Thirty-Minute Pony Stories

by Silvernis

Rating: teen
Tags: My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Random
Length: 34109

Stuff I wrote for Thirty-Minute Pony Stories.

Stuff I've written for Thirty-Minute Pony Stories. I've been aiming for "short and sweet" with these, since I'm a glacially slow writer who can literally spend hours laboring on a single paragraph. I'm hoping that forcing myself to follow prompts with time limits will help me improve my speed. If nothing else, I'm enjoying actually writing again.

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Cover art by WhiteDiamondsLtd.

Published 2012-12-16 03:50:02 UTC
Last updated 2013-10-12 03:14:18 UTC

200: The End

200: THE END

I always knew that Twilight Sparkle would be the last of the Elements to go, and she hasn’t disappointed, clocking in at a very respectable 247 years. I blame magic. By the time disgustingly powerful unicorns like her are old enough to die like normal ponies, their bodies are so thoroughly juiced with magic that they just . . . don’t. It’s like extreme magical pickling or something. They usually end up wizened and wrinkly and crotchety as hell, but very much alive. After nearly two and a half centuries, though . . . I know it’s time for Twilight to say goodbye.

I find her in the old palace tower she moved into after Spike got too big for Canterlot and flew off to find a place of his own. At the time, I hoped the dragon’s departure might get her depressed enough to finally kick the bucket, but no such luck—the crazy egghead just kept on reading, researching, and organizing.

As I quietly materialize from the shadows, she looks up from the book she’s reading, not at all surprised to see me.

“Hello again,” she says, smiling. “It’s certainly been a while.”

I nod slowly. It’s been a very long while. The last time I saw her was when Rarity died. After collecting the other unicorn’s spirit, I brought her to see Twilight one last time, just as I’d brought the other Elements over the years. Strictly speaking, that sort of thing violates a few hundred soul-reaping rules, but back when the first one beg, beg, begged me to let her see her friends once last time, well . . . I couldn’t say no. I guess I’m just a big softy.

Twilight slowly eases herself out of her seat, magicking the book back onto a shelf. As she walks towards me, I can see that she’s ready. Physically, she’s in surprisingly good shape—her greying mane, lined face, and creaky steps are the only really obvious signs of her age—but her violet eyes are incredibly tired. They’re the eyes of a pony who’s seen and done a hell of a lot, not all of it pleasant. They’re the eyes of a pony who’s seen her friends grow old and leave her, who’s seen her beloved Equestria become a strange and lonely new place. They’re the eyes of a pony who’s reached the last page of the last chapter.

I ask her if she’s ready. She looks around, considering, then nods. I hesitate, then ask her if she wants to see Spike one more time.

“No,” she says after a moment. “We . . . we already said our goodbyes before he went to sleep. There’s no need to wake him.” She sniffs a little, but doesn’t back down.

I nod, then hold out a hoof. She takes it, and we walk out of the world and into the light. Five voices suddenly cheer, and Twilight laughs. She looks at me, smiling radiantly, then lets go and rushes off to meet them as if she were a little filly again.

She’s home.

202: Bitter Fruits

202: BITTER FRUITS

“Flim,” cried Flam in horror, “have you taken leave of your senses? We’re traveling salesponies—”

“Nonpareil,” added Flim out of habit.

“Indeed,” said Flam. “So why, dear brother of mine, are you suggesting we ‘settle down’ here in Appleloosa, as you put it?”

Flim hesitated. It was the same question he’d been asking himself for the past month, and he still wasn’t entirely sure of the answer. Because I like it here? Because I like not having to live out of a suitcase? Because I like being more than a hokey salespony? Because I like . . . her?

“Apple Cinnamon,” he said at length.

Flam looked blankly at him. “What?”

“Apple Cinnamon.”

“Apple Cinna—wait.” Flam frowned suspiciously. “You mean that mare who sells turnovers by the train station?”

Flim nodded.

Flam sighed, finally understanding. “Confound it, Flim. You know we’re not supposed to fraternize with the customers.”

“I’m not fraternizing. I’m just . . . spending time with her, getting to know her.”

“In other words, fraternizing.”

“Well, perhaps you should try it,” said Flim irritably. “It might do you good to get your head out of a cider barrel. I like turning a profit as much as the next pony, but there are other things in life, and frankly, I’m getting tired of missing out on them. Charming mares who sell turnovers included. We’ve got opportunity here, brother, real opportunity” — Flam winced; he’d always been inordinately proud of that stupid song he’d written — “and I don’t want to throw it away. I . . . I want to stay.”

“No. We’re not staying, and that’s final,” said Flam, looking away. His voice was suddenly harsh and shaky.

“Now look here — ”

“No. You can’t. We can’t. We need to keep traveling and selling.”

Flim scowled. “You can keep traveling and selling if you want, but you can do it without me. I’m staying.”

“You can’t,” said Flam again, looking up, and Flim was shocked to see tears running down his face. “I need you, Flim.”

“I’m sure you can manage — ”

“You don’t understand,” said Flam. “The machine, the Squeezy 6000 — the loan — listen, Flim, we — I — I can’t do this by myself.”

“Loan?” asked Flim. He could feel his stomach starting to churn. “What loan?”

“For the machine, Flim. Everything we have is tied up in the Squeezy 6000. We owe a lot of bits to the bank, and if we don’t keep paying, we’ll lose everything.”

“You never said anything about a loan! You said that money came from the inheritance!” Flim was screaming now.

“I lied, all right?” Flam screamed back. “Half of it came from dad. The other half . . . came from the bank. That’s why we need to keep selling. After that mess in Ponyville, we’re barely keeping up with the payments, and if you stay here . . . ” He shook his head. “I can’t do it alone, brother. If you stay here, we’re both done for.”

Flim turned away, seething, trying to process what he had just learned. After a long time, he finally turned back. “You could have told me,” he said quietly. “You should have told me. Actually, you should have asked me before you went and saddled us both with debt so we could live your dream.”

“I’m sorry,” said Flam.

“Me, too,” said Flim. “I’ll stay with you until the damn machine is paid off, but after that, we are finished, brother. Now if you’ll excuse me . . . I have to go tell Apple Cinnamon that I won’t be able to take her to that dance after all.”

203: Good, Better, Best

203: GOOD, BETTER, BEST

Spitfire raised a hoof to the door, hesitated, then shook her head and knocked. The muffled sound of crying coming from the other side of the door suddenly stopped.

“Lightning Dust?” said Spitfire.

“Go away,” said the pony on the other side.

“Not likely,” said Spitfire, pushing open the door.

Lightning Dust tried to glower at her, but the effect was rather spoiled by the fact that the teal pegasus was huddling on her bed with tears running down her face. “What do you want . . . ma’am?”

Spitfire stepped into the room and closed the door behind her. “I wanted to apologize. I was pretty hard on you back there, and truthfully . . . this is as much my fault as it is yours. I should have kept a closer eye on everypony, especially you. I should have put my hoof down earlier. You’re a truly great flyer, Lightning Dust, and I admire that you’re constantly pushing yourself, but it’s like I said: you have to push yourself in the right direction.”

Lightning Dust wrapped her wings around herself and started crying again.

Spitfire sighed. “Look, Lightning, it’s not the end of the world. Live and learn, right?”

“But I failed!” shouted Lightning, sobbing behind her wings. “I was supposed to be lead pony! I was supposed to be the best!”

“Kid, this is just your first week—”

Lightning’s wings snapped open. “I was supposed to be the best!” she screamed. She suddenly deflated, wings drooping. “I promised,” she said quietly.

Spitfire frowned. “Promised to be the best?”

Lightning nodded.

“Promised who?”

Lightning squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head, wrapping her wings around herself again.

Spitfire hesitated, then slowly sat down next to the other pegasus and put a wing around her. “Promised who?” she prompted gently.

Lightning slowly reached under her pillow and withdrew a small picture frame. Shuddering, she passed it to Spitfire.

The Wonderbolt captain took it and looked. The picture inside was old and yellowed, and— “Sweet Celestia, this is Stratus! And Nimbus! My mom and dad used to talk about their shows all the time!” She frowned. “So . . . you promised the most famous civilian flyers in Cloudsdale that you’d be the best?”

“They’re my grandparents.”

Spitfire’s eyes went wide. “Your—grandparents? Stratus and Nimbus?”

Lightning nodded. “They were the best flyers outside of the Wonderbolts, and I promised them. I promised them I’d be the best, too. That I’d get into the Wonderbolts and be the best flier in Equestria. I have to do this, ma’am. This is everything to me. I’ve spent my whole life working my tail off for this.” She looked Spitfire in the eye, as if daring her to protest. “I will be the best.”

206: The Party Must Wait

206: THE PARTY MUST WAIT

As parties went, the one in the back corner of the campus pub was a simple affair: a dozen ponies around a few pushed-together tables, a platter of sandwiches, a basket of hay fries, and a large bottle of vintage Chardonneigh that had been finagled from the college cellars. The only music was some scratchy ragtime coming from the old phonograph over by the bar.

Daring loved it. She didn’t mind going to the fancy receptions the college held whenever she returned with some long-lost artifact—nopony in her right mind would turn down free booze, gushing colleagues, and the chance to find an unattached stallion or mare to keep her bed warm for the night—but they weren’t really fun. They certainly weren’t the celebrations she looked forward to when she crawled back to Manehattan after delving into temples full of traps and monsters and terrifying close calls. (Not that she would ever admit to being terrified; she had a reputation to maintain, after all.)

No, when she came back from an expedition, what she really wanted—aside from a hot shower—was some time with her friends. They were always genuinely glad to see her, and she them. They didn’t want elegant speeches; they wanted the swashbuckling (mostly true) yarns she loved to tell. Their quiet little get-togethers in the pub felt right, like she was coming home.

Well, quiet might not have been most accurate term.

“So there I was,” she cried, jumping onto the table and dramatically flinging a hoof out, “caught between Manephistopheles and his pet minotaurs.”

“Minotaurs?” said Professor Codex. The old unicorn peered skeptically through his monocle at her. “I’ve never heard of minotaurs living that far west.”

“I assure you, they were minotaurs, and they were not happy that I’d retrieved the medallion from the treasure room.”

“So how did you escape?” asked Professor Datum from the other side of the table, leaning forward eagerly.

Daring grinned. “I got Manephistopheles to help me. I dared him to come get the medallion if he wanted it so badly, so that’s just what he did. Fortunately for me, he didn’t know there were pressure plates under the stones. When he ran towards me, he triggered the traps.” She paused to take another sip of wine. “I managed to dodge the spears, but he and the minotaurs weren’t so lucky. After that, it was just a matter of retracing my steps through the temple and getting out before the doors sealed forever.”

Her audience applauded good-naturedly, and Daring bowed with a flourish of her wings.

“Professor Do!”

There was a commotion at the door of the pub, and Daring looked up to see an out-of-breath earth pony stallion rushing towards her table.

“Fidelis? What is it?” she asked.

“Trouble in the east,” wheezed the stallion. “Griffon cartel . . . found some kind of . . . amulet. News . . . just came in.”

Daring scowled. “Beaklock?”

Fidelis nodded.

“Damn that feathery beasty.” She sighed and hopped off the table, turning to her friends. “Sorry, but it looks like I’m heading out again.”

“But you’ve only just gotten back!” protested Codex, looking scandalized.

Daring shrugged, grinning again. “Such is the life of Daring Do. Now hold onto that wine for me, will you?” she called as she flew towards the door. “I want to celebrate properly when I get back with this amulet thingy.”

Author's Note

Edit: Retconned the earth pony's name to keep it consistent with my Daring fic headcanon, and because I just realized that I'd gotten my Latin mixed up the first time. "Felix" means "lucky" (more or less); "Fidelis" means "faithful."

208: Beautiful Music

208: BEAUTIFUL MUSIC

Octavia couldn’t sleep. The meditation exercises that usually calmed her pre-performance jitters hadn’t worked, nor had a glass of milk, her favorite book, pacing around the living room, or even a half-hour of brainless late-night TV. She’d finally given up and had returned to the bed, staring out the window at Luna’s moon and trying to will herself into slumber. It hadn’t worked.

Vinyl, of course, was out like a light. Octavia turned over and looked at the unicorn quietly snoring beside her. A small, petulant part of her thought it was entirely unfair that she was still awake while Vinyl was not. They had been extra rigorous tonight; the landlord had even called and said he’d been receiving complaints and could they please show a bit of restraint, which had naturally sent Vinyl racing for her box of rope, and—Octavia blushed in the dark just thinking about it. At any rate, she had expected to be too worn out to do anything but sleep soundly. Why couldn’t she? Why could Vinyl? Wasn’t the DJ nervous about tomorrow, or rather—she glanced at the clock—today?

But then, Vinyl was Vinyl; Octavia knew there wasn’t much that could throw off her mad groove. Octavia smiled and reached over to gently stroke the unicorn’s tousled mane. She still wasn’t sure how two ponies so perfectly unsuited for each other had ended up like this. Once upon a time, Octavia had been a strait-laced professional with tidy schedules, inviolable practice regimens, and rarefied tastes. Then had come that debacle at the Gala, then the dingy nightclub where she’d tried to drown her sorrows in overpriced brandy, then the DJ drenched in a gaudy neon glow as she coaxed bone-rattling sound from a stack of amps. Vinyl tore through her hitherto well-ordered life like a cyclone of cheerful, bass-dropping chaos, and Octavia, to her shock, had discovered that she enjoyed it. More than that, she loved it. She loved being together, sharing a drink, a flat, a bed, a life. She loved that big-hearted, talented, beautiful unicorn, her ever-present grin, her spiky blue mane, her startlingly red eyes—

Wait, when had Vinyl opened her eyes?

“Sorry,” whispered Octavia, pulling her hoof back. “I—I was just . . . ”

Vinyl gave her a lopsided smile. “’S’okay, Tavi. You don’t have to make excuses to touch me.” She glanced around at the darkened room, then pushed closer to Octavia. “Can’t sleep? Even after all that?”

“Hush, you. I’m just . . . anxious, I guess.”

“It’s gonna be fine. You’re waaaay over-thinking this. They’re gonna love us.”

“I hope so, but—”

“I know so. Octascratch is gonna be the funkiest, most awesome-est act to hit Manehattan in, like, forever.” She jabbed a hoof at the window and the city outside. “They’re gonna be crazy about us, Tavi.”

“I’m still not sure about the name.”

“C’mon, ‘Octascratch’ is perfect. It elegantly encapsulates the fusion of your cello and classical technique with my boundary-pushing electronic sounds. Our duo’s name will serve as a symbol of the seamless joining of old and new, of the unexpected but totally awesome, uh, stuff of the . . . stuff.”

Vinyl grinned sheepishly, and Octavia couldn’t help giggling—which, she reflected, had probably been Vinyl’s intent. It was easy to forget that the aggressively informal DJ held degrees in theory, performance, and marketing.

Still . . .

“What if they don’t like it?” said Octavia, more to herself than Vinyl. “It’s never been done before.”

“I know! It’s gonna be wicked!”

“Vinyl, what if it’s not?”

Vinyl snorted. “Please. Tavi, you’re amazing. I’m amazing. Everypony’s gonna eat us up.” She leaned over, her voice dropping to a throaty whisper. “Though I’m only gonna let you eat me out, lover.”

Octavia bopped her gently on the horn. “Vinyl, please. I’m being serious here. I know your fans will probably like it, but what about mine? I’ve already taken fire for that mess at the Gala, and I know this new music isn’t likely to win me any favor in classical circles.”

Vinyl closed her lovely eyes and lay in thoughtful silence. After a long minute, she opened them again and looked steadily at her. “Octavia?”

“Yes?”

“Do you like the music? Really, truly, like it?”

“Yes, insane though it may be.”

“And do you like playing it? I mean . . . with me?”

“Yes.”

“So . . . what’s the problem? Who cares what anypony else thinks? I love having fans, Tavi, but I love my music even more. I love you even more. So long as we’re together making music we love . . . that’s all that matters.”

Octavia blinked. Then she blinked again, pulled Vinyl close, and kissed her tenderly.

“Thank you,” she said. “I love you, Vinyl Scratch, and . . . ” She looked into the unicorn’s eyes, smiling crookedly. “And I do very much want to make beautiful music with you.”

214: Ponybello Road

214: PONYBELLO ROAD

“Sooo . . . what are we looking for down here?”

“Dragon pearls, dear.”

“Uh-huh. And those are?”

“Exactly what they sound like: pearls from a dragon.”

“I thought pearls came from fish or something.”

“I suspect you’re thinking of oysters.”

“Whatever. How the hay do you get pearls from a dragon?”

“Well, when dragons eat gems, sometimes they don’t quite digest everything. Once in a great while, a gem fragment gets, ah, stuck along the way. Sometimes a pearl forms around the fragment, and eventually the pearl . . . passes along.”

“You mean—”

“Yes. Oh, do stop snickering. It’s foalish and unseemly.”

“Unseemly? You’re the one looking for poo pearls to put on a fancy dress.”

“Laugh if you want, Rainbow Dash. I don’t expect you of all ponies to understand the true magnificence of these pearls, or the positively divine effect they can have on an ensemble.”

“Yeah, well, if they’re so magnificent, why are we looking for them in this dump?”

“Dragons don’t form pearls very often, and even when they do, actually getting hold of them is . . . ”

“Eeeew.”

“Indeed. In short, they are extremely rare, and short of going to dragon country, the only place I’m going to be able to find any . . . is here.”

“The old Canterlot docks?”

“It’s called the North Market, dear. You can buy anything here if you know where to look.”

“And I’m guessing you know where to look.”

“Correct.”

“Huh. Never figured you for a black market wheeler and dealer—ow!”

“Hush, you! I am not a ‘wheeler and dealer,’ as you so melodramatically put it. I simply know how to find what I need. I realize this isn’t exactly the most refined part of Canterlot, but I will brave any challenge in my pursuit of fashion.”

“Easy there, Rarity. You can stop with the dramatic pose. I get it. I’m just kinda surprised that you’d dirty your hooves in a place like this. I mean, just look at that shop over there. Is that—”

“Yes.”

“And that one over there. Are those—”

“Yes.”

“And that one—”

“Yes, Rainbow.”

“Isn’t that illegal?”

“It . . . might be. A little.”

“And that one? Are those what I think they are?”

“I shudder to think about how you know what those are, but yes, I’m afraid so.”

“I don’t live under a rock, Rarity. Seriously, though, what pony buys that kinda—wait, is that Twilight?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Rainbow. I’m sure Twilight would never—oh my.”

“Sweet Celestia, it’s huge.”

“I must say, I’m surprised. I never would have thought she had it in her.”

“It’s not in her yet, heh heh—ow!”

“Rainbow Dash, you are disgusting. Dear Twilight is allowed to have . . . interests. Who are we to judge? Now come along—and for all our sakes, let us never speak of this again!”

216: Regret

216: REGRET

“I’m sorry,” said Luna.

The statue didn’t respond. She hadn’t expected it to, of course: unlike Discord in his stone prison, this was merely a statue, a lifeless hunk of black marble carved in the likeness of a small unicorn mare. It gleamed coldly in the moonlight.

Luna rested her head against the unicorn’s, but she felt none of the tingling warmth she remembered. “I’m sorry,” she said again, silvery tears slipping down her face. “I was such a fool.”

The statue stared back at her with eyes that were blank and unseeing, not the bright, perceptive pools she had happily drowned in.

“You were right,” she whispered. She squeezed her eyes shut to block out the unicorn’s empty gaze. “I should have listened. You were right about everything. I . . . I caused so much pain and destruction.”

She lifted a hoof and touched lips that were cold and hard and grimly pursed, not warm and soft and always ready with an encouraging word.

“I’m sorry!” cried Luna, what was left of her composure crumbling under the weight of her grief. She wrapped her forelegs around the statue, hugging it tightly, as if trying to hold onto a life that had long since ceased to be. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I did this to you, my love. You gave up everything for me, and I—I—I destroyed us both! I’m so sorry!”

“Luna?”

Luna’s eyes flew open, and for a fleeting moment they were wide and wild and filled with desperate hope. The statue was still cold and silent, though, and she realized the voice had come from behind her. Turning around, she saw her sister standing there, her white coat bright in the darkness.

“Luna?” said Celestia again, concern on her face.

“I—we will be fine,” said Luna, choking back a sob and reminding herself that she was a princess. “We were just ... grieving.”

Celestia approached. Slowly, almost hesitantly, she extended a wing and wrapped it around Luna. The smaller alicorn stiffened for a moment, then leaned against her sister, trembling. Together, they looked silently at the statue.

“I’m sorry,” Celestia said at length. “I had no choice. She was cutting down everypony in her path while trying to reach us. Minutes after I . . . after I sent you away, she burst into the chamber and demanded that I bring you back. When I refused . . . it broke her. She attacked.” Celestia shivered. “I was terrified. Not even the Nightmare had looked at me with such hate, such rage, such anguish.”

“I did that to her,” wailed Luna, unable to hold back the sobs any longer. She buried her face in her sister’s flowing mane, feeling her insides twist in horror at the enormity of her sins. “If I hadn’t . . . ”

Celestia’s wing tightened comfortingly around her. “She loved you, Luna. She loved you more than I did, to my eternal shame. I have never known a more devoted, more loyal pony. She was willing to follow you into the darkness that had consumed you.”

“Sister, I killed her!”

“No, Luna. I killed her, to save myself, to save my soldiers, and to save Canterlot.”

“It was because of me.”

Celestia gently turned Luna so they could look at each other face-to-face. “Luna, listen to me. A thousand years ago, we both made grievous mistakes that cost us dearly, but we cannot allow our past failings to corrupt our future. We must look to tomorrow, for our sakes and the sake of Equestria.” She leaned close and nuzzled Luna affectionately. “You have already suffered enough, little sister. Don’t cling to the pain, I beg you. She is gone, and you must let her go.”

Luna looked at the statue again. After a long while, she nodded and said simply, “I will try, sister. I will look to the future. Our future. We will never fall into darkness again.” She nodded again and rested her head against the unicorn’s one last time. “We will be the princess she deserved.”

218: Red Pen Frenzy

218: RED PEN FRENZY

“So how long do you expect to be in Ponyville, Miss—Red, was it?” asked Rarity, settling onto one of the low chairs arranged around the table.

The pale grey unicorn mare sitting on the other side of the table nodded absently, her short maroon mane bobbing. “Red Pen. And I’m not sure.” She sighed, suddenly looking rather dejected. “I suppose until Her Highness wants me to go back to Canterlot.”

“Wait a second,” said Applejack from across the table. “The Princess sent you here? Ah thought Twilight said you were comin’ here on vacation.”

“Leave,” said Red gloomily.

“What?” Applejack frowned. “Ah’m sorry, Miss Red. Ah didn’t mean no offense—”

“I believe she meant she’s here on leave, dear,” whispered Rarity loudly. “As in ‘leave of absence.’”

The other unicorn nodded. “Medical leave, to be exact.”

“You poor thing!” cried Rarity. She leaned in, putting on her best I’m being sympathetic but I still want all the juicy gossip I can wring from you look. “Are you injured, my dear?”

“I have . . . problems,” said Red. Rarity nodded eagerly and waited, but no further details were forthcoming. Applejack coughed and adjusted her hat.

The awkward silence was mercifully interrupted by the arrival of the waiter.

“Good afternoon, ladies,” he said, hoofing them each a menu. “To start with, what would you like to drink?”

“Cider’ll be fine, thanks,” said Applejack.

“I’ll have the sparkling water, please,” said Rarity.

“Serial comma,” muttered Red Pen.

They stared blankly at her. She was hunched over the menu, peering closely at it through glasses that had somehow appeared on her nose. “Needs a serial comma,” she said, talking more to herself than the other ponies. “Has daisies comma daffodils and alfalfa with rye. Should be daisies comma daffodils comma and alfalfa with rye. Always better with serial commas. Logical sequence. And on rye. Not with. Locative preposition.”

Her horn glowed with pale red magic, and a large fountain pen flew out of her saddlebag. She scribbled briskly on the menu for a moment, then set the pen down, looking satisfied.

The satisfaction instantly melted into horror as she noticed Applejack, Rarity, and the waiter staring at her.

“Water, please,” she muttered, face reddening.

The waiter nodded dumbly, then beat a hasty retreat back to the kitchen.

Rarity glanced at Applejack, then back at Red. The other unicorn suddenly looked very interested in the salt shaker.

“My dear, are you . . . all right?” Rarity finally asked.

Red sighed and shook her head. “It’s like I said. I have problems. My special talent is editing and correcting, but I’m . . . obsessive. I can’t stop myself from trying to fix everything I read. That’s why I was sent to Ponyville. I used to work in the Canterlot archives, but things got . . . bad. I couldn’t function. The Princess sent me here to try to relax and . . . learn to control myself.”

“How dreadful!” cried Rarity. “I promise you, my dear, we shall do everything we can to help you! Isn’t that right, Applejack?”

“Sure thing, sugar cube. Just tell me one thing.” The earth pony looked hard at Red. “Do you know anything about a ‘want it, need it spell’?”

Red shook her head, looking puzzled.

“That’s fine, then,” said Applejack, smiling. “We’ve had plenty of experience dealin’ with ‘obsessive’ with your cousin. Ah just don’t want a repeat of that danged Smartypants disaster.”

Author's Note

Oh, look. A wild ponysona appeared.

Also, I went back and made a few minor edits to AJ's dialogue to maintain the "Southern" voice I use for her.

220: Hard to Starboard

220: HARD TO STARBOARD

I take lunch precisely at 1:00 like I always do. A late lunch means I can keep the shop open for everypony else to come in on their lunch breaks. It also means less waiting in line wherever I decide to eat. I rotate among a few places throughout the week, depending on my mood and where I feel like wandering, but today I stop at Horte’s and order a tulip sandwich. It’s delicious, as usual. When I’m done, I head to Sugarcube Corner. I always stop at Sugarcube Corner for dessert, and I always—well, almost always—get a muffin. Derpy swears by the banana ones, though I’m partial to chocolate walnut myself. After I eat my muffin, I brush off my hooves, say goodbye to the Cakes, walk out the door, and stand on the stoop, thinking the same thing I always do.

Left or right?

Left leads back to my shop. The street is pleasant, lined with stores and homes that I’ve walked past hundreds of times. I know it like the back of my hoof. It’s familiar. Routine. I know where I belong on that street. It’s safe.

Right leads to the library. That street is also pleasant, lined with stores and homes that I’ve walked past hundreds of times, but it’s not familiar, nor routine. I don’t know where I belong on that street, in that library. It’s not safe.

It’s terrifying.

I know what the problem is, of course. It’s the same problem I had before: I’m scared of what will happen if I actually do anything. Longing and lusting for a pony who probably doesn’t even know you exist isn’t fun—actually, it’s awful; you can’t stop thinking about her even though you know you’re turning into an obsessive wreck—but eventually, you get used to it. It becomes strangely comfortable, and after a while, you’re reluctant to do anything but wallow complacently in the hole of unhappiness you’ve dug. What if she turns you down? Worse, what if she accepts you? You couldn’t deal with the painful finality of rejection, and you have no idea of how you’d handle being in an actual relationship with her. It’s far easier to simply stay in your hole. You might be miserable, but at least you can delude yourself into thinking you still have a chance.

At least until she finds another pony, one who’s not crippled by fear and indecision.

I still hate Bon Bon a little, mostly because she reminds me of how completely I failed—

No.

Not this time.

I don’t want to dig another hole this time. I won’t dig one. I’m tired of being a coward. I’m tired of standing here every afternoon and making up excuses to go left. I’m tired of lying alone in my bed at night wondering why I didn’t go right.

Not today. Today I’m going to do it. Maybe I can ask her for a book or something? It doesn’t even matter—I don’t know what will happen, or what I’ll say, or what she’ll say, but I will go to her today.

I take a long, deep, shuddering breath and turn right.

Author's Note

Yeah, I derped with the muffin-eating bit. The character is a unicorn, so there wouldn't be any wiping of hooves involved. *shrug* C'est la vie.

222: Tipsy Tock

222: TIPSY TOCK

I don’t know who first came up with the joke about my mane and tail looking like toothpaste, but I’d like to buck them in the face, and then again in the hindquarters just for good measure. It’s not funny. It never was. It doesn’t even make sense. Seriously, why does everypony seem to think I’m some kind of closet dentist? I don’t get it. Just look at my bucking cutie mark. It’s a bucking hourglass. I’m a bucking clockmaker, not a dentist. I don’t have a secret passion for hental dygiene. I mean, dental hygiene. This “special cider” is crazy stuff. How many have I had? Three? Four? I don’t know. Berry ordered a whole pitcher, and she keeps refilling the damn mug, and I don’t quite feel like telling her to stop.

To be honest, I hate getting drunk, but . . . well, this wasn’t exactly a good day to be a blue unicorn with a mane and tail that apparently resemble tooth-cleaning goop. A little alcohol makes the problems fuzzy enough to ignore for a while. Maybe a lot of alcohol. I don’t know. We’ll see how fuzzy things look after this next mug.

“You okay, Minnie?” Berry asks as she pours more cider for us both.

I have a vague idea that she has a vague idea that it’s a stupid question, since I only drink this much when I’m not okay, but I appreciate the concern all the same.

“No,” I say. I sigh gloomily and slump down on my seat, resting my chin on the table. It’s actually a really awkward way for a pony with a normally functioning spine to sit, but at this point I’m beyond caring. The backache will be future Minuette’s problem.

“What’s wrong?” asks Berry.

“I make clocks, Berry.”

“I know, Minnie.”

“It’s what I do. It’s my talent. I put all the little gears and springs and crap together and make clocks. They’re nice clocks, too.”

“Nicest bucking clocks in Ponyville,” she says, nodding earnestly.

“Hay, in Equestria! But the point is, I make clocks.”

“Yes, Minnie. You said that.”

“I know, Berry. But the point is, I make clocks.”

“Yes, Minnie.”

“I don’t make teeth. I mean, I don’t clean teeth.”

“I know, Minnie.”

“I make clocks, Berry. I’m not a bucking dentist.”

“I know, Minnie.”

“Nothing against dentists, of course—”

“Of course.”

“—but I’m not one. A dentist, I mean. And I don’t have a fetish for toothpaste.”

“Unless it’s green and minty fresh, right?” she says, giving me a huge wink.

I feel myself getting even redder. Berry can be annoyingly perceptive even when she’s drunk off her plot. Especially when she’s drunk off her plot.

“Stuff it,” I grumble.

“Aww, I think you’d rather stuff her, if ya know what I mean.” Wink, wink. Perceptive, and oh so classy.

“Shut up, or I’ll stuff you and mount you above the mantle like the griffons do.”

“Oooh, kinky!”

I give a strangled groan. “Look,” I say, probably more loudly than I should, “just leave Lyra out of this. I don’t have a snowball’s chance in Tartarus with her. And like I was saying, Merry Much—dammit, Berry Punch—I am not a dentist.”

“You’ve said that like a thousand times, Minnie. I know, all right? I know you’re not a dentist.”

“That’s right! I’m—”

“A clockmaker who makes the best bucking clocks this side of Seaddle. I know, Minnie.” She frowns at me. “Something wrong, hon? You’re getting awfully worked up about this. Like, way more than usual.”

I close my eyes, anger curling in my gut again as I think about what happened earlier.

“Rainbow Dash,” I say eventually.

“You’ve got the hots for her now? Damn, Minnie. There’s no keeping up with you.”

“No, I don’t, so shut up.” I sigh. “You know that tour carriage that stopped in town today?”

“The one from Los Pegasus? What about it?”

“She told them that I was the town dentist.”

“That just sounds like Rainbow Dash being Rainbow Dash. What’s the problem?”

“I’m not a dentist, Berry, I’m—”

“I know.”

I suddenly sit up and bang my mug on the table, cider sloshing over the sides. Berry calmly leans back, watching me with drunken patience.

“Ten ponies!” I snarl. “Ten. Bucking. Ponies. That’s how many barged into my shop today, all asking if I could take a look at their fillings or caps or help them get something out from behind their molars or sell them bucking mouthwash. My clock shop, Berry.”

She sits silently for a minute, then shakes her head.

“Minnie?”

“What, Berry?”

“I’m sorry. I mean, it’s not really my fault, but I’m sorry it happened, ya know?”

“I know.”

“Minnie?”

“Yes, Berry?”

“You’re a clockmaker.”

“Yes.”

“So show everypony.”

“Huh?”

“Show them that you make clocks, and that you don’t give a flying feather about teeth or toothpaste or whatever the buck it is that dentists do. Make a big sexy clock or something.”

Suddenly I’m smiling, because I know what to do.

“The old clock tower,” I say, leaping to my hooves. “It’s practically balling afart anyway. I’ll rebuild it! It’ll be the best clock in Ponyville!”

“In Equestria, baby.”

“That, too. You’re right, Berry. I’ll show them. I’ll show everypony that I’m not a bucking dentist. I’m a clockmaker. I’m the clockmaker, and—and I’m going to clean their clocks!”

223: The Princess's Wish

223: THE PRINCESS'S WISH

“I’m glad you decided to attend this year,” says Celestia, smiling. “I’ve looked forward to this for a long time, Luna. The Gala always felt so empty without you here.”

“We are pleased to be here,” says Luna. She looks briefly at Celestia and gives her a strained approximation of a smile, then returns her gaze to the ballroom.

“You don’t sound particularly pleased,” Celestia observes wryly.

Luna sighs. “We are pleased, sister, but we must confess that we are confused. We thought that this was meant to be a party.”

“It is.”

“We do not recall parties being so . . . dull.”

Celestia chuckles. “I’m afraid jesters and troubadours went out of fashion centuries ago. These days, the nobility prefer to be refined and elegant and, yes, dull. Times have changed, sister.”

“So we see.”

Celestia studies her for a moment, though Luna does not seem to notice, focused as she is on the ballroom. At length, the larger alicorn sighs.

“Luna, dear, you don’t have to stay if you’re not enjoying yourself.”

“Nay!” says Luna quickly, glancing at her sister. “I—we are fine. We wish to stay.” She looks back out over the ballroom, her eyes darting back and forth with strange urgency. They seem to find what they are looking for over by the punch table, and she relaxes minutely.

Celestia looks over at the table, then smiles and says, “She is especially beautiful tonight, isn’t she?”

“Yes,” says Luna without hesitation. She suddenly goes rigid and looks sidelong at Celestia. “I mean . . . to whom were you referring, sister?”

“Twilight Sparkle, of course.”

“Of course.” Luna makes a show of searching the crowd of glittering ponies for the Element of Magic, eventually locating her by the punch table. “Ah. Yes. Lovely indeed. Her . . . gown is especially impressive.”

“I believe it’s one of Rarity’s designs. That color certainly does suit her.”

“Certainly.”

“I expect it complements her eyes particularly well.”

“Yes,” says Luna stiffly, “we expect it does.”

The two princesses stand silently for a long minute until Celestia finally laughs.

“How long?” she asks, her smile teasing but kind.

“How long what?” asks Luna. Her face is a picture of polite puzzlement.

Celestia arches an eyebrow.

Luna finally wilts, defeated. “Since the Nightmare Night festival. After we returned to Canterlot, we—I found myself thinking of her more and more. Now I cannot stop.” She looks miserably at her hooves. “I am besotted, sister. I am sorry.”

“My dear, you needn’t apologize for having feelings for another pony.”

“But sister, it is more than mere feelings! She is so sweet and kind and caring and so very beautiful, and . . . and we . . . I desire her,” whispers Luna, shamefaced.

Celestia steps closer and lays a comforting wing over the smaller alicorn. “That’s not unnatural, Luna. We may be immortal, but we are not immune to the needs and urges all ponies feel, nor should we be.”

“But she bears the Element of Magic! She is . . . yours.”

“Mine?” echoes Celestia, laughing. “My student, yes, but she is certainly not mine. Twilight Sparkle is not a hapless little foal. She can chart her own course, and if her course should happen to run parallel to yours, Equestria would be all the richer for it.”

“Thou truly thinkest so?”

“I do indeed.”

Luna brightens for a moment, then sighs again. “Perhaps, but we do not know if she has even the slightest interest in us.”

“Well, there’s only one way to find out,” says Celestia. She looks pointedly towards the punch table and the purple unicorn standing there with her friends.

Luna looks at the unicorn, then back at Celestia, then back at the unicorn. Finally, she nods and smiles, drawing herself up to her full height.

“Thou art quite correct,” she says, every inch the Moon Princess. “Now if thou wilt excuse us, we must mingle with our guests.”

Author's Note

I know, I know; it's rushed and horrible.

224: Wednesday

224: WEDNESDAY

The intern—a bright green earth pony in an even brighter yellow jumpsuit—read through the scroll eagerly.

“Ma’am, you’ve been invited to a gallery opening this afternoon! If we hurry—”

“No,” said Photo Finish, not looking up from the pictures on her desk.

“Oh, um, all right.” The intern deflated a bit, but quickly rallied and pulled another scroll from her satchel. “Um . . . you’ve also been asked to do an impromptu shoot at Fancy Pants’ manor—”

“No.”

Looking desperate now, the intern scrabbled in the satchel and yanked out the last scroll, this one bearing an elaborate seal. She broke it and unfurled the paper. Her eyes went wide, and she all but squealed as she waved it at Photo Finish.

“Ma’am, it’s an invitation for lunch—”

“No.”

“Lunch with Silver Stitch, ma’am!”

Photo Finish froze. A badly stifled gasp went through the office, and the other ponies glanced at each other and at their boss, waiting. Photo Finish snatched the scroll from the intern’s hooves and read it. She hesitated, looking at the silver-and-crystal clock on her desk, then, very slowly, almost reluctantly, pushed it back to the intern.

“No.”

The other ponies gave a brief sigh, then turned back to their work. The intern’s face was a rictus of disbelieving horror. She looked at Photo Finish, down at the invitation, back at the other ponies quietly working at their desks, then back at Photo Finish.

“Ma’am,” she said, “Silver Stitch is asking you to lunch! Silver Stitch, the undisputed queen of spring fashion! Just think of what this would mean for the studio! Ma’am, why don’t—”

She was interrupted by the chiming of the clock. Photo Finish immediately jumped to her hooves and walked around her desk, pausing for a moment next to the intern.

“It is Vednesday,” said the photographer. “Dat is vhy. Now, I go!”

The intern looked more than a little confused, but she dutifully raced after her boss.

Photo Finish noticed her following and stopped abruptly at the door. She reached up and patted the green pony on the head, almost affectionately. “No. Dis time, I go . . . alone.”

The streets were quiet, at least by Canterlot standards. Twenty minutes’ brisk trotting brought Photo Finish to an elegant wrought iron gate set in a brick wall. At her touch, the gate swung open with a quiet creak. She proceeded through into a small park thick with flowers and trees.

The flagstone path led her to a clearing at the back of the park. She walked slowly along a row of bright marble headstones, finally stopping at the last one. A bit larger than the others, it bore a stylized caring of a stallion flanked by two foals.

She sat on her haunches on the neatly trimmed patch of grass in front of the stone, careful not to dirty her dress. She removed her glasses, revealing one bright pink eye and one scarred, sightless, milk-white eye. Leaning forward, she rested her head against the stone, tracing the carving with a hoof.

“I, Photo Finish, have arrived,” she said softly. “How are you, my dahlings?”

229: Grounded

229: GROUNDED

The worst thing about having a broken wing is the way you have to leave it fully extended while it heals. Pretty soon, it doesn’t even feel like it’s part of you anymore. It just feels like a big, heavy, achy thing dangling off your back for the sole purpose of flopping around and getting in the way. I’ve been cooped up in my flat for a week, and I’ve already accidentally swept four coffee mugs to their doom.

Oops. Make that five.

“Sorry,” I mutter, not even bothering to step aside as the hot coffee splashes on my legs. I’m not sure why I’m apologizing, or to who.

“Professor Do, are you all right?” asks Fidelis. He trots over, looking concerned, though that’s pretty much the tan earth pony’s default state.

“I’m fine,” I say. I bend down, carefully pick up the mug in my teeth, and place it back on my desk. I can’t help feeling a little disappointed: this one fell on a rug and only cracked down the side instead of shattering spectacularly. Mug number three was much more exciting. I’m still finding shards of ceramic from that.

“I’ll put on some more water,” says Fidelis, moving towards the kitchen.

“Don’t bother,” I say. “I didn’t really want it anyway.”

“I thought you liked coffee, Professor.”

I groan and flop belly-down on the window seat, remembering to keep my bad wing sticking out behind me. I can feel him watching me. I consider asking if he’s enjoying the view, but, Fidelis being Fidelis, I know he’s looking at my bandaged wing and not at my tight flanks. Instead, I sigh and say, “Coffee tastes better when you make it in a dirty tin over a campfire.”

“Perhaps you’d fancy some tea, then? I can use a dirty pot if you’d like.”

I grin a little into the cushions—he’s fun when he lets his sense of humor off its leash. “Nah. I’ll take beans over leaves any day.”

“What about some biscuits?”

“No.”

“Anything?”

“How about an expedition to retrieve something shiny from the depths of a dangerous ruin?”

It comes out more bitter than I planned, and I hear him sigh quietly.

“Professor,” he says, “please try to be patient. I know this isn’t easy for you, but you need to rest.”

“I need to do something. I’m going crazy in here.”

“Well . . . you’re speaking at the seminar next week, aren’t you?”

I snort. “Okay, let me rephrase that: I need to do something that doesn’t involve staying here at the college for the next month.”

He sighs again and heads towards the kitchen, probably to put on some more water.

I look out the window. The campus is still and silent today, buried under yet another layer of snow. I can see a hoofful of ponies slowly shoveling the main walkways, but aside from them, the place is deserted. Yesterday, Fidelis called the scene peaceful, but the only word that comes to mind for me now is dead. Of course, yesterday the sky was clear and the sun was bright. Today, the weather teams left the clouds in place, and everything is grey and gloomy.

A sudden movement catches my eye. I look up and see a flock of wild geese flying across the leaden sky in a tidy V. They sail over the campus, not slowing, not changing course, and after a minute, they pass out of sight to the south.

“Lucky,” I mutter. I waggle my wing, but it’s still just a bunch of splinted bones and bandaged feathers. Useless.

I don’t know how long I lie there, gazing at the empty sky and imagining things beyond the horizon, but it’s much darker when I finally blink and notice that the shoveling ponies are gone, the paths are clear, and the lights are flickering on across the campus. I stretch my stiff legs, and suddenly notice Fidelis standing next to me.

I open my mouth to ask him how long he’s been there, but, Fidelis being Fidelis, I know it’s been a while. I smile at him instead and gently brush my good wing against his neck.

He holds out a plate on one hoof.

“Biscuit, Professor?”

“No,” I say, but I take one anyway, and he smiles faintly.

230: Black Isn't Your Color

230: BLACK ISN'T YOUR COLOR

“Rarity?”

“Yes, dear?” said the unicorn, horn glowing, not looking away from the mirror as she held up a black dress against herself.

“Ah don’t mean to rush you, sugar cube, but it’s almost time.”

“I know, darling, I know. I’ll be ready in a moment.” She considered her reflection, then suddenly shook her head and tossed the dress onto a growing pile.

Applejack watched silently as Rarity pulled another dress from the closet, looked at it in the mirror for a moment, sent it to the pile, then repeated the process with another dress, and then another.

“Rarity?” she said again.

“What is it, dear?”

“We’re gonna be late. Please, just . . . let’s go.”

“You mustn’t rush a lady, Applejack,” said Rarity. She flashed the earth pony a too-bright smile, then turned back to the procession of dresses.

“Rarity, please . . . ”

“Patience, Applejack,” said Rarity. “I will be ready shortly.” She was moving faster now, yanking dress after dress from the closet with almost savage force and barely glancing at them in the mirror before hurling them aside. Some were edged with emeralds, others chased with delicate lilac embroidery, and still others adorned with elegant pink ribbon, but they were all of them black.

“Rarity,” asked Applejack, “did you make all of those?”

“But of course, dear! I was up all night caught in the absolute throes of inspiration, but it was well worth it, don’t you agree? They’re all simply smashing, if I do say so myself. Perhaps a bit too smashing, actually. I . . . I can’t quite decide which one I ought to wear.” She giggled loudly.

“Please, Rarity, just pick one,” pleaded Applejack. “The girls are waitin’ fer us outside.”

“Darling, this is not a decision to be made lightly. We—we must look our very best for Sweetie Belle, mustn’t we?” She turned back to the mirror, trembling. She stared at her reflection, her face a smiling glass mask.

“Ah don’t think Sweetie Belle is goin’ to care much ’bout what we’re wearin’,” said Applejack quietly.

The mask shattered.

Rarity collapsed to the floor, screaming a wordless, keening wail of raw anguish. Tears poured down her face, smearing her carefully-applied makeup, and she tore at the dress in her hooves.

Applejack slowly walked over and sat down next to Rarity, gently laying a hoof on her back. The unicorn flung herself at the earth pony, clinging desperately to her. Applejack hugged her back.

“Why?” whispered Rarity into Applejack’s shoulder.

Applejack shook her head. “Ah don’t know, Rarity. Sometimes bad things happen to good ponies, and there ain’t no rhyme or reason to it.” She squeezed the sobbing unicorn tighter. “But there is one thing Ah do know.”

“What?”

“Sweetie Belle is a hero. Every foal in that schoolhouse owes her their lives.”

“Yes,” said Rarity, her voice quiet but proud.

“An’ she deserves a hero’s sendoff.”

“Yes . . . ”

“An’ she wouldn’t want you sittin’ here bawlin’ yer eyes out, right?”

Rarity lay against Applejack for a long minute, then finally sniffed and said, “Of course not.”

“Good. Now go pick out yer dress. And Rarity?”

“Yes?”

“Ain’t you got sometin’ better than black for Sweetie Belle?”

Rarity smiled a little, nodded, and hurried into the other room. After a moment, she returned, wearing a simple but stylish white dress, finished with a pink-and-purple sash pinned neatly in place with an emerald brooch.

Applejack smiled and nodded.

“Now, then,” said Rarity, floating a matching hat onto her head. “I’m . . . I’m ready to say goodbye to my sister.” She took a deep breath, then marched to the door, Applejack not far behind.

234: The Morning After

234: THE MORNING AFTER

I took an unusually long time with my tea that morning, lingering a solid half-hour beyond what was normally scheduled. At first, I wanted to just keep lingering. The longer I stayed at the table, sipping at tea that had gone tepid and tasteless, the longer I could avoid dealing with the rest of the world. I could already hear Quill and Keeper pacing in the hallway outside my chambers, doubtless fretting—quietly, of course; they wouldn’t dream of disturbing their princess’s teatime—about disrupted timetables. A vicious, wounded part of me wanted to scream at them to go away and forget their damned schedules and grieve as I was grieving.

I didn’t, of course.

After a while, though, I realized I simply couldn’t stay any longer. I normally relished my teatime—or, more accurately, the welcome peace and quiet the tea brought me for half-an-hour every morning. On that morning, however, it was . . . too quiet. Too peaceful. There was nothing to distract me from the horrors of the night before, nothing to push those terrible, terrible images from my mind. I stared into the teacup and saw only the Nightmare, a cruel, twisted mockery of my little sister, the sister I’d so carelessly taken for granted and ignored. I wanted to scream and hurl the teacup away, as if I could smash the memories and somehow make everything all right.

I didn’t, of course. I couldn’t.

I needed to do something, though. I couldn’t sit there with naught but my tortured thoughts to occupy me. I dumped the tea from my cup back into the not-quite-empty pot, then rose and walked to the doors. I paused a moment to straighten my regalia and hoist the usual serene smile to my face—I had to at least look like the calm, cool, and collected princess everypony would desperately want to see—then pushed open the doors with my magic.

Quill, Keeper, and the veritable platoon of guards stationed outside all instantly jumped to attention.

“Good morning,” I said, making sure to beam the smile around at all of them.

“Good morning, Your Highness,” chorused everypony.

“What have we on the agenda for today?” I asked as I started down the corridor. Quill and Keeper fell in on either side of me as usual, their horns glowing as they shuffled through scrolls and stacks of parchment.

“Your Highness,” said Quill, “we’ve gotten demands—well, polite but very insistent requests for meetings from, well, more or less every ambassador currently in Canterlot. They’re all, um, concerned about last night’s events, and how the, uh, current situation will affect Equestria and our diplomatic relations.”

I marginalized my sister, drove her mad with jealousy, sent her to the moon, killed her rampaging lover, and would be running the bloody country by my bloody self just like I’d been doing for years, only this time without Luna watching angrily from the sidelines. What more did they bloody want to know?

“Perfectly understandable,” I said calmly. “Arrange meetings with each of them, please.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

“Also, I will need to address the city at large regarding the situation.”

“We’ve tentatively scheduled a speech for noon today, Your Highness.”

“Very good.”

“Um, Your Highness?” said Keeper. “Before that, there’s . . . an internal matter I was hoping you could attend to.”

“Regarding what?”

“Steward Solemn requested a meeting at your earliest convenience.”

“Very well,” I said. “I will see him as soon as I have finished with the ambassadors.”

Keeper coughed uncomfortably. “He’s, uh, waiting in the west hall, Your Highness. Right now.”

The west hall was the entryway to the west wing—or, as the staff called it, the Lunar Wing.

I slowed for just a moment, then nodded. “Very well. I will see him immediately.”

“Thank you, Your Highness,” said Keeper quietly.

We turned down another corridor, then another, and finally reached the west hall. On the far side was a set of large doors, each emblazoned with a crescent moon.

Solemn, the castle steward, trotted forward to meet me, followed by—

I blinked. There had to be two-score ponies assembled behind him. Judging from their smocks and aprons, they were all castle staff. Lowly, almost invisible, but crucially important nonetheless.

“Your Highness,” said Solemn, bowing low, “thank you for coming. I hate to trouble you with this, but . . . what do you wish us to do with your—with Princess Luna’s rooms?”

It was a perfectly logical question. Luna’s wing was extensive; keeping her audience chamber, library, study, and personal chambers clean and in good repair kept more than a few ponies busy fulltime. Now that Luna was gone, though . . . would it matter anymore? Realistically, the staff would just be wasting their time. The wing would be empty and lifeless.

I had made sure of that.

For a fleeting instant, I felt my fury and self-loathing boil across my face, and from the way every pony in the room took an involuntary step back, I knew they’d all seen it.

“There will be no changes,” I said. “Continue your work as normal. Please.”

Solemn looked a bit shaken, but he nodded. “Of course, Your Highness.”

I nodded back, then said, very quietly, more to myself than the steward, “She’ll be back someday, I promise you.”

236: The Last Minute

236: THE LAST MINUTE

I don’t know how much time I have. I think she’s coming for me. I don’t know. I’m so confused. I can feel my mind cracking. Breaking. I can feel something wriggling inside, too. It’s not just me in my head anymore. There’s a voice in here. It’s been getting louder. Angrier. It keeps digging in, telling me to do things, and I want to do them but it’s not ME it’s not Minuette it’s not it’s not it’s not

I don’t know what’s happening. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be. This was supposed to be the most amazing week of my life. I was going to be a bridesmaid. I was going to have a whole week with Lyra without that bitch Bon Bon getting in the way and

No. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I don’t mean that. It’s just that I want Lyra so much it hurts, but she’s already with Bon Bon. It hurts so much. I don’t understand it. Bon Bon can be such a miserable grump. She doesn’t deserve Lyra. I don’t know why Lyra wants HER when she could have ME.

No. I’m sorry. That isn’t me. It’s not Minuette. I don’t hate Bon Bon. I just love Lyra. I know it was stupid to think I’d be able to get her to love me back in just a week. I know I’m a horrible pony for even trying. I should want Lyra to be happy, even if that means letting Bon Bon put her dirty lips all over

no no NO. It doesn’t matter. It’s not like we even had much time together. We’ve spent so much time rehearsing for the stupid wedding

THE WEDDING The wedding needs to be stopped. That’s what I need to say. There’s something wrong with the princess. Princess Cadance. I don’t know exactly what it is, but I know there’s something WRONG. She’s not the way she’s supposed to be. She does things. Says things. When she looks at me, it’s like she’s hungry and Im a plate of food and I feel so cold inside and lost and I don’t know

shes coming. I can hear her, I can hear her in my head I know shes coming shes angry

PLEASE somepony find this. Stop the wedding. Stop it stop it STOP that slut oh lyra

I have to stop this isnt me anymore

237: Crooked and True

237: CROOKED AND TRUE

“Rainbow Dash, it’s crooked,” grumbled Twilight. “Again. Why do you insist on messing it up every time I fix it?” Her horn glowed, and the simple wood frame shifted a little on the wall.

“’Cause you’re just looking at the frame,” said Rainbow with exaggerated patience, as if explaining something simple to an especially slow foal. “The picture’s crooked, so if you make the frame crooked, too, the picture looks right. See?” She reached over and nudged the frame the other way.

“But it’s still crooked.” Twilight magicked the frame back. “There. Now it’s level. Doesn’t that look better?”

Rainbow snorted and pushed it back again. “No. It looks better this way.”

“But it’s crooked,” repeated Twilight, stamping a hoof.

“Who cares? It’s better than everypony in the picture looking crooked.”

Spike sighed loudly from the other side of the library. “Can’t you just trim the photo a little so it sits straight?” asked the dragon, looking up from the stack of books he was sorting. “That way you can both be happy, and I won’t have to listen to this argument every day.”

“NO!” said both ponies at once, looking aghast at the very idea.

Spike scowled at them. “What, you like arguing about how crooked it should be?”

“Of course not,” said Twilight.

“Kinda,” said Rainbow, grinning. “Twi’s cute when she’s mad.”

Twilight harrumphed and tried to look cross, but she couldn’t suppress a giggle as Rainbow tenderly nuzzled her neck. Sighing, she leaned against Rainbow, and the pegasus put a wing over her.

“Seriously, though,” continued Rainbow, “it’s a special picture. I don’t wanna cut it, even to make it fit better.”

“And what exactly makes it so special?” asked Spike, walking over to look skeptically at the photograph. “Pinkie Pie took that one.”

Twilight smiled. “Exactly.”

“She set up the camera wrong and nearly knocked everypony over trying to get into the picture before it went off.”

“Yep,” said Rainbow.

“And she tried to drag the princesses into it.”

The unicorn and the pegasus both laughed. Rainbow’s wing squeezed Twilight a little closer.

“This is us, Spike,” said Twilight. She carefully floated the picture off the wall and held it close so the dragon could see it better. “The other photos are nice”—she waved a hoof at the half-dozen pictures in elegant gilt frames hanging on the wall—“but this one . . . it’s us. All of us.”

Rainbow nodded. “It’s real, ya know?”

Spike took the picture. It showed a park in Ponyville, with an untidy line of ponies standing on the grass. Twilight and Rainbow Dash were in the center, smiling goofily with their forelegs around each other as they showed off their matching necklaces. To their right stood Applejack and Rarity, the earth pony putting a recently-yanked-off hat back onto her head while the hat-yanking unicorn beamed and dabbed at one eye with a hanky. To their left were Fluttershy and Spike, both trying to smile while looking nervously at Pinkie Pie. The madly grinning earth pony appeared to be galloping in from the side of the photograph, trailed by a bemused Princess Luna and what looked suspiciously like a flowing tail and a rump bearing a familiar sun-shaped cutie mark. Stretched over everything was a large banner that read CONGRATS TWILIGHT & DASHIE! in Pinkie-painted letters.

Spike chuckled, then handed the photograph back to Twilight. “I guess that is a pretty special picture,” he admitted.

“It certainly is,” said Twilight. She hung it neatly back on the wall, then kissed Rainbow.

The pegasus kissed her back, then stuck out a hoof and tweaked the frame.

“You know it looks better this way,” she said, cackling as she flew out to the kitchen.

“Rainbow Dash!” shouted the unicorn. “It’s crooked!”

Author's Note

Not my best, but I wanted to write something warm and fluffy after all those gloomy submissions.

242: Oh My

242: OH MY

“Can’t I have just a teensy, tiny, super-small little smidge?” begged Pinkie Pie, very nearly drooling on the tray of brownies.

“The answer is still no, Pinkie,” said Twilight, magically whisking away the desserts and stowing them back in the picnic basket.

“Patience, dear,” said Rarity. “I’m sure Rainbow Dash will be along any moment now.” She looked critically at the hoof she was polishing, then redoubled her efforts with her file.

Fluttershy scanned the sky again. “I hope she’s all right,” fretted the pegasus. “It’s not like Rainbow Dash to be late for a picnic.”

“Got that right, sugar cube,” said Applejack, chuckling. She glanced at Twilight. “She did say she was comin’, didn’t she?”

The unicorn nodded. “When I left, she told me she’d meet us here at noon. I wonder what’s keeping her?”

“Well, Ah reckon she’ll be here soon. That pony loves Pinkie’s brownies more’n Pinkie does.”

At the mention of brownies, Pinkie groaned and flopped to the grass, flailing her legs. “Just one bite? How about one little bite of a bite? That’s not even a whole bite! It’s—”

“No,” snapped Twilight. She yanked the basket further away.

The pink earth pony suddenly jumped to her hooves. “I can’t take it anymore!” she cried. “I’m going to find Dashie!” She started galloping back towards town, frizzy mane and tail streaming out behind her.

“Actually,” said Applejack, watching Pinkie tear down the road, “Ah am gettin’ a bit concerned mahself. Maybe we should take a look an’ make sure Dash is okay. You last saw her at the library, Twi?”

Twilight nodded. “She didn’t say she had anywhere else to be today, either.”

Rarity tutted. “Oh, I daresay she’s fine, especially if she spent the night at the library”—Twilight and Fluttershy blushed; Applejack tried to hide a grin—“but . . . well, perhaps we should make sure the poor dear hasn’t entangled herself in any more trouble. You know how she is.”

“I wouldn’t mind checking,” added Fluttershy.

“You’re right,” said Twilight. “As Rainbow Dash’s friends, we need to make sure she’s okay. Let’s go, girls!”

* * *

With a little teleportational cheating, they managed to catch up with Pinkie Pie. Together, the five ponies hurried back through town to the library.

Twilight pulled open the door and nearly ran into Spike.

“Oh, good,” said the dragon. “I was just about to go find you. Rainbow Dash says she can’t make it and wants you to save her some brownies.”

“What?” said Twilight. “Why?”

“Because she really likes them. Duh.”

“I meant, why can’t she make it?”

“She said she’s indispersed.”

“Indisposed?

“Uh, yeah, I guess.” He jerked a thumb towards the stairs leading to the upper rooms. “I left her with a Daring Do book and was going to get you, but now that you’re here, I guess I can get back to cataloguing.”

He returned to a desk piled high with books. Twilight and the others followed him into the library.

“Indisposed?” echoed Applejack, arching an eyebrow.

“Is Rainbow Dash sick?” asked Fluttershy anxiously.

Rarity sniffed. “I expect indisposed means napping all morning.”

“It’s a good thing I stashed some brownies here in case of brownie emergencies!” said Pinkie, waving around a tray of brownies she’d inexplicably produced from somewhere.

Twilight shook her head and trotted up the stairs.

“Rainbow Dash?” she called, pushing open the door to her bedroom.

“Hey, Twi!” said a familiar blue pegasus lying on the bed with an open book in front of her. Her eager smile shrank a bit as the other ponies crowded in behind Twilight. “Oh. Uh, hey, guys. Did ya bring me a brownie?”

Pinkie jumped up and down. “Sure did, Dashie!”

“Never mind the brownies,” said Twilight, stamping a hoof. “What are you doing here? Why didn’t you come to the park?”

Rainbow chuckled nervously. “Sorry about that. I really wanted to, but I, uh . . . I couldn’t.”

“Why ever not, dear?” asked Rarity.

“I . . . I just . . . I’m having a hard time getting around today, okay?”

Applejack frowned. “Huh? You hurt yerself or somethin’, RD?”

Rainbow flushed. “Look, I just . . . I can’t exactly fly straight right now, and walking’s not much better.”

Twilight suddenly gasped. Her eyes became very, very round, and her face burned redder than the apples on Applejack’s flanks. “Oh,” she squeaked.

“Yeah,” said Rainbow. She grinned sheepishly. “I mean, it was fun and all, but maybe you can use the smaller one next time?”

Author's Note

Yes, I went there. I'm a horrible person.

245: Pet Playdate

245: PET PLAYDATE

“Seriously, Twi?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Twi, this is, like, beyond uncool. I mean, just look at—hey!”

“Hold still, Dashie.”

“Wait, no—ouch—Twi, what the hay are you doing to my tail?”

“Braiding it, of course. You have to look the part.”

“C’mon, Twi. I look stupid.”

“Rainbow Dash, do you remember what you put me through on ‘Daring Do night’?”

“Ugh, fine. But I’m only doing this because you’re a totally hot Daring Do.”

“Thank you. Now hold still.”

“Aww, seriously? Bows?”

“Aren’t they charming?”

“More like totally lame.”

“Well, perhaps this will be more to your liking?”

“Ohmygosh. Is that . . . ?”

“Yep.”

“You put a bell on it?”

“Of course. Like I said, you have to look the part. Now just let me buckle it . . . there. Ah-ha, I saw that! I knew you’d like it.”

“Well . . . maybe.”

“Admit it, Dash. You like being cute.”

“No way!”

“Your goofy grin says otherwise. Now where did I put the ears?”

“You have got to be kidding me.”

“Nope. Oh, there they are. Hold still, please.”

“I didn’t know it was possible to feel this uncool, Twilight.”

“Don’t be silly. You look adorable.”

“I’m the Rainbow Dash, fastest flyer in Equestria and future Wonderbolt. I’m supposed to be awesome, not adorable.”

“Then you’re awesomely adorable. Now come on, Dash. Say it.”

“Say what?”

“You know what. Say it.”

“No!”

“Please?”

“No.”

“Pleeease, Dashie?"

“Ugh. You’re sure you put up the ‘closed’ sign? ’Cause if anypony walks in and sees me like this—”

“I’m sure. I have you all to myself today.”

“Do I really have to?”

“Yes!”

“Fine, you win. Can’t believe I’m doing this . . . . Meow?”

Author's Note

I promise we'll resume your regularly scheduled programming of semi-serious shorts...shortly.

246: Make It So

246: MAKE IT SO

“Understood, Your Highness . . . . Yes, of course . . . . Yes, Your Highness . . . . Inescapably, Your Highness . . . . Yes, Your Highness. Sparkle out.”

Twilight carefully hangs the receiver back in its cradle, as if it’s a bomb that might go off if she jostles it. She stands there for a long minute, looking at the now-silent device, her mouth a thin, hard line.

“Captain?” says Spike. His voice is hesitant, almost fearful. “Did they . . . ?”

Twilight turns to him and slowly shakes her head. “The negotiations are falling apart, and our patrols have spotted a griffon fleet approaching from the south. Barring any last-minute resolutions . . . we strike at sundown.”

“Huh. That’s too bad. Not like we weren’t expecting it, but still . . . I kept hoping the princesses would be able to work something out.”

“As did I, Spike. Still, it’s our duty to defend Equestria from any threat, with force if we must. Violent, brutal, bloody, GLORIOUS, GUT-SPILLING, GRIFFON-ANNIHILATING FORCE! NOW LET’S SHOW THOSE BIRDBRAINS WHAT FOR!”

“YEAH!” shouts Spike, fist-pumping.

“ALLONS-Y!”

Twilight jams her feathered hat back onto her head, making sure her horn sticks through properly, then flings open the door of the wardroom and trots back onto the bridge.

“Captain on deck!” yells Spike from behind her, and the bridge crew instantly snap to attention.

Twilight jumps onto her big seat, grabs a microphone with her magic, then toggles a switch. “The griffons are coming,” she cries into the microphone, “the griffons are coming! BATTLE STATIONS, EVERYPONY!”

The bridge crew scrambles noisily into action. Levers are thrown, wheels are turned, prayers are whispered, nervous grins are exchanged, and Spike wheels a charming little tea trolley next to the captain’s seat.

“One lump or two?” he asks.

“One,” says Twilight automatically. “And that reminds me . . . Number One?”

Nopony answers.

Twilight scowls mightily. “NUMBER ONE!”

There’s a sudden clatter from the hallway, and a white unicorn skitters into the bridge.

“I do beg your pardon, Captain,” she wheezes, straightening her disturbingly well-pressed uniform. “I was just making sure my mane was properly coiffed for the big battle.”

“Whatever. Make sure everypony is doing what they’re supposed to. Also, my compliments to Lieutenants Pie and Dash, and would they be so kind as to stop up and see me.”

“Aye, ma’am.”

Twilight nods, satisfied, then snatches up a receiver next to her seat. She taps a button and waits until a tinny voice says, “Engineering.”

“Chief Applejack, how stand the engines?” asks Twilight.

“Ah’m givin’ ’em all we’ve got, Cap’n. Aetheric pressure is high but stable.” There’s a sudden crackling sound. “Uh . . . ”

Twilight frowns at the receiver. “Report, Chief.”

“Winona, Ah said not to chew on them cables—uh, I mean, we’re fine an’ dandy, Cap’n! Ah’ll have the pressure back to normal in a jiffy!”

“See that you do,” Twilight snaps. She sighs and hits another button.

“Um, this is the medical bay,” says a new voice.

“Chief Medical Officer Fluttershy, we’re on the precipice of a world-shaking battle. There will be blood, and quite possibly involuntary bowel evacuations. Is the medical bay ready?”

“Oh, um, yes, Captain Sparkle. Angel and me are ready. But, um, Captain, I was hoping I could, um, join the boarding parties this time, um, if you don’t mind.”

“Sorry, Fluttershy, I need you and your healing skills here on the ship.”

“GAAAAH! ZE HEALING IS NOT AS REWARDING AS ZE HURTING!”

Twilight hears something that sounds suspiciously like a tray of surgical instruments being hurled across the room, then the line clicks off.

“Captain!” shrieks a painfully cheerful voice. “You wanted to see us, and now here we are to see you! Wanna cupcake?”

Twilight tosses the receiver back and rises to meet the pink earth pony holding out a large frosted cupcake.

“Uh, thanks but no thanks, Lieutenant Pie,” she says, seeing what looks like a lit fuse dangling out of the side of the sugary treat.

“Suit yourself, Cap, but you don’t know what you’re missing! These babies pack a serious punch!” The earth pony downs the cupcake, but doesn’t seem to notice the muffled WHUMP that emanates from her belly a moment later.

“Are the boarding parties ready, Lieutenant?” askes Twilight.

“Yep! All our party cannons are locked and loaded.” She tilts her head, looking puzzled. “What’s that mean, anyhow? I mean, they’re loaded with fun, but they’re not really locked—”

“And where’s Lieutenant Dash?” Twilight cuts in.

“Right here, ma’am,” shouts a multi-colored blur that zooms onto the bridge. The blur slows down and becomes a grinning blue pegasus. “The airborne division is ready to go, ma’am! Just say the word, and we’ll unleash some seriously awesome moves on those griffons!”

“Excellent,” says Twilight, rubbing her forehooves together. Twirling her cape dramatically, she flings out a hoof towards the big windows at the front of the bridge. “Ensign Scratch, signal the fleet! We move out at once! All ahead flank! And remember, helmspony—drive us close to the birdbrains. I want to hit them with my sword.”

Author's Note

I'm pretty sure my fingers got together and typed this abomination when I wasn't looking. I'm posting it anyway, mostly because it's so bad it made me lol.

252: Holiday

252: HOLIDAY

Rainbow Dash could feel the sunlight slowly cooking her, but long experience with lounging in the sun told her that she had another ten minutes or so before the heat forced her back under the big umbrella farther up the beach. For now, though . . .

She sighed contentedly and wriggled deeper into the warm sand, trying not to disturb the lavender unicorn lying across her chest. Twilight murmured a little, nuzzled Rainbow’s belly, then continued snoring quietly. The pegasus smiled and ran a slightly sandy hoof through the other mare’s mane.

“Late night, Ah take it?” drawled an amused voice from behind them. “You really oughta pace yerself, RD. We’re here all week, after all.”

“Indeed,” said another voice, refined but with a hint of mischief. “The poor dear is already exhausted from running that seminar in Canterlot. You mustn’t wear her out any more.”

Rainbow chuckled as Applejack and Rarity sat down on either side of her. “Twi’s a lot tougher than you think, but don’t worry. I’m gonna let her have all the beauty sleep she wants.” She stroked Twilight’s mane again, then added softly, “She deserves it.”

Applejack and Rarity tried to hide their wide smiles without much success.

“What?” demanded Rainbow, reddening.

“Nothin’,” said Applejack. “It’s just nice to see, is all.”

“What is?”

“How much you care about her,” said Rarity. “It’s very sweet.”

Rainbow groaned. “I’m not sweet. I’m cool, okay?”

“Whatever you say, sugar cube,” said Applejack, snickering. “Speakin’ of cool, ain’t you gettin’ a mite toasty out here? Maybe we oughta head back to the umbrella.” She took off her hat and fanned herself.

“We really should get out of the sun,” said Rarity, waving a dainty fan with her magic. “I shudder to think of what it’s doing to my complexion.”

“Eh, I guess so,” said Rainbow. She sat up slowly, drawing Twilight’s head into her lap.

The unicorn stirred. Her eyes flickered open, then promptly squeezed shut again as the bright sunlight hit them. She grunted and wrapped her forelegs around Rainbow.

“Hey, Twi,” said Rainbow, leaning down to place a light kiss on the tip of the unicorn’s horn.

“Hey, Dashie,” mumbled Twilight into Rainbow’s chest.

“We’re gonna move back to the umbrella, okay?”

“’Kay,” said Twilight, not moving.

Rainbow grinned and shook her head. She carefully got to her hooves, pulling Twilight up with her, then started towards the umbrella, half-carrying, half-dragging the not-quite-awake unicorn. A minute’s plodding brought them to the umbrella and the welcome shade beneath it. Rainbow gently deposited Twilight back onto the sand, then sat down next to her. Rarity and Applejack settled themselves over by the picnic basket.

Rainbow glanced around suddenly, wondering where Fluttershy and Pinkie Pie had gone. She scanned the beach, then chuckled when she saw a familiar yellow pegasus apparently attempting to commune with a cluster of seagulls. Farther down, a pink blur was zooming over a giant sandcastle—or was that a sandcupcake? Regardless, it was impressively big.

Satisfied, Rainbow flopped backwards and scooted closer to Twilight. The unicorn murmured and blindly returned her head to the pegasus’s chest. Rainbow stroked Twilight’s mane again, then closed her eyes, simply enjoying the warm weight of the other mare.

Abruptly, she popped one eye open again and glared at Applejack and Rarity.

“Not a word,” she growled.

The other two ponies smiled and said nothing.

Author's Note

Not my best, but fluff I wanted, so fluff I wrote. In other news, I finally broke down and used "lavender." The experience was traumatic; I don’t think I want to do it again.

252: When We Fall

252: WHEN WE FALL

“How long has she been up there?” yelled Twilight, her voice barely audible over the shrieking wind. She squinted through the rain at the leaden sky, searching for a telltale blaze of color.

“Since she an’ the weather team brought in this here storm!” shouted Applejack. “She wouldn’t come back down with ’em! Ah don’t know what’s gotten into that girl’s head, flyin’ in this kinda weather—wait, there she is!” She jabbed a hoof towards the hills in the east. “Mercy me, she’s comin’ in fast!”

A multicolored streak rocketed towards them, weaving between the hills with inequine speed. The streak shuddered, and a burst of light and color suddenly exploded around it, followed a moment later by another, even bigger burst.

“Wow!” shouted Pinkie Pie. Her face was a confused jumble of horror and excitement. “A double sonic rainboom!”

The streak shuddered again, harder this time, leaving a third explosion in its wake.

“Impossible,” said Twilight. “Three rainbooms in a row. How can she be doing this?”

Fluttershy said something, but a sudden crack of normal thunder drowned out her words.

“What?” yelled Twilight.

The cringing yellow pegasus put her muzzle next to Twilight’s ear. “She’s pushing too hard!” she yelled back.

As if on cue, the streak of color shuddered again, but this time it wobbled and jerked and suddenly zigzagged off into the sky.

“She’s gonna tear herself to bloody pieces at this rate!” shouted Applejack.

“We must do something!” wailed Rarity, clinging to the tattered remains of her umbrella while her raincoat flapped around her in the wind. “We simply must!”

Twilight took a deep breath, and her horn flared. “RAINBOW DASH!” she roared, her voice magically amplified. “RAINBOW DASH, GET DOWN HERE RIGHT NOW!”

The distant streak slowed for just a moment, then tore across the sky, angling towards a mountainous black thunderhead.

The ponies watching gasped.

“Wait, Dashie!”

“What in tarnation?”

“Oh my goodness!”

“Whatever is the poor dear doing?”

“No,” whispered Twilight.

The unicorn closed her eyes and lowered her head. Her horn began to glow, brighter and brighter, until there was a familiar sizzle and pop and flash of magenta light, and a storm-tossed blue pegasus materialized in front of her.

“Dash,” she whispered, and wrapped her forelegs around the other mare in a fierce hug.

“NO!” screamed Rainbow Dash. She thrashed, her rumpled wings beating noisily against the unicorn.

“Dash, please!” yelled Twilight, ignoring the wet feathers smacking her face. “You have to stop this!”

“I can’t stop, you stupid egghead! I have to keep training! I have to get better! I’ll show them I’m the best!”

“Dash, listen to me! You won’t impress anypony if you get yourself killed in a storm because you were too stubborn to know when to quit!”

“Shut up! I have to get better! I can’t lose again! I won’t!”

“Dash, stop it—”

“I should have won!” snarled the pegasus. “I’m supposed to be the best! I need to train harder so I stop screwing up! Now lemme go!” She wrenched a foreleg free and began pummeling Twilight.

The unicorn gritted her teeth and hugged Rainbow closer. “No. I won’t let you do this to yourself. There will be other races, Dash. The Wonderbolts will still be there next year.”

“Lemme go!”

“No. I won’t let you destroy yourself over this.”

“LET—ME—GO!”

Rainbow shrieked and twisted around and lashed out with her hind legs. Her hooves connected with Twilight’s side, and there was a sickening crunch.

“No,” whispered Twilight. She buried her face in the beautiful multicolored mane. “You mean too much to me.”

The wild fire in Rainbow’s eyes suddenly went out. She blinked, looking at Twilight, then at the other ponies watching in silent horror, then back at Twilight. Her gaze fell on the ugly dark spot on the unicorn’s side, and she froze.

“No,” she said. “No, I—I didn’t mean to—Twi, please! Don’t—I don’t—”

“Shhh,” said Twilight.

“Twi, I’m sorry—I’m so sorry—”

“It’s okay, Dashie.”

The pegasus sagged against the unicorn, tears pouring down her face. “Twilight . . . ”

“Shhh,” said Twilight, and she hugged her tight.

261: Life of the Party

261: LIFE OF THE PARTY

“—and the food here is actually really yummy! I know because I visited the kitchen to drop off the box of cupcakes and they gave me some. Some of the food, I mean! Not the cupcakes. That would be silly, ’cause I already had them with me! I ate a bunch when I was bringing them over even though I kinda wasn’t supposed to, so it’s a good thing I made an extra batch. I saved you some, Twilight! Uh, well, I guess I ate some of those, too, but there’s one left just for you. D’you want it, Twilight? It’s chocolate, and I know you like chooooocolaaaate! So d’you want it? Twilight?”

Twilight didn’t look at her. She simply kept staring at the ceiling above the bed.

Pinkie Pie scooted closer, holding out the chocolate cupcake. “Um . . . Twilight?”

“No thanks, Pinkie,” said the unicorn very quietly, still not looking at her.

“Oh. Well, that’s . . . that’s okay, Twilight! I’ll save it for you.” Pinkie brightened. “Oh, I know! I can save you a whole bunch of cupcakes, and then I can throw you a Twilight’s-Out-of-the-Hospital Party when you get out of the hospital! Won’t that be great, Twilight? Won’t it?”

Twilight’s eyes slid over and looked at her, something uncomfortably close to anger flickering in their dull violet depths, then slid back to the ceiling.

“Twilight?” ventured Pinkie.

After a moment, Twilight closed her eyes. “Yeah,” she said. “Great.”

“I know everypony will be so glad to see you!” said Pinkie. “Well, we’ve seen you, of course, but I mean everypony else. It’ll be great! You’re Ponyville’s big hero, Twilight! Everypony’s gonna wanna shake your hoof—oh.”

Twilight’s face twisted.

Pinkie faltered a little, then barreled on relentlessly. “Don’t worry, Twilight! They can shake your other hoof! Nopony will mind. Actually, I’ll bet they’ll think it’s totally awesome! They’ll be all like ‘Whoaaaa!’ and then you’ll be all like ‘that’s where the wolves got me!’ and then they’ll be all like ‘WOW!’” She gasped. “Maybe they’ll even want your autograph, Twilight! I’ve always wanted to throw an autograph party for somepony famous, and somepony famous who’s the Element of Magic and saved Equestria and saved some foals from a bunch of meanie-pants timberwolves and who’s one of my bestest friends is even better! Plus you’re a unicorn, Twilight! You don’t even need hooves to sign your name, right?”

Twilight turned away from Pinkie and awkwardly rolled over. A thick layer of bandages was wrapped around the spot where her right foreleg used to be.

“Twilight?” said Pinkie.

Twilight said nothing.

Pinkie trotted around the bed so she could see Twilight. The unicorn glowered and tried to roll over onto her other side, only to cry out at the sudden pressure on the bandaged area.

“Twilight, wait!” said Pinkie, pulling Twilight back over. She clucked and wagged a disapproving hoof at her. “You have to be careful, Twilight! Do you need the nurse? No? Okay, good. How ’bout that cupcake? There’s nothing like a good cupcake to make you feel better. Unless it’s a good regular cake.”

“Pinkie,” whispered Twilight.

“Speaking of cakes, what kind of cake do you want for your Twilight-the-Wolf-Slayer-and-Foal-Saver-Is-Out-of-the-Hospital Party? Chocolate? Chocolate’s always good.”

“Pinkie.”

“It’s a classic, really. Can’t go wrong with chocolate. Actually, you can really only go right! Unless you go left. Speaking of left, I have a whole bunch of leftover balloons and streamers and confetti from my last party—”

“Pinkie!”

“—and they’d be perfect for your party! It’ll be super-duper amazing, Twilight! You’ll hardly even notice that you’re missing your leg—”

“Shut up!” screamed Twilight, thrashing upright. Her horn flared, and a blast of magenta light hurled Pinkie into the far wall. Her teeth were bared in an ugly snarl, and her eyes streamed tears.

“Twilight . . . ”

“Just get out, Pinkie. Just leave me alone.”

The unicorn collapsed back onto the bed, sobbing quietly.

Pinkie Pie looked at her, eyes wide. Her mane and tail had gone flat and lifeless.

“O-okay,” she said, hanging her head. “I’ll . . . I’ll go. Seeya, Twilight.” She turned and slowly walked away, pausing in the doorway just long enough to whisper, “I’m sorry.”

265: Funnier Than You Might Think

265: FUNNIER THAN YOU MIGHT THINK

The sign on the library door said CLOSED, but Rainbow Dash knocked anyway. She waited, hovering in place while trying to keep an eager grin off her face. They’d left off on a cliffhanger last week—literally; Daring was clinging to a ledge above a pit full of bubbling lava—and Rainbow couldn’t wait to find out what happened next. Plus, Twilight had said there would be a special treat after they finished reading this week, wink wink, nudge nudge. Twi didn’t do seductive very well, but she was so bucking adorable when she tried that it made Rainbow’s wings pop anyway.

Rainbow loved Wednesday afternoons. They were almost as good as Friday nights.

She knew Twilight loved them, too, so what was taking the egghead so long?

Rainbow grumbled and knocked again. She froze as she heard something inside the library. She dropped to the ground and put her ear against the door, listening hard. Maybe she’d imagined it? She was a little twitchy today, after all—wait, there it was again. It sounded like . . . crying?

Rainbow’s eyes went wide, and she yanked at the door. To her surprise, it sprang open; she spared half a second to mentally kick herself for knocking at a door that hadn’t even been locked before rocketing inside.

“Twilight?” she shouted, looking around at the deserted main room. Where was she? Maybe she was down in her basement lab, and some crazy magical experiment had gone horribly wrong in the way that only Twi’s experiments could.

No, it was coming from above her. Rainbow flew upstairs, her wings pumping and her heart pounding. The crying was definitely coming from behind the door to Twilight’s room.

“Twilight!” she shouted again as she tore the door open.

The unicorn was curled up on her bed, shaking uncontrollably with heaving, gasping sobs.

Rainbow rushed to her side and gently rolled her over. “Twi, talk to me!” she pleaded. “Are you hurt, or...or...”

Rainbow suddenly leaned back, frowning suspiciously at the unicorn.

“Twilight,” she said, “are you laughing?

Twilight managed to nod. Tears streamed down her face, and she held her belly as she continued to gasp and shake.

Rainbow scowled. “What the hay, Twi? I thought you were in trouble. What’s so bucking funny?”

Twilight smacked a hoof at a small book lying open on the bed. “The earl!” she nearly shrieked, her voice thin and breathless.

“The what?”

“The earl. The Earl of Trotchester.”

“Uh . . . is this one of those things that’s only funny if you’re a real egghead?”

“His poetry!” wheezed Twilight, pointing at the book again. “Just—oh, Celestia, my sides—just read it.”

Still scowling, Rainbow picked up the book and began to read. After a moment, she snickered despite herself.

She glanced at Twilight. “Uh . . . is he saying what I think he’s saying?”

“Uh-huh.”

“So this whole poem is about . . . ?”

“Uh-huh.”

“That’s crazy. And . . . kinda cool, in a weird way.”

“Yep.”

“Uh, Twi . . . ”

“Hmm?”

Rainbow fidgeted. “Do you maybe wanna read this instead of the Daring book?”

Twilight gave her a heavy-lidded look that Rainbow assumed was meant to be sultry. It made her look a little ridiculous, and completely adorable, and Rainbow felt her wings flutter involuntarily.

“Sure, Dashie,” said the unicorn, giggling and sliding over to make room for the pegasus.

Wink wink, nudge nudge.

Author's Note

Yeah, my mind apparently likes it down here in the gutter. In other news, the Earl of Rochester wrote some wickedly funny poems. A lot of people seem to think that old literature is automatically stuffy and boring, but that's not always the case.

267a: Last Letter

267a: LAST LETTER

This one’s a bit dark. Ye be warned.

Dear Princess Celestia,

How many times have I written that over the years? I don’t know. Actually, strike that—I do know.

Too many.

This has gone on for too long. Far, far too long. I won’t do it anymore. I won’t let you do this to me, to my friends, to your sister, to Equestria. I refuse to be your pawn any longer.

It hurts, you know. I thought you cared about all of your little ponies. I thought you cared about me. You meant so much to me. You were a friend, a mentor, even a mother. Was any of it real, or was it all just part of your plan? I don’t know anymore. I like to think that maybe there was some small part of you that really did love me.

It doesn’t matter now. I’ve made sure you won’t succeed. The Elements are beyond your control now.

They wouldn’t have understood, so I didn’t try to explain. I just did what I had to do. I wish I could have told them, though. Even if they didn’t understand, it would have made it a little less painful. They each died with that look on their faces. I can’t stop seeing them. Even when I shut my eyes, I can see them staring at me, hurt and confused and wondering why I’m doing this to them, why I’m betraying them.

I did it as quickly as I could. They didn’t suffer, at least not much.

I’ll be joining them soon. I can hear the sheriff banging on the door, coming to tell me that something terrible has happened and that my friends have been murdered. He’ll stop talking as his brain slowly realizes that I’m covered in blood—their blood, of course. If he’s not too completely shocked, he might glance inside and see Spike slumped motionless over the crumbs of the gem cake I made him. Spike didn’t bear an Element, of course, but I wasn’t about to abandon my old friend to you.

The sheriff will put two and two together, and he’ll probably arrest me, or at least drag me off for questioning. I don’t care. I don’t care about anything anymore. I know nopony will believe me. They’ll believe you, of course, just like they’ve believed you for centuries. They’ll call me the madpony, the villain. They’ll hate me, and they won’t be upset when you come to destroy me for my crimes.

That’s how it will end, you know. You’re going to kill me yourself. I’ll force your hoof if I have to, and I will have the satisfaction of watching you destroy the tool you spent so much time and effort crafting.

Irony. That’s about all I have left now—savage irony, and a cold pain in my heart that won’t go away.

It’s funny. I used to sign these letters as your faithful student. I was so proud of that. It seems a bit silly to use it here, after all of this, but I think will anyway. I’m not your student anymore, Celestia, but I am a student of the things I once thought you stood for: courage, determination, dedication, devotion, and love.

I love Equestria, even if nopony will ever know it, and I loved my friends. I loved my friends enough to destroy them.

I’ll be waiting.

Your faithful student,

Twilight Sparkle

Author's Note

This is deliberately vague. I'm not sure how well it works, but at any rate, the idea was to raise questions about Twilight's reliability as a narrator. Did she have a good reason for killing her friends, or did she merely THINK she had a good reason? You decide.

272: It's a Start

272: IT’S A START

Rarity set up her shop next to the apple cart in front of Sugarcube Corner. “Shop” was admittedly a rather grand word for an old wagon and a spare clothes tree she’d dug out of her parents’ storeroom, but Rarity was a forward-thinking little filly with grand plans. She wasn’t going to limit her vision simply because her resources were limited at present. She’d make it work. It was merely a starting point, after all.

Besides, what she was selling was far more important than what she was selling it on. She smiled proudly as she unboxed her scarves and hung them on the clothes tree so that they caught the morning sun just right. It had taken her three months to save up enough allowance money to order the fine fabrics and thread directly from Canterlot, but the finished products had most certainly been worth the effort. She saw it as an investment: it was never too early to start establishing a reputation for dazzling quality.

Satisfied with the arrangement of her wares, Rarity set out her empty bit jar and her sign—Ponyville Boutique, in immaculate horn-painted script—then settled down to wait for her first customer. She just knew somepony would come along soon, eager to buy a fine scarf and maybe ask for some fashion advice. She simply had to wait.

And wait.

And wait.

Soon, she told herself. Any minute now.

Bored, she tried batting her eyelashes at the big red colt working the apple cart, but all that got her was a dirty look from the orange filly beside him. Rarity sniffed disdainfully and turned back to her non-existent customers.

She sighed. Running a shop was a lot less exciting than she’d expected. She looked critically at her scarves. Perhaps she should rearrange them? Maybe they’d be more eye-catching if she sorted them by color instead—

She froze as she noticed a pony trotting briskly through the square. It was not just any pony. It was the most glamorous pony Rarity had ever seen.

She was an earth pony. Her coat was a lovely pale blue; her mane and tail were a striking white. She wore a bold black dress, paired with big, pink-tinted glasses. She exuded style, elegance, and cosmopolitan refinement with every step and haughty toss of her head.

She was also walking straight towards Rarity’s shop. She drew closer and closer until she was quite suddenly there, peering at the sign, then at Rarity, then at the scarves.

“You made dese?” asked the earth pony without preamble. She had a heavy Germane accent that Rarity found positively thrilling.

“I did indeed,” said Rarity, beaming. She fidgeted, and couldn’t stop herself from blurting, “Do you like them?”

The earth pony frowned as she examined the scarves, her eyes unreadable behind the big pink lenses. “Da shtitching is loose,” she said at length. “Your designs are appealing, but your shtitching must be tight and even if you vant to make someding truly wunderbar. And all dese gems . . . ” She shook head. “Too much, dahling.”

Rarity felt her face burn, but she forced herself to keep smiling—a lady accepted both success and failure with poise. “Y-yes, you’re quite right,” she said as breezily as she could. “I—I suppose I rather did go overboard with the gems, didn’t I?”

“Still,” said the earth pony, “dey are . . . not bad.” Her hoof lingered on a bold magenta scarf that matched her glasses. She pulled the scarf from its hook and expertly twirled it around her neck, then rounded on a brown earth pony behind her that Rarity hadn’t even noticed. “Mirror!” she barked.

The other pony hastily yanked a small mirror from her saddlebag and held it up. The blue pony considered her reflection for a long minute, muttering to herself, then finally nodded and turned back to Rarity.

“I, Photo Finish, vill take dis von!” she announced.

Rarity knew it was unladylike to stare with one’s mouth hanging open, but she did it anyway. “You—you will?” she squeaked.

“Yes, dat is vhat I am saying. How much?” said the earth pony—Photo Finish, was it? Even her name was glamorous!

“Oh! Um . . . ” Rarity realized she hadn’t actually thought about her pricing. “Um . . . one bit?” she ventured.

“Done!” said Photo Finish. She waved a hoof at the other earth pony, who promptly produced a coin purse from her bag, took out a single shiny bit, and dropped it into Rarity’s jar. It hit the bottom with a gratifying clang.

Rarity smiled hugely. “Thank you for your patronage! Thank you so very, very much—”

“Yes, yes,” cut in Photo Finish. “Fix dat shtitching, and you vill be able to charge ten bits. Now, I go!”

The blue pony trotted away, followed closely by the brown one. Rarity watched them disappear into the crowd, enjoying the sight of such a fashionable pony wearing one of her creations. When she couldn’t see her anymore, she reached down and hugged her not-quite-empty jar to herself.

“It’s a start, darling,” she murmured to the bit, smiling.

Author's Note

A little sloppier around the edges than I'd like, but I'm satisfied with the overall idea.

274: Bad Mood

274: BAD MOOD

Tavi wakes up in a Bad Mood. I roll over and give her a sticky morning breath kiss like I always do, and I can see Bad Mood written all over her face. Tavi’s one of those prim-and-proper types who looks like she’s got a cactus up her plot even when she’s totally happy, but when she gets that special little scowl, you know she’s just plain old pissed off at life.

She’s getting an early start today, apparently. Her eyes flicker open, then she glowers at me and turns away. The early Saturday sun is shining in through the windows on that side, though, so she grunts and rolls back over to me. I give her an encouraging smile, but she just groans and pulls the blanket over her head.

“C’mon, Tavi,” I say, nudging her gently. “It’s not that early.” I tug the blanket down and sneak in another kiss. She gives me a dirty look and yanks the blanket back.

Yeah, this is a serious case of Bad Mood. I don’t know how she contracted it, but I do know how to treat it.

* * *

Despite what Tavi thinks, I am semi-competent in the kitchen. Today I only burn every other pancake, and pretty soon I’ve got two big buttery stacks of them sitting on the table. I hear something stirring in the bedroom, and I grin: I’ve got the beast’s attention. Now I just have to lure it out of its lair.

Using my magic, I grab Tavi’s jar of marmalade and smear big globs of it all over her pancakes, trying not to gag at the smell of oranges. I don’t know how she eats the stuff, but hey, anything for the marefriend, right?

I set out the pot of coffee and the pitcher of OJ, but the table still looks like it’s missing something. I think for a moment, then grab some flowers from the window box and stick them in a vase in the middle of the table. Well, technically it’s just a water glass, but it still looks cute.

I hear the bedroom door open. A minute later, Tavi shuffles in, unable to resist the smell of pancakes, marmalade, and coffee. I smile. She’s a rumply, sleepy-looking mess, but she’s still the most beautiful mare I’ve ever seen. She doesn’t smile back, though. Instead, she keeps scowling at everything—the floor, the pictures on the wall, the sofa, the saddlebags I forgot to hang up, the sunlight, the pile of dishes in the sink—like it’s all there specifically to annoy her.

I pull out her seat and wait, still smiling. Still scowling, she makes her way over and sits down, and I scoot her closer to the table. She grunts something that I charitably assume means “thank you, dear sexy Vinyl.”

Her scowl shrinks a bit as she notices the food and the flowers, but she doesn’t say anything else as she grabs her knife and fork and goes to work. I’m tempted to cut her pancakes for her, but I don’t. Tavi’s very proud of the fact that she’s a lot more nimble with her hooves than most earth ponies, and she gets all huffy and insulted whenever I try to use my magic to help with stuff like this.

I settle for standing behind her as she digs in. Leaning back a bit on my hind legs, I reach up and put my forehooves on her shoulders. She grunts again around a mouthful of marmalade-covered pancake, but doesn’t smack me away. Progress.

I rub gently with my hooves and whistle in surprise—she’s crazy tense. She whimpers, but doesn’t say anything, and neither do I. I just keep working her shoulders, neck, and back while she shovels down pancakes.

As the knots loosen up, I can feel the Bad Mood wearing away little by little. After a while, Tavi sighs and slumps in her seat as she finally relaxes.

I lean around and give her a smile. She smiles back, and I feel a warm, happy buzz in my chest: there’s the Tavi I love.

“Thank you, Vinyl,” she says softly. Her smile fades as she looks at the table and her empty plate. “That was very kind of you. I . . . I’m sorry I was so miserable.”

“’S’okay, Tavi,” I say, wrapping my forelegs around her. “Besides, you’re kinda cute when you’re grouchy.”

She chuckles and leans against me, and we stay like that for a while until I decide I could really use those pancakes.

Author's Note

I knew the prompt for this one ("Kill them with kindness") would generate a lot of good but thoroughly depressing stories involving Fluttershy murdering stuff, so I decided to brighten up the sad party with a bit of much-needed fluff.

Octascratch FTW. <3 It mightn't be a very original pairing, but it's still one of my absolute favorites, and I always enjoy exploring it.

278: Growing Up

278: GROWING UP

“Seeya, Scoots!” called Applebloom, waving as she walked away with Applejack. “Congrats again on yer cutie mark!”

“Thanks, AB!” answered Scootaloo from the library doorway, waving back.

“Took you long enough,” teased Sweetie Belle from behind her.

Scootaloo chuckled and turned around. “Hey, you can’t rush perfection.” She struck a pose, showing off her new cutie mark. Without thinking, she flexed her rear legs just enough to make sure that Sweetie would see how nicely toned her flanks had gotten.

“It is perfect,” agreed Sweetie, and then she smiled and hugged Scootaloo. “I’m so happy for you, Scootaloo. We all are.”

Scootaloo felt her wings twitch. Panicking, she squeezed them tight against her sides, trying not to scream as she fought her treacherous appendages.

Fortunately, Sweetie Belle didn’t seem to notice Scootaloo’s inner war. After a long moment, the unicorn gently let her go, still smiling, and said, “Well, I’d better get going—I don’t want to keep Rarity waiting. Have a good night, Scootaloo, and congratulations again.”

“T-t-thanks,” Scootaloo managed to get out when she remembered how to talk. “Seeya, S-sweetie Belle.”

Sweetie waved and started off towards the boutique. Scootaloo waved back, watching her go. The unicorn’s shapely rump bobbed a little more than it used to, and—

“Sweetie Belle, huh?”

Scootaloo yelped and jumped into a startled hover, her growing wings beating loudly. “W-what? What about Sweetie Belle?”

Rainbow Dash cackled. “Don’t play dumb with me, kid. I can tell when a pegasus is trying to hold down a wingie.”

“I’m not a kid anymore,” muttered Scootaloo, blushing furiously as she sank back to the ground.

Unexpectedly, Rainbow stepped closer and wrapped a wing around her. “Nah, I guess not,” said the older pegasus. “You’ve finally got your cutie mark, you’re almost as fast as I was when I was your age, you’re popping wingies for cute unicorns—”

“Am not!” growled Scootaloo. “It’s just that she—I mean, I only . . . ” She sighed and shook her head in defeat, sagging against Rainbow. “What’s wrong with me, Rainbow Dash? She’s one of my best friends. I’ve known her for forever, and now I . . . ugh. I can’t stop thinking about her, and I get all weird inside whenever I see her.”

“There’s nothing wrong with you, Scoots,” said Rainbow. “You’re just growing up.”

“But she’s my friend! I shouldn’t feel this way about her.”

Rainbow shrugged. “You can’t help how you feel, squirt. You just gotta get past it.”

“But she’s so cute!” wailed Scootaloo. “I see her and I just wanna—ugh!”

“Yeah, I know that feeling,” said Rainbow, giving her a sly wink. “Seriously, though. I know what it’s like having the hots for a friend. I know it’s weird. But you can’t get all hung up over it. Besides . . . it might just turn into something awesome.” She grinned and looked over her shoulder into the library, where a certain unicorn was directing the post-party cleanup. “Isn’t that right, Twi?”

Author's Note

I've been tossing around ideas for a fluffy one-shot in which an adolescent Scootaloo realizes she has a very unexpected crush on Sweetie Bell, and today's TMP prompt ("A lot changes when you're a teenager") offered the perfect chance to do a bit of preliminary exploration. The resulting short is horribly, horribly rushed and underdeveloped, but the basic premise feels pretty solid. I'll very likely be revisiting ScootaBelle in the near future.

283: Where I Belong

283: WHERE I BELONG

Rainbow Dash told herself she was just seeing if the new Daring Do novel had arrived. She was just dropping by the library to check before she flew home. She wasn’t looking for anything else. She wasn’t upset to see a pony she barely recognized sitting behind the circulation desk.

It was a lie, of course, but then, she wasn’t Honesty. She was Loyalty. She stuck by her friends no matter what—unlike some ponies who just up and left to be frilly princesses.

Rainbow cringed, hating herself for even thinking that. She knew she wasn’t being fair. Twi hadn’t asked for her destiny to show up with wings and a tiara. Twi hadn’t asked to be a princess, or to be whisked off to Canterlot.

It still hurt, though. It hurt a lot.

Rainbow slammed the book she’d been looking at back onto the shelf. The new pony at the desk frowned at her, but she didn’t care. She didn’t care about that pony. She didn’t care about the book. She didn’t care that the library felt cold and empty. She didn’t care about the squirmy ache down in her chest. She was better than that. She was tougher than that.

That was a lie, too, but if she tried really hard, sometimes she could almost believe it.

She sighed and started towards the door, stomping her hooves a little louder than was necessary. “When will it be in?” she asked over her shoulder.

“In three months,” said the new pony frostily. “Like I told you yesterday, and the day before that, and the day—”

“Fine, fine, three months, got it. Just checkin’.” Rainbow scowled as she pushed open the door, grumbling, “No need to get your tail in . . . a knot . . . Twilight?”

“Hi, Rainbow,” said the purple pony on the other side of the door. She was pale and haggard, but still smiling in that adorkable way that only Twilight could.

Rainbow stared, not daring to believe her eyes. “But . . . what are you doing here, Twi? I thought you were in Canterlot.”

“I was,” said Twilight, her smile shrinking a little. “I . . . I decided to come home.”

“Isn’t Canterlot your home now?” asked Rainbow. It sounded more accusatory than she’d expected.

Twilight flinched. “No. Ponyville is my home. It just took me a little while to remember that.”

“So you mean . . . ?”

“This is my home, Rainbow. I’m staying.”

“But you’re a princess now, Twi—”

“Not anymore,” said Twilight, fidgeting.

“Huh? Whaddya mean? Did you quit?” Rainbow couldn’t keep the hope out of her vocie.

“Something like that,” said Twilight. She turned slowly from side to side, and Rainbow gasped: instead of wings, Twilight’s back bore two thick, jagged scars.

“What happened?” cried Rainbow, unable to tear her eyes away from the ghastly sight.

Twilight was trembling, but she still smiled. “I remembered who I am.”

“But Twi, you—I thought it was your big destiny to be a princess!”

“That’s not the pony I want to be! I . . . ” Twilight lowered her head; when she raised it again, there were tears running down her face. “I felt so alone, Rainbow! I don’t want to be a princess. I don’t want to be an alicorn. I just want to be Twilight Sparkle. I just want to be here in Ponyville with my friends.” She raised a tentative hoof and murmured, “With you.”

Rainbow tried to speak, to say something, but she couldn’t. She settled for flinging herself at Twilight and hugging her fiercely. The now-wingless unicorn hugged her back, crying into her mane.

“I missed you so much, Twi,” Rainbow eventually managed to whisper. “Well, we all did.”

“I missed you, too,” Twilight whispered back. “All of you.” She squeezed tighter. “Especially you. I . . . You mean a lot to me, Dashie.”

Rainbow’s heart very nearly burst with joy, but the terrible scars on Twilight’s back reminded her of what the erstwhile alicorn had given up.

“Did you . . . did you take them off yourself?” she forced herself to ask.

Twilight shuddered and nodded. “I had to. They weren’t mine, and I didn’t want them.”

Rainbow’s wings curled in sympathy. “What did the Princess say? And what about Luna and Cadance?”

“They were pretty upset,” admitted Twilight, “but they’re going to respect my decision. Plus, Celestia said I’d taught her something important about friendship, and about loyalty.”

Rainbow chuckled and leaned her head against Twilight’s. “I’m glad you’re back, Twi.”

“Me, too, Dashie. This is where I belong.”

“And Twi?”

“Yes?”

“ . . . You mean a lot to me, too.”

Author's Note

In hindsight, Twi seems more troubled here than I'd planned. I ran out of time on this one, but I was originally planning to add a little more dialogue regarding her drastic and admittedly self-destructive choice to remove her new wings, and the princesses' and RD's reactions. As I imagined it, Celestia and the others didn't know about it until after the fact, nor do they approve of it, but what's done is done. I was going to have RD crack a well-intentioned joke about how the wings were cool and that nopony would've minded if she'd kept them, but then I thought that seemed horribly insensitive given the circumstances.

291 : Why Yes, It Is Your Color

291: WHY YES, IT IS YOUR COLOR

Rarity eyed the dress critically. She had to admit that it wouldn’t pass muster at the Gala, but fortunately, it didn’t have to: Ponyville was not Canterlot, and the Harvest Ball was not the Grand Galloping Gala. A ball was still a ball, though, no matter how rustic the setting, and a dress for such an occasion always merited Rarity’s full craftsponyship. The design was relatively simple but still quite stylish, if she did say so herself—the dusting of emeralds on each flank was particularly fetching—and the execution was, as usual, flawless.

She nodded, satisfied. It was about as close to perfect as she could get.

The unicorn trying on the dress didn’t seem so sure. She looked at herself in the full-length mirror, not quite frowning, but not smiling the pleased-as-punch smile of a satisfied client who’d just put on a smashing new dress.

“Is it not to your satisfaction?” Rarity asked. Long practice allowed her to keep her voice pleasant even while she braced herself for the complaints: it was too short, it was too long, the neck was too high, the shawl didn’t hang properly, the stitching was off, the gems didn’t catch the light properly, the lace was too much—

“Oh, it’s nice,” said the pony in the dress. “I mean, really, really nice. I kinda can’t believe I’m wearing an actual Carousel Boutique dress. It’s just . . . ”

Rarity bit back a sigh. Nice? Damning with faint praise, indeed. “Just what, dear?” she prompted, still pleasant.

“It’s green,” blurted the other unicorn. She pawed at the floor with one hoof, not looking at Rarity.

That was the problem? Rarity just barely managed to kept the shock off her face. “Of—of course it’s green, dear,” she said after a too-long moment. “You look absolutely divine in green! It’s very much your color.”

“Literally!” wailed the other pony. “I am green!”

“Well, yes, but that’s precisely why I chose this shade. I wanted to use a palette that would complement your natural colors. Green on green may seem a bit counterintuitive, but it really does emphasize your lovely coat and mane, and the gold accents bring out your eyes.”

“But I was kinda hoping for something a little more . . . ”

“What?”

“Well . . . pink and blue, maybe.”

“Pink and—oh.” For a fleeting moment, Rarity wanted to put her head through her desk—that was why the silly filly didn’t want green?—but she settled for sighing quietly.

“I know it’s stupid,” muttered the other unicorn.

“No, it’s not,” Rarity assured her. “It’s actually rather sweet. It’s just, well, it’s just not a very good reason for picking certain colors.”

“I thought it might . . . I don’t know. I thought Bons would like it.”

“Darling, if Bon Bon loves you—and I’m quite sure she does—then she would want you to be true to yourself.”

“Huh?”

“Lyra, your dress is about you, and you are a very pretty pony. Your dress should emphasize that, not distract from it.”

The other unicorn glanced at her uncertainly, then looked back at the mirror. “You really think I’m pretty?”

“Yes, I do,” said Rarity, meaning it. Her heart belonged to a stubborn orange apple farmer, but she could still appreciate an attractive mare when she saw one. “As I said, that’s precisely why I picked green. I daresay I could make pink and blue work on you, but what would be the point? Green really is your color.”

Lyra studied her reflection. Slowly, almost cautiously, a smile began to creep across her face until she was beaming. She turned to Rarity, nodded, and announced, “You’re right. This is perfect!”

Rarity smiled back. “I’m glad you like it, dear. Now just hold still while I make the final adjustments.”

Note to self: remind Bon Bon that green is not her color.

295: P.S.C.D.

295: P. S. C. D.

“Rainbow Dash?”

The pegasus under the tree didn’t respond. She simply sat there, her magenta eyes unfocused as she stared at something only she could see.

Twilight waved a hoof in front of the other mare’s face. “Hello? Dashie?”

Rainbow started with a yelp, looking around wildly. She smiled when she noticed Twilight. “Hey, Twi.”

The unicorn smiled back. “Hey yourself.” She bent down and planted a soft kiss on the other pony’s nose, then sat down beside her.

Rainbow leaned over and returned the kiss, but it was quick and mechanical; when she was done, she sighed and went back to gazing out at the park.

Twilight looked at her, curiosity and concern plain on her face. She waited a moment, then quietly said, “A bit for your thoughts?”

The pegasus started again. “Huh?”

“Is everything all right, Dashie? You look like you’re far away.”

“Oh. Yeah, I’m okay, Twi. Just thinking.”

“What about?”

Rainbow shifted a bit and picked up the book that had been lying next to her.

Twilight’s face lit up. “Daring Do and the King’s Gambit! Wow, that’s the last one in the series. I didn’t know you’d gotten that far already! Did you finish it yet?”

“Yeah, I just did a little while ago.”

Twilight giggled and clopped her hooves excitedly. “Wasn’t it great?”

“Yeah, it’s just . . . ”

“Just what?”

“It’s over.”

“Huh?”

“I finished it. I finished the whole series. It’s over, Twi. There aren’t any more Daring Do books. I just . . . I don’t know.” Rainbow sighed and shook her head, slumping back against the tree.

“Ohhhhh,” said Twilight suddenly. “P.S.C.D.”

Rainbow arched an eyebrow at her. “P. S. what now?”

“P.S.C.D. Post series conclusion depression. I’m positive that that’s what you’re suffering from.”

“Meaning?”

Twilight chuckled. “Meaning you just finished reading a long story that you really, really liked, and you don’t want it to be over.”

“Well . . . yeah, pretty much,” said Rainbow. “It was like I was on this crazy awesome adventure with Daring Do for weeks and weeks, and now it’s just . . . done. That’s the end. There isn’t any more. I feel so . . . ”

“Lost?” supplied Twilight. “Like you don’t know what to do with yourself?”

Rainbow nodded gloomily.

Twilight scooted closer to the pegasus and leaned against her. “Every story has to end eventually, Dash,” she said at length. “All you can do is enjoy them for as long as they last.”

Rainbow nodded again.

“Also,” said Twilight, “there is a cure for P.S.C.D.”

Rainbow instantly perked up. “Really? What?”

Twilight grinned. “Another good story to get lost in.” She jumped to her hooves. “Come on, Dashie. Let’s head to the library. There’s this new series I think you’ll like.”

Rainbow looked at the Daring novel once more, then stuffed it into her saddlebag and grinned back at Twilight. “You’re on, egghead. Let’s go.”

Without warning, Rainbow scooped up Twilight and zoomed off towards the library. Ignoring the unicorn’s squeals of protest, the pegasus called down, “Hey, Twi?”

“What?”

“That post conclusion whateveryacallit. You totally made that up, didn’t you?”

“Maybe.”

Rainbow chuckled and shook her head. “I love you, Twi.”

Author's Note

Look at me, trying to be meta.

Also, that Daring Do title is all mines. I'm using it for a long fic I'm working on.

303 :Pretend

303: PRETEND

I know everypony thinks I’m stupid. I know they don’t really like me. I know they want to be angry at me when I mix up the mail and drop things and break things. I know they only put up with me because they feel sorry about the accident. Poor thing, they say when they think I can’t hear them, or when they think I don’t understand what they’re saying. She’s such a mess, and she can’t help it.

It’s true. I’m a mess, and I can’t help it. The doctors say it’s brain damage from the crash. They say I’m lucky to be alive even if I can’t see right and I’m clumsy and forgetful and get confused a lot. They tell everypony to be nice to me even if I’m stupid when they think I can’t hear them.

I’m not stupid, though. I’m just slow. It just takes me longer to think about things. That doesn’t mean I’m stupid.

Rainbow Dash isn’t slow, but she can be pretty stupid sometimes.

I still love her.

I guess that’s pretty stupid, isn’t it? Rainbow Dash is fast and funny and strong and so, so beautiful, and I’m me. Why would she like me? Why would she want me the way I want her? Why would anypony want me? I wouldn’t want me. I’d laugh at me and say wow, what a stupid pony. Even if I was normal, I still wouldn’t want me. I’d look at me and see a boring grey pegasus with a boring cutie mark. Who wants a boring pony like that?

Nopony.

So I pretend. When I make breakfast in the morning, sometimes I pretend Rainbow Dash is sitting at the table with me. I put an extra bowl out for her and pour cereal and milk into it and try not to spill too much, and then I sit down across from her and smile at her and thank her for coming over and we eat breakfast together. She’s not really there, though, so I have to eat the extra cereal. It’s soggy and doesn’t taste very good. It makes me feel stupid, because I know she’s not really there and the cereal is soggy, but it makes me feel good, too, even if it’s just pretend, so I keep doing it.

Sometimes I pretend we do other things. Special, special things. Sometimes she runs into my room and says she’s scared of the storm, and can she sleep with me tonight, and of course she can, and then she gets into the bed and we get very warm. Sometimes she’s waiting for me when I come back from brushing my teeth, and she says she wants me and needs me and she can’t wait any more. I tell her that’s how I feel about her, and she cheers and we jump into the bed and get very warm. It makes me feel stupid and I have to do a lot of extra laundry, but it makes me feel good, too. Really, really good. So I keep doing it.

Sometimes I cry when I wake up and I’m all alone again, so I pretend nothing’s wrong. If I really was stupid, I think I’d believe me. But I’m not stupid. I’m just slow.

Author's Note

Edit: Just doing a little housecleaning with the title. I doubt anyone noticed or cared, but this was originally labeled as 303a. 303b was a philosophical Trixie scene that has since evolved into a small one-shot that I'm currently working on.

314: The Longest Night

314: THE LONGEST NIGHT

Twilight paced briskly around the waiting room. Rarity slumped in one of the uncomfortable chairs, fretting and looking close to swooning again. Rainbow Dash hovered overhead, not really going anywhere but clearly unable to stay put. Applejack was trying to play old maid with Applebloom on one of the end tables, but the little filly was more asleep than awake, and neither of them were paying much attention to the cards. Pinkie Pie, to nopony’s great surprise, was bouncing in place while cheerfully expounding her plans for the party to the nurse at the desk.

Rainbow suddenly groaned again and did a barrel roll. “Is she ever going to finish?” she wailed. “We’ve been here for hours! It’s almost morning!”

“Simmer down, Sally,” snapped Applejack. “They don’t just pop out like peanuts, ya know. She’ll be done when she’s done.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t think it would take this long!” Abruptly, the pegasus dropped into a chair and fidgeted with her hooves. “It shouldn’t take this long,” she said, her rough voice quiet, almost scared. “I’m getting worried.”

Applejack’s face softened. “Now let’s not have any of that, sugar cube. She’ll be fine.”

“I do hope you’re right, dear,” put in Rarity. “Fluttershy is so very fragile, and with twins . . . ” She shuddered. “Twilight, are you quite sure there’s nothing you can do?”

The pacing unicorn shook her head as she continued her circuit. “I offered, but she doesn’t want me to use magic to help. She told me she’s going to do it herself no matter what.”

“What about Big Macintosh? Perhaps he can persuade her to let you ease things along a bit.”

“I tried that, too. He didn’t want me doing anything if she didn’t ask for it—or at least, I think that’s what he said. He was pretty, um . . . agitated.”

Applejack chuckled weakly. “Poor Big Mac. He’s been in a right state since her water broke.”

“Yeah,” said Rainbow, snickering, “you should’ve seen him pull that cart down the road. I thought Fluttershy was gonna fall out. If the Wonderbolts ever start accepting earth ponies, I know where they can look for their first recruit.”

Rarity tutted. “Now, girls, be nice. The father-to-be is supposed to be anxious. This is a new and rather frightening experience for him, after all.”

They chuckled at that, nopony wanting to point out that it was new and rather frightening for all of them.

Their nervous laugher instantly died as a muffled scream sounded from beyond the big double doors that separated the waiting room from the ward proper. Another scream followed a moment later, then another, then one long, keening wail that went on for far too long before abruptly cutting off.

“FLUTTERSHY!” cried five mares and one young filly as they smashed through the doors and galloped down the hall.

They nearly bowled over the smocked unicorn stallion emerging from the delivery room.

“Doctor, is she all right?”

“I wanna see my new cousins—uh, nieces!”

“Let us in! We gotta see her!”

“Can we use confetti in there? Maybe balloons?”

“How ’bout the foals? They out yet?

“Good sir, we beseech you—”

The unicorn sighed and held up a hoof, as if trying to hold back the wave of questions. “Ladies, please. Calm yourselves.” He coughed politely. “It was a difficult delivery, but she’s perfectly fine now. The foals are also perfectly healthy.”

“Pegasi?” said Rainbow Dash hopefully.

“No,” said the doctor. “Earth ponies. A boy and a girl.”

“Ha!” crowed Applejack. “Looks like ya owe me ten bits, RD.”

Twilight stepped forward. “Can we see her now? Please?”

The doctor considered for a moment, then nodded slowly. “Very well, but do keep your voices down. She’s had a very long night—”

“The best night ever!” cheered Pinkie.

“—and she’s very tired. Oh, and do watch your step. Her husband seems to have passed out next to the bed, and frankly, we can’t move him.”

Author's Note

Random Fluttermac because I can, I guess? Really, I just needed a semi-plausible hetero pairing so I could have the rest of the girls waiting anxiously.

343: Your Lips Are Like Wine

343: YOUR LIPS ARE LIKE WINE

I warned Twilight that our special reserve has quite a kick, but I don’t think she was expectin’ it to be quite so, well . . . kicky. The rest of the girls have had it before, so they knew to take it slow, but this was Twi’s first time, and she downed her mug like it was normal cider. Oh, the look on her face! I think she was havin’ a hard time decidin’ if she wanted to be sick or if she wanted more. Sweet Apple Acres Special Reserve bein’ what it is, though, you can guess what she settled on after a minute.

In hindsight, I probably shouldn’t’ve let her have that second mug right away, but she was gettin’ so giggly and excited that I just couldn’t say no. It was nice seein’ her let her mane down, so to speak. I ain’t exactly a party animal myself, but I do know how to unwind, if’n you know what I mean. Twilight Sparkle, though—she spends so much time with her nose in a book that I didn’t think she rightly knew how to cut loose now and then.

But then she started gettin’ . . . well, frisky, I guess you could say. Frisky with a particular blue pegasus.

Now I ain’t blind. I’d seen Twilight blush and get tongue-tied enough to figure out that she had it bad for Dash, but she’d never admitted it to anypony, least not as far I as knew. I suspect she was worried that Dash wouldn’t feel the same way ’bout her, and she didn’t want to risk upsettin’ their friendship. Between you and me? I think me and the girls are the first friends she’s ever really had outside of Spike, and I think the poor thing was terrified of messin’ that up with romance, ’specially if that romance were only one-sided.

With two big mugs of special cider in her, though . . . well, you know what alcohol can do to a pony. Twilight stumbled over to the couch where Dash was sittin’ and started slidin’ closer and closer until finally she was right up against her. She was smilin’ all the while, this goofy, naughty smile that I never expected to see on a bookworm like Twilight Sparkle. Then she giggled, leaned in real close, and told Dash that she was beautiful and made her hot under the tail. ’Bout as subtle as a chargin’ manticore, heh heh.

I ain’t never seen RD’s wings pop that fast, or her face get that red! Me and the rest of the girls couldn’t help laughin’, even prim-and-proper Rarity, but Twi was plenty serious, and Dash was plenty serious back. She smiled at Twilight, lookin’ almost shy, then said she was beautiful, too. I knew it weren’t just the drink talkin’, either. I do represent the element of honesty, after all, and I could see the truth glimmerin’ in her eyes. Both their eyes, really.

Well, you can imagine how happy that made Twilight. She giggled again, then practically pounced on Dash and kissed her, and Dash kissed her back. Dear sweet Celestia, they kissed and twisted their tails together and kissed and licked and kissed and nibbled and—oh, ponyfeathers. I ain’t gonna lie. Dash and Twi are both fine-lookin’ mares, and watchin’ them go at it on the couch right there in front of us got me more’n a little warm, too.

Anyhow, it was pretty clear they weren’t gonna be stoppin’ anytime soon, so I suggested as politely as I could that maybe they take it out to the barn. Honestly, I wouldn’t’ve minded if they stayed where they were, and I don’t think the other girls would’ve, either, but Applebloom and Granny Smith were sleepin’ upstairs. The last thing I needed was Applebloom wanderin’ down to see Ponyville’s librarian and weather manager gettin’ wild on our couch. Fortunately, Twi and Dash didn’t much care. They jumped up and staggered outside, half-draggin’ each other to the barn, kissin’ all the way.

I’ll just say they weren’t quiet, but me and the rest of the girls left them alone for the rest of the night. They wandered back in the next day while the rest of us were sittin’ down to lunch. Standin' close to each other, they looked silly and sheepish and completely in love. I grinned and asked ’em if they’d had a good night, and they smiled and nodded. Then Twi blushed a little and promised me that she'd get me a new lasso. Dash just chuckled.

I don’t wanna know.

Author's Note

Sheesh, been a while. Anyhow, I had a lot of fun with this one. I think it's the first time I've written first-person Applejack.

Speaking of AJ: you might have noticed that I didn't render her country drawl quite so literally here as I've done in other pieces. After careful consideration, I've decided that the accent (1) is ultimately too distracting for the reader; (2) sometimes makes AJ sound a little too rustic; and (3) is a real PITA to write.

372: Don't Leave Me

372: DON’T LEAVE ME

They stood on a cliff in the dark. The wind moaned around them, whipping their manes about. It might have been raining, or it might not; Twilight couldn’t tell, nor did she care. All she cared about was the blue pegasus standing before her. The other pony’s face was twisted in an ugly scowl instead of its usual cheeky grin, and the magenta eyes of which Twilight was so fond had become black, baleful pits. Twilight tried to meet them and shivered.

“Why?” she whispered.

The wind snatched away the word, but somehow the pegasus heard it, and laughed. It was a hard, ugly laugh that shoved its way into Twilight’s ears, clawed through her head, and reached down to bite her heart.

“Why?” echoed the pegasus. “Why shouldn’t I? Nopony likes you. Nopony wants you. You’re pathetic, Twilight Sparkle. You’re just a pathetic egghead who cares more about her stupid books than anything else.”

“That—that’s not true!” protested Twilight. She might have been crying; yes, she almost certainly was, icy hot tears that rolled down her face and neck and onto her heaving chest. “My friends like me! And I care about you, Rainbow Dash! I care about you more than anything!”

The pegasus laughed again, and Twilight gasped as her heart began to break. “You care about me? You care so much you won’t even come see me fly?”

“Dash, please, it . . . it’s not like that. You know I like watching your shows, but I’d already told Applejack and Pinkie Pie that I would help them with the barn!”

“So a barn is more important than your marefriend?” sneered the pegasus. “A barn is more important than me?”

“Dashie, no!”

“Don’t ‘Dashie’ me, Twilight Sparkle. I see how it is. You don’t care about me. You don’t love me. Well, guess what?”

“No! Please, don’t! Don’t say it!”

“I don’t love you, Twilight Sparkle,” said the pegasus, low and cold and horrible. “I don’t want you.”

The words were icy hammer blows, and Twilight screamed as her heart shattered into a hundred razor-sharp pieces. “Rainbow Dash!” she wailed, reaching out with trembling hooves. “Please, Dash! Don’t do this! Please! Rainbow Dash! I love you, Dashie! Don’t do this! Don’t leave me! Please don’t leave me!”

But it was too late; the pegasus was just a glimmering rainbow blur flying farther and farther away until suddenly it was gone. Lightning boomed and thunder sparked, and Twilight sobbed as she sank to the squishy mud.

“Twi?”

“Don’t leave me,” she whispered into the empty darkness. “Please don’t leave me.”

“Twi?”

“I love you, Dash. Please don’t leave me.”

“Twilight!”

Suddenly everything tilted and spun and righted itself, and Twilight found herself sitting not on a cliff but upright in her bed, her blankets tangled around her, her sweat-slick mane plastered to her head.

“Twilight?” asked a voice. It was a blessedly familiar voice, a little rough, but still gentle and concerned. Not quite daring to believe her ears, Twilight turned and saw a familiar blue pegasus sitting beside her. The pegasus was looking at her not with horrible black pits, but warm magenta eyes; her mouth was set not in a cruel scowl, but a worried frown; she was moving not to leave her forever, but to wrap a foreleg around her.

“Rainbow Dash?” whispered Twilight.

“I’m here, Twi,” said Dash, pulling her close. “You okay? Sounded like you were having one crazy dream.”

Twilight shuddered and hugged her. “More like a nightmare. A really, really bad nightmare.”

“It’s okay,” soothed Dash. She stroked Twilight’s sticky mane. “It was just a dream. You’re okay, Twi.”

“Dashie?” said Twilight into the other mare’s chest.

“Yeah?”

“Are you upset that I didn’t come to the show?”

“Huh? The show?”

“Are you mad that I helped Applejack and Pinkie instead of coming to see you fly?”

Dash chuckled. “Why would I be mad about that? I mean, yeah, I love when you’re there to cheer me on, but I don’t expect you to come to every show I’m in. This one was just a demonstration for the first-years at the flight school anyhow. Not like it was a big deal or anything. Besides, you already told AJ and Pinks you’d help. Gotta keep your promises, right?”

Twilight sniffled, but nodded slowly against Dash’s chest. The pegasus suddenly leaned back a little and put a hoof under the unicorn’s chin, lifting her head so that they were looking at each other.

“I’m not gonna leave you, Twi,” said Dash, quiet and serious. “Not ever. We’re gonna be old and grey together and argue about our dentures and yell at foals to get off our lawn and stuff, okay?”

Twilight nodded again and smiled. Dash smiled back and kissed her. It was a soft, simple kiss, but Twilight felt the warmth of it flow from her lips into her whole body, and she felt herself relax against the other pony.

“I love you, Twi,” said Dash, nuzzling her.

“I love you, too, Dashie,” said Twilight, nuzzling back.

They both slowly sank down onto the bed, twining their legs and tails together in a warm, comforting jumble of togetherness, and they closed their eyes once again.

Author's Note

IT LIVES!

Ahem. Anyway, have some fuzzy Twidash. It's been a while since I updated this collection, mostly because a lot of the recent prompts just didn't click for me, and/or because I simply ran out of time while working on the ones that did. I've got a handful of partially finished shorts that I hope to eventually get around to wrapping up and posting. I'm also working on a big Daring Do fic, a Scootabelle fic, a Fo:E side story, a Derpy short, a Silver Spoon fic, a somewhat untraditional Octascratch fic, a Trixie short, a Twilight short, and a few others.

Huh. I appear to have the writer's equivalent of ADHD.

394/399: Loyalty - Part I

394/399: LOYALTY – PART I

“Tell me, Fluttershy,” begged Twilight. “Please. Don’t make this harder than it has to be. Just tell me.”

The pegasus trembled in her shackles, but said nothing.

“C’mon, Flutters,” said Rainbow Dash. “Stop it. Just tell her.”

“No,” said Fluttershy. Her voice was a faint, ragged whisper, but Rainbow Dash could still hear the steely determination in it, the same determination that the normally meek pegasus had once used to talk down dragons and minotaurs.

The alicorn stepped closer. “Fluttershy . . . please. The sooner you tell me, the sooner we can end this rebellion and restore peace to Equestria.”

“Yeah,” said Rainbow, flashing Fluttershy an encouraging smile—or at least, she hoped it was encouraging; she was woefully out of practice. “Just tell her, and we can stop all this stupid fighting once and for all.”

“No.”

Twilight reached out a platinum-shod hoof. “Please, Fluttershy. I know you want this to be over just as much as I do. Tell me. Please.”

Fluttershy shook her head and shrank back from Twilight’s hoof.

Suddenly, the alicorn’s face contorted with rage. “TELL ME!” she roared. Black and violet magic boiled around her eyes and horn. “TELL ME WHERE APPLEJACK IS HIDING! NOW!”

“No!” Fluttershy shouted. Lifting her head, she shook her dirty mane aside and glared at Twilight, her eyes ablaze with the Stare. “Stop this right now, Twilight Sparkle!”

Like quicksilver, Rainbow was between them, rearing back on her hind legs and spreading her wings to shield her princess. The blades mounted on the leading edges glinted in the candlelight. “Cut it out, Fluttershy,” she growled, meeting the other pegasus’s eyes with her own. She could feel the Stare pushing against her, trying to break her will and make her obey, but Rainbow just gritted her teeth and stared back.

“How dare you?” yelled Fluttershy, struggling against the chains. “How dare you? Twilight, you were supposed to fight monsters, not become one! Rainbow Dash, you—”

Rainbow’s armored hoof smashed into Fluttershy’s face; the other pegasus cried out and crumpled to the damp stone floor. “I’m Loyalty,” she growled, tears running down her cheeks. “I’m gonna stand by Twilight no matter what.” She felt a familiar muzzle rub tenderly against her neck. Looking back, she met Twilight’s warm, grateful smile, and suddenly her heart hurt a little less.

The alicorn turned her gaze back to Fluttershy. “Tell me,” she demanded again, her voice sharp as an amethyst blade. “Tell me where Applejack is.”

“No,” whispered the trembling, curled-up pony on the floor.

“Fluttershy, I don’t have time for this.” Twilight stepped around Dash and leaned down towards the other pegasus. “This is your final warning. If you don’t tell me, I’ll hurt you until you do. Do you understand?”

Fluttershy whimpered and nodded.

“Then tell me where Applejack is hiding.”

“No.”

Twilight stamped a hoof; the ornate shoe clanged loudly on the stone. “So be it,” she spat, backing away. “Dash . . . break her left wing.”

Rainbow’s eyes went wide. She glanced at Twilight, but the anguished-looking alicorn nodded once and turned away. Rainbow saw silvery tears slipping down her princess’s face, and her heart throbbed painfully in her chest. She hated those tears. Hated them. She would do anything to make them stop. Anything. Damn the cost, damn her soul, damn her friends, damn Equestria—she was Loyalty, and she would do anything to make the pony she loved happy again.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured to Fluttershy as she bent over the other pegasus and took hold of her left wing. Pegasus wings were remarkably flexible, but Rainbow had learned firsthoof that there were certain ways the joints were simply not supposed to bend.

“No!” squeaked Fluttershy. “No no no! Please, Rainbow Dash, please don’t please don’t please no no NO—”

The loud snap and sight of bone protruding through bloody yellow feathers sent a jolt of nausea through Rainbow’s belly, but she didn’t budge, not even as Fluttershy shrieked in agony. Anything, she reminded herself, holding down the writhing pony. Anything.

“Tell me,” said Twilight, talking over Fluttershy’s screams. “Tell me, and I promise it will stop.”

The pegasus managed to shake her head. “N-n-no! I w-wont!”

“Fluttershy, may I remind you that you have another wing, not to mention two eyes, two ears, four hooves, four legs, and one tail?”

“N-no . . . ”

Twilight was still crying, but she nodded at Rainbow. Rainbow moved her hooves to Fluttershy’s other wing.

“No!” said Fluttershy. “Please, Rainbow Dash!”

“Then tell her!” shouted Rainbow.

“R-rainbow, please, I c-can’t, you know I can’t—”

The other wing snapped, then snapped again. Anything.

“PONYVILLE!” howled Fluttershy, losing control of her bladder. Rainbow stepped clear, trying not to be sick. “Ponyville! She’s in Ponyville! Don’t hurt me! She’s in Ponyville! Please, don’t hurt me anymore!”

“Thank you,” said Twilight. Her horn glowed, and two glimmering clouds of violet magic wrapped around Fluttershy’s wings, swiftly knitting the ruined appendages back together. The pegasus’s screams subsided into choked sobs as she curled up into a shuddering ball in a puddle of her own piss.

After a long moment, Rainbow tore her gaze from her broken friend and moved to her usual place at Twilight’s side. “So AJ’s back in Ponyville,” she said quietly as they walked out of the cell, the door magically swinging shut behind them. “Guess we shouldn’t be surprised.”

Twilight nodded, looking shaken. “Applejack always did like her traditions, and you know what they say about taking the farm out of the pony.” The alicorn chuckled mirthlessly. “I guess that doesn’t change even if the pony is organizing a rebellion against the Crown.” Sighing, she wrapped a large lavender wing around Rainbow. It shivered a little; Rainbow pressed closer and nuzzled her princess.

Twilight nuzzled her back. “I want you to do it now,” she whispered. “Before she can run again.”

“So . . . no more trying to get her to surrender?”

“You really think she will?” asked Twilight, arching an eyebrow.

Rainbow sighed and rubbed her mane. “Probably not. Finish her, then?”

Twilight looked away, then turned back and nodded. “Yes. Cut off the head of the serpent, and the body will die soon enough. Once the rebellion fizzles out, we’ll have peace again.”

Rainbow saluted smartly. “Consider it done, Your Highness.”

Twilight smiled, leaned in, and kissed her softly. “I know I can always count on you, Dashie.”

“Forever and always, Twi.”

Twilight kissed her again. Rainbow kissed her back, smiled, then flapped her bladed wings and rocketed down the hallway and back up into the castle proper. Bursting through the nearest window, she soared higher and higher, relishing the heat of the midmorning sun on her outstretched wings. She got her bearings and pointed herself towards Ponyville with the ease of a pegasus who’d made the flight hundreds of times, then went hurtling on her way.

Flying, she reflected, had been more fun when she didn’t carry weapons and armor and a terrible ache in her chest. Still . . . She thought of Twilight’s smiles, and of the warm kisses, and of the tangled sheets and legs in the night, and of those terrible tears, and she set her face in a fierce grin. She would do anything for her princess.

Anything, forever and always.

Ponyville was dead ahead.

Author's Note

If the word counters are to be believed, this is my longest TMP submission ever, doubly so given that this is basically a two-parter. I don't normally link submissions like this -- actually, I never link submissions like this -- but with the way the prompts lined up, I just couldn't resist. I've never really been into the whole Dark Princess Twilight thing, but for whatever reason, it's been rattling around my head lately and telling me that there's a strong story waiting to be written. A dark, ugly story, to be sure, but still strong.

394/399: Loyalty - Part II

394/399: LOYALTY - PART II

Wind and rain and sunlight had bleached the once-red barn to a dull pinkish grey, but inside, the scent of straw and apples was exactly as Rainbow Dash remembered. It was a warm, homey, comfortable scent, the scent of an honest, hard-working farm run by honest, hard-working ponies.

The tang of blood was new.

“AJ, please,” Rainbow pleaded. “Don’t make this harder than it has to be.” The barn was plunged into darkness as she closed the door behind her, as if she could hide what she was about to do from the sunlit world outside. The idea was laughable, of course—there was no hiding, no running.

“Why, Dash?” asked a voice. Oh, that voice. Quiet, weary, hoarse with pain, but still the voice Rainbow remembered. She would give her right wing to hear that voice laugh and call her sugar cube one more time.

“Tell me, Dash,” demanded Applejack. “Why are you doin’ this?”

“Because I love her,” said Rainbow. She took a slow step into the blackness, her armor clinking. “Because I promised I’d be with her until the end.” She took another step, flicking open the claws on her gauntlets. “Because I’m Loyalty.”

“Loyalty?” snapped Applejack. There was a rustle and clatter from the back of the barn, then a strangled whimper. “Dammit, Dash, can’t you see what that dark magic turned her into? Yer servin’ a monster!”

“I know,” Rainbow said softly. She kept moving forward, following Applejack’s voice. The ruby that had replaced her right eye buzzed as she activated its night-sight enchantments and targeting spells. It was probably overkill, but she wasn’t taking chances this time. Applejack had already escaped her twice before.

“She’s turned you into a monster!” said Applejack. “Yer more machine than pony now, and after what you did to Pinkie and Fluttershy . . . ”

“I know.”

“Dash, you—why, Dash? Twilight ain’t the princess she once was! You don’t gotta stick by her and help her crush Equestria like this!”

“Yes, I do,” said Rainbow. “I love her, AJ. It’s not her fault she ended up like this, and I’m not abandoning her no matter what.” She let a little venom seep into her voice. “Unlike some ponies.”

“Dash . . . ” Rainbow suddenly noticed just how exhausted Applejack sounded. “Dash, we tried. You know we did. We tried to stop her, to save her.”

“You gave up on her,” Rainbow corrected coldly. “And now you’re leading a rebellion against her.”

“Rainbow Dash, she’s a monster! She’s gotta be stopped!”

There, by the hidden door in the back wall.

“She’s my monster,” said Rainbow, striding forward, her wing blades unsheathing. “I won’t leave her hanging. I don’t care what I have to do to protect her.”

She could hear Applejack trying to open the door, could hear the ragged panting, the dripping of blood, the rattle of chains, the former farmer’s curses as she realized that the door had been locked from the outside. Rainbow had learned from the last time.

Slowly, Applejack turned towards her. “Even if that means torturin’ and murderin’ yer friends?” she asked.

Rainbow flinched, but nodded. “I’m Loyalty,” she whispered. “And I’m Twilight’s.”

Applejack glanced at her cracked spear, the mangled remains of her left foreleg, the not-so-secret door, then up at Rainbow Dash. With a sigh, she nodded and pulled off her hat with her good leg. Waiting.

“I’m sorry, AJ,” whispered Rainbow. She lifted her claws.

“Me too, sugar cube.”

The claws shook, but they still descended in a quick, efficient, well-practiced blow.

“I’m sorry,” said Rainbow again. She leaned down, nuzzled the wet hat, then turned and walked slowly out of the barn, closing the door behind her.

Author's Note

Ever since the season three opening, I've been curious about that dark shadow magic stuff that Twilight apparently picks up from Celestia. I expect it was just a convenient plot device for those two episodes (not unlike Sombra himself), but what if it had lingering effects? What if Twilight tried to use/study it later on and accidentally corrupted herself, becoming a Terrible Princess of Darkness and Doom™? What if I tried to work Twidash into every damn thing I write?

415: Special Delivery

415: SPECIAL DELIVERY

Inkwell knew Canterlot Castle like the back of her hoof. Ponies often marveled at her knowledge of the castle’s endless corridors, halls, offices, and cobwebbed old passageways, but she never understood why. After all, one could hardly expect to serve as Princess Celestia’s personal assistant without knowing the most efficient routes through the castle by heart. It simply would not do to delay the delivery of a royal missive by, say, carrying it down the north-northwest stairwell instead of the north-northwest-north stairwell. (North-northwest-north was fully eleven steps shorter, which translated into a savings of at least fourteen seconds.)

Yes, Inkwell knew Canterlot Castle inside and out, which was why she was very much surprised to be bowled over by a pegasus while crossing the terrace connecting the central tower with the south-southwest tower. On clear days, the terrace made an exceptionally convenient shortcut that trimmed entire minutes off the transit from one tower to the other. It was, however, most definitely not a delivery terrace. Inkwell knew for a fact that the delivery terraces were on the other side of the castle. Whoever this pegasus was, he had no business being up here.

“Oops, my bad!” called a voice that sounded more cheerful than contrite. Groaning, Inkwell picked herself up, floated her glasses back onto her nose, straightened her cravat, and turned around to—

Those eyes. Inkwell vaguely registered a pale grey mare and a floppy yellow mane, but those eyes! They were warm and golden and wobbly, and when the mare scrunched up her face with effort, they stood still and gazed right back at Inkwell. She felt something in her chest go all warm and wobbly, too, and suddenly her mouth was twitching into a nervous smile.

The pegasus smiled back. “Hi!” she said.

“H-hello,” Inkwell managed to say. “C-can I help you with anything?”

“Nope,” said the pegasus. “Just making a delivery.” She waggled a hoof at a rather battered-looking crate that Inkwell hadn’t noticed.

Inkwell trotted over and peered at the crate. She instantly recognized the emblem stenciled on the side. “The Princess’s tea!” she squeaked. Oh, stars above, this wasn’t good. What if the shipment was damaged? The crate looked as if it had taken a tumble or five. And why was it up here? Why had this silly, pretty pegasus with the silly, pretty eyes brought it up here—

Inkwell could feel her face getting red.

“Tea!” agreed the pegasus. Her smile turned sheepish, and she rubbed a hoof through her mane. “I kinda got mixed up. I think I was supposed to deliver it somewhere else. Sorry.”

“Oh,” said Inkwell. “That’s . . . that’s all right. It—well, it doesn’t look like it’s too badly banged up. Could you, um, help me bring it downstairs?” Ohhh, why was her heart pounding so?

The pegasus beamed and nodded, and Inkwell couldn’t help smiling back.

“Excellent,” said Inkwell. She watched the pegasus take hold of the crate and hop into the air with slow beats of her soft-looking grey wings.

“Ready!” said the pegasus.

“Excellent,” said Inkwell again. “This way, please.” She started for the doors to the south-southwest tower, chewing her lip. Her mind whirled in a way that was entirely unfamiliar, a little frightening, and undeniably exciting. Should she? Could she? No, she couldn’t. She simply couldn’t. No. It was too bold, too fast. Why, she’d only just met her, if being crashed into counted as—

Yes.

Her heart threatening to burst clear out of her chest, Inkwell half-turned to the pegasus following her. “It must be hot flying around in the sun with a big box like that,” she said, carefully casual. “If you want to stop by the kitchens after we drop off Her Highness’s tea, I’ll get you some water.”

The pegasus scrunched up her face again and looked at Inkwell with golden eyes that were beautiful and definitely not silly. Then she smiled and nodded. “Thanks,” she said. “That would be great.”

Inkwell didn’t bounce giddily—it simply would not do for the Princess’s personal assistant to bounce like a silly schoolfilly—but she did smile back and trot onwards with a curious new spring in her step.

Author's Note

Crackshipping, go! This was terribly rushed, but I still had fun with it. Inkwell is cute.

This is also my fiftieth TMP short. Hooray for nice round numbers, I guess?

440: Consequences

440: CONSEQUENCES

“Please, don’t,” I beg. “I—I don’t want to.”

“You need to see, Minuette,” says Time Turner. His voice is quiet, but cold. So cold. It hurts, but not as much as the disappointment on his face does.

I shake my head, and my tail lashes. “No! It doesn’t matter now! It didn’t happen now! I reversed everything!”

“You need to see,” he says. “Your actions have consequences, and you need to see that.” He spears me with his cold, disappointed gaze and holds out a hoof.

I shake my head again. I can feel tears starting to prick my eyes.

“Minuette,” he says. His voice is soft, but it has a cold, hard edge. I know he’ll drag me kicking and screaming if he has to.

Trembling, I lift a hoof and press it against his, and suddenly we’re walking through time. The world stretches out around us and becomes a mad smear of light and color, like a fresh painting left out in the rain. I feel sick. I want to stop, to go back to my Ponyville where Lyra is still happy and untouched, but my hoof is glued to Time Turner’s. He keeps walking, walking through the past and the present and the future. This is his talent. He’s a walker. A traveler.

I don’t know how he does it, but I know when we’re going, and I feel sick.

Time Turner makes a sharp turn, pulling me with him, and suddenly the light and color squeeze back together. We’re in Ponyville again, but it’s not my Ponyville. The timeline is prickly and different, and I feel sick.

He drops my hoof and starts walking down the moonlit street. I don’t want to follow him, but I do it anyway. The street is empty, and our hoofsteps are horribly loud. The houses on either side watch me, their darkened windows like black, baleful eyes. I cringe and sniffle and lower my head so I don’t have to see them. It’s not like I really need to see where I’m going. I’ve walked this street so many times and stopped to stare at this house here on the left, this cute little two-storey house with the lovingly-tended patch of garden. I could find my way here blindfolded.

The door is unlocked, just like I left it, and Time Turner slips inside, silent as a ghost. I feel sick, but I follow him. We find the stairs and go up to the hall, the hall that leads to her bedroom. The bedroom door at the end is open, just like I left it. I know what’s down there, and I feel sick, and I don’t want to go, but my legs keep jerking and moving and I’m walking down the hall.

Then I’m at the doorway. My legs suddenly lock up, and I shake my head.

“Please, don’t make me do this,” I beg—no, not beg—whine. I’m whining like a petulant foal.

Time Turner is already in the room, looking. He turns back to me, and his face makes me shudder. “You need to see, Minuette,” he says. His voice is quiet and cold.

I don’t want to, and I feel sick, like I’m going to vomit my wicked heart right out of my chest, but I take a heaving, gasping breath, close my eyes, and stumble into the room. I hold the breath for a moment, then let it out and force open my eyes.

She’s lying on her side on her bed, just like I left her. Her beautiful golden eyes are glazed and vacant, and they barely flicker as they see me. Her mane and tail are rumpled and ragged. Her minty green coat and her horn are smeared with drool and other things that I don’t want to remember but do anyway. Beneath the mess, I can see the bruises, big and blue-black and ugly. I can see the bite marks all down her ears and neck and across the golden lyre on her flank. I can see the sticky ribbons of half-dried blood running from between her back legs.

I remember how she tasted, how she whimpered as she tried to push me away.

Suddenly I’m crying. Sobbing. I fall to the floor and shake like a pathetic newborn covered in slimy filth, and the tears burn as they run down my cheeks. I cover my face with my hooves, but I can still see her. I’ll always be able to see her.

“You did this, Minuette,” Time Turner says. His voice is an icy razor that cuts me open and spills out the monster wriggling inside of me. “You did this to her. This is what happens when you think you’re above the rules. This is what happens when you lose control.”

“But I fixed it!” I wail, half-choking on my own tears and snot. “I reversed it! It never happened!”

“Does that make it all right?” He’s shouting now, banging a forehoof on the floor. “Does that make what happened here all right? Does that make what you did to this poor broken pony all right?”

It doesn’t. Of course it doesn’t. I’ve always known that, but I see it now. I see it with more horrible clarity than I’ve ever seen it before. I see it in Lyra’s empty eyes, her battered body. I see it on my hooves, the hooves I used to hold her down while I took what I wanted for so long. No matter how far I rewind time to erase my sins, these hooves will never be clean.

“No,” I whisper.

“No,” agrees Time Turner softly, and then, to my complete shock, he settles to his haunches beside be and pulls me into his forelegs.

Before I can stop myself, I’m crying into his chest like a foal. “I’m sorry,” I eventually manage to mumble. “I’m so sorry.” It’s so pitiful, so pathetic, so utterly inadequate, but it’s all I can say.

He pats my messy mane, his hoof gentle. “I know. There are always consequences, Minuette. Having the ability to control time doesn’t give us free reign to do whatever we want, to give in to our baser urges. We can still hurt ponies when we’re cruel and greedy and irresponsible. We can hurt them terribly, and we aren’t any less guilty of our sins just because we can wave our hooves and make it so none of it ever happened.” He sighs and shakes his head. “This … this wasn’t the way I’d hoped for you to learn this lesson, Minuette, but I think you have finally learned it.”

I nod wordlessly. There aren’t any more words.

“Well, then. Let’s head home.”

Time Turner gets to his hooves and helps me up. We both look at Lyra once more, and then Time Turner holds out a hoof. I take it, and then we’re walking through time again.

I don’t feel sick anymore. I just feel empty.

Author's Note

This is set in the same continuity as what I wrote a zillion years ago for #328. I’ve been kicking around ideas involving Minuette with time-control powers, and this is a scene from her younger, wilder days.

I don't know how I feel about this one. It's an important point in Minnie's development in the larger arc I'm slowly building, but it's also extremely unpleasant. I've never written a piece with a character (pony or otherwise) who sinks as low as Minuette. I've done a fair bit of angsty dark stuff, of course, but there's normally been some sort of sympathetic element to palliate the darkness. Here, though, Minuette has simply been a bad, selfish pony, and she has no excuse for her actions. Not gonna lie; it was hard to write.

444: Unforgiven

444: UNFORGIVEN

It’s worse than the last time you tried to visit. The once-magnificent house had been unkempt before, but now it's grey and grubby, its clouds half-feral and unraveling, its rainbowfall reduced to a runny trickle. It’s lost altitude, too, sinking lower and lower like a leaking balloon until now it’s drifting mere hooflengths above the ground. The whole place reeks of unwashed pony and misery.

She looks worse, too. She’s curled up on what’s left of her floor, a ball of matted blue coat and tangled mane and tail and rumpled feathers that haven’t been preened in weeks. Her face is filthy with tears and snot and sweat. She’s cradling something in her forehooves, and suddenly your stomach clenches: it’s a horn, cracked and scorched black at the tip, but still a familiar shade of lavender.

You swallow the lump in your throat. You don’t want to do this, but she's your friend, and you owe her this.

“Rainbow Dash?” you say quietly.

Her ears twitch, and she lifts her head. You cringe: her eyes are raw and puffy, and they narrow when they find you. “Get out, Fluttershy,” she growls, then lowers her head and nuzzles the horn.

You take a hesitant step forward. “Please, Rainbow Dash. We need to talk.”

She doesn’t respond. She just lies there, holding the one thing she has left of the pony she loved with her whole heart.

You force yourself to take a deep breath and try again. “Rainbow Dash? I—I need to talk to you.”

Nothing.

“Rainbow Dash, you can’t keep doing this. You can’t shut yourself away in here for the rest of your life.”

Nothing.

“What about your dreams? The Wonderbolts? She wouldn’t want you to throw that away—”

“Shut up.”

She snaps it out, her voice strained and cracked, like she has broken glass in her throat.

“Rainbow—”

“Shut up, shut up, shut up! You don’t get to talk about her, you . . . you coward! You stupid, useless, worthless coward!”

You were expecting that, but it still makes you fall back onto your haunches, trembling.

“It’s your fault, Fluttershy!”

“Rainbow Dash, please, I’m so sorry—”

“It’s your fault! It’s your fault she’s dead!”

“I’m sorry!”

“Sorry won’t bring her back, Fluttershy! She died because of you! She died saving you because you were too stupid to save yourself! It should’ve been you! She should still be here!”

It hurts. It hurts to hear Rainbow Dash say it. You shudder and squirm, but you can’t escape her furious, anguished words or the memories that burn in your head. “I’m sorry,” you whisper, even though you know that your sorrow will never be enough.

“I HATE YOU!” she screams. Her eyes are wide and wild, her dirty rainbow mane in disarray, and then her hooves are crashing into your face. You don’t try to back away. You let her hit you and hit you and hit you because she’s right: it’s your fault. You’re pathetic. You deserve to be hit for what you did. You deserve the pain, so you don’t protest as the vision in your right eye goes red and blurry, or as your nose cracks, or as teeth pop out of your gums. You just sit there and weep silently for Twilight and for the broken pony she left behind.

Author's Note

Sad second-person Fluttershy with unsubtly-implied offscreen Twidash, because I obviously haven't written enough sad stuff lately.

For my next submission: sickeningly sweet fluff, maybe involving Rarijack.

499: I Count Every One

499: I COUNT EVERY ONE

She won’t stay. That was what the voice whispered to her the first night, the mean little voice that crawled around the back of her brain and tried to hurt her and make her a bad pony. Pinkie Pie was afraid that it might be right, that once the party was over and her special punch was gone, Twilight would be gone, too. But Twilight stayed, and Pinkie had never seen anything more beautiful than the sticky, smiling unicorn who was curled up against her when she woke up.

It’ll never work. That was what the voice whispered after the first week. It sounded grumpier and meanie-er than normal, like it really hadn’t expected things to even get this far. Actually, nopony had really expected them to stay together, not their friends, not even Twilight. It wasn’t supposed to happen. Twilight was the rational one, the bookworm, the scientist, and Pinkie Pie was Pinkie Pie. But she stayed, and she was wonderful, and Pinkie had never smiled more.

She’ll leave you soon. That was what the voice crowed after the first month, after the first fight. Well, not really a fight; more like an argument. Well, not really an argument, either. It was more like a prank, an extra-loud prank that accidentally made an extra-big mess in the library and ruined an extra-important experiment that Twilight had been working on for days. But even then, she stayed. Pinkie’s bed was cold and lonely at first, but then there was a flash of purple and warm legs hesitantly slipped around her. Pinkie had never cried so much before.

It won’t last. That was what the voice tried to whisper after the first year, but Pinkie Pie could barely hear it any more. It had lasted. They had lasted, together. They had lasted for a whole year. That was the same as twelve whole months, or fifty-two weeks, or three-hundred-and-sixty-five days, plus three-hundred-and-sixty-five nights. That was a lot of time, and Twilight had stayed. Pinkie had never celebrated that kind of anniversary before, but everypony agreed that the party was her grandest yet.

And this morning, the only voice was her very own.

“Twilight!” she whispered loudly, leaning over the pony sleeping next to her. “Hey, Twilight!”

Twilight’s pretty purple eyes crept open. After a moment, they focused on Pinkie. “Good morning, Pinkie Pie,” she mumbled, smiling sleepily.

“Morning, Twilight! Guess what?”

“You’re going to let me sleep in for once?”

“No, silly! You’ve gotta get up! Today’s a super special day! Know why? Do ya? Do ya? Do ya?”

“Hmm.” Twilight thought for for a minute, then looked up at Pinkie. “It’s our five-hundredth day together, you’re planning a spontaneous musical number for when we go outside, there’s going to be a party that’s wild even by your standards, and we’re going to spend the night trying out all the new stuff you put in the toybox?”

Pinkie blinked, then giggled. “Wow, you’re good! How did you know?”

Twilight grinned. “I made an educated guess about the song, the party, and the toys, but for the five hundred days together . . . ” She wriggled closer and wrapped her forelegs around Pinkie Pie. “I count every one,” she whispered, and kissed her softly.

Pinkie Pie had never been happier.

Author's Note

Oh god, I wrote fuzzy Twipie. Did everyone see that? Because I will not be doing it again.

But in seriousness, writing this was really weird. Anyone who's followed this collection knows I ship Twidash like friggin' FedEx, so replacing Dash with Pinkie (!) leaves me feeling vaguely unclean. I'm glad I tried something different, but I still think I'mma keep Twi and Dashie together from now on.

196: I Dream of Socks

196: I DREAM OF SOCKS

We have only rarely discussed our dreamwalking, as most ponies find the subject . . . unsettling. We do, of course, understand such sentiments. Dreams can be intensely personal places where our strangest, darkest, most embarrassing inner thoughts take shape. To enter them uninvited is admittedly forward, even rude, perhaps even a violation. It is our duty to do so, however. It is our duty to protect our loyal subjects even in their sleeping minds. It is also a duty that . . . circumstances forced us to neglect for a thousand years. I . . . have much catching-up to do.

Tonight we have been watching the dreams of those ponies who bear the Elements of Harmony. For the most part, they have been fairly mundane and predictable. Generosity dreams of fine dresses, impressed aristocrats, and dashing princes. Loyalty dreams of the elite flying squadron my sister set up several decades ago, fixating in particular on the way the captain’s flanks look in her snug flight suit. Laughter dreams of parties, parties, and more parties, each one madder and more raucous than the last. Kindness dreams of picnics with her creature friends, quiet affairs occasionally punctuated with happy singing. Honesty dreams of apples, ledgers full of black ink, and sometimes Loyalty. Magic dreams of books . . .

. . . and socks. We have walked many strange dreams in our long life, but the dreams of Twilight Sparkle are decidedly among the strangest. When we entered her sleep, we expected to see tomes and spells, perhaps her young dragon assistant, or perhaps my sister (to whom she is quite devoted). We did not expect to see socks. We did not expect to see our royal person. We did not expect to see socks upon our royal person. We certainly did not expect to find the effect oddly pleasing. Because we did not. We are not at all interested in frivolities like socks, regardless of how cute Twilight Sparkle thinks we look in them.

Also, we are emphatically not expecting to visit the royal seamstress tomorrow to have our royal legs measured. Very definitely not.

197: The Sweetest Prize

197: THE SWEETEST PRIZE

The Cakes were, as usual, the crowd favorites. They had won the Ponyville Bake-Off six years running, and if the not-very-subtle hints their assistant had been dropping were to be believed, they were cooking up something “extra super-duper incrediliciously amazing” that would surely bag them yet another blue ribbon.

Bon Bon was, as usual, preparing to go down fighting. Everypony knew that she was a much better confectioner than baker, but that never stopped her from making a valiant, albeit futile effort. (It helped that the mayor was unapologetically partial to her caramel cookies.)

The Apples were, as usual, sticking with their established strategy: apple overload. As Granny Smith would declaim to anypony within range, the small mountain of pies, tarts, and dumplings her family always showed up with might not be city-slickin’ fancy, but ya could practically taste the honest care baked in ’em.

The Cutie Mark Crusaders were, as usual, trying their hooves at something that would almost assuredly reveal their cutie marks. (Or not.) The going rumor was that Rarity had drawn the short straw and had surrendered her kitchen to the fillies. She seemed to have developed a peculiar habit of insisting that she’d been planning to remodel the kitchen anyway.

Colgate was, as usual, prepping her office for the post-bake-off rush. Every year, she warned everypony not to overdo things at that dreadful sugar-fest (or to at least brush, for Celestia’s sake), and every year, nopony listened. Two weeks after the bake-off, her waiting room would inevitably be packed with miserable cavity cases — and her cash box would inevitably be packed with bits.

198: What Matters

198: WHAT MATTERS

“The most important thing?” she echoes.

You nod.

She considers, her gaze shifting from the campfire to the forest stretching out below the ridge. The firs sway gently in the cool night breeze, bathed in the pale silver light of Luna’s star-strewn sky. In the distance, a timberwolf howls; a moment later, an answering howl sounds from even farther away. Closer to the camp, an owl hoots softly.

She is silent for a long time, so long that you wonder if she has forgotten the question. You awkwardly trace a hoof along the ground, trying to decide if you should say anything.

She abruptly turns back, and you blink in surprise: you have never seen Daring Do look more solemn. Her normal bravado is gone, and she somehow seems small and vulnerable. Her magenta eyes gleam in the firelight as she stares at you, but you have a feeling she is looking at something far, far away.

“The most important thing?” she says again. “The most important thing is to remember what really matters.”

You blink again, nonplussed.

Her face twitches in a brief, bitter smile. “Not what you were expecting, huh? Truth be told, it’s not what I was expecting, either. It took me a long time to figure it out, and by then . . . I’d already lost what mattered. Who mattered.” Her voice is very, very quiet, edged with pain. She sighs, shakes her head, and turns away again, looking back out over the forest.

199: To Love a Princess

199: TO LOVE A PRINCESS

I saw it coming. I saw the signs, saw the slow but inexorable erosion of her mind. I saw the shadow of the Nightmare falling upon my love. I knew what was coming when the moon rose on that terrible night.

Celestia would have seen it, too — should have seen it — had she not been so blinded by her own glorious sun and the complacent adulation of her subjects. I hated her for it. I hated the way she would smile indulgently when her sister grumbled, not understanding why Luna was restless and unhappy. I hated the patronizing look in her eyes when she told me that Luna was just being foalish and temperamental. I hated her kindly, patient voice when she assured me that my fears were unfounded.

I wanted her to be right, though. I was terrified at the thought of what was happening to my love, and what it would mean for her and me and all of Equestria. I tried to stop it, since no one else would. I tried to be there for her, to support her when she felt nopony else cared about her. I tried to make her feel wanted, tried to make her see that, at least for one lucky pony, she would always and forever be the only princess in the world.

It was not enough. I could not save her from herself. I merely delayed the inevitable. I can still see her anguished face as she finally, finally lost herself in the Nightmare.

And I . . . I lost myself with her. I know the monster I knelt before and swore allegiance to is not the Luna I love, but I know she is in there, trapped, helpless, and terrified of what she has become. I will not abandon her. If serving my princess means serving the Nightmare, then so be it. I will do whatever I must to protect her, and may Tartarus have mercy on whomever stands in my way.

209: Empty Hearth

209: EMPTY HEARTH

“Isn’t this a great party? Are you having fun? I sure hope you’re having fun because I’m totally having fun—”

“I’m having a blast,” said Minuette hastily, plastering a wide smile across her face. “You’ve really outdone yourself, Pinkie.” It wasn’t wholly a lie, the unicorn told herself. Pinkie Pie had indeed thrown a spectacular Hearth’s Warming Eve party, with most of Ponyville crammed into town hall or the pavilions that had been set up outside. Almost everypony was noisily having a good time. Even Minuette could persuade herself that she was having fun, provided she didn’t look over at the alcove near the stairs.

Pinkie, however, was not so easily convinced. The earth pony leaned close and peered suspiciously at Minuette with one large blue eye, then with the other. Suddenly, she gasped.

“You’re lying,” she cried, looking scandalized. “You’re not having fun. You’re . . . ” She gasped again. “You’re sad! At one of my parties! How can anypony be sad at a party, especially one as extra-super-special as this one?”

Minuette felt something inside her spasm with terror. “What are you talking about, Pinkie?” she asked, chuckling nervously. “I’m not sad. It’s a great party, and I’m having a great time with my friends.”

“But you’ve been standing here by yourself for forever,” Pinkie pointed out.

Minuette shifted uneasily, feeling her smile faltering. “Pinkie, I’m fine.”

“Nope, you’re sad.”

“Pinkie, I’m—”

The words died in her throat as she caught a flash of mint-green movement in the alcove. She tried not to look, knowing it would only hurt, but she couldn’t help herself. She watched as Lyra pointed a hoof up at the mistletoe hanging above the alcove, then playfully pounced on Bon Bon, kissing the confectioner, long and deep and sweet Celestia why was it Bon Bon and not Minuette? Why couldn’t the other unicorn ever look at her that way—

Minuette realized she was trembling, and that Pinkie was watching her with wide, knowing eyes.

“I’m super sorry, Minuette,” said the pink earth pony, uncharacteristically subdued. “I can’t fix that.”

“I know,” said Minuette hollowly. “I . . . I’m going to call it a night, I think. Thanks for the party, Pinkie.” She smiled, then turned and started for the door, trying not to think about the cold, dark, and very empty home waiting for her.

213: I Could Have Danced All Night

213: I COULD HAVE DANCED ALL NIGHT

She didn’t know what time it was, but she did know it was late—so late, in fact, that it would probably be more accurate to say it was early. Of the hundreds of ponies that had filled the ballroom earlier, only a few dozen remained. Celestia and Luna had long since retired. An hour or so ago, the barkeep had locked up his booth for the night (despite the slurred protests of several rather unsteady-looking ponies), and now the waitstaff were beginning to clear tables. On the stage, somepony from the band wearily announced the final song of the night. The Grand Galloping Gala was, at long last, drawing to a close.

A tiny, treacherous part of her was glad, because she was tired and her hooves ached and she really wanted to get out of this dress. The rest of her, though, wished that the night would never end, that the band would keep playing, that the last dance would go on forever. As long as the dance went on, she could stay here, slowly shuffling in a circle with her partner, and here was perfect.

“Twilight?” she murmured.

“Yes, Minuette?” said the other unicorn quietly.

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For tonight. For inviting me. This has been . . . amazing.”

“You’re very welcome. This really has been, well, the best night ever.” Twilight giggled.

Minuette couldn’t help smiling at the sound, though the smile faded a little as she glanced past the other mare and saw empty food carts being wheeled away.

“What?” asked Twilight, concern in her beautiful violet eyes.

“I just . . . I don’t want it to end. I don’t want this to end.” She tapped a hoof on the floor between them. “Us. Here. Together.” She swallowed, suddenly nervous. “I want this so much, Twilight.”

Twilight unexpectedly scooted forward, pressing against her. Minuette barely had time to notice that the other mare was trembling—or were they both trembling?—before Twilight gently laid her horn on Minuette’s.

“I want it, too,” breathed Twilight, smiling, and something electric and indescribable raced through Minuette’s very core as she smiled back.

Author's Note

This is a kinda-sorta “sequel” to what I wrote for 209 (because Minuette is cute and deserves to be more than just a toothpaste joke). I was trying to make this one sweet and ad’awwable, but I think I turned it into a shot of high-fructose corn syrup instead. Sorry.

257: Seven Seconds Past Three

257: SEVEN SECONDS PAST THREE

Lyra and Bon Bon fell in love on a Tuesday afternoon at precisely seven seconds past three o’clock. Minuette knew this because she watched it happen just as the small silver clock on the shelf above the counter chimed. She had been meaning to fix the clock for some time, but it was one of those things she had never quite gotten around to doing—there were lots of those things—and the clock was still seven seconds slow. All of the other clocks in the shop chimed and jangled and donged and dinged as they marked the arrival of the afternoon’s third hour, but the little silver one waited seven seconds longer before it, too, sounded.

Lyra and Bon Bon giggled at the latecomer as they approached the counter, and they glanced at each other. Minuette saw it then. She watched that beautiful little something flicker between them. It only took a moment, an instant, a tiny fraction of a second she would need a new timepiece to measure properly, but it was there, silent and awful. She wanted to scream and run back to her workroom, but she forced herself to continue to the counter, Lyra’s clock floating after her in the turquoise glow of her magic.

That one’s a bit off, she explained a little too cheerfully, but don’t worry—your clock is keeping perfect time now. She gave Lyra the smile she had been practicing all week while working on the clock. Technically, she smiled at Bon Bon, too, since the cream-colored earth pony was standing right beside the lovely mint-green unicorn, but really, the smile was for Lyra and Lyra alone. It made little difference now, of course.

Lyra and Bon Bon were thrilled with the better-than-new clock—Minuette had spared no effort in rebuilding it—and they thanked her profusely. Bits changed hooves, and then the two ponies waved goodbye and departed with the clock. Minuette waved back. She waited until the door had closed behind them before letting the tears start to leak out. Trembling, she snatched the silver clock off the shelf, threw it to the floor, then savagely brought a hoof down on it, stomping again and again until it was almost as broken as her hopes.

259: The Power of Wub Compels You

259: THE POWER OF WUB COMPELS YOU

She orders wine, and I accidentally drop a little harder than I planned. Not that my subjects notice, or care. They just cheer and grind harder in time to their queen’s crazy beats, completely not seeing the even crazier thing happening over at the little table in the corner.

Nopony orders wine. Not here. This isn’t a wine club. This is a booze-yourself-stupid, dance-’til-you-drop-or-get-laid kind of club. (Sometimes the dancing and getting laid happen at the same time.) Sure, it’s fancy, but that’s only because it caters to ponies with more bits than brains. It’s definitely not wine fancy.

It’s also not a bowtie club. Why in Tartarus is she wearing that? Maybe she’d like a monocle with her wine?

Smirking to myself, I watch from behind my signature shades as she pours herself a glass from the big bottle. She doesn’t notice me, though. She just sips at her drink, wrinkles her snout—whaddya expect in a joint like this, high quality wine?—then sets the glass aside and gives it a dirty look. (Bad wine! I am quite frankly shocked and disgusted!) She leans down and plops her chin on the table, staring out at the thrashing mass of ponies as if she’s not quite sure what she’s doing here.

Eventually, her gaze wanders up to me on my little stage in the middle of the dance floor. This is my castle. This is where I hold court, with my tables ready to take down the skull-shaking decrees of DJ-PON3. This is where all my little ponies gather ’round to beg for the soundgasms that only their queen can give them. This is where I make them howl and shake.

This is where I rule the bass.

I drop it again, just for her. The crowd goes wild, but she gives me the same look she gave the wine, her lips curling.

Oh, it is on.

I crank everything up, up, and up some more. My sound swoops and soars and explodes again and again. I make the whole place shake, my sound oozing everywhere and through everypony.

She’s shaking, too. She still has her head down on the table, and she’s still looking around like me and my music and the club are an affront to all that’s good and decent in Equestria, but I can see her twitch with every drop. She’s feeling it, whether she wants to or not.

I grin in triumph at her—just at her. Nopony can resist the mistress of the beat.

She glowers back. She sits up, reaches for the glass of wine, and takes a quick gulp before she remembers why she put it aside in the first place. I watch her sigh and slump dejectedly back onto the table. Her head and hooves are still bouncing with my sound.

I take pity on her and abruptly wind down the music. The dancing ponies cheer for me, then start clamoring for more. I flip on some plain records—nothing special, but it’s enough to keep them occupied for now—then descend from my throne and shove my way to the bar.

I use my magic to snag a bottle of brandy from the special stock, then grab two glasses. I head over to her table, making sure to float my presents safely above the sweaty, jostling ponies.

“Hey,” I say, grinning. “How ’bout a real drink? My treat.” I wave the bottle at her.

She frowns, then stiffly nods. She reaches over and pulls a large black case away from the other seat to make room for me.

I look at the case as I sit down, wondering where I’ve seen it before.

“Cello,” she says curtly. “Now are you going to pour, or shall I?”

* * *

She’s still there when I wake up. I’m honestly surprised, and surprisingly happy. I expected her to flee the second she was sober enough to remember whose bed she was in, but she didn’t. She’s still there, curled up against me and studying me with those beautiful amethyst eyes.

“Good morning, Miss Scratch,” she says quietly, giving me a little smile.

“Morning, Tavi,” I murmur. I pat her cheek. “After last night, I think you can call me Vinyl.” She blushes adorably, and I grin. “I gotta say, you sure know how to make a mare scream.”

“I suppose I’ll take that as a compliment,” she deadpans.

“Damn straight,” I say.

I hesitantly put a foreleg around her. She doesn’t object, so I pull her closer and breath in her warm, musky, I-just-spent-the-night-getting-pounded-by-Vinyl-Scratch scent. She settles in between my legs, sighing contentedly.

It feels . . . right.

“Why didn’t you leave?” I ask suddenly.

She thinks for a moment, then says, “I’m not sure. This . . . ” She chuckles and shakes her head. “This is completely, utterly, and certifiably insane, but . . . this feels right, somehow.”

I smile and squeeze her tight.

Maybe—just maybe—this will be crazy enough to work.

267b: Little Shop of Horrors

267b: LITTLE SHOP OF HORRORS

“Please, don’t!”

“Hold still, Rainbow.”

“No no no! Don’t!”

“For the love of Luna, would you please stop squirming?”

“Why are you doing this?”

“It’s for your own good.”

“Yeah, right! How can this possibly—no, put that back!”

“Relax. You’ll barely feel a thing.”

“No! I won’t let you do this to me!”

“Ow! Keep those wings under control, or so help me, I’ll strap you down.”

“You m-m-monster! Why are you doing this? Why do you want to hurt me?”

“I told you—it’s for you own good. Call me a monster all you want, but you’ll thank me later.”

“Thank you for torturing me?”

“I’m pretty sure I’m the torturee here. This won’t hurt if you just hold still!”

“No!”

“Rainbow—”

“No!”

“Dammit, Rainbow. I didn’t want to have to do this, but . . . ”

“Huh? No, stop! You can’t! Twilight’s the only one who’s allowed to tie me up!”

“Waaaaaay more than I needed to know.”

“Colgate, please!”

“Oh, stop blubbering, you big baby. I thought you were supposed to be tough.”

“Let me out of this and I’ll show you tough! You think you can—oh sweet Celestia, where are you going to put that?”

“Where you do think?”

“You’re a horrible pony.”

“I get that a lot. Now hold still.”

“No no nooowwwww!”

“Like I said, you’ll thank me later—or at least your molars will. It’s really important to clear out cavities as soon as possible. Ugh, look at the state of these teeth! Rainbow Dash, when was the last time you brushed?”

Author's Note

I know I’m breaking my own rule against using Minuette like this (i.e., as a dentist named Colgate), but the idea got stuck in my head, and I kinda just had to write it. What can I say; it seemed funny at the time.

297: Honesty

297: HONESTY

Applejack is an honest pony. She knows that honesty is always the best policy. She knows it’s better to be straight-up and direct and one-hundred-percent truthful all the time, even if it hurts, because in the end, being dishonest hurts more. She knows that even well-intentioned little white lies can grow into uncontrollable monsters that gnaw at a pony’s life until there’s nothing left but emptiness and pain.

Applejack is an honest pony. She always has been. It’s how she’s kept Sweet Apple Acres afloat over the years. Pa always said that an honest day’s work was something to be proud of, that if a pony could look back and see that he’d built something strong and solid and true, then he could count himself successful. Ma always said that it was better to be honest even if it meant being poor, because ponies who lied to better their business poisoned themselves on the inside. Ever since they—well, Applejack has kept them close, and she’s kept the farm going. She knows it could be bigger and the coffers deeper if she was a little less scrupulous and a little more sly, but that’s not the Apple way. It’s not Applejack’s way.

Applejack is an honest pony. She calls things the way she sees them. Sometimes her friends might frown and tell her she could ease up a little, but she knows they appreciate her candor. She knows they can count on dependable old Applejack to give them the unvarnished truth, no matter what. She won’t hide behind niceties and half-truths, because a half-truth is sort of like a half-lie when you think about it, and Applejack doesn’t lie.

So when Rarity takes her aside after the ceremony and asks, “Applejack, darling, are you all right? I’ve never seen you cry so much,” Applejack thinks for a moment. To be honest—and she is; she’s Applejack—she’s very far from all right. Right here, right now, she hates Rarity. She hates this prissy little unicorn for leaving and getting herself hitched to some big-wig from Canterlot. She hates those ridiculous sapphire eyes she’ll never quite be able to look at the same way again. She hates that pretty violet mane and tail, with their funny little curls. She hates those blue diamonds on those sleek alabaster flanks that she’s always longed to run her hooves over—not that she can see them now beneath that amazing gown. She hates that she’ll never have any it, that she’ll never have her, and she’s going to tell her that because even if it hurts them both it’s the honest truth and Applejack is an honest pony so she opens her mouth and speaks and she hears: “Aw, shucks, Rarity. Ah’m just happy fer ya. Can’t blame a gal fer gettin’ a mite teary-eyed at her best friend’s weddin’, right?”

Applejack is an honest pony, but sometimes the truth hurts a little too much.

311: Cry "Havoc!" and Let Slip the Awkward Questions

311: CRY “HAVOC!” AND LET SLIP THE AWKWARD QUESTIONS

“CUTIE MARK CRUSADER SPRING CLEANING CLEANERS!”

Twilight’s smile strained a bit, but she held it in place as three filly-shaped whirlwinds of chaos raced past her desk and began churning through the library.

“Uh, Twilight?” said Spike, scratching at the spines on his head.

“Yes, Spike?”

“I know we need to clean the library, and I know you’re trying to be a good friend by watching them while Rarity and Applejack are out, but are you sure it’s a good idea to let them loose in here? I thought we were tying to clean the place, not destroy it.”

Twilight chuckled. “Don’t worry, Spike. I locked the lab, so they can’t get into too much mischief.”

“Even upstairs?”

“Yes, even upstairs. I already put the telescopes away.”

“What about, um . . . ”

“What about what, Spike?”

“Your . . . you know. Under your bed.”

Twilight reddened. “O-of course. I put that—” She froze, suddenly remembering that she hadn’t put it anywhere. Rainbow had lingered late this morning, and Twilight had been thoroughly—albeit pleasurably—distracted, and she had thoroughly forgotten to move it someplace where prying fillies couldn’t find it.

Spike sighed. “You didn’t, did you?”

“No,” squeaked Twilight.

“You know they’re gonna look under there, right?”

“GIRLS, WAIT!” Twilight howled. Her horn flared, and a burst of tingling magenta magic whisked her up to her bedroom. “WAIT!” she begged again.

But she was too late.

“Oh, hey, Twilight,” said Applebloom. “Why do you have a toy box under your bed?”

“These don’t look like toys,” said Sweetie Belle, peering suspiciously at the contents of the very open chest.

“Yeah,” said Scootaloo. “You can’t play guards and robbers with hoofcuffs like this! They’re all weird and fuzzy. And why do you have a dog collar with Rainbow Dash’s cutie mark on it?”

Twilight sank to her haunches and tried to plaster a smile across her face. Rarity was generous, right? Maybe she could convince Applejack to kill Twilight quickly and mostly painlessly.

Author's Note

Back to the gutter go I! I pooped this out at the last minute, but I still kinda had fun with it.

328: That Long, Endless Road

328: THAT LONG, ENDLESS ROAD

What does my cutie mark mean? Well, what do you think an hourglass means? Punctuality, of course. You can count on Minuette to be there on time, every time.

Actually . . . wait. I . . . I want to tell you the truth today. It’s not punctuality. It’s not clock making, either. That’s what I told you it was last week, but you don’t remember that. And it’s not cooking eggs. It’s actually a lot simpler than you think, and a lot more complicated, too.

It’s time.

Time is my special talent. I don’t just mean being punctual. I mean actual time. I can slow it down, stop it, even rewind it. Heh, you always look at me like that. I’m telling the truth, really. Time is my special talent. Would you like me to show you? Here, take my hoof, and don’t let go. Ready?

It’s okay. Open your eyes and look around. See? I can stop time. Right now, everypony else in the world is just . . . frozen, I guess you can say. Well, almost everypony else. We’re still not sure if the princesses are affected the same way, but—

What? Oh, yes. We. I’m not the only pony who can do this. There are several of us. We call ourselves the Hourglass Society, heh heh. I’m sure you’ve seen Time Turner around town. He’s a good friend of mine, and . . .

No. I’m telling you the truth today. He’s . . . he’s sort of my probation officer.

Please don’t look at me like that.

It’s hard. Living like this, I mean. Once you realize just how powerful these abilities are and start seeing what you can do with them, it’s hard to think like a normal pony. You know you’re supposed to pay for your coffee and your doughnut, but after a while, it’s tempting to just stop time, take what you want, and then unstop it without anypony being the wiser. And that’s just the little things. Being able to reverse time means you can basically do whatever you want without worrying about consequences, and when you’re sad or lonely or angry or just don’t care anymore . . .

I’ve done things I’m not proud of. We all have moments, but . . . I’ve done things to other ponies. With other ponies. They don’t remember it now, and it’s like nothing ever happened, but I did. That’s why Time Turner is here. He . . . keeps an eye on me. Helps me.

Please don’t look at me like that. I’m trying to be good. Honestly, I am.

I . . . I shouldn’t have done this. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I keep doing this to you. I just . . . need somepony else to talk to sometimes. I’m sorry. I’ll go now. I’ll rewind this.

Please don’t look at me like that.

Author's Note

This was terribly rushed, but it still provided an interesting opportunity to practice with some themes/ideas I'd like to turn into a longer fic centered around Minuette, because (1) she's adorable, and (2) she's far cooler as a chronomancer than as a dentist.