willing to take her on as an apprentice if she can break his record. Like, flying from Ponyville to Las Pegasus and back in so many hours-- that kinda thing. He said he'd give her one of his balloons if she did.”

With that, she set the clean dishes on the drying rack beside the sink and leaned against the countertop. She noticed Brick staring at her thighs, but didn't say anything.

Eventually, the ogling ended, and Brick spoke: “I'll refill the bird-feeders.”

“Nah,” Frosty waved a hoof dismissively, “I got it, B.” Swaying her hips for him, she sashayed over to the dry goods’ cabinet and bent over to reach where the bags of birdseed slouched beneath the bottom shelf. “BRB, homie.”

When Frosty kicked open the kitchen's rear door, Brick noted the lack of sunlight outside; dusk had passed without him noticing. Winter would soon conclude, and she'd want to visit Ponyville for her first Winter Wrap Up. Frosty had barely persuaded him to approve the Nightmare Night trip, on the condition he accompany her; tempting fate with unnecessary risks seemed unwise. With how well that last excursion went, however, Brick could see the upcoming holiday as more of an opportunity than a threat. Personally, that earth-pony tradition never appealed to him; seasons followed a predictable pattern in Canterlot, allowing for more secure schedules and simplifying his duty of protecting the Princess. But if it managed to brighten Frosty's life--

“Whatcha thinkin' about, Brick Break ole buddy ole boy?”

The soldier's vision focused on Frosty's large emeraldeyes. He hadn't noticed her return. He wondered what other things he missed with her around; perhaps the Nightmare Night trip went less smoothly than he thought.

Slowly, he answered: “Winter Wrap Up, Princess Celestia... You.”

“Y'knoooow, I heard Celestia visited Ponyville last year for Winter Wrap Up. Who knows? Maybe I could meet your boss one day.”

“Ha ha ha-- no.”

“Well,” Frosty tapped her hooves together nervously, “if she's not going this year... you think we could, maybe take a couple days off?”

At the possibility of a concrete commitment to her plans, Brick's mind defaulted: a thousand reasons why not came to mind at once, all clamoring for his attention. Alarmed blared and sirens echoed off the walls of his skull as strobe lights flashed behind his eyes. His conscience started a dumpster-fire and desperately tried sending smoke-signals to the stallion's frontal lobe. His aspirations to earn the rank Captain of the Royal Guard wailed a song of dying hope.

Frosty's small, hopeful smile trumped them all.

“I'll think about it.”

The mare bit her bottom lip to contain her excitement, wings fluttering against her back. After a moment, she surrendered to her glee and embraced Brick. “Oh, thank you, Brick! Thank you, thank you, thank you!” Frosty nuzzled her face into the larger stallion's barrel.

“Hey, Frosty! I said maybe!”

“You said you'd think about it.” Her voice sounded muffled before she looked up at him. “Being the wise, rational soldier we both know you are, that means you'll reach the only logical conclusion-- an undeniable and unadulterated yes.” The pegasus beamed up at him. He offered no objection, silently assenting to her hug. “Now, c'mon, mister!” She thumped a hoof against his broad chest. “The sun's down, and I'm down; it's bedtime. It's the fourteenth! To the bed-mobile!”

“You ready?”

“I was born ready-- let's head to bed, I said!”

The tip of Frosty's orange tail flicked her roommate's nose as she turned towards the stairs. Brick followed her to the second story, unable to avoid looking at the pegasus' pudgy little rump; though her long, luscious tail obscured her true treasures, his imagination ran wild with various activities involving them and the pair of modest teats nestled beneath her soft, smooth tummy. Her swaying hips only encouraged such sexy thoughts. Eventually, Frosty reached her destination, pausing at the entrance to Brick's bedroom.

There in the dark, green flames danced over Frosty's smaller body until a tall, regal figure stood before him: with wings white as snow and eyes pink as the setting sun, the imposing form of Princess Celestia replaced the shorter silver pegasus. From horn to hooves, a nearly flawless imitation... perfect in every way but one: Frosty never quite nailed the Princess' mane; a band of crimson hair billowed on unseen wind in place of the Princess' usual streak of pink. It was a minor mistake-- invisible at a distance-- though indisputably wrong. Having never met the monarch herself, Frosty never knew she always got one of those hues wrong. Brick never corrected her; that fault made her unique, set her apart from the Princess if only in a small way. The changeling looked cute despite her ignorance-- eager to please and proud of her abilities being so productive.

Frosty closed the distance between both of them, and Brick twitched when her warm breath grazed his ear: “I'm ready to pay my rent, bro; how you want this ho?”

Brick didn't immediately answer, savoring her salacious tone.

Frosty giggled in the Princess' voice. “What, bug gotcha tongue?”

“No... not yet.” He smirked, nuzzling her jawline just below the chin. She smelled of lavender, and it stirred something inside him. He longed for the day he could touch the real Princess so intimately... a day he knew would never come. A deep growl rumbled in his chest. For now, this would suffice-- his fantasies for her sanctuary. “On the bed. Let's go.”

“Yes, sir!”

Chapter 2: Isosceles [NSFW]

Moonlight served as the room’s only source of light as Brick sat on the edge of the bed and stroked the flowing, multicolored mane of the mare between his legs. Below, Frosty closed her eyes and nuzzled his sheath and testes, inhaling the stallion's scent; her wings fluttered slightly against her back and she hummed in delight as his warm musk flooded her sinuses. Above, Brick exhaled at her oral vibrations. She felt his member flex on her face, and another inch or two of his tool emerged.

Frosty smiled at that reaction and rubbed her cheeks all along the sides of his deliciously smooth shaft. Then, the faux alicorn brought a white hoof to his cock, stroking him as she descended on his balls. Brick grunted when Frosty took one into the soft, wet confines of her mouth, where she caressed it with her tongue and tugged with strong sucks. The rod in her hoof twitched angrily, and pleasure flashed across Brick’s handsome face. Frosty internally cheered at the cracks in the soldier's usually detached demeanor, eagerly anticipating the moment he would assume control. She teased his heavy sack with gentle kisses, long wet licks, and the occasional big succ.

As fun as it was to lavish both Brick’s beautiful balls with the Princess’ broad pink tongue, Frosty eventually released the orb in her mouth with a wet pop and dragged her tongue up the underside of his shaft until she reached the tip; there, the changeling grinned mischievously. “I bet you wanna fuck this Princess' pretty face. Don'tcha, soldier-boy?” He felt her breath dance across his skin.

Frosty heard the start of a small moan escape her roommate's lips before he stifled it. She pouted at that; she loved hearing her effect on him and hated when he held back such cute sounds. Unfortunately, it seemed the rule rather than the exception that Equestrian stallions forced themselves to keep quiet during sex. Demanding more, Frosty suddenly pumped his shaft harder and faster.

“Fuck! That's hot,” Brick barked at her outburst.

“That's better,” Frosty purred, slowing her strokes. “Let it all out, man. No need to hold back with me, homie.”

“Careful what you wish for, “Princess”... you might just get it.”

“And if I do “get it”, are you gonna be the one to give it to me?” Frosty licked the broad head of his member and wrapped her lips around it, giving her stallion a wide-eyed and curious look.

“Mmm,” a deep moan rumbled in his chest as she sucked his tip. “Only if you behave.”

Frosty smiled as much as she could with his cock in her mouth and saluted in affirmation. Brick chuckled and shook his head at the absurd (yet undeniably arousing) image of his superior saluting him with such a mouthful. His member lurched as he laughed, and Frosty leapt at his moment of weakness, bobbing her head in earnest. She watched his face melt from one of amusement to one of pleasure before reaching up to massage his hefty testes; she loved holding their cool, smooth skin against the warm frog of her hoof.

Meanwhile, her tongue cradled the underside of his shaft, tracing the outline of his urethra with every stroke. She sucked harder, and he flexed against her lips. She noticed a faint pressure on the back of her head followed by a small deposit of precum on her tongue; she rewarded his initiative with a particularly deep dive down his cock.

“Oh, shit.” Frosty barely heard Brick grunt as she savored the taste of his meat marinated with precum and her own saliva. A bit of that lewd cocktail seeped out when the soldier thrust his hips, driving another couple of inches into her maw. His tip bumped the entrance to her throat, and Frosty felt her cunt clench with longing. One of her hooves had already made its way south, rubbing her clit: the hard edge of her hoof dug into her pink slit whilst its soft center caressed her little love-button. Frosty moaned loudly, but the pleasant pressure on the back of her skull disappeared too soon.

The mare looked up at her partner with sad, wanting eyes. His hoof shifted from behind her head to the side as he held her and toyed with one ear. Frosty pushed her head into his touch and closed her eyes for a moment.

“Beautiful.”

Frosty felt more than a little silly for blushing, her mouth still stuffed full of his shaft. Brick's eyes traced the contours of her face, and a warm glow bloomed in her stomach as she basked in his emotions; that warmth spread spread down, engorging the changeling’s sex.

The changeling.

A sharp pang of guilt stung Frosty's chest when she remembered whose body she used, his praise meant for her. She sniffed and shoved away the unwanted thoughts. Then, the faux alicorn reluctantly extracted herself from Brick's shaft and stood up.

“Here, lie down. I wanna take all of it.” Frosty touched a large white hoof to Brick's shoulder, applying slight pressure. He reclined on the bed, and her tail flagged as she saw his muscles shift and settle. She fanned her face with a hoof and exhaled. “Phew. Aight, I got this.”

Frosty cracked her neck to get back in the mood and swung a hindleg over Brick's chest; the new position treated him to an unobscured view of the Princess’ considerable crotchboobs and long, smooth tummy. Standing over the stallion, she shook her hips and dipped her head to nuzzle his genitals. Below, Brick's breathing hitched at the feeling of Frosty's tongue dragging down his shaft and over the crease of his scrotum. His jaw clenched, and he blasted hot air out his nostrils to prevent himself from doing something more drastic. He couldn't hold himself back much longer; her continued teasing combined with the sight above seemed to dance on his last nerve.

Suddenly, her mouth plunged down, consuming half of his member; Brick grunted as he slid into her hot, moist throat with ease: “Hnng!” He tilted his head up to watch: Frosty’s large pink lips formed a tight seal around his thick shaft as she pumped herself on his dick; with every stroke, she took him deeper and deeper, throat bulging obscenely. He felt her swallow with each descent and lick all the way up, lathering him with saliva.

Frosty heard a deep rumble like thunder behind her. A moment later, Brick's powerful forelegs locked around her haunches and pulled down; his strength forced the hindlegs out from under her before he buried his muzzle in her swollen sex. She tried to cry out, but the cock stuffed down her throat effectively muffled her; her voice drowned in the taste of precum and saliva, the world swimming with the dense smell of sex, and she couldn't be happier. With a single thrust from his muscular legs, Brick hilted in her throat, forcing the mare’s lips against his sheath in a lewd kiss. She moaned like a bitch in heat, and her wings fluttered faintly against her back. Brick started softly fucking her face, but they both knew she couldn’t last long without a proper breath.

Desperate for air, she soon pulled herself off his hard-on, her throat hugging his fleshy monolith until its flared tip popped out her mouth. She gasped and dropped her head on his lap. Instinctively, a hoof replaced her mouth, stroking his saliva-covered cock during her respite. Behind her, Frosty felt Brick's strong hooves wrapped around her thighs as his broad tongue explored her depths and he hummed into her. She could already feel an orgasm approaching.

Being especially sensitive down there, Frosty recalled many lonely nights in the Hive when her aching sex prevented much sleep. She didn’t usually let others touch her there. She hated how quickly it made her finish; in large part, that's why she preferred anal. Brick was an exception, though, because he didn't ask; he took what he wanted, a dominant draft stallion-- a soldier-- seizing his own pleasure. That was hot.

Besides, tonight wasn't about her; if it was (and she more confident), Frosty might’ve asked him if she could use her smaller, natural, changeling form. She'd always wondered what that would feel like, and she’d fantasized about it on more than one occasion. But she was sure Brick would never accept such a ridiculous request; she was Celestia’s opposite in every way: her own ugly black chitin couldn’t hold a candle to the Princess’ pristine white coat. Plus, she was short and crass, the antithesis of his Princess’ awesome glory. The whole night was for him anyway; it was about him and his fantasies. Her own depraved and manipulative way of repaying both his kindness and generosity. If she gleaned some satisfaction from it, that only added to the experience-- an unearned cherry atop their non-standard living arrangement.

Unwilling to selfishly finish before her roommate, Frosty lifted her head and accepted him back into her mouth. Her throat slid down his shaft until she reached its base; then, she raised his balls with a hoof and nuzzled between them again. His intoxicating scent caused her cunt to clench around his wriggling tongue and renewed her resolve. She twisted her head side-to-side as Brick began thrusting up and fucking her face.

Neither creature lasted long. Brick's composure melted away completely: his pace lost consistency as his member flexed in her throat more and more. The two's shared fluids leaked from the corners of Frosty’s mouth, and her pussy reached a fever-pitch, frantically tugging the stallion's tongue deeper inside. With a final forceful jerk upward, Brick's thick cock hilted in her; his tip flared in her throat before unleashing a torrent of cum straight into her stomach. Less than a second later, he sat up, and gravity planted her face firmly against his clenching balls. Brick pulled her hindlegs further apart and lifted Frosty’s sex from his face, biting and sucking her nipples instead; at that, the changeling came instantly.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck!

The word echoed off the walls of Frosty's mind as she gurgled around Brick's spasming member. She heard herself whimper, and tears formed in the corners of her eyes at the orgasm's intensity. Her hips quivered and humped back at nothing, inadvertently pulling her nipples against Brick's efforts, heightening her own pleasure. Rope after rope of her roommate's climax fired down her throat, and Frosty felt her sex clench desperately as she swallowed. A trail of her fluids trickled down her legs and a couple drops pattered on the bed below. Perhaps the only place on Frosty's body more sensitive than her clit was her nipples: as insects, changelings didn't have mammaries of any kind; thus, taking the form of a creature with them meant assuming an entirely new erogenous zone. That included the hazardous potential for utterly mind-melting orgasms.

One of which she experienced right now.

For a moment, her existence was only swallowing and squirting. Brick’s member lurched in her throat with each burst of cum as she drooled on his lap. One of her abused nipples slipped from his lips, and the stallion rested his neck between her breasts, pressing his face against her inner thighs.

Eventually, her contractions slowed, and the world around her lurched. Her eyes focused, and she saw the ceiling; she must've rolled over. Frosty felt cool night air fill the vacuum left in her mouth and throat by the absence of Brick’s hot rod. She slowly retracted the tongue hanging out of her mouth and smacked her lips together at his lingering taste. Her nipples, still wet with his saliva, stood erect.

“Damn, son,” she coughed and rubbed her sore throat with a hoof; it ached in the best way. “Have a rough week or somethin’? That was awesome.”

“Get up.”

Frosty's ear twitched, and her sex gave a faint quiver at Brick's deep bass voice. Before she could consciously process his command, her legs moved of their own accord, her mind still muddled with orgasmic afterglow and fatigue. Her head swam as she stood on unusually tall alicorn legs. She saw something in front of her and recognized it as her roommate's face; fires of desire danced in his eyes, and the changeling could hear his heartbeat over her own labored breathing. Without thinking, she leaned forward to kiss him.

Not halfway there, one of his wide, muscular hooves planted itself on her chest and stopped her.

“Behave,” he growled.

“But 'sa dumb rule.” She knew better than to protest, but her addled mind couldn't immediately remind her that she shouldn’t.

“Don't care.It's my rule: no kissing.” The fires in his eyes flickered dangerously, and his stern look sobered Frosty considerably. She felt ashamed of herself, but refused to show it; she wouldn't spoil the evening-- his evening-- with her moping.

“I'll behave; I promise.”

“Turn around.”

Putting on a brave face, Frosty presented the Princess' posterior, as promised. She tried to add some sauce to the act, bending her forelegs to raise her rump and flicking her flowing tail across Brick’s nose. “Well, I didn't say how I'd behave-- oh!”

With startling strength, the soldier suddenly hoisted her up and pinned her stomach to the bed. He nipped at her ears, and Frosty giggled at his exciting aggression.

“You crazy, bro.”

“Only for you.”

Frosty squinted at him over her shoulder. “I bet you say that to all the mares.”

“Only the sexy ones... cuz it's true.” Frosty felt Brick plant his hind legs behind hers. Then, his heavy barrel dropped on her back, and he laid his strong neck over hers. “Less talking, more moaning.”

“Make me.”

Brick exhaled forcefully, billowing hot air down the side of her face. “Careful what you wish for, “Princess”...”

Drawing his hips back, Brick left a trail of his essence across her mound, and Frosty returned the favor with drops of her own arousal staining the top of his shaft. She shuddered when his warm tip touched her slick lower lips, the head of his member almost completely eclipsing the entrance. It would fit, she knew from experience, but Frosty couldn't help fantasizing about just how full it made her feel; despite being so tall, Celestia had a rather disproportionately small-- not to mention tight-- pussy, especially compared to her fucking massive mouth. Frosty amused herself with the thought of the latter being bigger due to such frequent use (unlike the former). Brick’s fat shlong fit so snugly in the large Princess’ sex; Frosty could only imagine how it would absolutely wreck her diminutive changeling form.

As if to affirm that thought, Brick pushed forward, applying considerable pressure. Frosty cooed at the sensation, but (after several seconds and no noticeable result) Brick's arousal and impatience spurred him to something more substantial: the stallion's pelvic muscles tensed and member flexed angrily; with a single powerful thrust, his swollen tip popped inside and the first few inches of his shaft followed suit.

She gasped, and he grunted.

“Fuckin' finally. There we go.”

Frosty could only moan in agreement. He was big. She didn't consider herself a size-queen by any stretch of the imagination, but the way his girth forced her open, adding the slightest edge to her pleasure, felt fucking divine.

“Duuude, yes.”

Then, he began to move: she felt a wide hoof grope her cutie mark before sliding down between her breasts and rubbing her clit. His first few thrusts lightly tugged at the velveteen walls of her sex, giving her a chance to lubricate and loosen up without pushing too deep or causing any discomfort.

What started out of necessity quickly devolved into teasing, however: each pass over nethers applied less pressure than the last while his shallow thrusts slowed. A whimper escaped Frosty’s lips, and she looked back at Brick with a pout.

“That's mean.”

“Not so much fun when you're the one being teased, is it?”

“Seriously, dude, c'mon. Let's go!” Frosty struggled to move her hips, but the foreleg around her barrel (still teasing her clit) kept her pinned beneath him. “Please, Brick! Just rut me, okay?” she whined. “FUCK me. I've been thinking about it all day; I need it.” Her cunt clenched around his cock, trying to pull him deeper, and her clit strained with each wink, fruitlessly trying to bridge the gap between itself and his hoof. “Imma fuckin' die if you don't.”

That last line earned her a hearty chuckle from the soldier, and she savored how it made his member jump inside her.

“Show me how much you want it,” Brick gibed.

“I was already planning on doing that, if you hadn't dropped your fat ass on me.”

“Oh?” He raised an eyebrow at her.

“...y'know, with your permission, of course.”

“If you say so.” With that, Brick hoisted himself off her back and rested both his hooves beside her ribs.

Free to move as she pleased, Frosty seized the opportunity to rock her hips back, sliding his next couple of inches inside. “Ooooo, that's nice.” A shiver worked its way down her spine and caused her wings to flutter. Her feathers brushed against his belly when she arched her back; straightening out again, she felt his medial ring kiss the edges of her folds. Frosty fucked herself on his shaft a few more times, grinding his sensitive ring along her slick lips.

Without warning, Brick met one of her backstrokes with his own surge forward, plunging more than half his member into her. Both ponies moaned loudly. His fat tip had already forced itself so deep inside her; yet, she still had so much to go. Her pussy winked at the thought, and she could feel his heartbeat throughout her love-canal.

Brick withdrew almost completely before thrusting back in; the force of it knocked the wind out of her, and he took that as his cue to start fucking her in earnest. With every thrust inward, his medial ring slid over her exposed clit, and each backstroke pulled her tight nether lips outward. The blunt head of his member bludgeoned the mare's g-spot without mercy, skirting the edge of discomfort. He was rough and feral. Her cunt clutched at his stallionhood as rapture radiated from her stretched sex. Hips driving her into the bed, he filled her to the utmost. She clenched her teeth at the intensity.

Then Brick bit a mouthful of her mane and pulled, hard. Her moans escalated into yelps, and he used the newfound leverage to force his already brutal thrusts even deeper. Her lower lips squeezed the base of his thick dick, pleasure pooled in the back of her crotch, and Frosty felt her release rapidly approaching. His cock flexed, basting her insides with precum, as her pussy throbbed around him. Every time Brick hilted, his balls slapped against her sex, shocking her clit and pushing her to ever-greater ecstasy.

“Brick, Brick! It's coming-- I'm cumming! Do it inside, please!”

Frosty convulsed as the orgasm wracked her body. Fluid squirted out her feminine sheath, misting Brick's balls as he fucked her relentlessly. Her taut walls spasmed on his shaft, the suction massaging his sensitive tip. With a growl that would've impressed an Ursa, the stallion released her mane, and she collapsed beneath him. His hooves hooked around her ass, and he shoved as much of himself into her as possible. Streamers of liquid love painted her insides as he finished in the warm confines of her cunt.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

At about the sixth shot, Frosty lost track of how much he'd deposited. Instead, she pulled a nearby pillow to her and buried her hot face in it, moaning out one last time. Brick punctuated his last few spurts with several weak thrusts. Then, at long last, he fell beside her.

For a while, both ponies merely basked in the afterglow. Frosty pulled one of his forelegs around her shoulder and scooted back against his chest to protect herself from the cold. She heard him hum with comfort before burying his nose in her mane and inhaling her sweaty, lavender scent.

“Thank you,” Brick whispered and kissed the back of her head.

“Heeeey, I thought no kisses allowed.”

“Shhh,” he patted her head. “Skull's not lips.”

“True... true.” Careful not to dislodge his still-softening member, Frosty turned to face him and saw his eyes already closed. “You're welcome.” He opened one eye to peak at her, and she beamed at him, a satisfied smile stamped on her face.

“You look cute fatigued.”

“You take that back, mister.” Frosty poked the edge of her hoof into his chest.

“T’morrow, maybe...” the stallion mumbled, his voice trailing off.

“Yes, sir.” Frosty nuzzled his wide neck and closed her eyes.

After a minute or two of listening to his measured breathing, the changeling moved back to examine his face. She watched his furrowed brow slowly smooth itself out. “Sweet dreams, Brick Break.” Her tongue morphed, and its naturally forked shape slithered out of her mouth to groom his face, where she wiped away beads of sweat and straightened his fur with several licks. “Until tomorrow,” she whispered.

Then, she stole a kiss from his lips and closed her eyes, dreading the nightmares to come.

Chapter 3: Reflections

It was dark. Very dark.

Good.

Ash Spade liked the dark. An elite soldier, she epitomized a creature of the night. A nocturnal, skulking presence. The signs of her passing as ephemeral as a whisper under the light of the moon--

“Ow, no mames!” Apparently, night-vision only helped if you were paying attention. Get it together, Ash. It was just a rock… a very large, very pointy rock.

When she’d stubbed her hoof and jumped, her armour rattled; she just didn't feel “official” without it. Being quiet was the most important part, though, and nopony heard her.

Not yet anyway.

Ash wondered when (if ever) the voices in her head would become cooperative, rather than combative.

Whatever, Ash, ignore them. If any pony asks, you were just out for an evening stroll...

Yeah, after midnight. In a stranger’s flower-bed. Decked-out in full combat-gear.

Who else would be up this late anyway?

The thestral carefully and quietly crept her way around the perimeter of the house. Her initial survey concluded yielded as much tasty information as the few flowers she’d sampled during her search (they’d already fallen off the stem so it wasn’t stealing). First, she determined that almost all of the windows were covered-- somewhat of a problem in Ash's opinion; while her own batpony eyeballs could easily pierce the veil of night, solid objects like curtains were still a bit of a problem (even for the most advanced and illustrious veterans of the Lunar Guard).

Which we’re not, another voice so kindly reminded her.

She kicked her left foreleg dismissively.

A quick investigation of the house's layout didn't immediately reveal anything out of the ordinary; she saw a living room, kitchen, bedrooms, bathrooms, etc. Ash scratched her head (somewhat of a challenge to do through her antique helmet). Technically, she didn't have to wear the thing when on “covert operations” like this, but rescinding protocol even a little bit was the first step down a path that could uproot all life in Equestria as she knew it.

Her commanding officer frequently told her she worried too much; she frequently told her CO she would take it under advisement. Getting orders from Princess Celestia though... that was different.

The Princess’ request was simple enough, in and of itself-- just observe a pony in her ranks (a reserve in the other guard). Frankly, he just seemed like one of many dead-eyed day-walkers who enjoyed standing in empty hallways and staring into space. She knew his face and name (Brick Break), but not a whole lot more than that; he relieved some of her friends on Third Shift during the week and played on the Royal kickball and calcio storico teams. Plus, he was big-- like, tall and jacked; that papacito could bench-press her in full plate-armour if he wanted to.

An impressive feat, considering your weight, heifer.

Ash’s right eye twitched at the mental remark; she ignored the tic, returning to her current task. The “mission” was a bit boring, yeah, but it beat paperwork and encyclopedias on tracking constellations and auditing weather-patterns. Being personally picked by the Princess for a special assignment had to count for something too, and that improved her odds of getting into the Dreamguard.

If we succeed.

She was keeping an eye out for oddies, at Princess Celestia's request. There wasn’t much to go on, based on her “mission-briefing” (which was way more informal than she would’ve expected): something about the stallion’s mannerisms & mood unsettled Princess Celestia; he was being more reclusive and aloof lately. That was the jist of it. Ash didn’t really see isolation as a bad thing and certainly not a cause for concern; in fact, the way her whole family obsessively pushed for her to not be so introverted (not be herself) seemed more unhealthy than whatever problem they insisted she had.

What’s so fun about hanging around with other ponies anyway?

She wasn’t just about to say that to her boss and the country’s only ruling monarch, though. Ash Spade might not come from a long line of Baltimare tycoons or Cloudsdale stormsayers or Hayseed Swamp bootleggers, but her abuela taught her better than to question Princess Celestia. Heck, if the Princess had asked Ash to borrow anything as evidence from the house after her check-up, the thestral would have done so without hesitation.

Ash tried to pay attention during her brief briefing, but she’d mostly been on edge; to be fair, it was her first time ever being within touching distance of the Princess, let alone actually talking to her. It was surreal. The Sun’s Avatar wasn’t known to socialize with her more nocturnal little ponies, outside of the Dreamguard.

Yet, here was Ash-- outside another pony's house in the dead of night, on the orders of Princess Celestia herself. Waiting, so she could… well, she wouldn’t call it spying.

That wasn't right; Princess Celestia didn’t have spies.

Surveillance! Domestic surveillance.

Mostly, she just tried not to think about it. Her abuela suggested Ash start keeping a diary journal to avoid negative thoughts, and that had been pretty helpful until she burned it (sort of kind of on accident); she could be a pyromaniac at times. Aaaaanyway...

Ash Spade unfurled her leathery wings and silently leapt into the air, navigating onto a neighboring rooftop for better vantage into the second story’s windows. The bathroom’s shutters were closed (makes sense), and one of the bedrooms actually looked like its window was recently replaced with more wall; that was at least a little suspicious. However, shifting shadows in the third (and final) window suddenly distracted her. That had been Brick Break alright, the subject of her assignment and the one she was supposed to check-in on.

You mean spy on? two particularly unhelpful voices chimed in unison.

“A good-natured fly-by at the behest of a superior,” Ash retorted under her breath.

Ash was sure Princess Celestia's intentions were nothing but the most good-natured type of wholesomeness and professionalism. Though, that begged the question: what exactly was she doing in the subject’s bedroom at this hour of night (without any security!), and why the flip was she swabbing the back of her throat with his--

Her left foreleg kicked out involuntarily and her right eye twitched as her ears flopped against her helmet in shock. She thanked the stars above that her tics were all spasmodic, rather than auditory; otherwise, she probably would’ve shouted several obscene things, very loudly.

Ash blinked before rubbing both her eyes in disbelief. Night-vision could play tricks on you, but never anything that would warrant completely mistaking one pony for another, especially since the Princess was so tall and so... regal? Ash Spade bit her tongue. She was no good at describing things properly; paperwork and itemized reports at least had that going for them. It was definitely Princess Celestia, though; Ash knew that for sure. No wig in Equestria was magically well-endowed enough to realistically mimic the awesome sheen and shimmering shades of the alicorn’s mane (much to the chagrin of Canterlot’s druids and magi); that’s what beauty-magazines would have her believe anyway.

Her mind strained for some sort of excuse, some explanation for the disturbing(ly arousing) scene unfolding before her virgin eyes. She was blushing now, and her pupils averted away from the two ponies out of modesty, focusing instead on the shelves of sports-almanacs and geography-books in Brick’s room.

Maybe he’s blackmailing her.

For once, Ash appreciated her mind’s cynical words, but Princess Celestia didn’t look upset at all; if anything, the alicorn seemed enthusiastic… Then again, looks could be deceiving.

Ha, or she’s an exhibitionist! Imagine that-- the first meaningful assignment of your career just a ruse to help another mare get off. Cuck.

At that, the thestral frowned and stubbornly forced herself to watch the salacious acts inside the bedroom. “Well, if I’m a cuck, you’re a cuck too, cabróna.”

Ash’s frown quickly softened, however, and her blush deepened. Things were definitely heating up in there; just watching the two of them had her feeling a little hot under the collar, and that wasn’t the only part of her anatomy affected by her observations. Images of the illicit affair branded onto her mind, Ash laid down to catch her breath; she was feeling a bit light-headed. Now was not the time for distractions.

“Should I include this in my report…?” she wondered. “Probably not.” After all, how would she feel if she turned to someone else for help, only to have the other pony record all the intimate details of her misfortune and immortalize them in writing?

If Princess Celestia was being blackmailed or abused, documenting every excruciating detail seemed wrong-- like taking pictures of a war-crime. Should she even mention what she saw in her debriefing? The Princess’ request was a bit informal, though it didn’t seem like something with the potential to be turned down. That could turn awkward fast.

More awkward than quid pro quo rape? Wow, Ash, I’m sure Princess Celestia would definitely prefer that to any awkwardness.

Way to think about yourself, selfish cunt.

She let the words roll off her back with years of experience; negative thoughts wouldn’t improve her situation.

Oo, we should get that crocheted on a pillow!

“Uuugh.” Ash dragged an armoured hoof down her face. Already, her head was reeling at the notion of that report. She needed a long, candlelit bubble-bath with some chicharrónes and tepache as soon as she got home-- either that or some sweet potato fries, Caf-Pow!, and a long session with her drum-kit; her mother tried to get her to play marimbas, but they sorely lacked punch. And her abuela always reminded her to steer clear of alcohol and caffeine too, but one of the two was definitely warranted tonight-- “addictive personality” be damned.

Did we even check her cutie mark?

We were staring at her ass long enough—

Ash Spade took a deep breath. She held it in her chest, steadying herself to calm her haywire mind. Raising herself (and her heavy armour) up, Ash sneaked one last peak into the adjacent building, silencing her doubts with the sight of Princess Celestia’s cutie-mark.

“Yup, definitely her… for better or worse.” With that, she slinked off the roof and glided down to the ground. She wasn’t too concerned about being seen by Brick or Princess Celestia; the former seemed especially lucky at the moment, and the latter… Well, no pony with her mouth that full would pay much attention to fleeting shadows outside.

For now, she had notes to make; from there, she could decide what to write in her report, if she even wanted to draft one. One thing was sure, though: if she planned on a summary-report for the debriefing, “Princess Celestia could suck the layers off a jawbreaker” and “She’s probably related to a vacuum-cleaner” were not acceptable conclusions.

Funny hahas aside, the situation was still ambiguous; she didn’t fully understand why Princess Celestia chose her or what the alicorn expected her to do. Anything Ash could do, the alicorn could do, like, 10 times faster (and better to boot). Ash could probably hold off on reporting to the Princess for a while; the two of them didn’t regularly see each other, and that would give her some more time to figure out what the nubs was going on. Eventually, the Princess would want some answers, though. But that was a problem for future Ash.

Whatever.

The night was even more empty than usual. She could see bats darting between street-lamps, snacking on late-night mosquitoes. And the moon... she'd forgotten to mention before, hadn't she? It was a new moon; maybe that was important.

Maybe not.

Ash shook her head once, twice. Then, she took off into the night.

Shadows danced along the marble walls of Canterlot Castle as Frosty walked alongside Chrysalis. The pegasus couldn't remember how their conversation had started, but dreams rarely obeyed logical things like the laws of physics and chronological order.

Chrysalis reprimanded the smaller changeling, a buzzing reverberation in her undisguised voice. “How long will you continue this ruse? How long can you weave this web of lies? It'll strangle you alive. With friendships built on falsehood, you're the dumb leading the blind.”

“Mom, I--”

“I haven't finished, whore!”

Frosty recoiled at her mother's outburst; she knew better than to interrupt. Tears blurred the edges of her vision, and she heard someone whimper.

“Jilk, my little grub.” Chrysalis touched her daughter's chin with a black hoof, and Frosty tried to turn away, but her mother's pheromones sapped what little strength she had. The Queen gazed deep into her subject's eyes, and Jilk felt her willpower wither beneath the Stare-Master. “Why the Land of the Tyrant Sun? What makes you feel welcome here?”

Her real mother would never ask such things; traitors were drawn and quartered, not courted. Jilk's lips quivered as memories tainted her thoughts. “I miss you... so much, Mom. I miss the Hive; I miss my people, our people... watching all the hatchlings in the Brood Rooms.” The tears in her eyes threatened to overflow, her breathing ragged. “But there's so much wrong there, so much... broken. It's all broken but I can't fix it. The things you did, the things we did. They're wrong, Mom. You're wrong. I, I just... they--”

Chrysalis embraced her daughter; Jilk always wondered what that would feel like. Her mother's hard chitin felt strange against the pegasus' coat.

“Shh, sh, sh. Be still, be calm.”

Jilk didn't dare to return the touch, even as Chrysalis stroked her mane; the Queen had crushed changelings for less... but Jilk had already spoken out of place, criticized-- subverted-- the Queen.

Perhaps it didn't matter in dreams.

She hugged her mother back, tentatively.

“It's alright, it's alright.” Chrysalis rocked her daughter back and forth. Jilk sniffled. “It's all just dialectics, Jilk... To and fro, left and right, mares and stallions, day and night.” Jilk recognized the changeling nursery-rhyme. “North and south, east and west, oppressors versus the oppressed. Our world is rich with contradictions: opposites, thesis and antithesis. Equine and insect, oil and water. Us... versus them. Ponies are emotional beings, Jilk; no one denies that. But you also can't change it; you can't reason with emotional creatures. And when persuasion fails, when reason fails, what recourse remains? What alternative is there to force?”

Chrysalis paused, and silence ensured. Jilk kept her mouth closed, unsure whether her mother genuinely wanted an answer; either way, Jilk didn't have one.

“They're not like us, Jilk. They don't look like us; they don't see like us. They don't hear, hatch, or think like us. They have their own nation, their own laws, their own... Equestrian morals.”

Chrysalis rubbed her daughter's back slowly, and Jilk heard her mother's voice turn distant.

“When the Warrior-Princess scorched our soil and left wastelands in her wake, I built my throne to defend the blood of our people. We're a race without land, cast out... but before I die, the changelings will reclaim their living space. Before I die, we'll have both blood and soil. I lost one to Her wretched colonizers; they shall not harm the other.”

Jilk looked up at her mother, her mind drowning in tears and philosophy. “I... I don't understand.”

Chrysalis sighed and broke their hug. “No, Jilk, you never have. Evidently, this I cannot teach you; perhaps, only She can show you. I've tried to touch your heart, but it lies beyond my reach. Follow your mind and you'll come to find... there's nothing for you here.”

With that parting thought, the apparition of Queen Chrysalis stepped aside, dissolving into the dreamscape. The grand doors to Canterlot Castle's throne-room replaced her, and Jilk felt her body moving through them.

Inside, stained glass windows adorned every wall, and two faceless soldiers flanked the alicorn's throne. Celestia noticed the approaching pegasus. The guards readied their weapons. Then, the Princess addressed Jilk, and the Royal Canterlot Voice shook the hall's foundations; it sounded ancient. Godly. Wrathful.

“CHILD OF MY ENEMY, why have you come? I offer no forgiveness; the Leech-Queen's sins live on in her spawn.”

The Princess' hard eyes bored deep into Jilk's soul, staring straight through her disguise. She felt naked, exposed-- as if all the caverns in the world couldn't hide her from the Sun's Avatar. Jilk bowed.

“A-Asylum, Your Highness. I seek sanctuary, to petition your mercy.”

“Ha!” the Princess barked. “The thief requests that which is already stolen.” Celestia looked over Jilk's body with disgust. “I know of no other creature to greet a mother in the skin of her own dead children.”

“Please, Princess, I--”

“SILVER TONGUE, do not speak unless spoken to!” The sunlight outside flared, matching the monarch's tone. Jilk raised her right wing to shield her face from its intensity. “Your mother was right to mark you for extermination. A pity she excluded the rest of your malignant race...”

The sunshine subsided, and Jilk lowered her wing to the sound and smell of something smoldering. Her eyes widened and mouth opened wordlessly at what awaited: wreathed in flame and fury, every changeling's nightmare loomed over her-- Daybreaker. Molten gold dripped from the fiery alicorn's feathers, pooling on the floor below.

The castle around them crumbled away as the earth split and veins of lava streaked the world around them. A great volcano rumbled out of the ground in the distance. The heavens blackened with soot until naught but the Sun shone alone in the sky. Legions of bronze bulls marched past both ponies, and Jilk heard a thousand screams echo in their bellies. Behind Daybreaker hovered the six Ophanim of Harmony, arranged in a terrible pentagram. The Hive's cave-paintings couldn't hold a candle to this glimpse of the apocalypse.

Sweat drenching her silver coat, Jilk scrambled backwards. She tried to shed her pegasus form, to free her horn and cast some spell-- any spell-- to defend herself from the biblical monster. Nothing happened as the temperature climbed. She begged, cried, pleaded for her life, but the tyrant only cackled like the crackling of a wildfire. With a swirl of her horn, Daybreaker summoned a raging firestorm, and tongues of cinder lapped at Jilk's legs, searing away her fur to reveal the charred black chitin beneath. Jilk clenched her eyes shut, tears streaming down her face, and dreaded the end.

Time passed... and silence reigned.

Slowly, Jilk opened one eye. Then, the other.

Nothing. Darkness.

The pain had subsided.

Her eyesight adjusted to the night, absorbing ambient moonlight. She was in bed... with Brick. She could hear him breathing beside her. She was Frosty; she was safe. Drenched in sweat, shaken by fear, still in Celestia's body, but safe...

For now.

She closed her eyes. She remembered Daybreaker, remembered Queen Chrysalis, remembered being an outcast. An unwelcome fugitive in Equestria, with a bounty on her head.

Changelings would come; soldiers would come-- the moment someone unsavory learned her identity, everything would come crashing down. Her job, her friends, her home... Brick. Mere hours ago, she'd cowered in the kitchen while Brick answered the door. At a moment's notice, the simple sound of a hoof on wood thrust her entire life into limbo; meanwhile, she waited to hear whether mercenaries would whisk her corpse away in the night or whether the neighbor simply wished to return some misplaced mail.

How long can you weave this web of lies?

Frosty shivered as cold sweat trailed down her back. She reclined and cuddled close to Brick... her rock and her protector. She felt her tears stain his cheeks; it didn't matter. He'd think she drooled on him in her sleep, just like every other night. She smiled at the absurdity of it-- a shallow, empty smile.

Frosty didn't care about Winter Wrap Up anymore; she just wanted to stay here, where it was safe. Safe with him. Safe with Brick. Her eyes stung with fatigue, so she closed them; ideally, she wouldn't dream. She'd just fall asleep and never wake up... fall asleep and hold him forever.

Author's Note

"Here's a challenge for anyone interested: there's a total of nine intentional references in this short story (to cinema/television series, literature, memes, political philosophies, video-games); for the first person to find & list all nine, I'll send you $200 USD (via PayPal)." -Miss Direction

12-16-2020 EDIT: "Congratulations to reader ClosetKnight for posting all nine of the intentional references after four weeks & collecting the $200 reward!" -MD