Fizzlepop Berrytwist hadn’t intended to take a nap, but it happened anyway. She’d only sat down on the edge of her bed to get off her hooves for a few minutes, but had suddenly found herself groggily snorting herself awake several hours later, her legs dangling over the side of the bed and her face half-pressed into the pillow, soaked in drool. Her mouth tasted like she’d brushed her teeth with swamp mud and her mane, normally standing tall above her head, was a tangled mess.
“Uuuuuugggghhhh…” Fizzle groaned into her bedroom, glaring with irritation at the golden afternoon sunlight creeping across the carpet of her meager living space. Half the day wasted, already. It didn’t make any sense to her: she’d gotten a full eight hours of sleep, give or take, and woke up at a prompt 9am like she always did. That morning, however, her body didn’t seem willing to wake up. Hauling herself out of bed, she trotted about her apartment in exhaustion, absentmindedly making coffee that she couldn’t drink, and munched on a dry bagel from the pantry. Not even her morning walk – previously a run – was enough to get the blood flowing to her brain. So, in a moment of desperation, Fizzle sat back on her bed with the intention of catching an extra half-hour of sleep. Instead, she’d been out for four more hours.
Kneading her hooves into her eyes to rub sleep out of them, she rolled over toward the center of the bed, only to find herself stuck on her back like a turtle. Fizzle blinked until the large purple shape, the mound of her own swollen belly, came into focus. The weight of it had momentarily pinned her to the mattress, leaving her hooves to flail helplessly in the air. Without the energy to turn the rest of the way, the mare sighed again and stroked her rounded stomach with a hoof. It seemed determined not to allow her to get comfortable, as did the wiggling, kicking, bouncing passenger inside of it.
“At least one of us got some sleep,” Fizzle grumbled to her unborn foal, jealous of his youthful energy as he jabbed her from the inside with his tiny hooves. She recalled that, only a few months ago, she’d been anxiously waiting for any sign of movement from him, silently gasping at any tiny flutter from her abdomen. Now, she couldn’t get him to stop.
You must be Captain Sea Brine’s foal, Fizzle thought. With a hoof on her belly, she laid back and recalled the night she’d spent in the grizzled stallion’s cabin, the storm outside rocking the ship nearly as wildly as the two of them rocked the captain’s bunk. He was a loud, spirited Earth Pony that never did anything in half measures. It would be an adventure in itself to track him down to tell him the news, but Fizzle didn’t mind the idea of having his baby.
“Ngh.” She winced, a sharp twinge of pain from her lower back shocking her back to the present. She’d been lying too long with the weight of ten months worth of unborn colt pressing down on her spine. Mustering up the energy, Fizzle rolled to the side before clambering up to her haunches on the bed, allowing the weight of her full womb to pull down where it could more naturally settle.
“I hate this,” she mumbled to herself for what must have been the hundredth time. Thinking back, she recalled a time when, in her service to the Storm King, she’d been sent to the middle of a desert in search of an artifact rumored to be found in an oasis there. She’d been dropped off with little more than the clothes on her back and no water, one of his many cruelties she’d blinded herself to. In the end, she’d searched for a full day and found nothing but sand. Worst of all, when she reported her failure to the King, she found that he’d forgotten about the entire thing.
“This is worse,” Fizzle said to herself as she ponderously climbed down from the bed, feeling every extra pound she’d gained pulling on her. “At least that was only a day, not eleven months.”
As much as she hated to admit it, she’d needed the extra nap. Fizzle was still tired – she was always tired – but she wasn’t stumbling around in sleep-addled exhaustion anymore. Even the foal had begun to settle as she stood, his mother’s movements serving to rock him to sleep as her belly swayed. Unfortunately, her mood wasn’t much improved. Already it was three in the afternoon and her entire day’s agenda was thrown off. The farmer’s market she’d intended to go to was long since closed, she’d missed her appointment to commission a custom crib for the foal, and she’d even completely missed lunch.
With a gnawing hunger in her stomach, Fizzle could at least solve one of those problems now. Stepping carefully around the bed, the pregnant mare huffed as she waddled to the bedroom door, being careful to avoid knocking anything over with her added width. Her cramped room was more suitable as a bachelor pad for a single stallion, not an expecting mother. The price was good, however, and she didn’t intend to stay in Ponyville after the birth. For now, it was enough.
Just something small, Fizzle thought to herself. Some oatmeal, a couple apples, maybe a bowl of yogurt with honey. Enough to sate her hunger while giving her the energy to get something done that day. But as soon as she opened her fridge, her eyes landed on what she knew, in the deepest parts of her heart, she really wanted: a cupcake.
“Ooohhhh no. No no no…” Fizzle shook her head and prodded her belly, as if scolding the little foal within. “Not again. We need real food, not…sugar and…icing and…and…”
Sitting in the middle of a plate, all by its lonesome, the cupcake seemed to shine with a holy light, crystallized sugar glinting like diamond dust across its mountain of swirled frosting. It was deep, luscious purple color that matched her own coat atop rich, dark chocolate. A blue pacifier was stuck into it.The cupcake was a leftover from Fizzle’s baby shower, thrown by – naturally – Pinkie Pie. Fizzle didn’t know there was such a thing as a ‘surprise baby shower,’ but she supposed she brought it on herself for refusing a normal one too many times.
“Not for breakfast,” she mumbled, both to herself and the foal, as she reached into the fridge for a bowl of fruit. “Later, after dinner. As a dessert. As a reward for…” Fizzle trailed off, her own justifications feeling flimsy. The baby squirmed and kicked inside his mother, jabbing her as if to goad her. You know you want it, they seemed to say.We both want it. Do it for me. For both of us.
Fizzle took a deep breath, held it, then let out a long, disappointed sigh as she snatched the cupcake from the plate. She couldn’t even make it to the table before starting on it, licking a dollop of frosting from base to tip. The taste made her tingle, spreading warmth and pleasure throughout her tired body. It was the first time since she’d woken up that Fizzle actually felt good.
From sitting down at the table and carefully unwrapping the paper, it took her just under forty-five seconds to scarf down the cupcake and every single one of them was unparalleled bliss. Fizzle settled back on her haunches, stroking her bulging belly, and laid her head flat on the kitchen table, licking her lips and sighing with contentment. Maybe oats and fruits would have been good for her, but the cupcake was what she needed. Why shouldn’t a pregnant mare indulge herself every once in a while? The desserts were catered by Sugarcube Corner, a place she knew of but never actually visited. If the cupcakes were a reflection of their quality, she would have to pay them a visit.
Soon.
Very soon.
“No no no…” Fizzle grumbled while shaking her head against the tablecloth. “There’s too much to do. I can’t waste my time on…stupid cupcakes or donuts or scones or…” As she spoke, her mouth began to water and the foal rolled inside her. It gave her the impression that, for as long as he sat nestled in her belly, he was the one in charge.
“Fine,” Fizzle shouted to her empty apartment as she groaned to her hooves. Getting a snack on the way to do other errands wouldn’t be the end of the world, and at least it would get her out of the house. As her pregnancy had progressed, as she’d grown bigger and more unwieldy, Fizzle had begun feeling like a stranger in her own body, helpless to do anything but watch it change to accommodate her unborn son. Her reluctance to being seen had made her something of a homebody, but the still-rational parts of her knew this was bad for her. For the time being, Ponyville was her home and she should go out and meet it once in a while.
After trying and failing to wrap her saddlebags around her new girth, Fizzle gave up and left the house with nothing but her coin purse. Stepping out her front door, she sighed again. Every month that went by left the pregnant mare more and more regretful of renting a second-floor apartment. She winced as every stair creaked and cracked under her weight – they hadn’t done that when she moved in. Her increased width made the sides of her belly scrape against the wall and the railing, something Fizzle knew would only get worse in her final month.
“I hate this…”
There was a slight chill in the air, but the sunny weather did a good job at keeping the afternoon pleasantly warm. Fizzle was happy she didn’t need to get her jacket as it was back the way she came and she would rather die than climb those stairs again. Her building was tucked away in a small copse of trees and only a short walk from the main street of Ponyville. On the top step of her porch, Fizzle hesitated, shifting her uncomfortable weight from hoof to hoof, and tried to think if there was a back way to Sugarcube Corner that would let her avoid the center of town. There wasn’t. With a slight frown and a nervous flick of her tail, Fizzle began her ponderous waddle down the path.
During her life as Tempest Shadow, she got used to being stared at. Either by being the only pony in a far-away foreign city or leading an invading force in the name of the Storm King, she was no stranger to being the center of attention. But things were different, now. Tempest Shadow had been a persona, a mask she wore to protect herself from the world. It didn’t matter if she got stares. But now, she was Fizzlepop Berrytwist again, nobody but herself, and felt especially vulnerable out in the open, especially in her condition.
A warning from one of the books she’d been reading had stuck in Fizzle’s mind: pregnancy tended to draw the eye. Twilight Sparkle called it ‘evolutionary conditioning,’ that ponies were naturally protective over pregnant mares as a way to protect the species as a whole.It made sense: Fizzle could remember a number of times the distinct belly of a soon-to-be mother had stood out to her, even when she otherwise had no opinion about it. It felt strange being on the receiving end of that attention, but it was better than being gawked at after ponies recognized who she was.
Ponyville’s Mane Street was still bustling – as much as a small, sleepy town like this could bustle, anyway. Fizzle mostly kept her eyes to the ground, but noticed the looks of the residents around her. A mare sitting in a cafe seat with her filly glanced her way and smiled at the sight of Fizzle’s baby bump. When the two of them met eyes, the mare realized who she was looking at, froze for a moment, then quickly looked away. The filly, however, followed her mother’s gaze and gave Fizzle an excited wave, evidently unaware of who she was.
Ahead of her, a carriage rolled down the street and stopped at the front door of a nearby home. A cream-colored stallion hopped out of it with a pair of saddlebags and a large suitcase before climbing the porch and rapping on the front door. He was greeted by another stallion with a navy-blue coat who seemed happy to see him. Fizzle shuffled by and paid them little attention until the sound of her name made her pause. Well, not her name.
“Whoa,” said one of the stallions. Fizzle didn’t look back to see which. “Was that Tempest Shadow?”
“Yep. Told you, she lives here now.”
“Didn’t think I see her the first day. Is she allowed to be here?”
“She’s got an in with the princess. You know how it is.”
“Oh, of course.”
Fizzle’s ear twitched and swiveled their way, but she made no indication that she’d heard the stallions talking. Espionage training served her well. There was a shop nearby selling fine china and she stopped to look at the window display while still in earshot.
“No guess about why she’s laying low. She looks ready to drop.”
“Who in Equestria would knock up Tempest Freaking Shadow?”
“Nobody who wants to go on living, that’s who.”
“I feel bad for the foal.”
Fizzle was still looking into the window, but her eyes had glazed over. She felt a scowl deepening on her face, her brow furrowing. There was a sharp tingle in the broken shard of her horn before it sparked, letting out a sudden crack of electricity. In the split second of light it produced, Fizzlepop Berrytwist caught her reflection in the glass and saw Tempest Shadow glaring back at her.
Deep in her womb, her son stirred. Softly, silently, the foal turned over, one of his hooves pushing against the right side of Fizzle’s belly. The gentle touch drew Fizzle’s attention and she felt her anger subside. No longer listening to the two stallions, she touched her baby’s hoof with her own and took a long, self-soothing breath before continuing on down the road.
It wasn’t the gossip around herself that bothered her, but the insinuations about the foal. It didn’t seem fair; not even born yet and already he was being judged simply for being her son. Would it make his life much harder simply by that association? Would it be harder for him to make friends because of it? Early on, when Fizzle had first learned she was pregnant, she’d considered giving the baby up for adoption to spare him any struggles he might inherit from his mother’s mistakes. That was no longer an option. Her love for him – her selfish, overpowering, all-consuming love – wouldn’t let her. Fizzle hoped some day he would forgive her of that.
The distance from her apartment to Sugarcube Corner wasn’t as far as she expected, but nobody had told her throbbing hooves that. Just outside the colorful building, Fizzle stopped to rest, taking deep breaths as she shook out her hooves and massaged a twinge of pain in her lower back. It didn’t seem right that a simple walk should take this much energy out of her, but the weight of the foal was more than she ever expected. After catching her breath, Fizzle did her best to smooth her coat down and make herself look slightly more presentable before stepping inside the pastry shop.
Fizzle was surprised to find the shop all to herself. With no other customers and no one behind the counter, she glanced back to make sure the sign on the door was turned the right way. Shuffling awkwardly in the center of the room, she began to turn back before the sound of a pan clanging around in the back kitchen made her stop.
“Hello?” she called out.
“Oop!” said a mare’s voice from somewhere out of sight. With a thunder of pots and pans and a thump of shuffling hooves, a light-blue mare with a swirling pink mane trotted out of the kitchen, covered in flour and wearing an apron. She was middle-aged – Fizzle spotted more than a few wisps of gray within the pink – and heavy-set, evidently a fan of her own product. Fizzle had once heard the expression ‘Never trust a skinny chef’ and chuckled to herself.
“Just a minute, dearie. I’ll be two shakes of a lamb’s tail.” The mare picked up two more trays of un-proofed muffins and carried them on her back as she disappeared into the kitchen. The smell wafting from it, of fresh-baked breads and newly-mixed frosting, was enough to make Fizzle’s mouth water all over again. In her belly, the foal made a sudden jump before rolling over, as if he was just as excited.
“Okie dokie,” the mare said again as she emerged, panting, from the kitchen. “I’m so sorry, dearie, I didn’t hear you…” She glanced above Fizzle’s head and trailed off with a scowl. “Well no wonder. Just a minute.”
Grabbing a broom in her teeth, the mare stomped around the counter and went to the front door. The little golden bell hanging above it, meant to signal the arrival of a new customer, had gotten stuck upside-down.
“Hubby’s out of town for the week and he’s the tall one. This is usually his job.” With the straw end of the broom, the mare nudged the bell from behind and brought it back down again, letting it dangle a few inches below the frame where it chimed, bright and cheerful like bird song.
“There we go. That oughtta do it.” The mare set the broom down next to the door and looked Fizzle in the eye for the first time. Surprise crossed her face. “Oh! I know you! You’re…”
Fizzle saw her mouth begin to shape the letter ‘T,’ but she caught herself in time.
“Fizzlepop,” she finished for her. “Or just Fizzle.”
“That’s right! I do remember you, dearie, I just couldn’t place the name. We catered your baby shower not too long ago.”
“I remember. You’re…Mrs. Cake, is that right? I didn’t realize you owned this shop.”
Mrs. Cake snorted. “With a name like mine, what did you think I did?”
“Names can be misleading.”
Mrs. Cake gave Fizzle a strange look at that comment, but covered it with a bright, friendly smile anyway. Her eyes, like everyone else’s, eventually found their way down to the mare’s belly, widening at the sight of it. “Golly, you look just about ready, don’t you? How much longer?”
“Three more weeks. I think.” Fizzle sharply drew in breath as baby uncomfortably turned. “I hope.”
Mrs. Cake, at the sight of movement, smiled as she touched a hoof against Fizzle’s belly to feel. Fizzle stiffened at the sudden, unexpected touch of a stranger, but found she didn’t dislike it. It felt nice to share the experience with someone, even for just a moment. Most surprising of all, it made her pine for her foal’s father, whoever he may be.
“He’s an athletic one, isn’t he?” Mrs. Cake said. With a wistful sigh, she slid her hoof over the swell of Fizzle’s bump. “There isn’t much I miss about being pregnant, but this…Being so close to them, feeling every little flutter and movement…That’s one of the nice parts.”
Stepping back, the older mare gasped, realizing she’d left a hoof-shaped smear of flour on Fizzle’s dark coat. A look of fear – not embarrassment, but fear – froze her solid as she glanced up at Fizzle.
“Oh no, I…I’m so, so sorry, I didn’t…”
Mrs. Cake scrambled for the napkin dispenser sitting on a nearby table, but by the time she returned with a wad of them, Fizzle had already brushed the flour off herself and sniffed the residue on her hoof.
“What are you baking?” she asked, gently.
Mrs. Cake, taken off guard for a moment, relaxed and set the napkins down on a table. “A big order of banana nut muffins came in for, believe it or not, another baby shower. Our mail mare, actually.”
“It must be that time of year,” said Fizzle, self-consciously touching her belly.
Mrs. Cake sighed and looked away for a moment. “Most of the fillies I used to babysit are now old enough to start having foals of their own. It’s nice seeing them all grow up, but it also reminds me of my age.”
At that, the lines beneath Mrs. Cake’s eyes, the wisps of gray in her mane, and the wrinkles beside her mouth came sharply into focus. Still, the mare was hardly what anyone could call ‘old’ and seemed to have the spring in her step of pony half her age.
“I can hardly believe it myself,” Fizzle said. Her hooves were aching, so she took the liberty of sitting on her haunches, ignoring the discomfort of her belly bulging outat the sides. “That I’m about to be somebody’s mother feels so…”
“It goes too fast, doesn’t it?” Mrs. Cake said with a nod. “You think eleven months sounds like a long time, but then you blink and suddenly have a foal in front of you.”
Fizzle nodded, her eyes wide. The older mare had so easily put into words exactly how she felt. There was no question Mrs. Cake was a mother, herself.
“It’s too fast and too slow,” Fizzle added, trying not to grunt when the baby jabbed her. He was probably uncomfortable in the position his mother was sitting in, but her hooves needed the break. “I knew in my mind how long it would be, but every day I spend pregnant feels longer than the last.”
“Because that’s one more day between you and finally meeting your baby,” Mrs. Cake said with a slight smile. “Right?”
Fizzle stopped again, cocking her head to the side. Once again, she’d hit the nail on the head. Her impatience to reach the end of her pregnancy wasn’t merely the end to her discomfort, but eagerness at meeting the little colt she’d spent so much time gestating. It was impatience that she felt.
Fizzle touched her belly, feeling the stirring of her foal, and felt a lump in the back of her throat. “How…can he feel so close, but also so far?”
Mrs. Cake went back behind the counter and returned with a soft, clean washcloth that Fizzle used to dab her teary eyes. It smelled like vanilla.
“The mood swings sneak up on you, don’t they?” she said as Fizzle sniffed. “C’mon, dearie, pick out something sweet. I know you didn’t come here for the conversation.”
Mrs. Cake gave her a warm, motherly smile as she wiped a tear from Fizzle’s cheek, then trotted back behind the counter. Hauling her heavy body back upright, Fizzle composed herself as she waddled to the glass case. Everything behind it glimmered, the frosted sugar catching the light so perfectly, but it was too much for her to decide. Every sweet looked better than the last, and each time she found herself deciding on one, she laid eyes on something that looked even better.
“How can I help?” Mrs. Cake asked after several minutes of Fizzle’s silence. “What are you in the mood for?”
“I…don’t really know.”
Mrs. Cake chuckled. “So, it was the baby that sent you here. Don’t move, I’ve got ex-actly what you didn’t know you needed.”
She bounded off into the kitchen, leaving Fizzle to shuffle awkwardly in the empty bakery. When she returned, Mrs. Cake was carrying a baking tray in her teeth, scuttling carefully across the floor to keep from jostling them. With a loud clang, she dropped the tray on a nearby counter. On it were nearly two-dozen oddly shaped cookies, each one a lump of chocolate with nuts protruding around it in the shape of legs.
“What are these?”
“You’ve never had chocolate turtles?” Mrs. Cake asked.
Fizzle scratched her chin and looked away. “Sweets were…never much a part of my life.”
“Well, this is a special batch I make just for mares with a little one on the way. They’re chocolate with caramel and pecans, but I added in a dash of peanut butter and pretzels for some extra salty-crunchy-sweetness. I came up with them in the middle of the night while I was pregnant with the twins and now I swear by them. Try one!”
Fizzle reached for her coin purse. “How much?”
“Just for one?” Mrs. Cake blew a raspberry and waved her hoof. “The look on your face when you try it is all I need.”
The chocolate turtle wasn’t anywhere near as extravagant as the rest of the shop’s offerings – just a lump of fudge with a gimmick. Fizzle wasn’t sure this was what she wanted, but it would be rude to pass up something freely offered. With a quick flick of her hoof, she popped the little pastry into her mouth.
“Oh…” Fizzle chewed once. Twice. Her eyes widened. Her tail flicked and a single blue spark crackled from her broken horn. “Oh! Oh my…”
“Seeeeeee?” Mrs. Cake sang, drawing out the word as she raised her eyebrows. “What’d I tell you?”
The peanut butter coating her tongue made it difficult to speak, so all Fizzle could manage to say was a muffled, “Wow,” through her full mouth. Mrs. Cake ducked beneath the counter and returned with a foamy glass of milk – from where, a mystery. It was the perfect compliment to the chocolate and Fizzle downed half the glass in one sip.
“That was incredible.” The pregnant mare smacked her lips, savoring the lingering taste there. She’d assumed the cravings were a part of motherhood she needed to power through, that they were as unavoidable as stretch marks and sore hooves, but this was the first time something had truly ‘hit the spot.’
“I make boxes of these for every baby shower, whether they ask for them or not. They always thank me.”
“How much for a dozen?” Fizzle paused, stroking a hoof down her belly and feeling a soft layer of baby-weight around it. “…I mean half-dozen.”
Mrs. Cake took out a spatula, scooped six of the turtles into a paper bag, then slapped a Sugarcube Corner sticker on its side with a flourish. “Six bits, dearie.”
Fizzle dipped into her coin purse and handed over seven. Taking the bag in her mouth, she dipped her head in a – perhaps too formal – bow. “Thank you. You’ve been very kind.”
“Oh stop that,” Mrs. Cake said, waving a dismissive hoof in the air. “Just being a good neighbor, is all. Take care of that little one, dearie. Don’t spoil him rotten until he’s out here with us.”
Fizzle smiled and gave Mrs. Cake another nod before turning for the door. However, with each heavy, ponderous step she took across the creaky wood, the walk home loomed higher in her mind. Even when she got there, did she really want to sit holed up in her cramped apartment for the rest of the day? Mrs. Cake was the first living thing Fizzle had spoken to in three days, aside from her own unborn baby. Pausing at the door, she took a long look at the empty tables dotting the little cafe.
“Um…actually…” Fizzle flicked her tail and folded her ears back as her voice grew softer. “Would it…be alright if I…ate them here?”
“No. Get out.”
Fizzle froze.
A heartbeat later, Mrs. Cake snorted and let out a high, giggling laugh. “Of course you can eat them here, what kinda question is that? Here, pick a table. Let me get you some more milk.”
With a relieved sigh, Fizzle waddled from the door to a table at the back of the shop, setting her bag gently on top of it. Mrs. Cake had been joking, but that was the exact reaction the mare feared of attractingwith each passing day in Ponyville. As she began to open her bag and lay out the chocolate turtles, still warm from the oven, Mrs. Cake came over to set another glass of milk on the corner of the table. When Fizzle reached for her coin purse, Mrs. Cake stopped her.
“For a new mama, it’s on the house. The little one needs strong bones.” She hesitated before muttering, “…And that gallon was going to expire tomorrow.”
“I’ve had worse,” Fizzle said with a smirk.
Mrs. Cake left to tidy up behind the counter and tend to the ovens while Fizzle sat quietly at her table to enjoy her afternoon snack. At first, she practically inhaled the sweets, devouring three of them in quick succession before deciding she needed to slow down. Taking a small bite of the fourth turtle, she washed it down with milk before settling back on her haunches, her hoof once again finding its way to her round middle.
This is nice, Fizzle thought to herself. The afternoon sun bathed the cafe in orange light that crept ever-closer to her side of the room. She was enjoying a sweet treat, given to her with a smile, while awaiting the arrival of her first child. This is normal.
While Sugarcube Corner had been empty when Fizzle arrived, it didn’t stay that way for long. Ponyville residents were coming home from work together and many of them seemed to have the same idea of getting a snack on the way home. From her table in the back, she watched the mares and stallions stagger inside, the weight of the day still heavy on their backs, and leave with pep in their step.
But as much as Fizzle wished to be a fly on the wall, it became obvious that she was being watched, as well. For every three ponies to enter the shop, at least one of them would glance her way and stop, their eyes wide once they recognized her. A few she gave a polite smile, which was awkwardly returned, but most she simply turned away from, averting her eyes until they were gone, glancing over their shoulders at her.
When Fizzle finished her drink, Mrs. Cake took advantage in the lull in customers to bring her a second one. Afterwards, she mumbled to the older mare, “Maybe I should go…”
“Why’s that?” asked Mrs. Cake, cocking her head to the side.
“I think I’m drawing the wrong kind of attention.”
Mrs. Cake blew a raspberry and rolled her eyes. “Oh, please. You think you’re the only one with skeletons in your closet? One of our best customers is a thousand year old goat-snake who tried to take over the world. Give it time. Ponyville doesn’t hold grudges.”
Fizzle couldn’t help but notice that she wasn’t the only expecting mare to stop into Sugarcube Corner to satisfy a craving. A short while after she’d finished the last of her turtles, a light-gray pegasus mare waddled through the door, her wings outstretched to maintain her balance. She was clearly late-term, but notmuch larger than Fizzle herself. Despite this, she seemed to have far greater trouble getting around. Her hooves thumped heavily on the floorboards, her legs splayed in an awkward stance around her belly, as if she’d suddenly woken up that morning heavily pregnant. Maybe as a pegasus, the mare was more used to spending time in the air.
Mrs. Cake happily greeted the mare and brought the tray of banana-nut muffins from the kitchen. Still piping-hot, their aroma filled the room, enticing even Fizzle from a distance. As Mrs. Cake stepped away to wrap them, the mare’s cock-eyed gaze listlessly traveled around the room before lingering on Fizzle. Plopping down on her haunches, her belly protruding through her legs, the pegasus stared at her for a moment, scratching her chin. Just as Fizzle was about to look away, the mare’s expression brightened into a huge smile. With a hoof, she pointed at her own stomach before pointing at Fizzle’s. With a sigh, Fizzle stroked her belly and gave her a smile and a small nod.
When Mrs. Cake returned with the pegasus’s order, she took the bag in her teeth, waddled toward Fizzle’s table, and set a single muffin beside the empty glass of milk.
“Congratulationth!” she said with a heavy lisp, then turned and wobbled on unsteady legs for the exit. Through the doorway, Fizzle watched her flap her wings and take to the air with all the grace of a bumblebee.
“Sweet thing,” Mrs. Cake remarked as she went to shut the door. “Not the sharpest knife in the drawer, but she’ll be a good mother.”
Without an answer, Fizzle looked down at the muffin sitting on the edge of her table, golden-brown and steaming. Picking up, she took a single, tiny bite and savored the sweet crunch on her tongue.Ponyville doesn’t hold grudges.
The next customer needed no introduction. With a bounce in her trot and a song on her tongue, Fizzle heard her coming from a mile away, even before she swung the door open. Pinkie Pie waddled inside Sugarcube Corner, her bright pink coat seeming much brighter than the world around her. Judging from the tell-tale swell around her middle, she hadn’t come alone.
“Hi, Mrs. Cake!” she called, waving enthusiastically to the mare behind the counter.
“Inside voice, Pinkie!” Mrs. Cake hissed, making a lowering gesture with a hoof. “We still have other customers.”
“Oop! Sorry!” Pinkie lowered her voice to a whisper as she daintily pushed the door closed behind herself. “I couldn’t tell if there was anybody else- HEY!”
At the sight of Fizzle, Pinkie’s expression lit up before she galloped across the room, the weight of her own pregnancy shifting awkwardly as she moved. Before she could say anything, Pinkie wrapped her in a tight hug, squeezing out the last remnants of Fizzle’s bad mood. She could feel Pinke’s bump rubbing against her leg – not quite as far along as Fizzle, but getting there.
“Hi Pinkie Pie,” she groaned, patting the pink mare on the back.
“Fizzle-Bizzle, where have you been!?” Pinkie shouted, finally letting go to fall back to her own hooves. She had an indignant pout on her face. “You just disappeared after the foal shower! We were supposed to do…I don’t know, pregnant stuff together!”
“Sorry, I got kind of…wrapped up,” said Fizzle with a shrug. “Getting ready for the foal, resting where I can.”
“You promised you wouldn’t do that,” Pinkie snorted. “You gotta keep us in the loop, okay? What if something happened to you and the baby?”
“I can manage on my own.”
“Uh, yeah, sure, but why would you have to?” Pinkie flipped her hair and rolled her eyes. “Geeze. You must’ve never had good friends before.”
“…No.” Fizzle took a long glance into Pinkie’s blue eyes. “No, I really haven’t.”
“You’re just like Twilight, I swear.” Pinkie let out a sigh before smiling again. “Okay, get up. I wanna get a look at you.”
“Not much to see.” Fizzle grunted as she stood, feeling a twinge in her back as gravity pulled her belly down. “He’s still in there.”
“Not much to see? Are you kidding me? I can’t believe you haven’t popped yet!”
Pinkie Pie went to Fizzle’s side and crouched low, putting her ear to the side of the mare’s belly. It had been many weeks since she had stopped asking permission. After a moment, Pinkie raised a hoof and tapped the taut side of Fizzle’s belly like she were knocking on a front door.
“Hello in there,” she whispered, tapping her hoof again. “Wakie-wakie, eggs and bakie.”
“Good luck getting anything,” said Fizzle. “He’s too cramped to do much more than- Oh!”
A sudden flurry of activity began inside her womb as her unborn son turned, rolled, and kicked with surprising energy. Pinkie Pie had an uncanny talent for getting him to move exactly when she wanted him to.
“There he is!” Pinkie giggled, backing away to watch Fizzle’s belly shift and bounce from the movement inside. “Look at him go! He’s gonna be climbing furniture as soon as he learns to stand.”
You have to be Blue Bolt’s son, Fizzle thought to herself, feeling the boundless energy of her foal while thinking back to the night of his possible conception. They made love on a cloud overlooking a valley, Fizzle’s head hanging in the open air while the pegasus had his way with her again and again. The foal already had his father’s endless reserves of stamina and Fizzle hoped he would inherit his charm, his sense of humor, and his unwavering confidence.
“Oh!” Pinkie Pie gasped, snapping Fizzle out of her memory. “Hey L’il Cheese! You feeling left out?” Pinkie put a hoof against her own belly, flicking her tail gleefully. “Does the kicking get a lot stronger? He used to be just butterflies in my tummy, but now he’s playing me like a pair of bongos.”
“You get used to it.”
The moment Pinkie walked into Sugarcube Corner, Mrs. Cake had retreated into the kitchen. Now, she was emerging with a white paper bag in her teeth and a coffee cup balancing on her back, heading for Fizzle’s table.
“Bleh,” she gasped as she dropped the bag in front of Pinkie Pie. “Don’t mean to interrupt you girls, just wanted to give Pinkie her order.”
“I stop by every day for a craving snack.” Pinkie plopped heavily to her haunches, likely jostling her foal, and tore open the bag with her teeth.
“I’ve been using her to test out new dessert ideas,” said Mrs. Cake. “The problem is that she likes all of them.”
“Doesn’t sound like a bad problem to have,” said Fizzle.
“Not for me!” Pinkie said as she unwrapped the square of lumpy something beneath the paper. It was a square block of rice crispy treat, topped with a barely-cooled layer of chocolate that covered some unidentifiable topping underneath.
“What is it?” Fizzle asked, to which Pinkie responded by touching a hoof too her lips.
“Shhhhh shshshsh,” she hissed, shaking her head hard enough to tousle her mane. “Don’t tell me, let me figure it out.”
“Fair warning, it’s got a little kick,” said Mrs. Cake.
“No sweat. I’ve been dealing those all day long.” Pinkie gave Fizzle a wink before taking a loud, crunching bite of the snack. She chewed in silence for a moment, tapping her chin. “Oh… Ohhhhh…Oh! Oh! Oh oh oh!” Pinkie quickly snatched the cup Mrs. Cake held out to her and downed a gulp. “Thpicy!”
“Chocolate-covered cayenne peppers,” Mrs. Cake said to Fizzle. “Just a little experiment.”
Pinkie wiped her watering eyes before downing the rest of the cup. “Geeze. That sure woke me up!”
“Too much cayenne?” Mrs. Cake frowned. “Cayenne powder, then. The whole pepper is overdoing it.”
“No! I like it! It’s like…Ooooh. Then it’s like whoa! But then it’s like ahhhhh…”
“Want to give a second opinion?” Mrs. Cake asked Fizzle. The mare paused before shaking her head.
“…No, none for me. I’m a bit…oversensitive to heat,” she said. This wasn’t true – Fizzle did enjoy spicy food from time to time, especially in the cold months. In reality, she recalled an old wive’s tale that spicy food was one way to trigger labor. This close to her due date, she wasn’t willing to take the chance.
“I’ll toy with it some more.” Mrs. Cake slipped the half-eaten treat back in its back, then shook the empty cup. “Top off your hot chocolate?”
“Please! I think the little guy needs more sugar,” Pinkie said, prodding her bump. “He isn’t kicking with the oomph he usually has.”
As Mrs. Cake went off to make another drink, Pinkie reached a hoof across the table and tapped Fizzle in the chest. “And don’t you disappear on us again, okay? It’s bad for both of you to stay cooped up all the time. Me and Cheese always have our door open, so stop by for a visit sometime soon.”
“I…I will,” Fizzle stammered, taken off guard Pinkie’s directness.
“Good.” The mare nodded, once, and tapped Fizzle’s chest again, her jaw set in a serious scowl. “Because our babies will be best friends. That’s an order, soldier.”
“S-sure.”
“Let me hear you say, ‘Yes Ma’am.’”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Pinkie gave one more serious nod, then let out a giggle and smiled from ear to ear. Taking her bag and the cup from the counter, she shouted, “See you later, Fizzle-Bizzle! Don’t be a stranger!”
As the door shut, Mrs. Cake blew out a sigh and shook her head. “That girl can be a handful sometimes. I hoped motherhood might slow her down a teensy bit, but I’m pretty sure that was just wishful thinking.”
“She’s a lot to handle,” said Fizzle, “but…she’s the first pony in town to treat me like a friend. I owe her a lot.”
Mrs. Cake smiled warmly. “Pinkie Pie’s got a big heart. She’s going to spoil that foal of hers rotten.”
“Seems like she’s got a better handle on this than I do,” Fizzle said as she stroked her belly. To her surprise, Mrs. Cake laughed with a snort and shook her head.
“Are you kidding? Pinkie comes in every other day with a question. You should’ve seen the way she panicked right after she found out.” She shrugged. “The truth is, it doesn’t matter how many books you read, how many classes you take, or how much advice you get. Nobody is ready. Not until you hold that foal of yours for the first time and realize that you’ve been ready the whole time.”
Fizzle quietly pondered this, staring at the center of the table with a far-away look on her face. Meanwhile, her son shifted inside her, pushing out with his hooves. To her, it seemed like he was very eager to get out and see the world.
From outside the store, the ringing of a far-away bell crept in through the window. Fizzle instinctively swiveled her ears toward the sound and noticed Mrs. Cake doing the same. When they met eyes, she raised an inquisitive eyebrow.
“School’s out,” said Mrs. Cake, chuckling as she put on a fresh apron. “Get ready for the rush.”
“Oh, I can imagine.” Fizzle didn’t feel particularly comfortable around children – ironic, given her condition. She began to stack her dishes on top of one another on the table and headed quietly for the door. Moving slowly, she only made it halfway before Mrs. Cake noticed.
“You’re leaving? Already?”
“I’ve already taken enough of your time.”
“Nonsense! With Carrot gone, I’ve been bored to tears here alone. It’s been nice having someone to talk to.”
Fizzle was about to respond, but paused at the sound of small voices from outside, both fast-approaching.
“Mom! Mooom!”
“Mama!”
“Welp.” Mrs. Cake smirked as she rolled her eyes. “So much for boredom.”
A shimmer of pale blue magic, the door swung open with a heavy clunk as a filly and a colt both stumbled inside. The pair of them were clearly twins, despite the fact that the filly was a unicorn and the colt a pegasus. The unicorn, first to enter, spotted Fizzle and came to a sudden halt, her jaw dropped and eyes wide. She knew who she was looking at.
“Mom!” The pegasus, with eyes only on his mother, fluttered toward her with a scrap of paper in his teeth. “Mom! Sign this permission slip so we can go-”
He stopped, eyes finally landing on Fizzle. The beat of his wings slowed as he gradually sank to the ground.
“Um.” Fizzle shuffled in the uncomfortable silence and flicked her tail. “…Hello.”
“H-Hey,” said the pegasus. His wide eyes flicked to his mother.
“It’s alright, cupcake,” she said, softly. “Fizzle, these are my little ones, Pound and Pumpkin. Kids, this is-”
“Tempest Shadow…” muttered the unicorn, her voice barely audible in the quiet room.
“Fizzlepop Berrytwist,” Mrs. Cake said, firmly.
“Or just…Fizzle. Fizzle is fine.” The mare licked her lips and smiled, trying to seem as nonthreatening as possible.
“Okay.” The unicorn, Pumpkin, hesitated for a moment before giving her a small wave. “Hi Miss Fizzle.”
Fizzle returned the wave with one of her own, her heart instantly melting. This was the first conversation she could remember having with a young pony and she felt an overwhelming excitement at having one of her own in just a few short years.
The pegasus, Pound Cake, flapped his wings with the rapid speed of a bumblebee. Taking to the air, he buzzed over toward his mother and hovered beside her head, whispering something in her ear.
“Yes, just like Auntie Pinkie Pie,” Mrs. Cake answered. She gave Fizzle sideways glance and a smirk.
Turning back, Fizzle found that Pumpkin Pie was sitting at her hooves, staring up at her with eyes the size of coffee mugs.
“Oh…Hello.” Fizzle shuffled in place. “How…old are you?”
“Six,” said Pumpkin. “Are you the lady that put everyone in cages that one time?”
“Pumpkin,” Mrs. Cake hissed.
“…Yes, that was me,” Fizzle sighed. “I shouldn’t have been a part of that. It was a mistake. One mistake in a long line of them. I’m sorry for what I did.”
“Okay.” Pumpkin wiped her nose with a hoof and sniffed. “Can I ask you something?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Does lasagna count as cake?”
Fizzle blinked. “I… don’t know.”
“Cause Pound was saying at school that my dad said we have a cousin Lasagna that lives in Manehatton but I said he can’t be our cousin because he’s not a Cake but then he said ‘yeah huh, cause lasagna is a kind of cake’ and I said ‘nuh uh.’”
Fizzle was so taken off guard that she had to sit on her haunches again, half of her brain power going into why the girl would ask her this and the other half wondering if lasagna was, in fact, a cake.
“Lasagna isn’t your cousin, he’s a friend of your uncle,” Mrs. Cake added, quashing the matter entirely.
“Oh.” Pumpkin looked down at Fizzle’s belly and pointed. “Are you having a foal?”
“I am!” Fizzle nodded, excited at being asked a question she had an answer for.
Without warning, the little unicorn extended a hoof and touched it to Fizzle’s belly, frowning as she searched for any movement from within it.
“Excuse me?” Mrs. Cake interjected again. “Young lady, you need to ask first.”
“Aunt Pinkie says we don’t,” said Pound Cake.
“It’s fine,” Fizzle said. “I really don’t mind.”
“Is it a boy or a girl?”
“A boy.”
“Is he gonna be a unicorn like you?” asked Pound Cake.
Fizzle hesitated. “He could be.”
“Is the dad a unicorn?” asked Pumpkin.
Fizzle stalled again, unsure of what to say. She met eyes with Mrs. Cake, who seemed to quickly understand.
“You kids should know better than anyone that doesn’t matter,” she said. “Me and your dad are both earth ponies, but look how you both turned out!”
“I guess,” Pumpkin said. “If he’s a unicorn, I’m gonna show him how to do my trick. Do you wanna see my trick?”
Before Fizzle could answer, Pumpkin dug into her school saddlebag and took out a single firecracker. Setting it on the ground in front of her, she concentrated her magic on the fuse until it lit itself and went off with a sharp pop that made all of them, Fizzle’s foal included, jump.
“Oh Celestia, who gave her fireworks?” Mrs. Cake snatched Pound Cake out of the air and tucked him under her arm like a football before yanking Pumpkin’s saddlebag away from her. “Both of you, upstairs.”
“Fine,” Pumpkin groaned before slouching toward the stairs as slowly as possible.
“If the baby is a pegasus, you should name him Falcon,” said Pound Cake as he fluttered by Fizzle. “Or Eagle. Or-”
“Homework, mister,” Mrs. Cake reminded him in a stiff voice. The pegasus let out a drawn-out sigh before following his sister upstairs.
“Never a dull moment with those two,” she sighed once they were gone. In a quieter voice, she said, “I…hope I’m not asking too much, but…is the father not in the picture?”
“Well, it depends,” Fizzle chuckled cynically. “I need to figure out who it is, first.”
“Do you have any ideas?”
“A few. I thought I could narrow it down once I got a look at him,” Fizzle said, gesturing to her belly. “Although…did you say the twins’ father is an earth pony, too?”
“Sure is,” Mrs. Cake nodded. This was clearly a question she got often.
“Before they were born, could you tell that the twins weren’t?”
Mrs. Cake furrowed her brow, swishing her tail as she thought. “Hm. Maybe not at the time, but once they were born, some little things made sense. Once I started to feel them move, I starting feeling these little pops, like static electricity from the inside. When I found out I’d been carrying a unicorn the whole time, I realized it must’ve been Pumpkin practicing her magic!”
Fizzle nodded intently, rubbing the curve of her stomach as she listened. There had been a number of times that she’d felt movement that she couldn’t quite place as a kick or a hiccup. While it wasn’t a ‘pop’ like Mrs. Cake described it, it did feel a little bit like a surge of electricity, a low tingle of energy emanating from inside her womb.
Arcturus is probably the father, Fizzle thought to herself. Far to the north, in a field of ice, the unicorn was an expert astrologist she’d encountered while on a journey to restore her broken horn. Sheltered from the cold in his observatory, the two found warmth in one another, making slow, passionate love beneath the stars. In the moments between, he would point out constellations through the glass ceiling above his bed, telling stories of their discovery and how ancient travelers used them. Fizzle didn’t know how he would react to being told he had a son, but she hoped Arcturus would be willing to make room in his solitary life for the two of them.
“Still with us, dearie?”
Fizzle blinked, snapping back to the present as Mrs. Cake gave her a smirk.
“Yes, sorry. I was just…” She trailed off, thinking of the three stallions she met all those months ago, and missing each and every one of them. “…I wish I wasn’t doing this alone.”
Mrs. Cake’s smile fell. For once, this was something she didn’t have an answer for. She’d been blessed with a loving husband and an attentive father to her children and couldn’t imagine managing the ordeal of motherhood without him.
Never in her life had Mrs. Cake met a mare so in need of a hug. So she gave her one.
“Then you’re lucky to be in Ponyville, Miss Berrytwist,” Mrs. Cake said, squeezing her tight – but not too tight. “Because nobody here is ever alone.”
Fizzle hadn’t seen her own mother in years. She doubted the mare knew, or cared, she was about to become a grandmother. Along with the relics of her time as Tempest Shadow, she thought she’d also excised herself from any attachments to her old family. But now, Fizzle buried her face in Mrs. Cake’s mane the same way she did to her mother when she was just a filly. Somewhere, deep inside, a hole inside her heart finally began to mend itself.
“You’ve shown me that,” Fizzle sniffed, wiping her damp eyes. Feeling another twinge of pain in her lower back, she sat down again and touched her belly, as if reminding herself it was there. “I knew this wouldn’t be easy, but I never expected it to be like this. There’s so much to do, so much to plan for, yet it takes all I can manage just to get myself standing on all four legs. And that’s without the constant worry that I’m going to be bad at it.”
Mrs. Cake nodded, a thoughtful frown on her face. Taking off her apron, she draped it across the counter before going to the front door. Flipping the lock closed, she swapped the ‘Open’ sign with a handwritten note reading ‘Back In A Jiffy!’
“I’ll brew us up some more hot chocolate,” she said on her way into the kitchen, “then I want you to tell me all about it.”
The two of them shared a table by the window, sitting across from one another. At first, Fizzle was reluctant to open up, only sharing a few of the myriad aches and pains that came from a late-term pregnancy. The more she talked, however, the more spilled out. She talked about her fears about the fast-approaching birth, the permanent changes to her body, and any possible complications that could come. She worried about whether she’d be able to figure out who the foal’s father was, and then if she’d be able to find him. Would she be able to relate to a colt once he was old enough? Would he resent her for having him by accident? What if her past enemies were less forgiving than the residents of Ponyville? Would she be able to protect him?
Mrs. Cake listened, sipping her hot cocoa, and spoke only to ask clarifying questions. When Fizzle finally ran out of steam, dizzy from having spoken for so much longer than she expected, the older mare sipped the last of her drink and pushed the mug away from her.
“Let me ask you a direct question, dearie. Do you want this foal?”
“Yes.” Fizzle answered automatically, without a second thought. In fact, the thought of not having him caused such a powerful – if brief – panic, that she prodded her belly to make sure he was still in there.
“Then let me ask you this: have you let yourself be happy about it?”
“I am happy about it.”
“It doesn’t sound like it,” said Mrs. Cake. “Listen, there’s a lot to worry about when a foal is born. I had two – double the trouble. But you also have to remember- No, allow yourself to think about the good things, too. Because if you can’t let yourself be happy about things, there’s no point in having them, is there?”
Fizzle took a sip of her lukewarm cocoa and frowned. She’d never heard it put that way. Allowing herself to be happy.
“Instead of thinking about all the things that could go wrong,” Mrs. Cake continued, “why don’t you think about what would happen if things went right? What if nothing went wrong? What if it was all fine?”
“Then…I guess…” Fizzle thought about, pictured in her mind’s eye, her healthy and happy little colt being handed to her, swaddled in a soft blanket, and looking up at her with bright eyes full of the kind of love that transcended language. The corners of her mouth twitched, then she allowed herself a full smile. “It…would be good.”
“Nothing’s ever going to be perfect, dearie,” said Mrs. Cake. “But if you spend all your time fussing about it inside your own noggin, all you’ll do is let yourself suffer twice.”
“Maybe I’ve been a bit neurotic…” Fizzle looked down into the foam of her hot cocoa, thinking hard. Then, in a soft voice, she said, “If he’s a unicorn, I’d like to teach him magic.”
“I’ll bet you would,” Mrs. Cake smiled. “What else?”
“I…want to dress him up for school. I want him to make friends, there. Good friends, ones that will stick by him.” A shifting from within her womb made her smile. “I want to show him things for the first time. I want to see what kinds of things he takes interests in. What he’s good at. What he’s bad at. The kind of stallion he’ll grow up to be. I can’t wait to see it.”
“Neither can I,” said Mrs. Cake.
The two of them talked until the afternoon bled into night. With a bag of chocolate turtles and a fresh cup of hot cocoa, Fizzle left Sugarcube Corner as the Ponyville streetlights were coming on. She walked with the slow, ponderous waddle of a soon-to-be mother, but inside, she felt as light as a feather.
