Chapters “Twilight Sparkle? you wished to speak with me?” Luna smiled graciously and bent her neck downwards for a nuzzle. The unicorn in question was clearly suffering from nerves in the presence of royalty. Strange, given the fact that they two were now fast friends, and that Twilight was royalty herself through marriage and association.
Twilight pressed into the embrace with an odd intensity and backed away, pulling an ancient, leather-bound tome from her saddlebags. She flipped through the pages and showed a certain selection to Luna. “This is the Compendium of Starswirl the Bearded’s Oracles,” she explained. “It was thought to be lost, but it showed up in the Crystal Empire. I’ve been translating it, and I’ll admit my High Unicornian is rusty, but this one’s coming up soon, within the next month...” She swallowed nervously before continuing, “And it’s about you. And it doesn’t sound all that great for you from the little I understand.”
Luna looked it over, reading through it, her lips moving with every word. “ ...And where the stars shine brightest, on the longest night of the eleventh month, something once thought lost will await the Moon, for good or ill...” She chuckled and pushed the book aside. “Thank you for bringing my attention to this, dear Twilight. But really, it’s of no concern.”
“...Really? ‘cause it sounded to me like some age-old enemy was going to go after you or something. You know, Battle to the death between two Titans? An enemy you made when the Nightmare was in control? Ringing any bells?” Twilight was pacing now, muttering half-sentences, her ears twitching with frustration and nervous energy. It was really too adorable. Young, eager Twilight, all worked up for my sake... Luna’s laughter broke through her carefully assembled calm and she found herself receiving a death-glare.
“The world could be in danger, you could DIE in some cataclysmic battle against forces of darkness, and you’re too busy laughing at me to care? Really, Princess?” she shouted, flecks of spittle dotting the corners of her mouth. Luna threw a comforting hoof over Twilight’s shaking shoulders and pulled her into a casual embrace, nibbling through Twilight’s mane until she had calmed down.
“Twilight, please trust me. Starswirl was ...eccentric, to say the least, when I knew him. I know what this is about, and I ask that you believe it when I tell you once more that is it of no true concern.”
“May I ask what it’s about, then?” That nervous edge was back in those deep purple eyes, as if by asking she had crossed some great line.
“Starswirl was a close companion of mine, invaluable while we cleaned up the remains of DIscord’s reign. He would borrow small things he needed from me; books, artifacts, spell catalysts... and with his understanding of time and magic, he was, of course, a fine prophet. He foresaw his exile to the Griffon Kingdoms, and he foresaw that he would die before he saw me again.
“And, well, he had quite the sense of humor as well. He hid... clues inside his prophecy books, hinting to where I might find another cache of the things of mine he thought I would need later. I believe that this is one of those hints.”
Twilight rushed to close her hanging jaw and blinked a few times in disbelief. “You’re telling me that Starswirl took the time to scatter hints of location throughout the hundreds of books he wrote to tell you where your things were hidden?”
“Yes, I suppose I am,”
“Like Geocache or something?”
“Yes. As I said, he was rather eccentric.”
“But... I don’t even... Why?”
“I like to think of it as a fun way to remember him,” Luna confided. “I know he’s still laughing at me from the Eternal Pastures, and besides... Where’s the fun in finding a map that shows me where everything is? Half the fun is in the journey. That’s something I’d do well to be reminded of, from time to time.”
“I still think that’s stupid,” Twilight grumbled, blowing her mane out of her eyes with a pout.
“Oh, it is,” Luna chuckled. “It most certainly is.”
Author's Note
The Prompt: "Ancient Prophecies can be really stupid sometimes"
I've always thought that Starswirl the Bearded was a very silly pony as well as one of the greatest unicorns of ancient times. When I was thinking of stupid prophecies, I had first considered some dramatic rhyming verse about Princess Luna finding a missing sock or somesuch, but when my brain suggested cross-generational geocaching as another possibility, this story was born.
Rainbow Dash and Rarity had been fighting again. That much was easy to see from how they entered Sugarcube. The guilty glances to each other, the little cringes, and the slumps to their normally proud backs and necks also meant that Twilight had found out they were fighting. Pinkie sighed softly and kicked the counter ever-so-gently, the most frustration she could show at this latest development. After helping Dashie and Rarity to sort this out, she would have to spend her afternoon at the library, making sure Twilight knew that it wasn’t sharing her that was the problem, it was just that her lovers didn’t really understand each other as well as they could, if they gave each other the chance.
Everyone else had been surprised when it came to be. Twilight Sparkle, the reclusive, studious librarian, hooking up with not one but two of the town’s most outgoing, outspoken mares? No one else had seen it coming. But then again, no one else was Pinkie Pie. Being Pinkie Pie meant knowing the little things about all your friends. Birthdays and favorite colors and food allergies were easy. Anypony could do that. But being Pinkie Pie meant that you knew how Twilight was drawn to the confidence and charisma that Rarity and Rainbow had in spades. Being Pinkie Pie meant knowing that Twilight needed somepony (or in this case someponies) with patience and loyalty and kindness and generosity enough to forgive her little blunders and neuroses, to draw her out of her shell and introduce her slowly to the intricacies of love and lust.
Being Pinkie Pie meant knowing how much Rarity and Dashie needed to be needed, to be anchored down, to think of somepony else first, to temper their impulsive and occasionally thoughtless decisions through acts of selflessness and a thought of lovely purple eyes shining in shame. So when things finally fell into being, when the half-thought gestures and intricate courtships came through to make the most talked-about relationship in all of Ponyville, Pinkie was not surprised. She had the decorations loaded into the cannons a week before her friends even knew what was happening.
And being Pinkie Pie meant being there for the worst times along with the best. Being Pinkie Pie meant offering advice at any time, at any place, to any pony that asked for it. Being Pinkie Pie meant bringing ice cream and tissues to the Boutique at four in the morning and reminding Rarity that she was just as important to Twilight as Rainbow was. Being Pinkie Pie meant going toe to toe with Dashie when the stress got to be too much and Applejack was too busy to help her blow off some steam. Being Pinkie Pie meant covering up the bruises the day after and bouncing extra super-duper high to make sure Dashie didn’t feel so bad about it. Being Pinkie Pie meant accepting the four or five apologies that would come anyways with the same enthusiasm and reassurances that everything was fine.
Sometimes other ponies would wonder why she did so much for them. And she’d just laugh and laugh, because it was always easy for her to see. Everything was easy for her to see, when it came to ponies. That was part of being Pinkie Pie. They were her friends, and not just talk-in-the-street friends. They were her very bestest save-the-world-together, Run-around-together, Forgive-and-forget-together friends. They were some of the five most important ponies in her life. And taking care of them was important. It was part of being Pinkie Pie.
It also helped that she didn’t have any special someponies to distract her from helping. She didn’t really need them, after all. Kisses and snuggles weren’t part of being Pinkie Pie. That was something else that confused a bunch of ponies. Ponies like Mrs. Cake and Rarity would ask her if she loved somepony, or if she was looking for somepony special in her life. But the truth was that she loved everypony, even the ones she hadn’t met yet. And everypony was special to her. She couldn’t choose somepony to be even more extra special to her, because that wouldn’t be fair to all the other ponies who were just as special to her, really. And that was part of being Pinkie Pie. She’d heard, most vocally from Dashie, that kisses were really nice. And she knew from experience that hugs were pretty awesome. But really, all she ever needed was to see her friends smile. And that was part of being Pinkie Pie.
And part of being Pinkie Pie was smiling at her two friends as they sat down in the corner with their shamed frowns and sad eyes. And part of being Pinkie Pie was finding Mr. Cake in the back and getting him to take over at the counter for an hour, and promising to make it up to him by filling out the three big orders he would be working on later tonight. Sometimes being Pinkie Pie meant not getting much sleep, but it was never a big problem. That’s what coffee was for. And part of being Pinkie Pie was grabbing a croissant and an espresso shot for Rarity and a lemon poppyseed muffin and a strawberry smoothie for Dashie and prancing over to their table, armed with a dozen song-seeds and her biggest, warmest Pinkie Pie smile.
And part of being Pinkie Pie was giving the two of them the tightest, snuggliest, Pinkie Pie hug she could and a huge, silly wink.“You two look like you’re having a rough day. Why don’t you eat your snacks and tell your Auntie Pinkie Pie ALL about it?”
Author's Note
The Prompt: "It all makes sense now. Love is the only thing that can save us."
I admire the lengths Pinkie will go to for a smile or to cheer up a friend, which spawned this vignette. I may expand on this later...
Twilight looked around the club with a wide-eyed wonder. The lights were still being set, and the floor lay completely empty. And up on the stage, DJ PON-3, or, as she had recently come to know, Vinyl Scratch, was setting up her “rig”.
It was pretty impressive how much the white unicorn could hold at once. Preamps, cables, synthesizers, three effects racks, at least twenty cables and four large speaker stacks revolved around her in a convoluted choreography that hypnotized and amazed, all without the mare seeming to break a sweat or stop for one instant the rhythms that danced through her hooves.
In the few hours she had gotten to know Vinyl, Twilight had learned a few things. Vinyl never stopped dancing, whether it was a single hoof tapping out subtle polyrhythmic figures against a cushion on the train or an all-out shuffle through the busy sidewalks of Manehattan. Vinyl was a great conversationalist. She could go on for hours about anything at all, eager to offer what she knew and learn more in an instant, asking pointed and intelligent questions about the few things Twilight knew more about, and offering a fresh viewpoint on many of Twilight’s current studies. Hours had passed by in a delightful blur of the latest magical theories, set to the compelling beat of the engine’s pistons and Vinyl’s tapping hooves. It was a delightful, new experience. Much as she loved her friends, she couldn’t have these kinds of in-depth discussions with her. After half an hour, Rarity would lose track of what was what and hurriedly excuse herself to something else. Pinkie would eventually lose interest, Applejack and Rainbow Dash would stop her before she even started her “egghead talk”, and Fluttershy would sit and wait silently for her to be done before admitting nervously that she “didn’t really understand magic that well, sorry.” It was nice, having a friendly talk about tangential matrices and proper timing arrays on the household spells of Mayflower the Efficient.
And it was nice getting to know the mare behind the shades, a new side to the DJ. At Shining’s wedding, DJ PON-3 had come across as a talented and almost militantly professional performer. She kept a neutral grin and even voice throughout the rehearsal, changing whatever she was requested, making careful, polite suggestions on performance technique and ways to overcome stage fright, while somehow remaining aloof and untouchable. When Twilight had seen her on the train car, she had her reservations about taking the unoccupied seat beside her. It had been the risk with the greatest payoff since going to Ponyville.
When they got their luggage and left the steamy platform, Vinyl had offered a VIP backstage to her gig, and Twilight had happily agreed. Of course, on the way to the club, Vinyl had given her a tour of the “scene” in downtown Manehattan, complete with her colorful commentary and odd jargon. They stopped for amazing Istallion food at a dingy hole-in-the wall with dim lights and amazing service. Words flowed between them as generously as their wine, a dusky house red that went down smooth and potent. Vinyl spoke volumes with her expressive magenta eyes as she told hilarious stories of life in the music business, her hooves gesticulating wildly to accompany the madcap misadventures. Many details escaped her, and some of the situations described made no sense to her whatsoever, but Twilight for once was content to listen. She was alright with being confused tonight, she was alright with feeling uneducated for once. It finally hit her while Vinyl was halfway through a tangent about skinny-dipping with Sapphire Shores on her first big tour. Twilight felt comfortable around Vinyl. She had known her for less than a full day, and she already felt as though she could trust the musician with her deepest secrets.
As ponies filled the dance floor, Twilight stayed close to the stage, her eyes riveted on the performer. Vinyl had receded, allowing PON-3 to have prominence. In front of the crowd, she had adopted a predatory, griffonic energy, prowling voiceless across the stage to deafening roars. She looked right at Twilight, laserlights glinting off her shades, and gave her an easy grin and the little twist of her neck that meant she was winking. Her horn lit, and without any warning, the music started.
It was unlike any other music Twilight had ever heard. The chords flowed smoothly and naturally, yet defied any harmonic system she knew. Zebric influence showed in the melody, but the arpeggiated countermelodies interplayed in a unique tonality, some mode of melodic minor. She shook her head and stopped trying. Twilight was out of her depth, and for once she was glad for it. With the music so foreign, she couldn’t distract from it with analysis. The beat was addicting, crawling under her skin and enticing her to dance, unmindful of the crowd around her, of their judgmental eyes. And the music grew in intensity, filling her with an enjoyable tension, her eyes on the unicorn above her, on the feral grin and agressive movements, the mixing board and flashing lights. Finally, when her mind could take no more of the pulsating, layered madness in her ears, there were eight beats of total silence... and the music ROARED.
Twilight screamed with it, because of it, for it... and there was no doubt in her mind that the pony onstage had changed her in the six hours they had spent together, had thrown her world askew, had stolen away her heart with her effortless charm endless wit. Twilight was out of her depth, and she had never been so glad of it.
Author's Note
The Prompt: "It only takes a moment to fall in love"
This was, in a way, an exploration of a ship that intrigued me. I have a thing for musician ponies, and somehow I see these two working in their odd way...
--- This shares a continuity with The Drop ---
When her eyes burned dryly and the words on the page before her blurred and shifted, Twilight knew she had to stop studying. She sighed and hid the book behind the front desk, to make sure it would be there whenever she next had the free time. She plodded up the stairs, taking her candle with her, and headed for her bed.
She paused and peered through the guestroom door, the candle stub casting a wavering golden glow onto the unicorn sleeping there. Vinyl’s nose crinkled adorably against a strand of bright blue hair that tickled a nostril with every even breath. She smiled faintly as she tiphooved in and gently, lightly tucked the stray hair behind Vinyl’s twitching ear. The wary tension that Vinyl carried had been smoothed away in sleep, and her angelic face set the familiar ache weighing down in her gut. She sighed and left, closing the door partway behind her, and trotted to the bathroom, splashing her face angrily with icy water from the tap.
She looked up at the mirror, at the strange pony reflected there. Bloodshot eyes, slightly unfocused, looked back at her from sunken sockets stained dark with worry and sleepless nights. “She needs a friend, Twilight,” she muttered to herself, reaching for a towel. “A friend.” She dried her face and brushed her teeth for two minutes, not a second extra. From there it was straight to bed, lights out. Her mind, as always, wouldn’t let her sink into sleep just yet. She stared out her windows to the stars and sighed again, a furious expulsion of air, as if it could blow away the troublesome, niggling thoughts.
She wasn’t sure when her life had become this game of self-denial and borderline misery. Somewhere between the different tours, the book signings, the publicity stunts, ‘Welcome back’ had become ‘welcome home.’ One of her circulation closets had been repurposed to hold fuseboxes, preamps, circuitboards, and records. The guest bed was always made up with the soft flannel sheets Vinyl had liked. Another color had made its way into her coordinated schedule, full of venues and managers and tour dates. It was everything she had hoped for, and it was killing her, day by day.
She’d tried so many times, so many ways, to get over the … attraction she had for the other mare. Failed dates with others, solid denial, promises to move on. And still, almost a year after Vinyl had started spending more time in Ponyville, she was hopelessly lost in a one-sided desire. Every time Vinyl smiled or laughed still left her breathless and fluttery. Every time Vinyl wasn’t looking she shamefully eyed over the DJ’s toned body. Her dreams were rife with fantasies of even just kissing the white mare, of walking through the park, tails entwined. But Vinyl insisted, in her way, that Twilight was being the very best of friends. It was strange, having such a beloved and important word turn sour in her mouth and send icy disappointment trickling down her spine.
But, she had to admit, a friend was what Vinyl needed right now. A friend and a place to call home. And since it was for Vinyl, Twilight would endure. It was already making a notable difference in Vinyl’s lifestyle. She was sleeping better and eating more, and the unhealthy, haunted look had left her eyes. She still occasionally came in drunk, but those instances were fewer and farther between with each passing month, and none of them were anything like the terrifying blackout state she had first appeared in at the Library’s doorstep. And so if every day had a thousand little heartbreaks, so be it. Twilight could handle them, if it meant her Vinyl was safe.
Author's Note
The prompt: "Mad Love"
“Welcome, friends. Welcome, enemies. Welcome, strangers. Welcome to yourselves. Welcome to Harmony.” Ponies shuffled and coughed in the stuffy chapel, the midsummer sun filtering through decades-worth of dust motes. the preacher cleared her throat and looked out to the crowd again, her green eyes open and trusting, filled with some transcendent inner light.
“You may ask what Harmony is, and why I speak of It as I do. And the simplest definition lies in music. Harmony is a combination of intervals to form chords. But that’s not easy to see, not easy to feel. Not everypony can give their hearts to music, after all. And that, in a way, is harmony. NOw I see some sceptics, and that’s fine. But I can say with all certainty that everyone in this room has felt true harmony, for we are creatures of Harmony.
“At the end of winter, we come together in our towns and cities, and we work with a common purpose and a song in our hearts. And that is Harmony. We have friends, families, lovers, husbands, wives, who love us for who we are, flaws and all. That is Harmony. We have fights and disagreements, and that is Harmony. Without that balance, without those many voices, we would have one single melody, on single thought to our world. And the everyday magics would be lost to us. The color of the world would be gone, faded. We would lose our identity as ponykind and fall into a decline.
“But our great, peaceful race is not the only to know of Harmony, our great race is not the only to seek a better life, to strive for peace and love on a daily basis. We have the luxury of our kind princesses, the Unfading. They give us the stability we need to create the miracles we take for granted in our medicine, in our parliament, in our education, in our infrastructure. And so we thrive. And so we take our Harmony for granted.
“Many on the streets ask me why I travel, why I risk myself, as they put it, needlessly. Our neighbors are not as peaceful as we are, they argue. Our neighbors are uncultured, brutish, dangerous, better left to themselves, they say. And I say that isn’t true. When leaders fall or betray their subjects without a just cause, when ancient feuds rage on and kill off the youth, when resources run low and somebody must go without, it is hard to find the truth of things. I travel to help spread what I know of Harmony and love and tolerance. I spread what I know to be a good way of life to those who need a guiding force. I do what I must to give the other great races on this planet the life they deserve to know. I travel to give them the love they do not yet understand. Because I believe I have a duty to do so.
“As a filly, I was in love with music, with singing and the joy it could bring me. But when the time came that I was brave enough to step forward and share that joy with others, I found something much greater. As I stood on the stage and sang for the crowd, the crowd sang with me. Not with their voices, but with their hearts. Every life has a song, every tree has a melody, every Griffin an aria... I know this, because I hear them all.
"Why do I speak of Harmony as a living being? Because it is. Each life on this world is unique and beautiful, and each life has a song. And when those songs gather together, when beings meet and talk, that is Harmony.We are all creatures of Harmony, servants in the loosest sense. And I know that better than any. On that day, on that stage, I was called upon by Harmony. It gave me the ears to hear the world’s tune, with all its heartbreaking dissonance and astounding depth. And so I answered the call.
“But I am not the only one who can hear it. I was simply shown the way, shown the truth, given the easy way through to understanding it all. Every one of you can hear it, if you try hard enough. If you approach each day with love and light in your hearts, and if you truly listen. Some of you don’t believe me. Some of you may never do so, or may never hear the wonders I do. But that’s fine. That’s the way life goes, and that’s the way of Harmony.”
The preacher turned and left the pulpit, walking through the crowd, their silence as tangible as the rough-woven robe draped about her withers. She flung wide the doors with a burst of magic, letting the russet sunset shine through.
“Just try to do one thing, my friends, my people. Try to listen.”
Author's Note
The Prompt: "Grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled, as to console; to be understood, as to understand; to be loved, as to love"
Yes, in some dusty corner of my headcanon, Sweetie Belle is a travelling preacher. She spreads the message of love, tolerance, and Harmony to every nation she can enter. Don't ask me how this started; I have no idea.
Dear Princess Celestia,
I know you keep telling me to drop the title since we’re technically equals now, but for this letter, I feel it’s important to address you by title. Today, I’m not writing you as Princess Twilight Sparkle of Equestria, but rather as your faithful student. And, although you’ve mentioned several times that you want me to start writing them again, this isn’t a friendship report.The truth is, I’m not sure I still belong here in Ponyville. In fact, I’m writing today to officially request a change of residency.
Now, before you write back or come to visit and try to talk me out of this, you need to know that this isn’t some rush decision. I’ve been considering this for about a year now, and I finally had to give up the ghost and act on it. Ponyville’s been hard to live in since I Ascended. There’s always a certain amount of tension whenever I walk around, to the point where I’m picking up old, bad habits like staying up for three days straight on a studying binge. Some days, I just sit at the front desk and hope against all hope that someone will come in and need a book. I hardly went outside this last month, Celestia. My friends had to drag me outside to a picnic, and I almost bolted three or four times when we were in a crowd. I’m scared to go outside, Princess. And that terrifies me. IN another few years, will I be that same, antisocial mare that I was in Canterlot, but with wings and an honorary crown? It’s hard to say.
I think the worst part of it right now is the duality of everyday living. On one side of the equation, I’m Twilight Sparkle: community leader, librarian, sometime substitute teacher at the schoolhouse, and Winter Wrap-up All-team Coordinator. On the other side, I’m Princess Twilight, Guardian of the Everfree Region, Avatar of Harmony and Balance. And no matter what operations I try, I can’t get them to cancel out. Nopony really knows which Twilight Sparkle they’re dealing with, and they don’t really understand that I’m both now. Everypony stares and whispers, and I can do no wrong or I do everything wrong, depending on who you ask.
And I should be able to say that it’s easier with my friends by my side, but that isn’t exactly true anymore. And that hurts more than anything. The girls are really supportive of me, and they have my best interests at heart, but it’s like you always told me. In theory and in practice are two completely different matters. I can tell that even they aren’t sure which Twilight they should be talking to. This blame lies entirely on my shoulders, though. I don’t know which Twilight they should be seeing.
I’ve been on edge for almost nine years now, waiting for a summons that never came. Waiting for duties that were never fully passed on. And I’m not stupid, Princess. Even the most stubborn bureaucrats couldn’t hold off an Amendment that long. I know what you’re trying to do, to help me ease into my new lifestyle. I don’t need that anymore. I know where I should be, and it’s not here. I should be by your left side and by Luna’s right, helping to shape our great nation to a brighter future. Any home that I had in Ponyville has long withered away, and it’s hurting everypony to think otherwise.
The truth is, Princess, I don’t really understand my friends anymore. And they certainly don’t understand me. You were right when you pulled them aside and reminded them gently that I was still the same Twilight Sparkle, really. And things were great for a while. But the problem is that I’m still that same old Twilight Sparkle, and they’ve moved on to bigger things. And, damned as I feel by it, I’m afraid to follow. How much change is enough change, how much is too little? I’ve lost all perspective on that when I lost a tangible day where I would not be among the living. When you have forever, what’s the point in changing with the times? When you transcend time itself, when you have the power to create and destroy worlds, to play with Creation itself, how can you continue to better yourself?
I haven’t changed much at all, for fear of losing what little familiarity I can find inside my own head. And the Twilight Sparkle from the good old days just doesn’t belong with the Applejack, Rarity, Fluttershy, Pinkie Pie, or Rainbow Dash of today. Applejack’s busy running an expanding business while Mac takes care of his young family, and she doesn’t have the time it takes to see me much anymore. And Pinkie Pie’s been building her own shop and family slowly, fostering all those foals singlehandedly.
Rarity’s in Canterlot making a splash, as I’m sure you know, and Rainbow Dash has blown every record in the books out of the water. And Fluttershy, well, she doesn’t get into town much anymore. Every week and a half or so, Apple Bloom will stop by and make sure everything’s alright, but she’s always so busy keeping the Timberwolves and Manticores away from town, and she doesn’t really have any excuses to drop by anymore...
I guess what I’m trying to say here is that they’ve moved past the point where knowing me is of any benefit to them. Every single one of them is reaching for their best right now, and I’m the one thing holding them back. We haven’t needed the Elements in years, and I’m hurting them through their own best intentions. Rainbow Dash stops by biweekly to read together and catch up. It’s a long flight out and back, and I can always tell that she’s frustrated with me and my reclusive tendencies. And that’s just the first example I can think of. I don’t need to be here anymore, Princess. If I move on and take up my duties like I should have a long time ago, I won’t be tying them down. They can go and be whatever they want to be without worrying about how I might freak out or be lonely.
And there’s more lines in their faces than there used to be. Rainbow is still in her prime, but she’s napping and stretching a lot more than she used to. Applejack’s hips are a few decades away from going the way of Granny Smith’s, and she gets winded at the Running of the Leaves. Every day, these ponies that I care about are dying, and all I can do is watch. Good old Twilight, sitting at the library. Never turns away a friend in need, never refuses advice and counsel to those who need it, never backs down from a challenge, never ages a year. I can’t stand it, Princess. I can’t sit around watching as these wonderful ponies I know waste away and die.
Forgive me for sounding rude or inconsiderate here, Princess, but I’m certain a few millennia tend to put this sort of thing into perspective. This sounds distasteful, disrespectful, but I’m sure that after the first hundred or so ponies you know who go this way, it gets easier to watch. Not that I’m implying you don’t care about the ponies you know, or that you don’t grieve when they die, but you’ve probably been desensitized by the sheer magnitude of loss you’ve experienced. This is my first time witnessing it, and I hate every second if it.
I don’t care what you have to say about this, but I know I’m ready to take on whatever duties you throw at me. I’ve packed my bags already. It’s surprising how many things here aren’t really mine anymore. If I don’t see a chariot by noon tomorrow, I swear I’ll fly myself to the castle and demand a workload. So please, Princess. Let me do what I was destined to do. Your “kindness” in letting me stay here is tearing me apart.
Your faithful student,
Her High Majesty Twilight Sparkle, Shepherd of the Stars, Guardian of Harmony
Author's Note
The Prompt: "Everybody’s changing, but I still feel the same."
I went WAY over time on this one, so much it almost got booted from upload... I guess I had a lot more angst over the whole princess situation than I thought.
All those stories about Rainbow Dash liking mares made sense now. Not that that was a bad thing, really. And honestly, Scootaloo wasn’t worried about that. It was Rainbow Dash, so they were cool, true or not. What didn’t make sense was how many stories there weren’t about other mares liking mares. But it was pretty obvious, now that the Crusaders were running around Ponyville like a bunch of crazy... Were they crazy? Probably, but so were Rainbow Dash and her friends, so that made it okay. Who would face down unmentionable evils without a second thought but a bunch of crazies? Anyways, the reason everything was coming together was pretty scary, in a looking-at-your-future kinda way. The fact was, stallions in Ponyville were weird . Too weird for Ms. Cheerilee, anyhow. She was the best teacher ever, and she really deserved the best very special somepony they could find her.
After all, she was a pretty lonely mare. Or at least, that’s what Sweetie had said, and Sweetie’s sister was Rarity, who was, like, the town expert in romance. So of course, since Sweetie talked to Rarity all the time, she had to be at least the second-best pony at knowing that kind of mushy stuff. But since Ms. Cheerilee was always so busy being a great teacher and grading their homework and stuff, she was probably too busy to find one herself. And that’s where the Crusaders came in.
But the stallions around here were just so weird . Everywhere they looked, the weirdest, grossest stuff showed its weird, gross head … figuredly speaking, of course. Ms. Cheerilee couldn’t nuzzle a kid or a grandpa; that would be weird. And probably against the rules, somewhere. At least, that’s what Auntie Raindrops had told her once. And every foal knew how much Ms. Cheerilee couldn’t stand germs. Or mud. Well, not too much mud, anyways. It wasn’t like she was a neat freak or anything. Was it too much to be ask for a normal stallion in this town?
Of course it was. The mares who weren’t busy being the best teacher ever had grabbed them all beforehand. Scootaloo blew a frustrated raspberry at one couple in particular. What were they doing, being all mushy like that in public? I bet they can’t write a quiz worth a darn , she thought. They think they’re so good with their picnic and their nuzzling ... Ms. Cheerilee could do better than that.
But the more she thought about it, the more she could understand why a mare might go for other mares in this town, although Sweetie was dead set on a boyfriend for their teacher. And she was the best of the three of them at this, for obvious reasons. With all the craziness going around today like some kind of plague... Was it contagious? Was that what cooties did?
They ran into the king of crazy, right offsides of Sugarcube corner. Seriously, a stallion who had nothing better to do than bathe in huge jars of otherwise delicious jelly? Did he know how many mornings of toast he was destroying for his perverse pleasure?
As they plodded back to Sweet Apple Acres, out of luck, a beacon of hope shone out. Apple Bloom’s brother wasn’t too weird. And he had to be cool, or else how could he have a sister like Apple Bloom?
“Doing anything special for Hearts and Hooves Day?” she asked, casual and suave. He’d never see this coming. He’d never guess their awesome plans.
Against all hope, against all odds, they waited …. “Eenope!”
They’d done it. They’d found the perfect stallion. Now to plan a way to show the two of them exactly how awesome they could be together. If it takes this much work to find a Very Special Somepony, you can count me out, that’s for sure.
Author's Note
The Prompt: "Reinterpret a musical scene from the show as a non-musical scene."
It was a fun challenge to try and get inside Scootaloo's head.
“But What did I do?” Twilight asked, peering up at her mentor’s ageless face for any indication of what was to come.
“If you need help getting past feelings of unworthiness, we can help, Twilight Sparkle.”
Twilight whirled around to face the new speaker. “Princess Luna...” she paused, sorting out the thousands of clamoring thoughts in her head. “It’s not so much feelings of worthiness as a history of instability. It’s not fair to Equestria to get a new princess that’s half-crazy.” She looked back anf forth between the two Alicorns, catching each of them in the eye and smiling. “I’m honored that you’d think of me, but I’m not the mare for the job.”
Luna facehoofed magnificently, her crystalline horseshoes *clinking* against her horn. “So help me, Twilight Sparkle...”she growled. When she opened her eyes they glowed white with radiant moonbeams, haunting and terrifying. “YOU HAVE COMPLETED THE SPELL OF AGES, TWILIGHT SPARKLE!” Twilight ground her feet into the astral floor against the might of the Royal Canterlot Voice. “THE STARS HAVE ALIGNED, AND IT IS MUCH MORE THAN YOUR OWN DESTINY AT WORK HERE. THE STARS HAVE SPOKEN AND THERE WILL BE A NEW ALICORN BEFORE THIS NIGHT IS THROUGH! AND AS YOU HAVE PROVEN YOURSELF WORTHY, IT FALLS UPON YOU TO... RECIEVE ONE FOR THE TEAM, AS THEY SAY.”
The gears in Twilight’s head were spinning faster than they had for a long time, churning out scenarios at lightning speed. She found one she liked and started down the path toward it.
“Would one of the other Element Bearers be worthy of this?” she hazarded, her guilt spiking to terminal levels beneath the two unamused glares she was recieving.
“I suppose they would be,” Luna answered, although the icy glare did not once leave her face. “Rarity and Rainbow Dash have great charisma and a desire for greatness. What say you, sister?”
Celestia frowned. “Both of them would feel insulted, in a way. They desire to reach the pinnacles of greatness and renown through their own hard work. What say you to Pinkie Pie? She’d be a useful ambassador.”
A moment later, when the possibilities of Pinkie with godlike power and influence made themselves known, Celestia’s face turned a vibrant green and she shook with terror and awe.
“You’re both thinking too big,” Twilight chided, smiling. “You see, something I’ve learned while being in a group of friends is that one of them will incvariably take whatever is thrown at her in stride, because she’s juts too polite to object to it...”
Twilight appeared in a flash of light, while quickly checking her shoulders for wings. Thankfully, none appeared. Another blinding flash turned the night to day for a full five seconds before receding. Twilight smiled and waited for the inevitable.
“Twilight? You mind explaining what in tarnation jus’ happened to me?”
It was all she could do to smother her joyous laughter. Score!
Author's Note
Prompt 266: Equestria’s latest alicorn princess… is not Twilight Sparkle.
The turnout was pretty good, considering how short-notice the announcements had been. Getting Pinkie to deliver them discreetly had been a heart attack waiting to happen, but she was more tactful than most gave her credit for. Knowing her, she’d probably gotten notices into everyone’s house without ever getting in view of the library.
Ponies of all ages, all tribes, sat around the edges of the barn, silent and wary in the dim lighting. A few still covered their faces and marks, but through these meetings more and more had become comfortable with each other, comfortable enough to let others see who they were. Applebloom made her way onto the jerry-rigged stage and looked out at them, raising her right foreleg and stomping it down once with a resonant thwack.
Years of hard labor had toned her down to a stocky, ropy mass of hard muscle. Her horseshoe left a half-inch dent in the oak flooring. She hated her own strength. It was just another reminder of her lost potential, her abandoned dreams. Sweetie joined her, facing towards the crowd in solemn solidarity. She left space between them, just enough for a stunted pegasus. It was tradition between them now. In times of true darkness, we turn to traditions as a North Star, as Granny would have said.
Apple Bloom cleared her throat and began, her eyes flicking to every face in the crowd. “This town was granted to us by the benevolence of Princess Celestia. But this town is still what we made it. We wrap up winter, we build and rebuild our schoolhouses, we live here, we farm here, and we die here. As all of us know and agree, something rotten is sitting on the throne. Something rotten on the White Mountain. Something rotten in our own library.
“We all know that Twilight Sparkle used to be a model citezen, one of us. Salt of the earth, warmth of the hearth, all that. But recently, it’s been hard to tell. I was overjoyed when she first Ascended. I thought, ‘A princess in Ponyville? Now we’ll get the things we need. But Princess Twilight Sparkle couldn’t help us, wouldn’t help us, She’d call it a conflict of interest, or say she wasn’t a fully respected princess yet and didn’t want to petition anything radical... she had a hundred different ways of dressing it up, but the point is, she wanted nothing to do with us. And that was fine. Ponyville could get by without a Princess. We’d done it for nearly a century. So we were friendly with her, and everything was about the same.
“But you know what happened.” Hushed murmurs ran through the crowd like a static charge. “That’s why you’re all here. Every one of us lost something when it happened. When we needed her most, our Princess was off making nice with a bunch of Dragon dignitaries. And she was so damn entranced by them, so damn interested in what they had to say that she could care less about what the Everfree was doing to us. To our town. To this farm...” She swallowed heavily. “To my family. She couldn’t even spare one day for us, after all we’d given her, after all we’d done.
“She’s apologized time after time, and she helped rebuild the town with her own two hooves, but apologies don’t give back the dead, and we can rebuild houses. It’s the broken families that’ll never mend.” The barn was so still, so silent, so full of emotions stretched out on tenterhooks that Apple Bloom swore she could hear her mane moving against her neck. All eyes were glued on her, the familiar fervor burning deep and proud in everypony.
“This brings me to why I called you all here tonight. You all know that money and time to spare are rare ‘round here these days, but I finally finished something that’ll be sure to give us a leg up on them,” she announced. She turned to the shrouded lump behind her and pulled the dropsheet off it with a quick tug.
It glinted in the warm lamplight, sharp and sleek. They could tell she’d built it mostly from scrap, but it still looked dangerous, all edges and gears and ancient runic symbols. It was frightening, unwieldy, asymmetric. It was terrifying, and it was perfect.
“I reckon they’ll never see this coming. So why don’t we strike while the iron is hot? I called on you in particular because I thought you migh support me in this venture. If you’d rather not, you can leave now and wash yourself clean of the whole affair. Just don’t try to stop me.”
She waited as a number of the ponies left, looking off to the left. Her sister’s one good eye shone with a conflicted pride, her scarred muzzle set into a firm, stubborn frown. She smiled at Apple Bloom for a passing moment before studying the wheels on her chair with a singular fascination.
Apple Bloom turned to the ponies still standing, a smile born of vindictive glee on her face. “Tonight, I say we let the Princesses know that their kind isn’t welcome in Ponyville anymore,” she shouted. “Who’s with me?”
Author's Note
Prompt 267: the most dangerous villains are the ones who know they're the hero.
This was one of those happy coincidences when an idea that popped into my head while commuting worked out perfectly with the prompt. It probably should and maybe will be turned into a longer story with more context when I have the time and volition...
Silence sat heavily between the two of them, punctuated only by the drips of lime-water from grimy cave roof. Not that FLuttershy minded silence, but this time the weight of it was pressing into her chest and stealing her breath. Finally, the Queen chuckled... a rusty, dried-out sound.
“You need my help? You need my help? That’s rich...” That raspy, grating laugh sounded again, trailing off into silence. Fluttershy shuffled her wings and looked around at the mossy limestone, unable to meet the Queen’s glinting green eyes. “Well, little pegasus? I’m listening,” The Queen snapped. Fluttershy jumped and snapped her head up to meet the queen head-on, eyes wide in panic. she forced a calming set of breaths and swallowed her quivering fear before looking at the floor and clearing her throat.
“It’s about the … the other pegasus there that day, Rainbow Dash... she’s killing herself slowly, all because of me. She could be anything , she could be the best flier, the most daring stuntmare... she could be great, but she’s letting it pass her by because she’s afraid I’ll be lonely. And I try to tell her to leave me, that I’ll be fine, and it’s true , I would be. But she won’t even listen to me anymore. She won’t leave for as long as she loves me, and it’s killing her.
“I can see it, too. She droops at work, and sometimes she gets so frustrated with me, when I get scared or sad or don’t want to see anypony. I can’t stand to see her so sad, but she won’t leave me. I just can’t let myself drag her down, not again. I’ve done too much of that over the years... but she just won’t leave !”
“That’s a sad story, little pegasus. But I don’t see what this has to do with me,” the Queen drawled, stretching her odd, perforated hooves.
Fluttershy took a bold step forward on trembling filly-legs and met the Queen’s eyes directly, a determined fire and steely resolve showing in her light blue eyes. “Your Highness... please, I need you to break her heart. She’ll never leave for as long as she loves me, so I need to break her heart. But I could never hurt her like that, so I need your help.”
An odd half-smile spread across the Queen’s dark lips, and she sniffed at Fluttershy gently, her elegant nostrils flaring slightly. “You love her,” she remarked. It was anything but a question. “Your world revolves around her. But you want me to become you, to hurt her.” Fluttershy nodded, biting the insides of her cheeks. Sharp, hot tears prickled unshed in her eyes. “She will hate you after this. You know that?”
“It... it needs to happen.”
“I very well may destroy her with this, to make her leave.”
“She needs that right now. You break a crooked bone so it will grow straight,” Fluttershy choked out.
“And what’s in it for me?” the Queen asked, leaning forward eagerly, her eyes glinting with some unknown emotion.
Flutthershy swallowed thickly and fidgeted nervously for a moment. “I … care for any creatures that need it,” she stammered. The adrenaline singing through her veins sent flittery shivers down her spine, made her aware of every drop of sweat trickling down her shoulderblades. “I ...love all creatures that need it. And you feed on ...love.” She barely forced the last word past her dry lips, which she promptly wetted with agitated flicks of her tongue.
“You would feed me and my hive,” the Queen murmured in wonder. She sat in pensive silence for a full five minutes, before giving that same mysterious not-quite-smile and clambering to her feet. “You would, little pegasus? Truly?”
Fluttershy nodded and stepped once more towards the Queen, nuzzling gently at her lank green mane. SHe let her compassion for the starving creature flow through easily, as easily as she would worry over Angel Bunny or a sick squirrel
The Queen sighed in satisfaction and leaned into the touch for a short time. She pulled away with great reluctance and headed for the mouth of the dingy cave. “Then we shall go to this Rainbow Dash, little pegasus. Lead the way.”
The late afternoon air was brighter than Fluttershy remembered, and the chill autumn breeze didn’t bite into her skin as badly as before. Everything is going so well, she reflected. Everything will be fine.
The superstitions that lurked in the dark corners of her mind stirred as if from sleep, and she cursed her optimism. She’d found throughout the years that good things never really lasted, and the moment she relaxed, they would be taken away. Oh please, oh, please, oh please she prayed, although she knew not to whom the prayer was directed, or for what exactly.
“Fluttershy? You out here?” Rainbow’s voice cut through the thick undergrowth. Not now, not here, no, no, no, she could hide from Rainbow, she could be so quiet that Rainbow wouldn’t even notice her, would go home...
“C’mon, ‘Shy, We’re all worried for ya,” Applejack bellowed. This was just getting worse and worse.
“Fluttershy? This section of the Everfree is dangerous,” Twilight called out, her concern clear from her wavering voice. Twilight. That explained how they’d found her in the first place. That searching spell she’d developed was useful, but right now it was the worst thing imaginable. Likely all five of them were out here, looking for her. SHe glanced at the Queen, who looked strained, exhausted, broken. Probably unable to change her form at the moment. Fluttershy weighed her (terrible) options and planted her feet firmly in the ground.
“Your Highness, get behind me. Now.”
Author's Note
Prompt 269: Why were we there back to back?
This was a fun one, for sure. Once again, the idea caught me up and wouldn't let me go.
As the oil lamp in her repurposed workshop guttered out and died, Apple Bloom tightened the last bolt on the new scooter she was building for Scootaloo. Unlike the previous models she’d helped her friend with, this one had only two wheels, offset slightly and made for speed and maneuverability.Through careful counterbalancing, it would stay upright when it went fast enough, especially since the wheels were big enough to act as gyroscopes when they got spinning.
Apple Bloom loved gyroscopes; it was fair to say she was borderline obsessed with them. They were amazing, though, in their own unique way. Gyroscopes were reliable. They always knew which way was up and fought to point that way, true as the North Star. Gyroscopes had their place in every complex machine, helping keep the other parts in line and moving efficiently. Gyroscopes were a lot like her, really.
After all, with a sister as amazing as Applejack, she’d grown up straight and true with a good moral grounding. She’d worked hard and long and steady, putting her name out there as a reliable repairspony, until anyone in need of a handymare would call her first. She night not be the loyalest or most dependable of ponies, but she ran a close second, so close that sometimes she thought she’d run even in that... right up until that got proven wrong.
She locked the old barn up behind her and ran through the freezing rainstorm to the homestead, where a lonely candle shone out. She burst through the door and towelled off, crept into the kitchen, and plated up some stone-cold leftovers from dinner. She scarfed them down and set about cleaning dishes, hers and every other dirty one she could find, humming to herself as the suds built up in the sink and some milk heated up on the stovetop.
She added a generous portion of moonshine to the milk before sipping at it. It wouldn’t do to get sick, not when there was so much to do. There was always so much to do these days, but the pay was good enough to justify it. And, even though she didn’t spend much time with them anymore, there was no doubting that she was helping her family quite a bit. Half of what she made went to help the farm, and minus expenses everything else went to Manehattan, to help cousin Babs run her youth center. Apple Bloom scribbled out a quick note apologizing for once again missing family supper, blinking away the dizzy haze of tiredness as she signed her name with love. Thankfully she’d left time to join them tomorrow evening. If she missed more than four dinners in a row, Applejack would have her hide.
She stumbled past the old grandfather clock in the hallway - 2:15 by its weathered hands - and worked her way upstairs, thankfully avoiding the creaky spots and delicate picture frames even with her unsteady stride. Toothbrushing was a luxury for weekends, when she could go to bed at a reasonable time and wake up after sunrise. She gargled a bit of water and stumbled into her room.
Apple Bloom wearily wound and checked her alarm clock. She was expected to reshingle the Town hall in five hours, and it wouldn’t do to be late for that. She collapsed onto her bed in a tangled mess of legs and exhaustion, half-heartedly tugging the sheets over her and sifting to find a comfortable position. There was nothing left to do but sleep, and that terrified her.
Because for all that gyroscopes could do, for all that Applebloom loved them, they weren’t as invincible or infallible as she liked to pretend. Once they stopped moving, they acted just like everything else in the world. And so she lay in the deadly silence, in the painful, destructive stillness, weak and vulnerable.
All it took was one thing, one reminder, and her brilliant mind was quick to provide her with hundreds. Images of Pinkie Pie kissing Applejack, of the two of them snuggling in front of a fire, laughing at each other’s jokes, baking together raced across her mind’s eye. The gentle way they’d smile at each other after a long day’s work, the silent conversations that took place betwen their expressive eyes, the noises that carried through the wall into her room when they thought she was asleep all battered her overtired imagination. There was nothing left but t give in to the tide, to stop the fight. The first sob broke free from her tight throat and clenched jaw before she bit the pillow for silence’s sake and cried in earnest.
She’d never really had a chance, in the grand scheme of things. After all, with an amazing sister like Applejack to look up to, with such a strong role model, she couldn’t help but imitate, to bask in the shadow of Applejack’s accomplishments. She’d taken after her sister in work ethic, in solving friendship issues, and, it seemed, in love. Pinkie Pie was just so wonderful that it hurt. At least twice in every conversation, the dull ache in Apple Bloom’s chest would flare up and remind her of what she could never have. She burrowed her head beneath the any pillows and childhood dolls on the head of her bed and choked back the worst of the volume. It wouldn’t do to wake anypony else up. They had to work in the mornings, too.
A quiet knock sounded from her doorframe, and she looked up with a startled sniffle. Of course it was her. Of course it was Pinkie, her bright eyes, the color of a July afternoon, clouded through with miserable concern, her beautiful ears drooping. Pinkie trotted over and tilted her head to the side.
“Are you alright?” Pinkie whispered. Applebloom let out a derisive burst of shaky laughter. Of course she wasn’t alright. She’d never be alright again. Pinkie smacked herself with a hoof. “Sorry, I’m not really awake right now. You wanna talk about it?”
Apple Bloom looked into those guileless, open eyes. The temptation was there, to let it out, this awful heavy secret that burned her tongue and trickled fever-hot down her raw throat. But Pinkie had better things to worry about than Apple Bloom’s foalish infatuation. So she shook her head.
Pinkie climbed up onto the bed and wrapped her strong forelegs around her, humming a gentle lullaby. And Apple Bloom broke again, crying out anew. She burid her face into that wide pink chest, into the soft coat that smelt of flour and sugar and parties and everything good and right in the world, and let the terrible sobs shake through her. And wen she was all cried out, when her mournful whimpers had reduced themselves to sniffles and shudders, she pressed herself even tighter to Pinkie’s chest. She could probably stand a few more minutes of this, after all. It was almost the best thing in the world.
Author's Note
Prompt 273: Romantic pony dreams, they never came to be.
For some reason this never showed up on the submissions list, but I'm still sharing it here.
All you have to do is take a cup of flour, add it to the mix .... The flour was going bad, no doubt about it. Even after she’d sifted it through three times to get rid of any weevils or other flour-dwelling creatures, it looked clumpy and yellowed in the flickering candlelight. It was some of the last flour they had, a detail Pinkie was careful to hide from the others. Even after cutting down rations, they’d be out of food soon, and nopony could risk going outside to look for more.
Now you take a little something sweet, not sour-- a bit of salt, just a pinch ... The salt had caked like nopony’s business, but that was to be expected, really. The basement of Sugarcube Corner had always been kinda damp and clammy, and the ten little bodies all breathing and sweating certainly didn’t help. But they couldn’t go outside, not right now. Pinkie had seen enough of what happened out there.
Sweetie Belle had started crying again. It was painful to hear at best, made that much worse by the way she tried to keep it quiet, to let the others sleep. The jagged cut on her right foreleg was badly infected, and her time was spent between restless fever dreams and painful, dizzying wakefulness. Fluttershy would know what to do, Pinkie mused, before it hit her again.
Fluttershy.... well, Rainbow had shouted to all in hearing range that the half-eaten carcass could’ve been any pegasus, that there was no evidence that Fluttershy had been gutted at the edge of the Everfree. But Pinkie knew. She’d found the body, she’d been there first, had cleared away the pale yellow feathers and buried the bloodstained, broken rabbit that lay nearby in the tossed-up grass.
It was bad luck in the end, that Fluttershy was the oldest out of all of them. Whatever was preying on them used age as a determining factor. At night, during the earliest stages, pained screams and ear-shattering shrieks would echo over town. That was back when harmony was still in ponies’ hearts, back when a group of brave citizens would make rounds and try to save who they could and bury what they couldn’t.
But now, in this cramped little room, Pinkie knew she was living in a ghost-town. She vigorously stirred in some baking powder to her mixture, checking the consistency as it dripped off her spoon. It was tempting to taste it, to lick the spoon clean, to lick the bowl clean, especially with the hunger cramps eating at her belly. She couldn’t, though. This batch wasn’t for her.
It was strange, really, how a place as familiar to Pinkie as this basement could become so cold and unwelcoming. How, even with so many beautiful, young ponies with her, she could feel so alone, so alone that it hurt deep in her chest. It was obvious if she stopped to think about it; she missed her friends. They had planned to set out for Canterlot, although whether they planned on asking for or giving help wasn’t clear. Pinkie was pretty sure that not even Twilight knew in the long run. And Pinkie had volunteered herself to stay and watch the foals. She was good with kids, and it was the responsible thing to do. Crying fillies and frightened colts she could handle. What she couldn’t handle, not ever, was watching her friends die hero’s deaths. She already knew what had happened. The sun hadn’t risen in the last week, not even once. The moon had gone dark and shadowy not long after the second day, mysterious and frightening.
And the moon, the creatures outside, her friend’s sacrifices all terrified her. Not the kind of fear you could laugh away, at least not to her. It felt sometimes like the laughter inside of her was drying up for good, like she was running out of joy to share. She never laughed to herself any more. Instead she hoarded every breezy chuckle, every light guffaw, even a few ladylike titters, kept them close to her heart and saved them for the ones who really needed them. The ten little creatures past the screen partition, all huddled up together.
Pinkie poured the perfectly melted baker’s chocolate into the batter and folded it with careful, measured strokes. And finally, with great care and silent reverence, she ground up the cyanide pills Twilight had left her, and tapped the powder in to join the other ingredients. From there it was simple - Pour into a pan, put the pan in a preheated oven, and wait.
For the half an hour she had, Pinkie let all her tears out in a silent stream, forcing them to come when they could, to keep them away from the next part. The hardest part. The timer rang out, and she set the pan onto a cooling rack. She whipped up a quick glaze with some of the apple preserves left over, and drizzled it enticingly over the warm chocolate suicides.
She arranged them reverently onto plate and trotted through with a grin. Or, at least, she was showing her teeth. It was hard to tell right now, with all the terrible emotions fighting in her chest. “Hey, everypony. I thought I’d make you something special since you’ve all been so good and quiet,” she said, looking around the room with energy she didn’t have. She was burning through the very last of the joy and laughter inside her, killing it off with each beat of her heart and each little confection she handed out to a happy little child. “So I thought, why not bake some cupcakes?” She winked at them with a gleeful, river-like laugh, and her soul was damned. “Cupcakes make everything better, right?”
Author's Note
Prompt 274: Kill them with Kindness
As a challenge(?) to myself, I decided to avoid Fluttershy. Or maybe I just love writing for Pinkie Pie....
“Tiara, you don’t say stuff like that about my friends! You should know better by now!”
Tiara cringes and struggles with the urge to smack her head into the wall repeatedly. I really should know better by now , she snaps at herself. Way to screw it up again, DT. “Sweetie, I’m sorry. I just...”
“Ran your mouth off without thinking first, I know,” Sweetie sighs. “I know you’re trying, just... don’t go there again, alright?” Tiara just nods, shyly working up the courage to meet Sweetie’s eyes. They’re complicated, as always. Some honest anger is in there, burning deep and furious and terrifying, and irritation is there in spades, but it’s all tempered out and softened up by the genuine affection Tiara can see there. The frozen tightness in her chest melts into hot shame, melted by Sweetie and those beautiful eyes.
It always goes like this. Tiara messes up and says sorry, and each time she means it, and each time it’s true. And each time, like the angel she is, Sweetie forgives her, gives her another second chance, and everything’s sweet and wonderful until it happens again.
But lately, Sweetie’s been sighing a lot, especially after Tiara messes up again. She knows she’s on the last legs, that Sweetie’s running out of second chances for her. Is running out of patience for Tiara’s blunt stupidity about other ponies. Sweetie was always the one out of the three of them who was more likely to talk things through than come to blows on the hot summer days of childhood and playgrounds. That was why she’d gotten to know her better in the first place, had become friends and slowly, inevitably, more than that.
And so Tiara talks. She talks and promises and tries, but she never really acts. Not as much as she should. She swallows at the fear that coats her tongue, all sticky and heavy and tasting of silence, because she knows what she has to do. She needs a second opinion, she needs to fix the rift before it gets wider, needs to know more about her lovely unicorn and the ponies who make her who she is.
“Sweetie,” she murmurs, nuzzling her girlfriend, the best girlfriend in Ponyville, “I’m going to go talk to Applebloom this afternoon.” Sweetie tenses up suddenly, so Diamond kisses her gently on her silky white head, right above the ear, to help her calm down again. “And I promise I’m going to be civil about it,” she continues, rubbing Sweetie’s withers with a gentle hoof. “It’s stupid of me to think that I can be with you without getting along with your friends. It’s not fair of me to ask it, because it’s not fair to you to give it.” She gives Sweetie a quick little peck on the cheek and trots out of the room. “See you tomorrow, alright?” she calls as she sprints down the stairs.
She runs all the way to the Acres, her chest burning with every stride. She has to run, though, has to reach the point of no return before her cowardice can catch up to her and hold her down. It’s like the time when she pulled a tooth out with a doorknob on a dare. The longer she takes, the more likely it is that this’ll never happen.
Apple Bloom’s on the front porch, chewing on a haystalk like the ones Big Mac has sometimes. It falls out with her shocked gasp as Diamond Tiara comes to a sweating, panting halt at the steps below. “Diamond Tiara, what the hay are you doing here of all places?” Apple Bloom shouts. “I thought today was one of your days with Sweetie Belle.”
Tiara cringes again. It’s not fair to schedule out Sweetie’s time like she’s some kind of object to be passed around. “I... thought it would … good to talk with you,” she gasps, looking around and trying desperately to catch her breath. “If I’m... going to be with Sweetie, I should... know her friends better.”
Apple Bloom raises one eyebrow in perfect, deadpan confusion and total disbelief. “And what makes ya think I have any good reason to talk with you?” she spits.
Tiara thinks for a minute. “I don’t know, Apple Bloom.” She droops and turns around, defeated. “Sorry for bothering you.” She’s all set to walk away and bury this, to let it all die out when a gentle cough makes her whirl around. Apple Bloom waves her up onto the porch and gives her an arch, schoolteacher glare.
“So, Diamond Tiara, ya gonna give up just like that?” Apple Bloom growls. “That’s not the mare I know. So, we don’t have a good reason to talk? Then make one.”
TIME LIMIT------------------
This is it, her chance to make something new happen. To change herself, to become more like the mare that Sweetie deserves, more like the mare Sweetie tells her she is. So she marches up the steps and stands close enough to Apple Bloom to smell the sweat and machine grease and apple-somethings that surround the handymare. Close enough for a close aquaintance, according to Gentle Manners’ book for Ladies. She’s just being stupid right now, being afraid of the neighborly, accepting mare who’s offering her a chance.
“So, Apple Bloom,” she begins, testing out the path before her with hesitant, wary hoofsteps, feeling out her way. “What does a mare do around here for fun?”
Author's Note
Prompt 276: " I need to change, but I don’t think that I can."
It was a new season, a time for all things warm and green. Two days ago, Ponyville had wrapped up Winter, and, as was Tradition, Carousel Boutique had closed for a spring cleaning. It was the day when Rarity cleared out the old cobwebs and dust, and yet here she sat, staring mournfully into the broom closet. The dustpan remained on its hook, the mop was still dry, and odd clutter still covered the surfaces and nooks of the building. Little trinkets and piles of what some would call garbage, bittersweet reminders of what had been, of the delightful organized chaos her life had been until nearly a month ago.
There was an extra towel on the rack in the bathroom. It hung just as it had the last time it was used, and still smelled of sweat and flour and laughter, of countless naval battles recreated with fearsome ducks and such in a stormy sea of bubbles. Rarity’s favorite finetooth comb, perfect for styling manes, still had several strands of unruly pink hair tangled through its ebony tines. Countless reminders that came as recipes or deflated balloons or even the occasional eyepatch surfaced and resurfaced and eventually stayed, with such paltry excuses as “inspiration” or “ambience” to justify their continued existence in her life.
Sometimes it felt like not a day would pass when she would be reminded painfully, surely, about the joyful, wonderful thing she had lost to her own vain foolishness. Things with Pinkie had been fantastic, but she could never make enough time towards the end, enough time to nurture and support and understand the beautiful, enigmatic, complex, and delicate mare she’d fallen for. And though Pinkie was lenient, understanding, they were growing apart. Rarity could no longer follow every abrupt turn of thought their conversations would take, could no longer talk to Pinkie about everything that was confusing or painful, could no longer tell in the first instant that Pinkie was feeling lonely or neglected or hurt.
Pinkie supported her, gave her so much love, so much more than she deserved. And Rarity did what she could to save it, did her best to contribute equally to their relationship. But there was only so much that parties and picnics and promises could mend, especially when the promises in question fell apart at the seams no matter how many times she remade them, redrafted them. And so, in the end, Rarity let her go. Told her to leave. Told her the truth for once, that Rarity herself wasn’t mature enough in things like this to give what it would take. And every morning since, she cursed her own name and went about her day and fell asleep exhausted and miserable in a bed that now seemed three times too large.
Pinkie and Rarity still saw each other, of course. With friends like theirs, there could be no hard feelings, just private regrets. And were they not the best of friends? Rarity snorted. The sentiment was just as shallow now as it was when she cajoled a young, eager librarian for access to her dreams and desires, to a night of being a Lady, becoming a Princess. Finding true love. But the problem was that they could be friends again, they had to be. As soon as Rarity could clear this stupid hurdle in her stupid little head, she would make everything alright again. Hiding like this was a disservice to the wonderful mare she knew and still loved, to the powerful bonds they still had, they would always had. Rarity laughed at herself. Here, on this day, frozen at the mere sight of a broom, here she sat, a silly and stupid and, dare she say... frivolous mare sitting in an old pile of memories.
Because today was a day of change, a new season, a time of new life and the rebirth of the old. A time to dust out the old cobwebs. So she got up, and put the towel in the hamper. Cleaned the hairs from the comb, picked up a hundred little balloons and streamers and knicknacks and doo-dads and packed them away neatly in a cardboard box. She found an old satin ribbon, one in Pinkie’s favorite color of blue, and tied it round the top, just because she could. And she mopped the floors and dusted the ceiling and finally tightened the bolt on the pipes in the kitchen that dripped late at night when she found herself doing dishes.
And finally, when nothing else could be done, when the entire Boutique sparkled and glowed with a new freshness, she lay down on her faithful sofa and cried, finally letting the tears that had formed a month ago see the light of day. Cleaned out the old cobwebs from dark corners.
And as she dried her eyes and redid her makeup, she felt a little smile inch onto her face. It wasn’t big or strong, but it was real. After dating a certified smile expert for nearly four months, she would know. And she grabbed the box of Pinkie’s things and trotted out the door with that fragile, precious smile still on her face. After all, it was a beautiful, sunny day in Ponyville, and she had a space in her stomach exactly the size of a cupcake.
Author's Note
Prompt 277: "A change in season"
Even now, I'm not sure if Rarity is trying to win Pinkie back or bury the whole thing and become best friends again. Totally up to the reader, in the end.
A lot changes when you’re a teenager. At least, that’s what everypony told her. When you’re a teenager, you go out to parties and do stupid things and have crushes and argue with your family and generally be a pain in the rear. Most days, it didn’t feel much like Applejack was a teenager, according to the folks who’d told her what teenagers did.
Teenagers were supposed to sleep in and be grumpy in the mornings, right? Just this morning she was up at 5:00, happily slopping the pigs and mending fences. Makeup was one heckuva mess, just one more fuss she didn’t have time to make, and the only colts or mares she saw these days were customers or family, both of which were taboo.
Not that she really minded where she was or who she was or what she was doing. Nopony else in the family was as good at applebucking as she was, and nopony else could calm down baby ‘Bloom with a single lullaby. It was just who she was, what she could do. It was who she was, right in her bones. Right in the mark on her flank. Dependable Applejack. Trustworthy Applejack. Applejack, the crazy girl who ran her family’s farm.
Applejack sighed and curled tighter around her baby sister’s sleeping form, so precious, so still, so tiny. Becoming a teenager hadn’t really changed anything for her, not in the end. Another year, another number added to her age. Sitting at fourteen, with a brand new blanket and lasso to show for it, and she felt just the same as she had at eleven, when she’d dropped school to help out Mac in the fields.
Apple Bloom stirred and murmured in her sleep, and Applejack absently nuzzled at her mussed-up red mane as her eyes wandered through her window, along the horizon to where she knew Manehattan lay. Nothing had changed for her, but she could still dream a while, right? Remember the high society, the awful dinners, the vapid, gossiping housewives, and wonder...
“...Applejack...” a little voice mumbled. She turned and looked at her sleeping sister, at her little baby sister with her angelic smile and adorably scrunched nose. She pulled little Apple Bloom closer to her and rolled the both of them over in a gentle, smooth movement. Shielding her little angel from the window, from that terrifying skyline miles away, with the tall, ugly buildings reaching their claws up to grasp the very stars above them. She closed her eyes and gave Apple Bloom a little squeeze, just to remind herself what was real, what was now.
So maybe she wasn’t a teenager, really. So maybe she didn’t want makeup or colts or gossip. Maybe that didn’t matter. The only things that really mattered were beneath this roof, and between her two forelegs, asleep and peaceful. Was right about time she should join them.
Author's Note
Prompt 278: "A lot changes when you're a teenager"
Apparently when I'm tired I like the Apple Family a lot, and things like this happen.
Sun’s setting, and I follow it west with my eyes to the White Mountain, to Canterlot. She’ll be coming by tonight, spending the weekend. That fluttery little warmth in my chest started up, just like it always does. And that pesky little twinge in my hip that started last winter speaks up again as I pull the old cart back to the new apple cellar, the one Apple Bloom finished … three years ago? That sounds about right. We’re always working on the farm, which is its own blessing and curse. And after they’re all loaded off in their barrels, I hurry on over to the kitchen to throw something together for dinner, just the two of us. With all the fancy food they’re giving her at the castle, she’s always hankering for some good old home-cooked goodness. Can’t say I blame her, after the first time I tried my hoof at Griffon cuisine. It’s best for me to stick to what I know, and if she wants it that way herself, all the better.
Two batches of fritters and a salad later, I shake and snap my creaking neck, trying to work out the crick that’s been driving me crazy since I woke up this morning. A gentle knocking at the doorframe lets me know she’s here. I whirl around quick as a flash and smile as she meets my eyes.
“Hey, you,” she murmurs, stepping inside the kitchen with her usual, careless grace. “How’ve you been?”
“I missed you,” I answer, trotting forward to nuzzle her. There’s whiskey in her saddlebags... It’s a bit of a tradition between us by now, and the smell always reminds me of that first drunken mistake we made all those years ago, followed by months of awkward attempts at friendship. When we finally ‘fessed up to each other and realized we both wanted more, we never looked back.It’s great between us, so long as we keep up the honesty, so long as we talk. Come hell or high water, we’ll make it through. I know it in my bones.
“How’s your hip?” she asks, and that now-familiar flash of guilt hits her face.
“Not much better, not much worse.” I shrug and give her a little nudge towards the dinner table. She droops her neck and her hooves drag over the worn floorboards. “It’s alright, sugarcube,” I chide gently. “It comes with the territory.” Doesn’t it, really, though? Years of applebucking’ll do it to a mare. I get the food I made and set it out , and that awful, awkward tension sits there with us. It’s always there, this strangeness between us. It’s pretty simple, really, in the end. I’m getting older. I’m getting older, but she hasn’t aged a day since the Elements saw fit to change her.
I guess that’s not fair to say. She’s grown, as a pony, as a magician, as a partner and a friend. But she looks just as young as she did then, and often as unsure and delicate. I don’t much mind, honestly. I am who I am, and she is who she is, she just happens to be an immortal princess of Equestria these days. But we can’t always help who we become, and a little thing like that can’t stop me from loving her.
We make small talk through dinner, filling the air around us with idle chatter, catching up on the weeks we spent apart. This is always how it goes on the first night, and we both hold onto the tradition of it like a liferaft, to smooth out the strangeness between us and get back into calm waters. There’s a movement to outlaw any blood magic in Canterlot, which would make the doctors’ jobs that much harder. The farm did well this year, and we’re looking to get Apple Bloom a real workshop barring any disasters. Small words, small moments, all comfortable and warm and soft around the edges.
She helps wash up, and we hike out to the gentle rise in the South Orchard, look at the moon as it rises gibbous above us.
She turns and looks at me under the enchanting moonlight, her eyes shining with a serene joy, and she pulls me into a gentle, lingering kiss. “Applejack? have I told you that you’re beautiful?” she whispers, wrapping her strong, beautiful wing around me.
“Many times, Twi,” I murmur back, leaning against her. “Many times.”
It’s always about the words, between us. The words we say, and the words we don’t. Neither of us says “I love you”, for instance. It’s the truth, sitting right between us as we press up to each other beneath the stars.
Author's Note
Prompt 281: "I’ve been afraid of changing, ‘cause I built my life around you. But time makes you bolder—even children get older—and I’m getting older too.”
When I read "I'm getting older too" my brain immediately answered with a "but she's not." Somehow I kept the angst on backburner, because I guess I wanted something sappy for once. That, and I see AJ as being able to see past hurdles like immortality and giving the honest love she feels.
Fluttershy was having the nightmare again. It had happened many times since Sweetie had started spending the night, and each time remained as terrifying as the last. Heartbreaking whimpers and terrified half-screams echoed through the empty cottage and looped themselves inside Sweetie's head, getting louder and louder and worse and worse.
Sweetie hated nights like these. The total helplessness, seeing this wonderful mare in the throes of terror and being unable to help at all. Simply the idea that there was something so terrifying that somepony who shouted at dragons, who stared down cockatrices without fear, would reach this animalistic state of fight or flight, was unsettling.
The one time Sweetie had worked up the courage to ask Rainbow Dash, she had been stonewalled for four hours, the unwilling target of a burning bloodred stare, until Dash had told her to ask Fluttershy instead if she really wanted to know.
Sweetie remembered back all those years ago, to the time when a Cutie Mark was the biggest concern in her mind; before love or ambition or failure took her life and sent it flying into a series of blind curves and free falls. Tonight, if anything, felt worse than the other nights she'd seen. Her mind raced in search of any way she could reach across the veil of sleep and offer comfort. In the far reaches if those memories, on a night full of chickens and Stares and respect, back when she had become Fluttershy's biggest fan, she found her answer.
Sweetie pulled Fluttershy close and stroked her tense neck with smooth, even movements. And she took in a deep breath, singing as soft and sweet as she knew how...
Author's Note
Written for prompt 271:
When I read the prompt, the first thing that popped into my head was the idea of Sweetie Belle comforting someone with a song, and this happened. This was written right when life was driving me up the wall, and I sorta forgot I had written this... anyhow, here it is.
It had been the worst month ever. At least, it had been the worst month since she'd seen the Rainbow all those years ago. Applejack and Rainbow Dash were fighting, and it was all Pinkie's fault.
Normally, it wouldn't be a problem, somepony calling Pinkie silly. She was, and that was fine. But this was Applejack. Applejack was important, and the things she said mattered. If anypony else said silly ponies were a ware of time, Pinkie would just laugh it off. But Applejack always told the truth, and it was just plain screwy to try and laugh that away. The truth could be scary, she knew that. But it didn't disappear with a few giggles. It didn't matter if a whole army laughed themselves blue in the face - the truth would still be there. Just like how Applejack was alway there.
And Pinkie liked Applejack, liked her so much it hurt a bit inside, especially when she heard Applejack say that. So she'd decided that she'd be a pony Applejack could respect. She'd ba a worthwhile, productive member of society.
Dashie had flown in when things got bad and demanded an explanation. And then Dash had sat and listened with the quiet, gentle patience she always saved special for Pinkie and Fluttershy, when they needed it. She'd listened and given Pinkie a long, warm hug before shooting out her window straight for Sweet Apple Acres.
And now Applejack and Rainbow Dash gave each other nasty glares when they thought nopony else was looking. But Pinkie wasn't stupid. She could see what they were doing, and she could put two and two together, so she knew why they were doing it. It had been the worst month ever, and Pinkie felt like the worst pony ever.
And now Applejack was walking slowly up to the counter, with slow, deliberate steps, steady as a metronome or a march to the gallows. She looked up and flinched for a moment before paying extra attention to the scones in he display case. The lump in Pinkie's throat sank down into her chest and wrapped around her lungs and her heart. Applejack couldn't stand her right now, even after all she had done. How broken could a pony be, that she couldn't fix herself no matter how she tried?
Pinkie's neutral smile, the one that kept her company these days, wouldn't come out no matter how nicely she asked. She shifted her weight and coughed a little to drive the sadness from her voice.
TIME LIMIT------
"Pinkie, I'm sorry," Applejack cried. No tears shone in her hypnotic eyes, but there were plenty hiding in her voice, wet and shimmering. "I didn't know you heard what I said, elsewise I would've cleared this up a month ago." Applejack took a moment to shake herself and breathe slowly, her beautiful eyes never once leaving Pinkie's. "Pinkie, you are one of the most hardworking, respectable mares I know, alright? I love the way you make everypony feel, and I love the way you never make sense. I love your jokes, the way you bounce... And I can't stand seeing you try so hard to be something you're not. So please, Pinkie, will you smile again?"
And just like that, the weight was gone, with the gloomy minor- key soundtrack that had played through her head for the past three days. And her big, goofy, overblown grin sprang back onto her face as she leapt across the glass display case and tackled Applejack in a powerful hug. Everything was alright again, and this was the best day she'd had since she saw the Rainbow, all those years ago.
Author's Note
Prompt 287: Pinkie smiles again
Hooray for borderline ship-fics! I'm turning into a fan of ApplePie (Blame Esle Ynopemos), and I decided to try a bit, but the undertones of Pinkie's maybe-crush didn't come through enough for it to work how I wanted. I guess that's what I get for typing this on a music stand during rehearsal.
“Alright, Twilight, you can take off the blindfold now.” Twilight sighed in relief and let her magic pull aside the thick cloth. She blinked in the mid-day sun and looked around in complete confusion.
“Pinkie, we’re in your room. I’ve been here hundreds of times before this. Why did I need a blindfold for this?”
Pinkie just smiled in the way she got when she was trying to be mysterious or a gypsy or whatever was going on in that pink head of hers. “It’s not just my room, Twi-Twi,” she explained. “It’s also my mission headquarters.”
Twilight decided it would be easiest to play along with whatever mad scheme this was. She’d learned that after the last twelve or so times. “Okay, Pinkie, I’ll bite. what’s your mission?”
Pinkie shushed her violently and zipped around the room, pulling down the blinds, locking the door, and covering the mirror with a fuzzy purple towel before coming to rest by Twilight’s side.
“FIrst, you hafta promise me that nothing I say leaves this room, got it?”
“I promise, Pinkie,” Twilight intoned, holding up her right hoof. PInkie hit her with a meaningful glare, huffing her mane out of her eyes, staring. “Alright, alright! Cross my heart and hope to fly, stick a cupcake in my eye, if you don’t explain this right now so help me, I’ll...” Twilight trailed off as the various threats she could use all collided with each other into some odd mass of generalized angst and confusion with a side-order of unhelpful irritation.
Pinkie pulled out a heavy binder from underneath her bed and methodically opened up the five different padlocks that held it shut. “I’ve been talking to the Princesses, and since you’re a fully coronated Princess yourself and all, your security clearance got bumped up. They gave me the green-light to show you this.”
Twilight spluttered for a moment. “Security clearance? But... the Princesses trust me. I’ve been cleared for level 5 since I finished sixth grade. They don’t keep state secrets from me. I’m Celestia’s student!”
Pinkie rubbed her withers comfortingly, waiting for her attack to settle back down. “This is level 7 stuff, Twi,” she explained. Twilight could only remember one time before this when Pinkie had seemed so serious, so focused. She shuddered at the memory, of sending countless copies of her wackiest, most lovable friend to an uncertain fate while the rest stared intently at the slow drips of paint that kept them alive.
“I didn’t know we had a level 7 in Equestria,” she mused, pulling the book toward her. A single mouthwritten page sat clipped in to the huge binder, and she peered over to read it, to understand exactly why this paper was important, and most importantly, why Pinkie knew about it and she didn’t. She read over the paper with her heart pounding in her throat. Then she read it again, and another three times, and it still made no sense. She looked up, her face slack with confusion, looked up to the pony who could answer her thousands of flittering, biting questions.
“Pinkie, this is a recipe.”
“Yeah, it is.”
“Pinkie, since when is a recipe for pie a level 7 State secret?”
Pinkie leaned closer and whispered urgently. “This is the most dangerous pie in all of Equestria. It’s the Big One. If we dropped it, entire nations could crumble.”
“Wha...?” Twilight searched around for any sign of Princess Luna anywhere. The had to be a dream; there was no other way anything so surreal could be happening.
“Twilight, you saw what those pies did in Appleloosa, remember?” Twilight nodded. “Well, this pie is almost two hundred more times as powerful as your average war-pastry. It’s a huge responsibility, and must be handled carefully. DO you understand that now?”
“You lost me at ‘battle pastry’”, Twilight admitted, shuffling her wings awkwardly.
“Earth ponies don’t have shiny spells or fancy wings to fight with, Twilight,” Pinkie lectured, giving a motherly frown. “So Chancellor Puddinghead devised a way of self-defense that involves, well, assaulting your aggressors with baked goods. Or baked bads, if you’re going undercover. The idea behind it is pretty simple. Your attacker will stop to eat the pie or scone, and then you have the advantage.” Twilight blinked.
“Seriously, Twilight? What did you think I was throwing all those cakes at Spike for when he went all greedy and huge on us? Why do you think I was investigating Applejack for treason after the thing with the muffins?”
Twilight shrugged. “I just thought you were being weird, I guess.”
“Sometimes, I wonder what they’re teaching in history classes these days,” Pinkie sighed. “Getting back on track here, though,” she continued, back to her business-like demeanor. “This pie is the Pie to end all Pies. A weapon of mass distraction. Granny Pie and I discovered it on accident, and the whole farm was out of comission for nearly a month. And Princess Celestia just thought you should know that we have it, in case there’s ever something really bad that you need to fix.”
Twilight’s head was swimming with all this new information. She rubbed her forehead to clear the nascent headache and gave Pinkie a thin, shaky laugh. “Thank you for trusting me with this, Pinkie,” she sighed, stretching her wings and heading for the stairway. “I promise I’ll keep this secret, for you and for Equestria, but first I think I need to go lie down.”
Author's Note
Prompt 288: The most important pie in Equestria
I entirely blame midterm craziness for the resulting chapter. I started thinking about weaponized pies from Over a Barrel, and I thought it would be hilarious if Pinkie Pie was a secret agent baker who held the recipe to a nation-toppling pie. I'm not sure how that even works, but, hey, it's a crackfic.
There was nothing to do but wait, wait in the ugly white room with its ugly green curtains. She couldn’t turn to look at the clock, couldn’t let Applejack out of her sight for a single second. Not right now, not after what she’d done. So she counted time by the blaring heart monitor, by the hum of the artificial lungs that were helping Applejack do what she had to. It was weird, thinking about it. How the deep breaths her sister would take without thought were now so strained, so obvious, so terrifyingly fragile. The hiss of new oxygen flowing through the tubes drove her to distraction, marked out in little beeps and spikes, in Applejack’s vitals. There was nothing Apple Bloom could do but wait.
A polite little tapping on the doorframe startled Apple Bloom out of her reflections. She made some kind of noise, maybe a “come in”, maybe just some nonsense syllables. It was hard to tell right now, with the hissing and the beeping and her sister’s face all in front of her, all vying for attention.
“Hey,” It was Twilight. Of course it was Twilight, with a knock that timid and polite. Only Twilight bothered to knock, really. Everyone else either barged in and surprised her or waited politely outside until she noticed them, if ever.
“Hey,” Apple Bloom answered, her throat choked up with worry and tiredness and just plain not talking. She coughed to clear the worst of the phlegm and finally looked away from the bed and machinery, away from Applejack’s peaceful face, to nervously let her eyes glance Twilight over. Twilight had been a godsend. She was the first one Apple Bloom thought of when it happened. Normally she’d go to Applejack, but... Twilight was always helping in emergencies too, so it all worked out.
And since they’d gotten Applejack to the hospital, Twilight kept coming in to check on both of them, make sure Apple Bloom ate and slept, stuff like that. And right now, her magic held in it two steaming mugs of coffee. Apple Bloom reached out for one, slipped her hoof through the wide handle and took a long pull at it. Twilight had outdone herself. The coffee came gritty, dark, and bitter as sin, just how she liked it. Just how she felt right now. Because Applejack was lying in a coma, and it was all Apple Bloom’s fault. It was all her fault, but there was nothing she could do but wait.
“How’s today looking?” Twilight asked, a practiced nonchalance in her tone. She’d stopped asking if Apple Bloom was alright, because she knew the answer would always be no.
“Doc hasn’t been by yet, but it looks to be the same,” she answered, taking another pull of coffee. “Hasn’t changed for days, Twilight,” she confided, hiding behind the large stoneware mug. “Starting to think it’ll never change.”
“Don’t say that,” Twilight snapped. Apple Bloom cringed, and Twilight took some kind of deep breath, moving her hoof in and out, her eyes shut. “Sorry, Apple Bloom. We’re both tired, I shouldn’t have snapped. It’s just...” Twilight sighed, sounding like death warmed over, if only just. “You’re the one I expect to be hopeful, when I can’t... I’m really worried, her charts don’t look great, and now you’re, I dunno, giving up on her or something?”
Apple Bloom finished the coffee with a vengeance, to keep the nasty thoughts at bay until she could phrase them politely. She set the mug down on a side table, so steady it hardly made a sound, and pulled her shaking hoof away from its grasp. “I haven’t given up on her yet,” she growled, “But I don’t want to keep my hopes up too much. If she dies...” Warm feathers settled over her withers. She shrugged them off, annoyed. Somepony like her didn’t deserve support right now. Not after what she’d let happen.
“Bloom, we’ve talked about this,” Twilight pleaded. “It’s not your fault this happened, alright? Please try to believe it?”
Apple Bloom snorted. “Isn’t my fault, huh?” Bitter laughter boiled up from her numb chest and soured the air around her. “I don’t even know why it mattered, now. Don’t even know why it was such a big deal in the first place.” She looks back at Twilight now, at her endlessly compassionate eyes and sad smile,
“Wait for what?” Twilight’s eyes have no trace of judgement, of hatred, of disappointment. It would be easier if they did.
“Forgiveness,” Apple Bloom whispers, hating the way her head sinks down and her shoulders shake.
Twilight’s wing is back over her, providing the comfort Apple Bloom so desperately craves right now. She lets it stay this time, at least for a little while. "You know that Applejack..." Twilight trails off, uncomfortable.
“I know,” She murmurs. Even when the rotten floor buckled beneath her, even as she lost the fight to gravity and landed hard on the packed dirt two floors below as Apple Bloom sat frozen in shock, even as she cried out in shock and surprise and fear, Applejack’s bright, clear green eyes had only held love for her, love and acceptance and apology. She knew Applejack would go on and on about how there was nothing to forgive in the first place, how they should’ve torn down the barn months before some hormonal, pouty brat could hide away in the loft.
“I know she would, Twilight. S’not her I’m waiting on.” Silence stretched between them in that awful white room with its awful green curtains. There was nothing to do but wait, and count out the minutes in her sister’s heartbeats.
Author's Note
Prompt 297: Applejack falls
I continue to be mean to the Apple Family, it seems. I think it's a thing that happens when I'm sleep-deprived.
It wasn’t an everyday occurance for Zecora to leave the Forest. It always seemed that she preferred the wild places, the quiet places. It was said that she only truly left in cases of emergency, whether by chance or some kind of voodoo. And yet here she was, knocking on Fluttershy’s door with an urgency seldom seen. So of course Fluttershy opened it right away, dropping her bag of birdseed and leaving a messy pile of sunflower and carroway on her nice green carpet.
As soon as the door opened, Zecora began. “Fluttershy, I do implore, I need your help with a manticore. Her term is up, the time is right, but of her cub many will desire a bite. So please, my friend, I beg - make haste, for we cannot another young one waste.”
Fluttershy took half a minute to decipher the rhyming verse into normal terms. Then she grabbed her emergency bags, slung them across her back, and asked Angel to tell Pinkie what was going on. Pinkie was a master of charades and would get the message. After all, it wasn’t every day that a manticore gave birth. Zecora was right; this was important. Manticores were an endangered species, the 50th listing down on the registry. Inhumane hunting practices, though outlawed decades ago, had thinned their numbers to a dangerous low. Birthings were difficult, and oftentimes the mother would be too exhausted to guard her cub afterwards.
Many common misconceptions about manticores persisted as fact, especially near the Everfree. One of the most common was the idea that manticores were the top of the food chain. Sure, a full-grown manticore had no real enemies. Nothing would dare go after it once its stinger came in. But until that segment of growth, at an average of two years old, manticore young were everything’s prey. Timberwolves, Celestial animals, bears, cockatrices; really anything with an appetite for magic-enhanced meat would take them out.
Zecora led her through the twisting undergrowth at a fast clip, winding and turning at odd intervals. Fluttershy stayed close, cringing at menacing shadows and claw-like branches. She knew she’d be safe with Zecora, but something about the forest never quite sat right with her. Fluttershy hated how she was scared right now, when a creature needed her so. Soon enough, she could hear the cries of the mother in labor. She galloped on ahead, heedless of the thorns and vines that scratched at her legs and caught in her mane.
It wasn’t pretty. The cub was trying to come out sideways, and the mother was roaring out in agony, thrashing around. Three large oak trees lay in pieces around the bloodstained clearing. Fluttershy did what she could to calm her down, speaking as soothingly as she could while still shouting over the manticore’s guttural wails.
“I’m here to help you,” she all but screamed. “This might hurt a lot, but I promise it’ll make everything easier!” The manticore met her eyes with fear and pain and hope, and she set her jaw. Then she set her back legs into the ground, forced her forehooves into the birth canal, and turned the cub around. The manitcore shrieked, louder than anything yet. Her barbed tail lashed around, barely missing Fluttershy’s head. But it was done. Hours, maybe, later,he cub’s head poked through, and with some steady pulls, Fluttershy helped the mother bring her little one out into the world.
It was a miracle, really. Looking down at the cub’s closed eyes as it rested in its mother’s arms. A cracked branch got Fluttershy’s attention, and she whirled around.
“Pinkie? What are you doing out here?” She stared at her friend, at the basket held between Pinkie’s jaws.
PInkie set it down, and some balloons popped out. “Happy birthday, Flutters,” she whispered after a look at the sleeping cub. “I talked to the girls, and we can have a real party tomorrow, ‘kay?”
Fluttershy threw herself at the other mare and caught her in a tight hug, not particularly caring that she had blood and celestia-knew-what else in her fur and mane. “Thank you, I knew you’d understand,” she whispered. “You always do.”
Author's Note
Prompt 298: Sometimes duty calls, even on your birthday
Everything in here about manticores is based off of problems alligators and camels have. Inspiration comes from weird places sometimes... Also any undercurrents od FlutterPie you may have experienced are completely intentional.
“What’s this I hear about you goin’ off to some private school in Manehattan?” Scootaloo stands in the doorway to the schoolyard, blocking off Silver’s exit with her stunted wings out wide and quivering.
Silver Spoon shrugs and tries to skirt past the angry pegasus, But Scootaloo shifts and herds her back inside. “Father and I agreed that it would be best for my future there,” she spits, trying again (unsuccessfully) to escape the empty, gloomy classroom.
“What future?” Scootaloo growls, backing Silver into the wall with her burning violet eyes. “Silver, you’d be miserable there. I mean, sure, you’re great friends with Tiara and all, but I know you can’t stand most upper-class foals.”
Silver snorts and flashes Scootaloo with her flank. It gives her a moment’s satisfaction to see how the other filly blushes at that, before she remembers that she’s trapped in the classroom and Scootaloo’s angry at her. Again. “Scoots, it’s my destiny. What I’m meant to do,” she explains, as she would to a wobble-kneed baby. “My special talent is schmoozing up to other rich ponies. ‘Born with a silver spoon in their mouths’ and all that jazz. Don’t you see why this is important to me?”
The fiery anger Scootaloo displays is slowly fading away, leaving behind sullen embers in her eyes. She droops a bit, her feathers now shaking with barely-restrained hurt and sadness, her eyes fixed on the floorboards between them. “Silver, I thought I was important to you,” she whimpers. “I just don’t want you to leave me behind.”
Silver cringes at that, and her eyes wander guiltily to Scootaloo’s flank, still as bare as the day Silver met her. “I’m sorry, Scoots,” she mumbles, hesitantly reaching out and stroking Scoots’ tense neck. “It’s just, Father needs me to do this. I’ve got a duty to the family business, and that means hobnobbing with the worst of them. And I’ve got a duty to myself, too. A duty to my future, to fulfill my special talent. I don’t want to leave you behind, but...” She trails off, frustrated. Words are words are words, and for now they’re nothing but pointless noise.
Scootaloo’s stirring herself up again, and her beautiful violet eyes are burning, the same way they do when she’s ready to pull some stunt, or when she’s talking about Rainbow Dash, or something else that matters to her. “Silv, I’m not gonna sit back and let you leave like this, you know that?” A warmth explodes in Silver’s chest when she realizes the thing that matters right now is her. “You should be where you’re happy, doing what makes you happy. And I’d like to think that Ponyville would be enough for now.”
Silver grimaces. “But my special talent --”
“You know, you’ve never told me the details about it.” Scootaloo’s on a roll, ploughing through Silver’s protestations like a steam-powered tractor. “What’s your Cutie Mark Story?”
“I don’t think this is the time to be asking about that,” Silver snaps, drawing her hoof back in.
“Trust me on this,” Scootaloo begs, her eyes wide and earnest. “I’ve got a hunch, and I want to see if I’m right.” Silver rolls her eyes and huffs. “Aw, C’mon, Silv,” Scoots whines, pulling out her best wounded-puppy eyes. Silver sighs and takes a deep breath. It’s no use trying to ignore that face. She’s tried many, many times before, and if there’s one thing her father’s taught her about business, it’s to cut losses early.
“Alright, alright,” she sighs, playfully chucking Scoots on the shoulder. “It was at one of the formal dinners my father was throwing for the clients.
“About half the scullery staff had come down with the pony pox, and everypony was certain we’d fail to provide enough food and drink to satisfy the guests. I had been learning housekeeping skills because I thought they’d be useful later on in life, so I figured I’d help out as much as I could. Some very important ponies were on the guest list, and I didn’t want to let Father down in this. It’s my household as much as his, really, and I guess I’m just as proud as he is.
“I was in the kitchen, and I planned on just supervising, but it was total chaos. I organized the ponies who had made it in into line-production groups and basically put the dinner together from what they gave me. As soon as everything was back on track and simmering nicely, I ran into the salon and spent the whole rest of the evening entertaining. Telling silly little stories, meeting other families’ children, stuff like that.
“I was so busy that whole evening that I fell asleep the moment the house was empty. It wasn’t till the next morning when I was taking my dress off that I realized I even had a Cutie Mark.”
Scootaloo grins triumphantly. She’s stuck the landing on this, it seems. Something in that story is good, and Silver leans forward, eager to hear what it may be. “Silv, did you ever think about how your special talent could be cooking? ‘Cause I’ve tasted your food, and each bite is heaven.”
Silver sits and thinks, and thinks some more. “Maybe?” she hazards. This will require some serious meditation. From the way Scootaloo’s face lights up in hope and joy, the possibility is entirely worth it.
Author's Note
Prompt 299: "I don't think your Cutie Mark means what you think it means"
It seems I've launched a new ship over at TMP, the H.M.S. Scootaspoon... Silver Scooter?... I think Spoonaloo is my favorite for sheer silliness. Not sure why that part of the story happened, but the idea of Silver Spoon actually being a top-tier chef has been floating around in my head for a while.
So far I've tended towards releasing several entries at a time, but with the week I'm having I don't know if I'll have a companion to this anytime soon. Just today I spent thirteen hours on campus, ten of which involved playing trumpet. Not that every day will be nearly this crazy, but I'm busy enough that I might be away from TMP for a week or so...
“I’m sorry for all this,” Twilight mumbled, making a vague sweeping gesture with her hoof. Like with that one, vague gesture she could condemn the whole park full of ponies.
“How d’you mean that?” Applejack asked around a mouth full of greens, raising an eyebrow.
Twilight grimaced, her wide eyes darting through air. “I mean how everypony’s looking at us right now, AJ,” she explained. That awful edge was back in her voice, the one that meant Twilight had it in her head that she’d disappointed somepony important. Applejack could still remember when only Celestia got that, a few years back. As distressing as the tension in Twilight’s voice was, Applejack couldn’t help the spike of guilty pleasure that came with it, as a reminder that she was important too, these days.
“I reckon they would be, Twi,” she answered neutrally, digging through the wicker basket beside their old gingham tablecloth. “Seeing as they’ve got eyes and all. That’s what eyes are for, looking.”
“That’s not what I meant,” Twilight snapped, ruffling her wings in agitation. Applejack figured she had another five minutes of this before total meltdown, the way things were going.
“Well, what did ya mean, then?” she asked, placing a steady hoof over Twilight’s, pinning it. She hid the betrayal that flashed when Twilight drew her hoof away again and went back to tracing circles in the wrinkled, worn cloth.
“...It’s nothing,” Twilight whispered. But her eyes told different. Heck, all of her told different, but the eyes were worrying. The twinkling joy Applejack could normally see in them was just plain gone right now, leaving her mare looking more lost and hopeless than Applejack had seen her since Discord tore the six of them apart.
“Doesn’t look like ‘nothing’ over here,” she snarked. “Or does ‘nothing’ mean something else in Canterlot these days?”
“You’ll think it’s stupid, alright?” Twilight sighed, grabbing a biscuit in her magic and breaking it roughly before reaching for the butter. “Let’s just get back to our lunch, okay?”
Applejack frowned and swiped the butter back, holding it until Twilight looked up in utter confusion and met her eyes. “Sugarcube, nothing you ever say to me is stupid. You should know that by now. And you should also know that I can’t have a good time when it’s so clear to me that you aren’t. Now spill.” This wasn’t the gentle coaxing Applejack had tried earlier. This was full-on Big Sister Mode, complete with an unwavering stare and a voice that brooked no argument.
Twilight sighed again as she realized she was completely outclassed in this. “Applejack, does it … bother you, being seen on dates with a Princess?” she asked, cringing down and tensing her wings as if to guard herself from some sort of attack.
Applejack raised her eyebrow again and made a show of looking around,lifting up the picnic basket to look underneath, examining the bottoms of her hooves. “What Princess?” she asked.
Twilight blinked and looked at her in total shock. “Applejack... you know I’m...”
“So here I am,” Applejack interrupted with the grace of a haybale to the face, “In the beautiful Canterlot gardens, right? Everything’s great... Sun’s shining, … birds are putting on a symphony in the trees... but most of all, I’m here with my girlfriend, Twilight Sparkle. Maybe you know her.” Twilight giggled a bit at that, her wings folding neatly and her shoulders relaxing. “She’s about this tall,” Applejack tapped her on the head, “About this color, and she’s the sweetest little thing.
“She used to run the Ponyville Library, and she did a great job of it, too. Not a book out of place, not a late fee unpaid. And she has the cutest smile I ever did lay eyes on, and a laugh I could listen to forever. She’s been the best friend to me and mine. She’s made me better than I used to be, more forthright, less prideful, more accepting of the kindness others show me. And I love her more than anything.”
TIME LIMIT---------
Twilight let out a strangled sob and threw herself into Applejack, tears of relief and something else soaking into Applejack’s mane. She stroked Twilight’s wings soothingly until she calmed down, and very carefully helped her regain her legs before silently offering her a cupcake.
“Twi, you silly, the tiara stays at home,” she chuckled, wiping a stray splotch of frosting from Twilight’s quivering lip. “You know why, too, don’tcha?”
“You don’t love me for the Tiara,” Twilight answered, her voice rough from crying.
“That’s right, sweetheart.” Applejack pulled her back into a hug. “I love you for everything else.
Author's Note
My first thought for this prompt was some time travel angst-drama involving Twilight sending her friends forward to a future without her because she knows they'd die otherwise, but I'm glad I went for some fluffy TwiJack instead.
“How many times is it now, Celestia?” That taunting voice was laced with pain, and a low, gurgling wheeze accompanied every labored breath the Changeling took. “Ten? Thirty? When will you learn how pointless this exercise is?”
Princess Celestia snarled and lunged forward, whirled with the grace of a dancer, and delivered a powerful kick to the Changeling’s side. Something crunched horribly and the bug flew across the room, striking a pillar with a dull thud. As it slid down, a pale streak of green ichor stained the ancient marble.
“What does this bring you, Celestia?” the Changeling gasped, rising defiantly onto three shaky legs, its shredded wings splayed out agressively. “Does this violence bring you joy? Does my pain bring you happiness?”
“You assaulted my little ponies,” Celestia bellowed. “You used the stallion that belonged to my niece, the love that belonged to my niece, and you corrupted it! Turned it against me!”
The Changeling managed a broken, wet chuckle. “So it is revenge, then, Celestia? Retribution?” The Changeling coughed violently, more of that green ichor spraying from its foul mouth onto the tiled floor. “What’s done is done, Celestia. You know as well as I do that I may not die in the same way your other monsters do. So why continue this?”
Celestia growled again, a primal, shimmering sound, and sent forth a lance of pre sunlight. The Changeling screamed again, raw and wet and visceral. When the smoke cleared, it quivered in a tiny ball, both wings now singed stubs of their former irredescent glory. Chunks of exoskeleton lay steaming on the ground around it, exposing charred, goey flesh to the elements.
Celestia walked forwards slowly, her wings spread wide, an avenging angel. She looked into the terrified green eyes of her shivering, broken enemy, looked into them without mercy or compassion. “You took the place of one dear to me and used my love for her to blind me, to ensorcel my subjects. You laid me low before my very court with a perversion of love and harmony. And now you seek me out, and you dare to talk to me about revenge?” she spat. “This is not revenge, this is not validation. This is justice.”
The Changeling’s eyes widened, it struggled to a sitting position, keening and chattering its fangs in agony. “I-If this … is your idea of … justice, then I fear for your subjects... and their safety,” the Changeling gasped.
Rage flared hot and red in Celestia’s eyes, and she struck a killing blow, calling down sunstuff onto the dying Changeling until nothing remained but ashes. She spat on the dusty pile and stalked away, out into the courtyard, out into the night. She breathed the fresh night air, free of deception or hate or that creature’s filth, and finally took wing, flying to escape the Changeling’s final words, the last echoes of the conversation that wormed into her head.
And miles away, deep inside the Everfree forest, the Queen of the Changelings awoke screaming. She looked long and hard at her new body, her new hooves, and tried to stop their shaking. Just as she had the time before that, and the time before that, and the time before that....
Author's Note
Prompt 305: If you strike me down I will become more powerful than you can possibly imagine.
Hooray for questionable morality!
Fluttershy was many things, but she wasn’t stupid. She could see the way Pinkie looked at her when Pinkie thought she wasn’t paying attention. She saw right through that dreamy little grin, that one-of-a-kind little half-smile, noticed the sometimes not-so-subtle hints that Pinkie dropped on her at seemingly random times, like when she’d pop out of a nearby bush with a “Good morning, gorgeous!” and a huge, warm hug before bounding back to work. Or when Fluttershy would find carrot cake and blueberry scones in her mailbox, or the way that any prank Pinkie pulled on her was careful, thoughtful, and almost guaranteed not to be too scary.
Fluttershy had known for a long while that Pinkie treated her differently than their other friends, although not in a bad way. When Pinkie and Rainbow had gone on their pranking spree, Fluttershy had wondered why she didn’t get hit. Later on, Rainbow had let her know that Pinkie of all ponies had spared her from a squirting turtle to make sure her feelings weren’t hurt in any way. Pinkie didn’t treat her like she was delicate, or breakable, though. Pinkie knew she could take care of herself, and that was why the different treatment was okay. No, Pinkie was gentle with her, gentle around her, but it didn’t feel like she was fragile because of it. It made her feel special, feel important, feel loved.
And Fluttershy didn’t mind the extra attention, the compliments and the baked goods. But even though Fluttershy wasn’t stupid, he was still shy, timid, sheltered, and woefully inexperienced in the realm of romance. Pinkie’s advances were never any sort of problem, were never anything other than a delight, but Fluttershy had no idea what to do about them. So it was easier to play the fool, to pretend she didn’t see anything other than Pinkie being a great friend. If anything came from this, it would be Fluttershy’s first time giving her heart to somepony, and that couldn’t be rushed. It couldn’t be rushed, but she also didn’t want it to end. So she faked a blind eye and enjoyed the warmth that came with Pinkie’s honest flirtations.
Pinkie was many things, but she wasn’t stupid. So maybe she was a bit distractable, random, even a bit crazy, but she wasn’t stupid. She saw the way Fluttershy noticed her little gifts and compliments, how the prettiest pegasus in Ponyville would prance gaily away from the conversations would have, and how much Fluttershy would relax and smile during the tea parties Pinkie would throw for just the two of them. She noticed that when she said she’d be dropping by for a visit, Fluttershy’s feathers would all be straight and orderly, and her beautiful, long mane would always smell like Fluttershy’s shampoo. She saw how Fluttershy saw her looking and pretended not to, and she saw how Fluttershy didn’t really mind the hours Pinkie started spending around her cottage, helping with the animals or baking carrot cakes for Angel Bunny. But she also noticed the slight hesitations in Fluttershy’s words if she came on too strong, and the sudden flinches that most of her surprise hugs would cause.
One thing that Pinkie could be, one that a lot of other ponies didn’t realize, was patient. Pinkie could wait forever for the things that really mattered. She had been prepared to stare at the drying paint for years, if it meant she could stay with her friends. And she would take as long with this as she needed, until Fluttershy finally got around to loving her back. So she let Fluttershy see her looking more often, and left even more pastries and useful little things like syringes and birdseed at Fluttershy’s doorstep and found excuses to give Fluttershy extra hugs. She didn’t need to rush this, not really. The best recipes were the ones you followed to the letter without skipping any steps, and Fluttershy just had more steps than anypony else when it came to this. There was no rush at all, and Pinkie was getting pretty good at waiting. On the days when waiting was hard, when the greedy-pie in her head told her to cover Fluttershy’s pretty face with smooches, she’d play little waiting games to make it easier, like seeing how many times she could make Fluttershy get that cute little rosy blush before Angel Bunny started getting jealous, or finding a dozen different ways to tell Fluttershy just how beautiful she really was.
Author's Note
Prompt 306: Playing the fool
The first three sentences of this popped into my head almost immediately after reading the prompt, and the rest followed pretty easily afterwards. Because sappy Flutterpie.
Applejack awoke to a light rumbling, not unlike the beginnings of a stampede. With some muttered curses (wouldn’t want ‘Bloom to get the wrong idea about her big sister), she scrambled out of bed, grabbed her lasso, and ran out the bedroom... to find at least a hundred slinkies making their merry way down the stairway and into the mudroom.
“What in tarnation?” she murmured, following the river of travelling toys in an attempt to see what they were about. She trotted cautiously onto the porch, looking around in the grey-washed predawn light for a sign of an intruder. With a loud rumbling, a muddy geyser of water shot up in the middle of the inroad. Applejack screamed and started backwards, her brow furrowed in confusion and concern before finally, cautiously, approaching the bubbling natural fountain. She dipped her head into the rush and gave the water a cursory taste. The distinctive fizz of mineral seltzer hit her tongue, and she found herself sipping at it some more, if only to settle her stomach against the adrenaline-fueled nausea currently sloshing around in her gut.
She turned back to the house and stepped up onto the porchstoop, determined to start breakfast. A metallic twang was her only warning before she went flying in a beautiful arc and crashed into one of the new Jonagold saplings, hard enough to knock the poor little thing off plumb. IF not for the great stake-job Mac had done, she might have uprooted the young tree entirely. She groaned in pain and regained her feet slowly, looking towards the porch in a bid to understand what in tartarus was going on. A large, coiled spring ran out from under the porch steps, in effect creating a catapult out of the boards she’d been standing on.
“Alright,” she bellowed. “If somepony doesn’t step out and tell me what in the High Hoof is going on, I’m gonna wind up quite a bit madder than I already am, and you do not want that this early in the morning!”
A snide chuckle sounded from the grove behind her. She remembered that laughter from the labyrinth, from the day the South Field flooded and froze. “Discord, do I need to get Fluttershy?” Applejack snapped.
“Oh, but Applejack,” he whined, giving her puppy-eyes (If a puppy were a depraved god of chaos) as he stepped out of a tree. Not from behind the tree like any sane, respectful creature would, but literally oozing from the bark with an innocent grin on his face. She scowled, and his smile faded a bit. Years of living with a holy terror of a little sister had given Applejack a glare second only to Fluttershy’s stare. Discord coughed and started again. “I’ve been reading the Almanac... Quite a good read, really. I can see why you farmers are so enamored of it.”
“Good for you, I guess,” Applejack snapped. “But what in the hay does the almanac have to do with this?” She jabbed her foot at the bubbling, flooding road, at the porch, and at the stampede of slinkies that was just now finishing its migration out of the house and into the muddy courtyard.
“Applejack, I thought you of all ponies would understand,” Discord said, pouting a bit. “According to the Almanac, today’s the first day of SPRING!” His Manure-eating grin slowly faded under her unamused gaze. “Oh, fine,” he conceded, snapping his fingers to undo all the damage. “Pinkie would have found it funny,” he shouted, turning and skulking back towards Ponyville. She caught a faint grumble of “...some ponies...” before he left earshot. Shaking her head, Applejack made her way back inside, testing each floorboard before moving on, feeling her way to the kitchen. She’d promised Apple Bloom fresh pancakes as a reward for her great report card, and it wouldn’t do to keep her little sis waiting.
Author's Note
Prompt 307: Sudden Spring storms
WHen I'm overtired, my brain works in puns. So I put as many subversions in as I could, because that's where my brain was at. Heh, heh ... springs.
"You're sure you're alright with me watchin' this?" Applejack murmured, casting a wary glance to the regal figure beside her.
Luna huffed out a good-natured sigh and gestured toward the moon with a tattered wing. “Your grandmother may use the phrase ‘once in a blue moon?” she began, a mysterious half-smile showing on her shadowed face. Applejack nodded. “This is what that refers to,” Luna continued, looking up at the oddly darkened sphere that hung ominous and half-seen on the partially cloudy night. “The time is come when I must... remake myself.”
“It is... the nature of my timelessness,” Luna finally continued, staring out at the horizon. “Celestia burns on unending, as does her Sun. But the Moon shifts, changes, ebbs and flows with the ocean tides. And as it changes, so must I. This body has grown worn and weary, I fear, and it is time for me to be reborn.”
“Why d’you want me watching this? It seems more Twilight’s kinda deal,” Applejack protested, nervously scuffing at the hilltop.
“I do not rarely come back from this the same as I was, Applejack. And I occasionally lose myself entirely along the way. And as much as I love our dear friend Twilight, I trust you better to help me without question or quarrel, and to help me find myself again, if I am so truly lost.”
“That’s moving into some serious mojo, Princess. I’m not sure I’m up for it,” Applejack growled, tugging her stetson lower over her eyes.
“You are strong, Applejack, stronger than you know. You have a strong connection to the Earth itself, and a sharp mind with strength to match it. I would have no other by my side for this.”
“But I --”
“The time for arguments is over,” Luna gasped, her wings flaring out in ... terror? Pain? For a moment she was bathed in pure, silvery moonlight as bright as the desert sun, and the next... she exploded into tiny stars. Applejack stared numbly at the burning patch of grass that had held her companion seconds before, absently stomping out a few of the larger grassfires before they could spread. She looked up to the sky, her eyes racing across its many stars, looking for some change, any change.
“Luna? LUNA?” She shouted. her eyes found the moon, glowing with an odd, pulsating, otherworldly blue light. “...Blue moon,” she murmured in wonder, her hindlegs collapsing onto the young grass beneath her.
“Luna?” she breathed. “Is that you?” The young alicorn looked up with guileless blue eyes and tilted her head to the side in childish confusion.
“Who?” she asked.
Author's Note
Prompt 310: a time of renewal
After the submission window closed, I got another idea for a light romance centered around checking out the same book again and again. Kinda wish I'd gone for that one, because I wrote this totally scattered, and I think it shows.
Rarity woke slowly as little fits and spurts of detail made their way into her muzzy head. She was lying in her bed, sheets pulled up to her chin, and somepony was singing in the downstairs. Her ears twitched and focused in on the sound ... Two ponies, singing a soft duet in familiar yet muffled voices. She finally worked up the resolve to open her crusty eyes and turned to look at her alarm clock... only to find it completely missing. She sat bolt upright and looked around - the curtains were shut tight and glowed with indirect sunlight, her bedroom door was shut tight, and she had no idea what time it was. Rarity scrambled out of her bed, barely remembering to straighten out the sheets as she rushed into the hallway and down the stairs. Today was an important day, one she couldn’t afford to waste with things like sleep. Today was the first day when she didn’t have deadlines hanging over her like a sword of Dam Oakleaves, the first day when she could finally get around to some long-overdue cleaning of the Boutique.
Because as it turned out, making dresses for a Coronation meant a lot of publicity, a lot of notoriety. And it meant a lot of commissions from a lot of important ponies. And of course, Rarity couldn’t turn them down. Because as famous as she was starting to get, she was still a designer living in a place like Ponyville, hardly established as a label the rich would want to buy from. As much as her friends had spoken of her generosity in giving out her time to make these many orders, it wasn’t anything that noble that held back every polite “no” she wanted so desperately to give.
Her reputation was at stake, and every late order, every offer she turned down could only take away from her potential base of customers, leaving her ruined before her career could really take off. Weeks had turned to months had turned to a season and more, her winter days spent hunched over a worktable or frantically going through the available laces in the local fabric store before rush-ordering from Canterlot or Fillydelphia in a total panic. And now, on the first day that her life was her own again, on the first day she could take care of the abysmal mess the backrooms had become, she didn’t know what time it was, and two unidentified singing ponies were in her home.
Rarity rounded the corner into the kitchen and stared. Pinkie and Fluttershy were dusting off the cabinets together, their soft, beautiful voices winding together on some old folk-song Rarity had heard before but couldn’t name. She sighed with relief and jumped slightly at the speed that the other two turned around and met her eyes.
“Did we wake you up?” Fluttershy asked, already developing her usual cringe.
“No, not in the least, darling,” Rarity rasped, heading for the sink. She got herself a quick drink of water to clear out the worst of the phlegm caught in her throat before turning around again to face them. “But what are the two of you doing in here on such a fine day?” Of course, Rarity was just guessing at the weather. She hadn’t seen a schedule in ... longer than she cared to remember, and she hadn’t yet found a window to look through.
“Well,” Pinkie began, “We thought since you’ve been so busy lately you needed your sleep, but we also remembered how important a clean house is to you, so we figured we’d get started and let you rest.” Rarity smiled at their thoughtfulness, but she couldn’t help but worry... the last time another pony had helped clean up....
“Don’t worry, Rarity, we didn’t touch your inspiration room,” Fluttershy soothed. Was Rarity really being that obvious?
“Thank you, girls,” Rarity managed around the knot in her throat. Pinkie and Fluttershy had been nothing short of helpful over all this. All her friends had been supportive, of course, but Pinkie and Fluttershy... Rarity could distinctly remember seven different nights when Fluttershy’s skill with a needle and thread had saved her from being completely overwhelmed, and could vaguely recall at least ten more besides. And Pinkie had come by with fresh-cooked meals and friendly chatter and, it seemed, a tried-and-true babysitter’s skill for dragging her to bed and making her get a good five hours of sleep right when she was about to go off the wall. The two of them would occasionally kidnap her to the spa and put her through the works, all the while keeping her up to date on the regular gossip, just how she liked, even though she could hardly nod in the right places, her head too full of half-made dresses and frantically marked second drafts and all the things she should have been doing to really process the words coming out of their mouths.
But however futile, every gesture they made was thoughtful and entirely necessary. The two of them had done everything they could to make sure she ate and slept at least a little, to make sure she had some friends to cry on whenever she really needed them, when she finally remembered how much of her life she was losing to work and obligation. The two of them would keep Sweetie Belle entertained and out of the way on the weekends she spent over, forgave Rarity when stress and artistic passions caused her to yell and stomp and scream and curse like a madmare. And now, after all they had already done...
TIME LIMIT------
Rarity’s vision became blurry as hot tears prickled in her eyes, as she sank to the ground and began crying in earnest, letting out all the extra emotions and stress in loud wails and heaving sobs. She could feel two sets of warm legs and a comforting pair of wings around her, could hear soft, gentle reassurances at the edge of her hearing, but she couldn’t make out what they were saying, and she couldn’t stop crying. Her emotions were drowning her, crushing her, and it was all she could do to cry until they all finally left, left her panting and thirsty and shaking on the floor.
“You girls are the best friends I could ever ask for,” she blubbered, pulling the two of them into a tight hug. She gulped down the water Fluttershy gave her and finally got a glance at the clock - 3:15 pm. She looked up at the two of them, their expressive eyes showing deep concern, and decided she had to do something for them in return. “Pinkie? Fluttershy? Would you like to have a late lunch?” she asked, getting back on her shaky legs and offering a small little smile. “I think we have...” she trailed off as she realized she had no idea what was in the pantry, that she hadn’t for weeks now. “...Regardless, I think I could whip something up for the three of us.” She put on a winning smile and waited for an answer.
Pinkie looked towards Fluttershy with a voiceless question, and it hit her. The singing, the way they were always together, the extra bounce in Fluttershy’s steps, the unexpected gentleness with which Pinkie sang her to sleep, and now this look... How long had they been together? How much of her friends’ lives had she missed through all this work? Why did her chest feel so tight right now? Some of it was guilt, but the rest... perhaps it was jealousy, although she hadn’t felt that in a long while.
And Fluttershy thought for a while, her face scrunched up adorably in thought. Rarity could feel her smile stretching thinner and thinner with each passing second, and PInkie would look over and see her and know, know what she was really feeling, would see the disgusting jealous mare that she was right now, would see her ugliness and then... And then Fluttershy gave a glorious little smile and nod. “Actually, Rarity, that sounds... nice,” she proclaimed. And all at once that tightness in her chest melted away, and she giddily pranced towards the icebox and rummaged around, and she knew that everything was alright again.
Author's Note
Prompt 311: Spring Cleaning
This idea came about from my currently ongoing love affair with Ye Olde Artistic Insanity... not as bad as Rarity's here, but I'm well aware of the fact that without my roommates I'd be nonfunctional right now. I realized that with how in-depth I was getting into Rarity's introspection, I probably should have skipped on the whole romance side of things simply because there wouldn't be time for them, but the voice in my head screaming "PONIES SHOULD BE IN LOVE!" made me try for it, and I'm not sure it was necessary in the long run. *le sigh*
Rainbow dash had a new life now. She travelled all across Equestria and signed posters and saddlebags and did fundraising for hospitals and gave interviews to some of the biggest magazines and performed five days out of every week. Her pictures showed up everywhere, on billboards for everything from cabbages to carriages, in articles by the score. Paparazzi followed her in droves, trying to catch her doing anything improper, anything scandalous. She was the Wonderbolt’s Golden Girl, the mare who could do no wrong, who could perform death-defying acts of aerobatics or heroics, depending on the need.
And in all those articles and pictures, she sounded happy, she wore her trademark daredevil’s grin that melted the knees of many a mare or stallion. She looked like she was enjoying the high life, like she was on top of the world. She was living her dream, after all. But Fluttershy knew her better than many, and she could see different. Rainbow Dash’s eyes were never quite up to par with the rest of her face, never quite smiling. Fluttershy saw the weary slump in Rainbow’s posture after driving back a pack of Timberwolves in Trottingham, however slight it had been. A good three quarters of her job involved reading body language, and she and Rainbow went back to Flight school. And Fluttershy knew exactly why Rainbow wasn’t happy, she knew the reason. It looked back at her in the mirror every morning when she brushed out her hair.
All those months ago, back when they were together, back when everything was right with the world, when Fluttershy felt safe and warm and loved, and back even before that, Fluttershy knew that it would have to end. Rainbow Dash had abandoned a life on the clouds to join her in Ponyville, Rainbow Dash had given her the honors during Hurricane Duty after working so hard herself, and Rainbow Dash had planned on declining the position of her dreams when the letter came in. Because Rainbow Dash loved the sky, and she loved Fluttershy, and the two could never really be reconciled.
Dash had been prepared to do anything for Fluttershy, for weak-willed, weak-winged, trembling Fluttershy. But Fluttershy knew what Dash didn’t, what Dash couldn’t know. Because Rainbow Dash loved the sky, and she loved Fluttershy, but in the end she loved the sky more. Because Rainbow Dash was a pegasus through and through, and she needed the freedom that the skies would give her. She needed the adrenaline-fueled dives and spins, she needed the wind roaring against her ears, she needed the crowds of adoring fans. She needed to be a Wonderbolt, to be a part of the greatness she had dreamed of as a filly.
So Fluttershy had told the worst, most important lie of her entire life, had told Rainbow Dash that she didn’t need her anymore, didn’t want her anymore, didn’t love her anymore. And now she read the papers and looked at the billboards and occasionally asked to see the letters Rainbow sent Pinkie, when she was feeling brave enough. Because Rainbow Dash had a new life, and Fluttershy no longer had any place in it, with nopony but herself to blame.
Author's Note
Prompt 312: A new life
A brain-dump for my attempt at a longform story.
“...Loo? Scootaloo?” I shake my head to try and clear the confusion and groan as bile rises in my throat. “Scootaloo?” The panicked voice cuts through my pounding headache and finally registers. I know that scratchy voice. I’d never forget that voice, not in a million years. That voice beliongs to the most important pony in my life right now, and it’s clear she’s worried crazy right now.
“Proffessor?” I call out, my voice scratchy. There’s dust in my mouth, sticky and spicy and soaking up the spit in my mouth. “Professor Daring, I’m over here.”
“...You have no idea how happy I am to hear your voice, Scootaloo,” she calls back. “How are you checking out?” Training kicks in, and I open my eyes to look around. There’s a whole lot of nothing around me, and not in the Neighbraska Plains kind of nothing. Total, utter darkness surrounds me, so thick I swear I can feel it crawling across my wings. With that darkness and my headache and nausea... “I hit my head pretty bad, it’s probably a concussion at least,” I inform her.
“The hall we’re in is dark, Scootaloo,” she says almost immediately. “You’re not going blind, I promise.” She’s trying to be comforting right now, so I guess I did a pretty crap job keeping my fears out of my voice.
“The floor collapsed, remember?” She coaxes, and little flashes of memory fall into place... the tripwire, the rumbling, Daring shouting a warning, the vertigo...
“Sorry I set off the trap,” I call.
“It’s alright, I used to do this all the time,” she answers. “But we’ll get out of this. I’ve been in worse. This isn’t the first Alpacan temple I’ve excavated.”
“I know, I know, it’s not your first rodeo,” I snark, feeling my way out slowly over the floor. “Hey, Prof? keep talking, would you?”
“Scootaloo, Do you know why I have you copy out my notes all the time?” I swivel my ears around and try to guage her position/
“Uh... So I get better at academic formats?” I venture, moving slowly in the direction I think I hear her.
“It’s so that if I’m gone, you can still continue my work.” This is sounding too much like a grand final speech to me, and I pick up the pace. “Scootaloo, if I’m remembering my Alpacan architecture right, you should be able to make it to the exit if you follow a wall around. This is the Grand Mausoleum, and they’re always round. Find a wall, feel it out, and you’ll find the stairway.”
“And what about you, professor?” I ask. I’ve almost got her position, and I’m heading straight for it. “How do you get out?”
“I guess I don’t,” she sighs, and I can fnally hear the undertone of pain in her voice.
“The hoof you don’t, boss,” I snap, trotting towards where her voice is sounding.
“Something fell on me, Scootaloo. My leg’s broken and I can’t feel my wings,” she snaps back. “From the sounds of it, your head’s got it pretty bad, and you need attention.”
This can’t be happening. I’m not going to leave her to die alone in this darkness. Daring has been everything to me since she took me in, since she found me in the rain outside Filly U. She looked me over and invited me inside and fed me. She was the first pony in years who asked about something other than my still-blank flank when we talked. And se didn’t care that I couldn’t fly well. She didn’t care that I had no special talent. She didn’t care that I was a highschool dropout on the run from a bad mistake. She just handed me a hat and told me to help her plan for her latest expedition, like it was nothing at all. Like it wasn’t the kindest thing anypony’s ever done for me.
“Prof?” I begin, edging closer. I can hear her labored, panting breaths now, and I move a bit closer. A sudden line of pain burns its way across my flank, and I flinch, breathe, and move away from whatever cut me. “There’s something I never told you,” I continue. I put my wing up against the thing that cut me, feel it out with my primaries. Something metal, heavy, that seems to be running towards Daring’s breathing.
“What is it, Scootaloo?” she murmurs. She sounds woozy, like she’s lost too much blood, or is going into shock, finally. I don’t have much time.
“Sometimes, you are full of so much bullshit.” I feel along the underside of the metal thing, find a safe place to shoulder under and lift. I grunt and bear up, my back straining under the weight of the thing. I flap my stunted wings as hard as I can, until I’ve generated enough lift to move it aside, drag it away from her panting body and let it fall with a clang against the cold stone floor. I drop to the ground and spread out my legs for support as I puke, the warm bile stinging my parched throat as my stomach heaves again, and again, and again.
TIME LIMIT--------------
“Could take a few months,” she grunts. “Why?”
“I’ll wanna plan another trip by the time you’re out,” I continue, with a grin growing on my face. We’re almost out of here. “We’ve gotta get back and find your hat.”
Author's Note
Prompt 316: Two or more characters must accomplish a task while in a pitch-black environment with zero visibility.
I'm using this as proof that I shouldn't get to use a keyboard while running on less than four hours of sleep before I've had coffee. One of those submissions when I looked it over in the tumblr box and went "what the hell did I just write?"
I like it, but seriously, what did I just write?
Applejack was an upstanding pony, everyone knew that. She was grounded, down-to-earth, and generally one of the more sensible ponies in her group of friends. That being said, she wasn’t above a bit if friendly gossip. And as she had discovered, soon after that fateful sleepover, Rarity was an excellent source of that. And gossiping with Rarity was great for Applejack, because the rumors they shared were friendly. It was more of the ‘Carrot Top’s cousin got married to the first unicorn in family history’ kind of rumor than the ‘Fleur de Lis is an alcoholic’ or ‘Rainbow Dash got stood up again’ variety, so it didn’t feel particularly malicious. So after almost every market day, Applejack would head over to the Boutique and spend an hour or two gumming it up over tea and biscotti.
It started out entirely friendly, just two mares sharing little tidbits from around town, and it remained mostly the same to this day. But Applejack, being the pony she was, had turned it into a bit of an upsmareship game, on who could bring in the best morsel. Rarity, being the pony she was, had stepped up to the challenge with her usual grace and elegance. And for the last two weeks, Rarity had been ahead in their little game. She knew that Fluttershy had a special somepony, although she didn’t know who. But Applejack did, now. Because even though Rarity could talk and connive with the best of them, Applejack could wait and watch and notice. You had to, as an orchard boss. Trees didn’t grow like cornstalks, apples didn’t tell you when they were ripe, and Fluttershy was one of the best stonewallers in Ponyville, when she had a secret. Fluttershy could deflect anything Rarity threw at her, but she couldn’t hide from Applejack’s discerning eyes.
Applejack’s suspicions had first been raised when Fluttershy had come over for baking lessons of all things. Applejack knew that, much like her animals, Fluttershy was more of a raw foods kind of pony, but Fluttershy had given enough of an excuse that Applejack had let it go after the first question. Henrietta and her chicken friends were laying more than they ever had, and Fluttershy didn’t have a license to sell the extras, which would keep better if she could make muffins and cakes and scones. So Applejack had taught her as much as she could on a free afternoon while the rain poured down, and had watched as Fluttershy attacked each recipe with a focus and vigor she hardly showed outside of helping animals. And Fluttershy had left with the sunshine, prancing away and humming a cheery little ditty under her breath, splashing in the mud puddles like a little filly, and Applejack had wondered...
And now she had absolute proof. This morning, PInkie had come by and asked for advice on herding animals. Applebuck season was closing in, as was the Annual Bunny Census, and Applejack had yet to hear from Fluttershy on whether or not she would be helping out. And Pinkie had given an explanation about her cousin Shepherd Pie who needed some advice because her dog had gone lame and she needed all the help she could get on how to deal with her flock without her faithful collie, and Celestia knew what else had come out of Pinkie’s mouth. It wasn’t the normal kind of PInkie’s ramblings, when she was full of too much joy to stop talking, when she was convinced that another pony needed to hear the Oatmeal Story in the hopes it would earn a smile. No, today Pinkie was nervous, and her rambling story was meant to avoid answering certain questions like why she was asking about smaller, more timid animals than sheep in the first place. Applejack had smiled and given her the best advice she knew and had not once let Pinkie have any idea what Applejack had known already, what she had figured out.
Applejack knew that good things come to those who wait. Tomorrow was Market Day, and she couldn’t help but smile as she knocked some of the early Cripps off of their eager tree with a single kick. Because after Market closed, she’d definitely be ahead in her and Rarity’s little game, and she couldn’t wait to see what Rarity’s face would do when she shared what she’d found out.
Author's Note
Prompt 317: Thinly veiled FlutterPie
All the fluff. All. The. Fluff.
That is all
Libraries were supposed to be quiet, but not like this. The silence around her was charged with an electric, angry undertone, so tense it made her feathers quiver and crawl with nervous adrenaline. And the worst part of the whole thing, the part that made this hurt so much, was that Twilight knew exactly what she’d done to deserve this.
She’d woken up this morning to find Spike furiously attacking the mountain of unwashed dishes that had piled up over the last week, scrubbing and rinsing and drying with a single-minded vengeance. She had tried to say something, anything, even just a ‘good morning’ or ‘sleep well?’, but nothing would make it past the guilt clogging up her dry and scratchy throat. Spike had looked up and seen her, and promptly closed the sliding screen in the kitchen before going back to his work. And so Twilight had cringed away and looked around the library in the hopes of finding something to do, something to begin making amends.
She had quietly picked up and reshelved the books in the main room, dusted the table, archived her old schedules and checklists, all the things Spike normally did. She made her bed and finally cleaned out the last of the storage boxes from what they’d decided would be Spike’s new room not even a week ago, before everything went rotten between them. At some point in her meek cleaning spree, Spike had left the kitchen and joined her in the main rooms. He blustered by, never truly acknowledging her presence except to step around her if she stood in his path. If it seemed he was looking at her, she’d flash an apologetic grimace, but for once, Twilight had to admit that words had failed her. Words, her greatest tool, had no place in this, no use in this.
Sorry wouldn’t cut it, not for something like this. She couldn’t claim she hadn’t known, since she’d held his secret for him for years now, from back when he truly was a baby dragon. She couldn’t blame the alcohol, not this time. No, this had been entirely planned, and she could have told him about it, could have given him a warning, anything to ensure he wouldn’t find out the way he did, but... she’d been scared of exactly this happening. Losing a friend’s trust was the fastest way to lose a friend. Losing Spike was unimaginable. Twilight couldn’t bear to think of life without her oldest friend, especially now that she would live past everyone else she held dear to her. And this silent treatment, as much as she deserved it, was the most painful part.
She would have welcomed more of last night right about now. When Spike had been screaming at her, puffs of smoke and flecks of spittle flying at her along with hundreds of awful insults and incriminations, at least he’d been talking to her. His eyes had been terrifying, full of a boiling, mercurial rage, but at least he was looking her in the face. But this, this terrible, awful silence, this low-simmering resentment sprinkled with baleful glances and furious huffs of air, was about the worst thing Twilight had ever gone through. Her heart was breaking a little bit more with each ominous, echoing tick of the grandfather clock.
The nerves and pain and worry left her stomach roiling, and she guiltily nibbled at the flowers left over from last night’s date. Spike had begun moving his things into the little room across from the balcony, and so it was easier for Twilight to sit still and stay out of the way while he did. The roses, still as fresh and sweet-smelling as they had been last night, turned to ash on her tongue. If hunger was the best sauce, then surely guilt was the worst seasoning. Twilight glanced over at the box marked Garbage and noticed a faint glint. She scooched over slowly as Spike catalogued his comics through the half-open door and peeked inside the stained cardboard. A begemmed bowtie and a single, well-cut sapphire lay nested in old homeschool tests and dust bunnies and the ratty stinky old blanket he’d used as a young whelp.
Twilight quickly lifted those two, precious things of his out of the box and hid them under her bed. When his head cleared up a bit, he’d want them again. Because it wasn’t Rarity he was mad at. He’d never been angry at Rarity, no matter how many times she toyed with him and cast him aside. It was Twilight he hated right now, and with good reason. Because he’d grown up beside Twilight, had loved Twilight as a sister, had spent years at her side, the only one who was always there to hlp her.
The late afternoon sunlight beckoned to her, but Twilight felt bound to the library, trapped by her own sense of duty and the crushing guilt that weighed on her mind, on her heart, on her legs. She deserved every minute of this, deserved every second of the pain behind her eyes and in her chest. So instead she snuck down to the kitchen and made Spike’s favorite Goulash, enough for three hungry ponies. Her apetite spiked a bit as she sipped at her bowl, and she realized she hadn’t eaten today. She still only managed half of the small serving she’d given herself before she lost interest and ambled up to her bedroom, lethargic and tired to the bone.
She slumped sleepless on top of her now-wrinkled sheets, breathing slowly through her mouth and watching the sunset with a faded glimmer of interest. She watched as the sun went down and the moon raised itself slowly over the rooftops of Ponyville, calm and majestic. She watched the stars twinkling into existence, one by one, let her eyes wander across the drifting clouds. A sudden shift of her mattress and bedding caused her to roll over. Spike knelt uneasily on the edge of her bed, looking intently at the space beside her. She unfurled a wing and patted the mattress twice. He crawled over and nestled against her side, gripping her tightly with shaking arms. And he broke down, sobbing heavily into her coat, his sides heaving in sorrow and hurt. Twilight held him close and stroked him with her wings and nuzzled at his tear-streaked face, comforting him as best she could until he fell asleep. She tucked him into her bed and curled around him protectively as the stars twinkled above, and hoped above all else that things would be better when the sun rose once more.
Author's Note
Prompt 318: Forgiveness is never easy.
~~This was another one that jumped to the occasion and said "Write me! Write me!" also, for kicks, I totes used both rules, even though I didn't have to. Fun times, ripping out the heart of Best Dragon. Fun times indeed~~
Dear friends,
Please understand why I had to leave. Why I can never let you see me again. Why I can never let you find me, for as long as you keep looking. I know you brought me back, I know you found me and you freed me and you saved me, but I’m too different now from the Rarity you all knew. And the Rarity I’ve become is not one I would subject you to for any reason, for any price. This will sound hollow, but I did this because I love each and every one of you so much.
I have never felt so helpless as when I was their prisoner. I tried to remain strong, tried to remain defiant and powerful and proactive, just like you all believed I could be. But nothing worked, nothing helped. Being ladylike doesn’t do it for Changelings. They move right through defiance, right through bravery, and they take exactly what they need. My wits in the end did nothing but cause me more pain for my struggles, until, finally, hope shook out its dusty feathers and flew away for a safer home. And there was nothing left but my love for you five and my own stubborn pride. And then my pride broke too, broke to the point where I couldn’t even see the fragments of it lying in the dirty cell with me, and there was just love. Just food for my captors.
I knew you would save me, sometime, somehow. With ponies as resouceful and dedicated as Twilight and Fluttershy, as optimistic and surefooted as Applejack, as determined as Rainbow Dash, I thought, how could they not? How could these beautiful ponies, these heroes that I love with all my being, how could they fail? It was only a matter of time. And yet time and time again, they would come in, wearing your skins, and feed. Time after time I would see a rescue, and my tired exuberance would be siphoned out before I was left alone once more.
And after all these months of you all coming by and spending time with me, helping me heal, I finally realized that I will never get over this, especially not if you are the ponies helping me. Love is built on trust, and I can no longer trust myself. How many times in the past weeks have I attacked one or another of you in “self-defense”? How many times have you talked me through nightmares of yourselves draining me, hurting me, and had to lie and say that everything was fine? How many times have I looked upon your faces and known that this was all a lie, was all a dream, that you were still the bugs that kidnapped me even now? I tell you now, far too many to be healthy, far too many to be stopped.
So please, promise me you won’t come looking for me. Pinkie Promise. Because sometimes love is about sacrifice, and I am so terribly, horribly selfish. None of this is your fault, I promise. I love you so much, and I wish you whatever health happiness I can send your way. You five deserve each other and the happiness that you bring each other daily. Thank you for all you’ve given me...
Best wishes,
Author's Note
Prompt 320: Rarity tells her friends that she’s in love with them. All of them.
So yeah - this one came out darker than I expected. I must have spent an hour staring at the blank doc before finally getting my thoughts together. I live about 2 1/2 miles from the Boston Marathon finish line, and I could see the National Guard and police cordoning off the streets and turning the runners away. No one I know got hurt or affected, and I know I'm very lucky in that regard... but I was definitely still processing that when I wrote this. yeah...
It was one of those summer days, the kind where the stifling, humid air seemed set to drown a pony. Scootaloo sighed and kicked a pebble down the road, uncomfortably aware of the warm sweat trickling its sluggish way down her mane. The sun’s rays tickled her coat with an irritating warmth, her mouth was dry and sticky and tasted of dead things. And to top it off, she was bored out of her mind on the third day of vacation.
“Heya, Scoots, what’s shakin’?” Scootaloo jumped half out of her skin and wound up a gangly pile of tangled limbs and dusty confusion.
“Pinkie, don’t sneak up on me like that!” she spluttered, picking herself up. It seemed like these days she was always tripping over her hooves, like her legs had grown three sizes and the rest of her had just grown two.
“Sorry, Scooterbutt,” Pinkie laughed, as free and joyful as ever. “You just looked really down, and I figured I’d see what I could do about it.”
“It’s just.... Bloom’s fixing the barn ... again, and Sweetie’s getting her magic lesson today, so there’s not really much for me to do today,” Scootaloo sighed.
“What about practicing your tricks?” Pinkie asked, halting in her bouncing for a moment. “I haven’t seen you on your scooter for a week now.”
Scootaloo rolled her eyes. “The mayor decreed that I couldn’t practice in town grounds for the whole month,” she grumbled. Pinkie gave an overdramatic gasp. “I know, right? It’s not like the City council was using that greenhouse for anything anyways, and I said I’d pay off the window repair costs!”
“Well, Scootaloo,” Pinkie began, “Do you wanna get a milkshake at Sugarcube? It’s a pretty hot day.”
“Sure, Pinkie.” Scootaloo shrugged and followed Pinkie through the streets. Even with her long legs, Scootaloo was hard-pressed to keep up with Pinkie’s crazy leaps and bounds. And while she was aware of every devious drip of smelly sweat streaking its way through her mane and feathers, Pinkie didn’t seem to be affected. She didn’t sweat, she just ... glowed somehow.
Pinkie stopped and gave her an encouraging smile at Sugarcube’s door. Scootaloo opened the door and looked around for a free table. The heat was better under a roof, and a single, wheezy fan stirred the air. Almost every pony had something cold to combat Nature’s fury, although the Corner was pretty empty for a Saturday.
“Why dont’cha pick a place to sit and I’ll get us some shakes?” Pinkie asked from right behind her. Scootaloo jumped but avoided her previous freak-out. As Pinkie trotted by her, Scootaloo felt something fluffy drag along her flank, right above her cutie mark. Did Pinkie know her tail had just ... or was it just an accident? Either way, the heat just jumped about ten degrees, and Scootaloo struggled to keep her wings in the realms of decency. She snagged a table in the darkest, emptiest corner and fidgeted nervously. Pinkie bounced over with a sly grin and two strawberry shakes, Scootaloo’s favorite.
Pinkie sat down across the table and shifted, her back hoof just barely brushing up to Scootaloo’s knee. That fluttery, twitchy energy wouldn’t leave Scootaloo’s chest, and she couldn’t stop looking into Pinkie’s open, bright eyes. It was one of those summer days, the kind where a bunch of weird feelings kept cropping up, but Scootaloo couldn’t get enough of it.
Author's Note
Prompt 324: One (or more) of the Cutie Mark Crusaders is crushing on one (or more) of the Mane Six.
So instead I went for some Pinkie Pie cougar action? I don't even know.
It was amazing to think about, really - how hard Ms. Cheerilee must have worked to make the most boring assignment possible. Sweetie sighed and started yet another tedious word problem involving rainclouds and a burning building. Seriously? Rainbow Dash would shove the clouds over and put it out anyways, so why did they have to do stupid wind-speed calculations? “I’m not even a pegasus,” she grumbled as she sketched out the problem.
“Well, Rarity, the last hailstorm did a number on your roof alright. I’ll be here all day from the looks of it.” Sweetie’s ears perked up. Applejack was here! she threw down her pencil and trotted towards the front door.
“Alright, just let me know if you need to borrow tools and we’ll settle when you’re done, darling.” Sweetie made it to the mudroom. Applejack and Rarity stood in the doorway, and the very edge of Applejack’s huge red toolbox peeked out from between her legs.
“Settle? Sug’, I promised this for free, and that’s a done deal.”
“But I couldn’t bear to keep you from your farm work without compensation,” Rarity blustered, taking a step back.
Applejack chuckled warmly and slapped Rarity across the shoulders with a dusty hug, conveniently ignoring Rarity’s wince as her coat got smudged. “Ain’t no thing, Rares. S’what I do for my friends.”
Rarity shrugged Applejack’s hoof away and turned around, right into Sweetie’s personal space. “Sweetie Belle, shouldn’t you be doing your homework?” she groused, raising her perfectly trimmed eyebrow.
“Umm... can I do it outside, sis? It’s a beautiful day and I kinda want to see Applejack work,” Sweetie pleaded, putting on Winning Smile #3. Rarity scowled and nudged her further inside. “Please, sis? I’ll do it, I promise.” Rarity picked her up in a field of magic and began trotting inside. “Raarity!” Sweetie whined, kicking her legs and pouting. It was undignified, yes, but it usually worked, even when Rarity was in a Mood.
“Rares, I don’t mind if she’s out here,” Applejack said from the doorway. “She’ll probably waste her time wishin’ she were outside anyways, at this point.” Rarity thought for a moment.
“Very well,” Rarity sighed, setting Sweetie down. “But if you bother her, it’s back inside for good, alright?”
Sweetie wrapped Rarity in a tight hug. “Thanks, sis. You’re the best!” then she raced through the Boutique, grabbed her books and worksheets, and pelted for the door with them in tow. She settled herself in the grass, about five feet from where Applejack had put the ladder.
“If I drop anything, you’ll lift it back up to me, right?” Sweetie looked up at Applejack, grinning.
“Right away, Applejack,” she chirped, saluting. Sweetie was pretty sure she knew how Pinkie felt right now. She was grinning and she couldn’t stop, even though it felt like her cheeks were about to split. This was why Applejack was so cool. She remembered things, and you could always tell if she thought they were important. Applejack had been the first to know when she finally started using magic. And she’d said it was because she was near the market and Applejack was right there and she was excited, and that was true, but there was more to it than that. Rarity was in “the zone” and wouldn’t understand a word she said, Rainbow Dash was busy with her training, and Neither Twilight nor Fluttershy would understand why it was a big deal to her. Pinkie Pie would be excited, but she was excited about everything, so it didn’t really feel that important. But Applejack had grinned and congratulated her, and then gave her an apple tart for free and let her help with the cart for the rest of the day.
For a while they worked in a relative silence, the groan of old nails coming loose and the scratch of Sweetie’s pencil the only soundtrack to the spring afternoon. As Sweetie finished her math and moved onto history, she finally swallowed and tried conversation.
“Apple Bloom said you and the Apple Family built a whole barn in an afternoon,” she said, looking up at the roof.
“Suppose we did,” Applejack grunted through a mouthful of hammer.
“And you’re working the farm almost every day, right?”
“Eeyup. Lotsa trees to take care of, and we’ve been helping the Carrots with their crop, since Carrot Top got Pony Pox.” Applejack reached for some more nails, calm and collected.
“You’ve got to be the hardest worker in Ponyville,” Sweetie breathed, writing a paragraph on the Gryphon Wars. It wasn’t that hard, really. She’d learned all this stuff back when she was homeschooled.
TIME LIMIT-------
Applejack turned around, an eyebrow raised, and a bright smile on her face. “Really now? How d’you figure that?”
“I mean, you do everything. Like stampedes and farming and dam repair and stuff. And you help everypony around town who needs it, too. And you’re the nicest pony at market, and you’re always up really early in the day, and you’re always so confident and friendly and stuff.”
“What about your sister? She’s always working on the latest fashions, and that ain’t easy,” Applejack countered, pounding a nail into a shingle with two powerful thwacks.
“She’s just sewing stuff together, though. The stuff you do helps a lot of people,” Sweetie argued
“There’s a lot more to her job than that, Sweets,” Applejack sighed. “Trust me, I know that.”
“I do!” Sweetie blurted out, before hiding her furious blush behind a textbook.
“You what now, sugarcube?”
“I T-t-trust you, Applejack,” Sweetie stammered. She lapsed back into silence and blazed through her biology assignment, snapping the lead twice in her hasted to get done and out of here. She was so weird, and Applejack knew it, and they’d never talk to each other again... Sweetie packed up her books with a burst of frantic magic and turned around to go back inside, so her weirdness wouldn’t get all over Applejack’s stuff.
“Hey Sweets, you mind coming up here for a spin?” Applejack called. Sweetie looked up, and saw Applejack’s warmest smile, like a whole new sun in the sky. “I could use an extra set of hooves.” Sweetie grinned and dropped her books inside the mudroom before grabbing another hammer and some more nails from the old red toolbox and climbing the ladder as quick as she could.
“Where do I start?” she asked, trying not to burst into song right then and there.
Author's Note
This is my other entry for Prompt 324. My city was on lockdown today, and I figured, why not do two of these to pass the time?
the title is a reference to the song "I feel good".
The Neighborly Thing to Do
Applejack knew Rainbow Dash passing well. After all, she had to yell at somepony when there wasn’t enough rainwater to grow her trees strong and her beanstalks high. And Applejack would never claim to know her well, but it still came as a surprise when Rainbow Dash had locked herself in the old Library building two weeks ago. Applejack steeled herself and knocked on the door, hoping for the best but expecting the worst. Seemed like the neighborly thing to do.
“Door’s unlocked,” Rainbow Dash called out. Applejack nudged it and watched as both halves swung open on creaky, rusted hinges. Rainbow Dash paced in tight, sudden movements, her matted tail lashing out, murmuring something, some litany under her breath. Her wings stretched out high and agressive, and her ears twitched and wandered in odd directions. Her colorful mane looked oddly washed out in the half-moon light that filtered through the only open window, and her face seemed tight and stretched in the shadows. Applejack cleared her throat and Rainbow Dash whirled around suddenly, catlike.
“Applejack. You came.” Something like relief colored the pegasus’s husky voice, and something like a tear glinted briefly on her half-lit muzzle.
“Miz Dash? Is there... somethin’ I can do for you?” Applejack asked, taking a slow step forward. Everything her pappy had taught her about approaching wild animals was running through her head. Stay calm, be the boss, but don’t approach too quick or they’ll react. There had to be a candle or lamp somewhere, and Applejack didn’t really trust Rainbow Dash in the dark, not with how she’d been acting.
“I’m not ‘Miz Dash’,” Rainbow Dash snarled. “Of course you don’t remember. Nopony remembers!” Rainbow Dash smacked her head into a table again and again, muttering “no” over and over again and... pleading? Praying? it was hard to hear over the hearty ‘thwacks’ her head made against the solid oak before her.
Applejack smelled sulphur and tallow, fumbled around, and found the box of matches and unlit taper her nose had pointed out. She struck a match and lit the wick in the flare of sudden brightness, and took a closer look at Rainbow Dash in the flickering golden glow. A closer look wasn’t anything pretty.
Rainbow Dash’s mane was lank and filthy, greasy, unkempt. Her wings twitched and shivered, her face looked sunken, and her striking eyes looked bloodshot and haunted. Applejack looked closer still, saw the tip if Rainbow Dash’s swollen tongue flick across her chapped and bloody lips.
“Rainbow Dash, when’s the last time you ate?” Applejack asked, taking another step closer. “Or slept, for that matter?” another step closer, and Ms. Dash flared her filthy, shaking wings, letting loose a low growl. Applejack lifted her tail and the candle a bit higher, and finally saw what Rainbow Dash had been pacing around, staring at, whispering to. A soot-stain on the old wooden floor, in a strangely familiar six-pointed star shape, revealed itself to Applejack’s searching eyes. She moved a bit closer, to get a better look at the odd burn mark.
“Don’t touch that!” Rainbow Dash snarled, shocking Applejack from her seeming trance. “Don’t you dare touch that...” Applejack flinched away from Rainbow Dash’s burning glare, away from that cursed spot on the floor, and backed away slowly, never once showing her back.
“Alright, sugarcube,” she soothed gently. “Alright now.” She closed the library door behind her and slowly walked away as Rainbow Dash began her mutterings again.
She barely caught a “Twilight, I tried...” as she plodded back home. She’d drop by the library tomorrow with some food and clean water for the ex-weatherpony. It seemed like the neighborly thing to do.
Author's Note
Prompt 325: Twilight Sparkle disappears, and only one pony remembers she was ever there at all.
I’m really, really sorry,” Sweetie wheezes as she collapses in the doorway. She can feel little splinters digging into her clean white coat as she pants and tries to raise herself up on tingling, shaky, weakened legs. The clubhouse looks about the same as the last time she was inside, although there’s an new shelf packed tight with even more of Scootaloo’s trophies and medals and ribbons. Scootaloo and Apple Bloom are looking at her now, with the same tired disappointment she’s getting altogether too used to seeing on their faces. Scootaloo sighs and puffs away a strand of her wild mane and arches a brow with slow-motion disdain.
“You’re three hours late,” Scootaloo says, casual, indifferent. As if she were commenting on the weather or Mayor Mare’s latest speech or something else entirely commonplace. The sad part is that this sort of thing is getting to be that way. One thing leads to another leads to another in a tired little cuckoo-clock dance, and then Sweetie shows up to the semiannual Crusader meeting, the one they set up to help her stay in contact with the others, and she feels lower than dirt.
“Sorry,” Sweetie repeats, as if the second time will make it any better, any easier on the ears. “Sapphire sent the tracks back with revision notes and I had to turn them around by today. I was in the mixing booth and I sorta ... lost track of time.” Her cheeks are flushed with annoyance and shame as she scrambles to her feet, and she can’t quite make herself meet her two best friends’ eyes.
“We get it, Sweets,” Apple Bloom soothes. “You’ve got your career to look towards, and things crop up. And you’ve gotta take all the opportunities they throw atch’ya until you’re big enough to stand for yerself.”
Scootaloo opens her mouth to add something to the conversation, and from the set of her jaw and the fiery glint to her eyes it won’t be anything helpful or nice. Bloom shoots her a glare and she backs down, still tense and strung tight with roiling emotions.
“Look, I know it’s not an excuse, but I went into the studio yesterday morning. I’ve been recording and splicing and mastering nonstop, and there was some stupid bureaucracy stuff at the post office. I ran the whole way, as fast as I could, and I’m really, really sorry,” Sweetie wheedles, taking another shaky step towards the two other ex-Crusaders.
“You should be,” Scootaloo shouts. “You should be sorry for a lot more than that,” she continues, snapping out her wings angrily and stomping her foot towards Sweetie, who stands stock still, her eyes wide and terrified. “We get that your career is important to you, Sweetie. You’re doing some cool stuff in the music business, and you’re best pals with Sapphire Shores and all the big names, and you’re ‘paying your dues’ or whatever until they think you’ve done enough and they give you a headlining act.
“But we remember when we were important, too,” Scoots continues, and her bravado cracks along with her voice. Her ears droop down and she stares at the floor with a singular focus. “We remember back when you’d ask for an extension on your background vocals instead of pulling an all-nighter and missing time with us anyways. We remember back when we got letters that had more to them than who you met at what record signing or whose tour you’d be opening for.” She trails off and scuffs at the already stained and damaged floorboards, hiding behind her devil-may-care manecut.
“We’ve been thinking ‘bout this for a while now, Sweetie,” Apple Bloom cuts in smoothly. “You’re a busy pony, and you’re doing what you love, and Scoots and I are real proud of you fer that. But ... we’re not entirely sure how we fit into that busy life of yours anymore. So we’ve been thinking, and we figured it’s best for all of us if --”
Sweetie can’t take another word of it. She knows what they’re saying, what they’re implying. She’s felt it coming for the past year or so, in the little pauses in conversations, in the looks the other two share at their meetups, in the many smudged eraser-marks left all over their letters to her.
But she knows, sure as the prickling, stinging tears in her eyes, that her friends have pushed her out of the nest. The days she spent with the two of them are now officially over and dead, gone forever. She swallows a sob before it truly begins as she pelts through the market square. She can’t cry here; famous ponies don’t cry where others can see them. And Sweetie might not be famous yet, but she still can’t let them see her tears. Someday soon she’ll be a big-name, and she’s practicing the skills it takes to get there. I can cry when I get home , she promises herself. Just get to the Boutique, close my door, and I can cry. Two blocks have never seemed so long, in this tiny little town.
Author's Note
Prompt 326: I stood up, my heart pounding, the lump in my throat refusing to be swallowed, my legs shaking with each timid step. I crossed the room and looked in their eyes, finally saying what I’ve needed to say all along, and they replied with a hollow smile and the words I knew would tear my world apart.
...That Bloom in the Spring
The party was going along smoothly, as always. Rarity watched with a small smile set in place as the entire town danced and talked and laughed and smiled and lived freely. For the first time in years, Ponyville had come ahead in the unofficial race to wrap up winter, finishing easily before teatime. And so, of course, this warranted a joyful, boisterous party, much like the joyful, boisterous pony she couldn’t stop watching. And as much as she was enjoying the party, Rarity couldn’t seem to quite leave the relative safety of the punch bowl. She sipped at her cup if only to keep her mind off of what she knew would happen tonight. the steady, low burn of vodka sat easy in her throat and slowly smoothed away the worst edge on her sharp and abrasive worries.
It had been a strange winter, to say the least. In late November, when the orders had finally slowed down at the Boutique, Rarity had found herself drawn, as if by a magnet, to Sugarcube corner on a nearly daily basis. Soon enough, the Cakes didn’t give it a second thought if she was in the kitchen, helping Pinkie decorate custom cupcakes or providing taste-tests on various recipes for fudge. And slowly, inexplicably, Pinkie began spending more time at the Boutique as well, respooling ribbons or having tea or wine and chatting about the ponies around town. And in mid-December, after nearly four weeks of pussy-hoofing around the issue, one of the most fulfilling, delightful relationships Rarity had ever been in had started with a simple question over hot chocolate.
And in January, Rarity had come to a shocking revelation - Twilight, the poor dear, was pining after Rarity’s sweet pink baker. The way the Princess’s wings would droop when they showed affection, the little pauses in their conversations, the little favors Twilight would ask of Pinkie upon occasion; baking lessons, lab assistance, and most transparently, bouncing lessons. And as February came along, Pinkie had quietly, shyly brought another revelation to light - Pinkie was falling for Twilight as well. A week passed by as Rarity thought and considered, a week full of further discussions with Pinkie, until she had realized that there was really only one way to go about this. If Twilight would help Pinkie be as happy as Pinkie was making Rarity, then of course they should be together.
Rarity took another large mouthful of punch and watched as her beloved baker worked her magic on her friend. She could almost imagine Pinkie’s soothing, persuasive voice; the same tone that reminded Rarity of how much she could trust her girlfriend, that could convince Rarity that the sky was green. Twilight was blushing furiously, stammering something back as she hunkered down and raised her wings, shielding her face from the room. And yet Pinkie kept at it, talking and edging gradually closer, until she stood right beside the trembling ex-librarian and Twilight’s wings had mostly folded themselves back to resting.
Pinkie reached out with a gentle hoof and stroked Twilight’s trembling wing, and Rarity finished the rest of her punch in a single pull, fascinated, as Twilight melted into Pinkie’s reassuring caress, her reassuring words. Pinkie’s hoof moved from Twilight’s wings to her mane, and Rarity knew from experience what would come next. She took a meditative breath and stood poised and ready to reason away any ignoble or resentful thoughts before they could fully take root and fester. And slowly, gently, delicately, Pinkie guided Twilight into a tighter embrace, holding her until her shivers ceased.
And Rarity watched as their lips met, as Pinkie guided Twilight into a gentle, sensual kiss. But the petty, jealous thoughts that had haunted her dreams since this little plan of their had been hatched did not clamor and nip and bite at her uncertain mood. Instead, a serene warmth spread through her chest, like the first rays of sunshine breaking through the heavy clouds of winter.
The kiss ended as it had begun, smooth and comfortable, before Twilight’s joyous laughter rang out like a bell across the crowded room. Pinkie led Twilight across the room and towards Rarity and the punch bowl, and looked at Rarity with eyes full of enough love for a thousand ponies, and Rarity knew that it was alright. She found herself laughing in delight as the two of them joined her at the table, delight and relief that it had worked out. She nuzzled playfully into Pinkie’s side and gave Twilight a friendly wink and thought about how much Pinkie had made her better.
Author's Note
Prompt 329: Two ponies kiss, and everything is right in the world.
I figure if any pony would be likely to love many ponies, it would be PInkie Pie. I also figure that Rarity would be pretty okay with helping her do just that. And then I figure that Rarity thinks she's a much worse pony than she really is, and this happened, and I couldn't be happier.
These days, Applejack got a lot of strange looks sent her way at market. The little mutters followed her and sometimes stung like little hornets, when they were loud enough or bitter enough to warrant her attention. It made sense, in a way, that she’d be the one of them to notice the hurtful words, to catch the worst of the blows. Coming from a family as deep-rooted and tradition-set as the Apples made it that much more shocking that ‘special somepony’ had become ‘special someponies’ for her, but that wasn’t the only bit.
Everypony had expected Pinkie to go for more than one serious partner, since she gave so much love out all day, every day, like it was going outta style. And, well, Rainbow flew high above the crowds, too high up to really hear what they said. And even if she did, it wouldn’t really matter. The things folks at market’d say to her, about her, just bounced off like a hoofball. The two of ‘em would laugh it off together, sometimes, trade the rumors and gossip they’d gotten like cards, makin’ a right silly game out of it. And that worked for them, but they hadn’t grown up here.
Applejack still respected the ponies she’d hear saying those things, still remembered when they’d give her extra bits of toffee for being a good little filly, or when they’d skip rope together during recess. So it hurt more than she let on, hearing those things these days. Applejack was a simple pony, and not too good with words, so she didn’t know how to talk to the others ‘bout it. ‘Cause words were important, and she had to watch what she said,these days.
Even if Rainbow didn’t let the crowd get to her, even if she could shrug off their insinuations and insults with her daredevil’s smile and a hearty boast, the ponies closest to her could tear her down in an instant. One wrong word, one thoughtless, snide remark, one mistake in the heat of the moment, and she’d be broken. She’d hide away for days, sometimes, and eventually come back, quiet and jumpy and apologetic, worse than Fluttershy by far. Applejack knew she had Rainbow’s trust, but it was a surprisingly fragile thing, easy to break or misplace and twice as precious for it.
And Pinkie could be needy, sometimes. Spending days at the Acres and trying her best to help around the farm, doing a right fine job up until water or plants came up, and talking to Applejack about everythng while they went about their day - The price of sugar, the Cake twins’ latest mischief, what Rainbow had been doing at her latest practice, the dresses Rarity had made her try on, anything and nothing, as if she were afraid of the silence. And after about four hours of the nonstop cascade of words, Applejack would give anything for some blessed silence, some much-needed solitude. But she’d learned by now that asking for some time alone when Pinkie was like this was dangerous, that her pink bundle o’ joy would take it as a bigger thing than it was, would feel neglected, would get unstable. Pinkie was a bit like a sapling that way - she needed a lot of love and time and sunshine to bear fruit, but it was worth it, It was always worth it, to get those bright, lovely smiles and playful little kisses in return for a day spent together. So long as she kept those things in mind, she was fine. So Applejack held her peace these days, did a lot of listening and not so much talking. Because she had an ornery streak wide as a field, and a mouth that could land her into trouble. And her two girls were too important to hurt for some silly little reason.
It wasn’t all gloom and doom, though, these days. Not in the least. Because as often as Applejack’d bail out her two lovers from their bad days and their worst thoughts, she could rest easy knowing that they’d do the same. Pinkie could always find a way to make her laugh, even in the worst of moods when all she wanted was some whiskey and her records and time to stew in her misery. Dash had a way of turning the most boring of tasks into a fun little competition, until the brushwood was cleared in record time and Applejack’s grin hadn’t once left her face. And the two of them were strong enough to hold her weight if need be, on the days when she was too tired or sad or angry or sick to get up and get done.
And Applejack could rely on them, these days. She could go to bed, be it at the Acres or the smaller, sugary nook atop Sugarcube corner, knowing that she had two lovely mares who loved her as much as she loved them, and she could curl up between them or beside them and know that they’d be there when the sun rose. And she could wake up with a face full of blue feather, with restless pink hooves worrying away at her flank, uncomfortably warm and twisted out of shape by two strong bodies, and she’d know that she was home.
Author's Note
Prompt 333: Three ups and Three downs with Three ponies being in love.
And I continue on my path of polyamorous ponies although this time they asked for it.
Sugarbee let her heavy saddlebags thwump onto the floor with a relieved sigh and breathed freely for the first time since she’d left the schoolyard. The warm scent of baking buttermilk scones filled her nose and set her stomach growling, and she trotted towards the kitchen with a bright smile on her face, her ears perked up and her chest feeling lighter than it had all day. But as she peeked through the doorway and into the warm, sweet-smelling room, her spirits fell just a little, and the familiar knot of worry tied itself up in her chest again.
Every conceivable surface was covered with a cluttered layer of baked goods. Muffins sat atop croissants, entire pies wobbled on pillars of brownies and sweetbreads. And over by the sink, Mama Pinkie was busy scrubbing out a cupcake pan attacking the burnt splatter marks with a terrifying single-minded focus. This wasn’t a surprise baking, a warm welcome home from the first day of finals. Mama Pinkie was baking her feelings, and from the looks of it, her feelings were bad. Sugarbee trotted over to the sudsy, spitting sink, to her muttering, glowering mother, and caught her in a surprise hug from behind.
“Mama, what’s wrong?” she asked, nuzzling at mama Pinkie’s tense shoulders. Mama Pinkie just sighed and worked even harder at scrubbing the cupcake pan clean. Sugarbee winced at the silent treatment. Mama Fluttershy had told her once about how mama Pinkie didn’t like talking much when she was sad, because she didn’t like other ponies seeing it. Suddenly it hit her, why mama Pinkie was baking quite so much today.
“It’s because Auntie Twilight couldn’t make it to her birthday, isn’t it?” Mama Pinkie flinched slightly and kept on scrubbing at the cupcake pan, even though it sent little speckles of the afternoon sunlight dancing ‘round the rafters with each forceful pass the old dishrag made over its sudsy surface.
A bowl full of batter sat in the midst of the chaos, thick and bubbly and alluring. Sugarbee sniffed at it curiously. Dark chocolate and … almond? Sugarbee sighed a little bit. Almonds never made it into cupcakes unless it was serious. “You know she wouldn’t have missed it if she could, Mama,” Sugarbee continued, turning around to watch as her mama kept scrubbing at one spot on the pan. “She just had to go save the world again, like she’s always doing. You know she woulda been here if she could, right?”
Silence spread between them like icing on a cake, thick and heavy, as she waited for an answer. But there was nothing but the running water in the sink, grating on her ears and on her patience as she waited for her mama to turn around and say something. Finally, she turned towards the oven and opened the door to look at the scones inside. She inserted a knife that came away clean, with only she slightest coating of steam and melted butter on its silvery surface, so she pulled out the cookie sheet and looked for a place to set the hot scones down.
Something else occurred to her as she balanced the steaming tray of scones on the flour canisters. Auntie Twilight had sounded a little bit worried in the letter she’d sent along yesterday. Sugarbee shut the water off and took the sparkling clean cupcake pan from her mother’s tense hooves with a little smile. “She’s gonna come back, y’know,” she promised around the handle of a ladle, as she put the batter into the greased indentations. “She always does.”
--TIME LIMIT--
“Mama?” she asked around a faceful of fluffy, crushing mom-hug. “What are we gonna do with all this food?” Mama pinkie gave a little rumbling sigh, the thinking kind, and then a little snortle, and then her little chuckles broke out and fell around them like rain, like the teardrops that landed in Sugarbee’s mane. And Sugarbee couldn’t help but smile a little bit more, because her mama Pinkie would be ok, soon.
Author's Note
Prompt 341: Cooking Mama
I've had the idea of Pinkie making mass amounts of pastries to cope with her feelings bouncing around for a long-ass time, and it was nice to get it out. Because my joy comes from taking potentially lighthearted prompts and using them to make ponies cry.
I can taste the morning breeze. It’s yellow, it’s sunshine and sour and falling stars. I can taste the tears of yesterday, and laughter of nightclubs rustles my feathers as I soar above town. I can see the footsteps of the ponies down below me, as I look down. They shine out like starbursts, like little fireworks of noise and blueberries and a distant, thundering applause. The sun sings its happy little song, so warm and joyful, reverent, a hymn to life and love in greens and purples. But I listen beyond sunshine, I look through the firework horseshoes, I dodge past loose scraps of conversation that rustle the air around me. I don’t care about them. I’m too busy looking for her.
She’s the only one in this town that’s true. She sounds how she looks how she smells how she is, and it’s why I love her. She doesn’t know that yet, but maybe she does. It’s always hard to say with other ponies, even if they’re like her. Even if they mean what they are what they feel what they say, like she does.
Some days I think she understands me. Other days I hope she doesn’t, hope she never will. Other ponies never understand me, no matter how they try. Other ponies get all jumbled up, and run away when I try to explain. Or they say what they don’t look or smell or sound, and I get confused. I don’t let other ponies get near me much, right now. They make my eyes spin and my head cry and my wings wail and my hair squirm and my skin dance away. They send their huckleberry regrets and violet lies all flying around me until I don’t know which way is up anymore. Until I don’t know which way is true or right or mine.
But right now that way is towards her, towards the one thing that’s true in this town, the one thing that’s real anymore, that’s constant. She’s pink . She tastes it, laughs it, looks it. Pink and nothing else, and beautiful in her joyful simplicity. All different shades of pink, of joy and sadness, with too much energy or not enough, but she’s always there. She’s always pink. She’s always smiling. I see her, angle my wings and land with a loud puff of dust, sending green giggles into the air as I snap the dust from my grey, tired feathers and manage a little grin.
And she’s smiling back, all rhubarb and cardamom and home, pink like the gentle sunsets you get in a desert. And I try to say hello but my words have gotten all tangled in my saddlebags and I don’t know how to straighten them out. But she’s grinning and so mothing else really matters as I show her just how happy I am that she’s here. I can taste the silence in the crowd around us as I give her a hug. It’s all heavy-cream and garlic, curdled and sun-spoiled and greasy. My wings wrap around her broad back and my neck plays chime bells against hers. I wait for the rotten silence to slide off my back before I open my eyes and try so desperately for them both to meet hers. Her eyes are vast oceans, sun-kissed island waters of the purest blue, but her shy little smile still smells pink. It’s still her, it always is.
I can taste her lips against mine. They’re spicy velvet, a symphony of thrushes and humid as the swamp air, twice as heavy, weighing down on my dizzy brain. And then they’re gone, and she’s smiling again, as bright a pink as the royal rose garden, and her hooves are tapping out a sonnet in morse code. My own chest answers in an iambic duet, thrumming like a hummingbird two stories tall.
Shocked gasps circle us in the moldy dust, but I don’t really care. I’m not surprised. I never let ponies touch me, nopony but her. But she’s true, she’s real, and she’s laughing. And my words are still all scattered through undelivered mail and my morning snack, and I can’t think straight, with the looks the other ponies on the street are giving me, the ones that tickle down my spine, snake-like and spidery and skittering, but it’s okay.
Because she’s still smiling. She pulls me in, and I can smell her curly pink mane. It smells like midnight, alluring and full of little dancing lights and the sleepy joy of a glass of milk.
“I love you too, Derpy,” she whispers. Her words massage my ear and run down my skin like dancers, like deer. And I must be yellow, and sunshine and sour and stardust and velvet, because I could float away with the morning breeze right now. I would, but there’s something pink and true and lovely that keeps me grounded, for at least one minute longer.
Author's Note
Prompt 343: Everypony was surprised to see them kiss.
Special rule: The reason everypony is surprised should be something more than not knowing the kissing ponies are a couple. That’s fine as an aspect of it, but there should be something additionally surprising about the kiss, the couple, or the circumstances of it.
I went to a poetry slam and decided to toy with the idea of a synesthetic Derpy Hooves. Not sure if this actually fits the special rule, but I still like it.
With a final, petulant roar, the Chimaera of the Hayseed Swamp turned and sauntered away, crashing through mangrove thickets and strings of spanish moss as it turned tail and fled as casually and suavely as it could while being glared down by an angry Princess. Twilight landed heavily on the peaty outcrop where her friends sat wide-eyed, huffing out another grateful sigh. She was anything but graceful and refined, right now, Rarity thought. Before today, Rarity hadn’t known swamp sludge could even catch fire in the first place, and yet a glob of it still smoldered in Twilight’s ruffled, filthy mane. Her face was scorched and grimy, her wings were still flexing agressively, and her knees still shook with leftover adrenaline. But that didn’t truly matter, because Twilight looked powerful and stunning, striking, and absolutely beautiful.
Rarity ran up to her lovely Princess and pulled her into a passionate kiss, the kind she normally reserved for the bedroom. Smoke and sludge assaulted her nose, and the taste of fear and sweat and silt lay heavy on Twilight’s lips. All the same, as their friends looked on with a mixture of disgust, fascination and bewilderment, Rarity had to say this was one of the better kisses she’d ever really had. Finally, as the sloppy, unrestrained and undeniably unladylike kis stretched on towards a minute in length, she pulled away with a sly grin and soft caress of Twilight’s slack-jawed face.
Their friends looked just as if not more confused than when she threw herself at her girlfriend, staring at her little smile with concern and horror. Twilight shook herself, a dopey grin spreading slow across her beautiful, kissable lips, and tilted her head to the side in the adorable way she did when something confused her.
“Not that I minded that at all, Rarity, but... I’m a little dirty, y’know?” Twilight said, gesturing vaguely at her filthy body with a quivering hoof.
Rarity laughed and nuzzled Twilight’s cheek again, not caring in the least at the swamp goo she could feel soaking into her coat. “Oh, nonsense, dear,” she chuckled. “It’s just a bit of dirt.”
A steam-roller tackle sent Rarity tumbling into the peat, skidding and rolling and bouncing and finally staring up into the blazing crimson eyes of Rainbow Dash. “Who are you and what have you done with Rarity?” she snarled, leaning in near Rarity’s face. Dash’s hot breaths reeked of hayfries and beet juice as they misted across Rarity’s nose.
“Whatever do you mean, Rainbow?” Rarity asked. “For that matter, why on earth did you think tackling me would --”
“Save it, changeling,” Rainbow spat. “You’ve done a good job so far, but you forgot one important detail - Rarity can’t stand getting dirty! Now where is she?”
Rarity sighed and tried to push Rainbow away. Rainbow caught her hooves in an effective hold and snarled again. Rarity’s fraying patience finally snapped as Rainbow shoved her face so close into her face that their noses touched.
“Rainbow Dash, if you don’t get off me this instant, I will begin telling all sorts of stories about various adventures in lipstick and accesories,” Rarity snapped.
Rainbow jumped back with a yelp, as if she had been burnt, and backed away sheepishly, her head hanging low. “Geeze, Rare, there’s no reason to go that far,” she muttered.
Rarity smiled and clambered to her feet with as much grace and dignity as she could muster. “Honestly, do you girls think I have quite such a problem with messes that I wouldn’t kiss the mare I love?” Suddenly, nopony was quite meeting her eye. Pinkie and Applejack had something caught in their throats, Fluttershy was hiding behind her mane, and Rainbow and Twilight both had miserable hangdog expressions. Rarity rolled her eyes and sighed. “Some ponies,” she groused, as she led the way back to the train station.
Finally back in Ponyville, Rarity grinned. She could get back to the boutique and clear out the rest of the gunk from her mane and tail. The hotel showers just didn’t do her justice, and she could still smell saltwater and ash whenever she turned her head sharply. She opened the door and trotted inside... to a warzone. Scraps of fabric and muddy hoofprints lay all across her hardwood floors, spilled milkshake splashes somehow made it onto the windowpanes. It was clearly the work of the Cutie Mark Crusaders, or perhaps Discord.
Rarity could feel her nice good mood dripping away with each second she stared at the Tartarus-damned mess. Her eye twitched, and her blood boiled.
“I’LL DESTROY THEM!!”
Author's Note
Did a double-hitter for prompt 343.
It was fun to write some silly Rarity, and for some reason I feel like this kind of minor hypocrisy is something she would do.
Applejack was dying, and that was the ugly truth. Already, her vision was tunneling, it was getting hard to focus. Her heart stuttered again before beating on doggedly, tiredly. She turned her aching, stiff neck to look out the window again, to catch the weak red sunset as it glinted off the castle walls and, further out, sparkled beautifully through Canterlot falls. She sucked in another strained breath and wheezed it back out, grinning even through her stomach’s latest flare of near-blinding pain. Not that she wasn’t nearly blind by now anyways.
Maybe, she thought blearily, watching the sun dipping below the horizon, maybe it isn’t too bad, death. T’was only natural, after all. She shifted again on the downy mattress, anything to lessen the aches in her ancient and gnarled spine. The bedroom door opened with a slow creak, and Applejack let her eyes wander over to take a look. Twilight, rumpled and tear-stained, slinked inside on quiet hooves. A nervous young cadet followed behind her, shaking and shivering and rattling his ill-fitting armor. Applejack managed a shaky, sluggish smile as she met Twilight’s eyes, although it fell away when she saw the desperate, fiery shine in them, halfway between love and total madness.
You know what to do. Applejack shuddered painfully and ignored the voice, ignored the trembling filly who peered at her from behind Twilight’s wings. Twilight hopped onto the bed and gently cradled Applejack in her strong forelegs, tears shining in her wide purple eyes. Applejack raised a wrinkled, weakened hoof and wiped away a tear before it fell. “Hey there, lady,” she wheezed, smiling again. Her raised hoof made the slow, ponderous journey to Twilight’s nose and tapped it once, twice... and fell to her side, full of angry pins and needles. Twilight cried roughly and nearly broke down, choking down a second heaving sob before turning to the young guard.
“Private, please come here,” she ordered. Her voice was frighteningly steady, although it nearly cracked twice from the strain of authority. The young filly stumbled over with a snappy salute and sat rigidly by the dark purple duvet, her bright green eyes staring desperately into the middle distance. For all that Applejack’s eyesight and hearing had gone to Tarturus these past few years, she could smell just as well as she had as a mare of twenty, and this filly reeked of sweat and piss and fear. Applejack sighed and looked at Twilight again, at her clenching jaw and trembling wings and burning mad eyes.
“Twi, honey,” Applejack rasped, “maybe this is for the best.”
“No,” Twilight whispered, holding her so tightly that it hurt, it burned.
“Sugarcube, I’m old. I’m so old,” Applejack begged, as her heart stuttered and skipped again, dangerously. She could feel her eyes prickling with tears, could feel that old hunger stirring and waking in her chest. “Maybe it’s real, this time. Maybe we should --”
“No!” NO! Applejack winced at the sheer desperation, the sheer command that Twilight’s broken voice and the other … thing carried. “Please, Applejack,” Twilight murmured, her dry, chapped lips brushing against Applejack’s ear. “You can’t leave me. I need you. You’re the only one I have left.” Applejack knew that, sure as she knew she had maybe hours left. It was the truth, the ugly truth. Since Luna and Cadence had left in search of Celestia, more than a century ago, Applejack had been the one thing between Twilight Sparkle and total insanity, the one thing between the Princess and total tyranny. And, though the years had been awful, painful things, Applejack had remained. Applejack had endured.
And as she looked into Twilight Sparkle’s bloodshot, beautiful eyes, so full of raw want and need and that terrible, burning madness, she knew her choice, she knew her duty. So she shifted and rolled out of Twilight’s embrace, reached her shaky hooves up to the guardsmare’s face, and let the hunger have at it. Her lips pressed tightly to the frightened mare’s, and the thing sucked and fed. The awful, terrible moan that escaped the filly’s mouth filled her with guilt, just like it always did. But all the same, she felt the life flowing into her, washing away the pain and weariness from her achy, swollen joints and leaving them soothed and steady. Sounds and light trickled back to their old intensity, and her muscles buzzed with energy and vigor they had lost years ago.
She let the dried-out corpse fall from her hooves and forced back the dry heaves and bile that always came afterwards. And she nuzzled firmly, desperately into Twilight’s warm chest, felt Twilight’s strong wings caressing her over and over again, heard Twilight’s litany of sincere, awful, ugly apologies. Because the ugly truth of it was that Applejack couldn’t leave Twilight alone. Not now, not ever. As she wept and cursed herself and her damned weakness through the night, right up until when Twilight had to bring in the dawn, she promised herself once again that this time would be the last. She would break that promise, she would break it until Luna or Cadence came back, with or without the missing sun goddess. And that, perhaps, was the ugliest truth of them all.
Author's Note
Prompt 347: The Kiss of Death
Have I mentioned how I love being mean to the Apple Family?
Celestia had hoped more than anything that she wouldn’t find Twilight here. She’d checked all of Twilight’s usual haunts - the observatory, the ancient Everfree Castle, the Crystal Empire... she’d even gone as far as to look in the old library in Ponyville. And finally, with a heavy heart, expecting the worst, she’d turned wing to the hills outside of Canterlot, making her way to the last place she could find the missing princess.
Sure enough, Twilight sat still in the light rainfall, bowing her head to the fresh granite monument. Mud from the fresh-turned grave had splattered upon her regalia and stained her legs and drooping wings a deep brown. Celestia could barely hear Twilight muttering something over the drizzle and moved closer, slowly and cautiously.
“Twilight?” she called out. Twilight flinched, but otherwise ignored her. Celestia settled down beside her and wrapped a wing around the smaller alicorn. “We missed you in court today,” she murmured, nuzzling Twilight’s soaked mane. Twilight stiffened at her touch and shrugged off the wing around her, ruffling her wet feathers aggressively.
“You got on fine without me before I was a princess,” Twilight growled. “Can’t I have a few days to mourn her alone?”
“Look, Twilight,” Celestia reasoned gently. “I know she was important to you, but Equestria needs you right now.”
“She was the last, Celestia,” Twilight shouted, finally meeting her gaze. Even through the rain, it was clear Twilight had been crying. “When the others had ... gone, at least I had her by my side, but now she’s dead, too!” Twilight slumped and shivered. “I... I can’t do this right now,” she whimpered. “I just ...can’t.” She lifted a hoof and gently traced the three engraved balloons on the stone before her, while a low, keening whine escaped her throat and her wings trembled with unshed tears.
Finally, after several minutes, Twilight cleared her throat. “Have you ever been in love, Celestia?” she asked. Her eyes never left the gravestone, nor did her hoof stop its compulsive tracing.
Celestia’s wings drooped as she thought. “I loved your friends dearly,” Celestia answered finally. “And I love you dearly as wel, Twilight, and Luna and Cadence besides.”
Twilight stiffened. “That’s not what I asked,” she snapped, before continuing her study of the rain-soaked granite. “Have you ever loved somepony so much that you ould do anything for them, everything for them, and watched them wither and die before your very eyes?” Celestia wilted at the intensity in Twilight’s rough voice. “Have you ever loved anypony as much as I loved them?” Twilight gestured to the five headstones in their perfect, crisp semi-circle and hit Celestia with a look that could freeze blood.
Celestia looked away from those burning purple eyes, cowed.
“Then don’t you dare judge me when I choose to mourn,” Twilight growled. Something in her voice changed, and Celestia looked up suddenly. She watched in horror as Twilight’s eyes changed slowly, turning catlike and slitted. She took a step back as Twilight’s fur darkened and changed, as her limp and dripping mane began to glow with unearthly fire.
“Twilight, please don’t do this,” Celestia begged, taking a cautious step forward. “This isn’t you.”
“You’ve been looking down on me since I Ascended,” Not-Quite-Twilight growled, crouching and ready to attack. “You’ve been judging me, reprimanding me, just because I was brave enough to open my heart to the five ponies I would trust with anything.” Celestia backed up, calling on her magic and ready to defend herself against anything Twilight would throw at her.
“You think you’re so high and mighty, so uncorruptable?” Twilight screamed. “You’ve never really lived! Not once, not ever! YOu thiNk yOu shouLD RuLE, WHEn yOU DoN’T KnoW WHAt iT IS TO BE A PONY?!”
Twilight Sparkle called upon her magic, filling the entire graveyard with thrumming oppressive power, that set Celestia’s horn aching and her hair on end. Then Twilight grinned, a terrible, merciless, inequine thing born of hate and pain and grief.
“Pray all you want, Celestia,” she hissed, charging a spell, one that Celestia herself had used once in her life. “But not even the stars will aid you now.”
Celestia didn’t even have time to scream as the spell hit her. All was confusion and pain, and then it was fire, and time was lost to her.
Author's Note
Prompt 349: The calamity
I really, really hate this one, for some reason. Not sure why, though
“What the hay, Scootaloo? Are you sick in the brain or somethin’?”
“You chose dare, Bloom. Now pucker up and get it done already,” Scootaloo grumped, thwacking her friend lightly with a wing.
Apple Bloom gulped audibly and shook herself before rising to her feet, resolved and ready for action. “Opalescence? Could y’all come here for a moment?” The white cat deigned to give her a baleful eye before daintily grooming her forepaws, practically oozing with lazy disdain. “Alright then,” Apple Bloom muttered. “Time to bring out the big guns.” She tied a practiced knot in a curtain sash and sent the paisley lasso flying around the persian’s midriff before yanking her across the floor and picking up the now furious and spitting cat with two forelegs. Then she licked her lips, sighed, and pressed them to Opal’s yowling mouth.
With a loud bang and the overwhelming scent of ozone, the lights in the Boutique all flickered and failed, and Apple Bloom flew backwards, her entire face tingling and half-numb. An eerie, fey light emerged from where Opal had been, and with a cascading sound of chimes the lights came back on.
A svelte unicorn, hogtied by the curtain sash and looking very, very grumpy, sat in the middle of a large scorched section of the carpet. She looked down at her hooves, studying them for a minute. Then her odd, green eyes pierced Apple Bloom’s, and she sighed.
“You’ve broken my curse with a kiss,” the unicorn told Bloom, her tail lashing in an odd, lazy sweep
“Umm... You’re... Welcome?” Apple Bloom stammered, clambering to her feet again. If not for the unicorn’s hypnotic gaze she probably would’ve checked her flank for a curse breaking Cutie Mark.
“Do you know how hard it is to find cursed artifacts these days?” the unicorn whined. “It could be years before I find another one worth using!”
“Wait,” Scootaloo interjected. It seemed she had finally found her voice again. “You mean you like being cursed?”
“I was this close... THIS CLOSE ... to earning Rarity’s affections,” the unicorn hissed. “She never wanted anything to do with me, but she loved cats. It was my in. I would wait for her to love me, and when she kissed me... we’d be together forever!” Tears shimmered in her bright green eyes, and she broke down into loud and dramatic wails of sorrow. “IT WAS THE PERFECT PLAAAAAAN,” the mare sobbed.
Apple Bloom peered around the sobbing puddle of mare and caugth Scootaloo’s eye. Scootaloo whirled her hooves around her head and made crazy eyes. Apple Bloom nodded. This was craziness, real craziness. And it was creepy as all Tartarus.
“Whas’ going on?” Sweetie Belle murmured, shaking her sleepy head and looking around in confusion. “Oh, are we being Cutie Mark Crusaders Burglar Catchers? Should I get the police?” She smiled brightly with bloodshot eyes and danced in place from excitement.
“No, Sweets,” Apple Bloom explained. “That’s Opal.”
“No, Opal’s a cat,” Sweetie argued, blinking some more.
“Well, he was a cat, but Scoots dared me to kiss her, turns out she was under some kinda curse.
“That’s so romantic,” Sweetie gushed. “You two are gonna get married and live happily ever... Wait, why’s she crying?”
“Well, see,” Scootaloo began from across the ocean of bitter tears, before trailing off.
“She cursed herself into a cat so she could be... close with your sister,” Apple Bloom explained. Her eyes hadn’t yet left the weeping mare in the middle of the floor.
A heavy set of hooves tromped downstairs, revealing Rarity in all her vindictive glory.
“If this is what you girls call being quiet, I swear this is the last sleepover I’ll host,” Rarity snapped. She promptly took in the scene and fell heavily on her rump, mouth agape.
The sobbing unicorn looked up, her noble face streaked with tears, snot and spittle. “Rarity?” she shouted joyously. “Oh, my love, it’s you! How I have waited for this moment... It’s been my every dream for the last--”
Nopony heard the last part of the mare’s speech, as this was when Rarity chose to forcefully eject the mare from the premises. A moment later, she chucked “Opal’s” bed and litter box out the door as well, with a “AND STAY OUT!”
“Who was that mare, Rarity?” Sweetie asked, trotting up to her frazzled sister.
“ICE CREAM,” Rarity shouted, her eye twitching. “LET’S ALL HAVE ICE CREAM!”
And they all agreed to never speak of it again.
Author's Note
Prompt 355: One (or more) of the Mane 6's pets is now a pony
Sleep madness is a powerful force not to be messed with.
Dear Applejack
You were right, I guess. I’m not happy about it, and I’m sure as sugar you’re probably not either. You told me how much of a mess Manehattan was, and I should’ve listened to you instead of going off and being my stubborn self as I always do. And I really should stop being my stubborn self right now, too, but I know I’d just regret it later.
Here’s the thing, sis - Manehattan’s worse than you remember it. I can see why Cousin Babs tried her darndest to get me out here, with all the letters about programs that’d interest me and such. The city’s rotten. The mayor’s practically the Mob’s property, the school has ears, and the Guard can’t do anything for fear of … terrible things.
You know how I’m a fair hand at fixing things? You remember that talk you gave me ‘fore I left, the one about how our family has always been able to make things grow right again? I know that was about our fighting, but I’ve been thinking on it a lot during curfew, when I can’t sleep. I can fix this city. I can cut out and burn away the rot and filth and set it back on the path to rightness. I know you kept the you-know-what in the attic, back when RD’s head got three times too big. Could you send it along with the next care package?
Love,
Apple Bloom
P.S. My roommate says thanks for the extra fritters
————————————
Dear Applejack
Thanks for sending along the equipment. I feel a lot better these days with all the exercise I’ve been getting, and you’ve got a lot to do with that. I get that you’re not so happy about what I’m doing, but thank you for understanding how much I need to do this. You’re a great sister, and I love you so much.
I’m afraid that they might start reading my letters… I got tracked back to campus by one of their ponies last night, so this might be the last letter I can send safely. It’s good to hear that Granny’s new hip is working well, and I’m really glad the rocker I made her is holding up well.
It’s been real humid ‘round here, and not a day goes by when I don’t think of how nice and crisp it feels on the farm, when the breeze blows by. I miss you and Granny and Mac and Winona more than you could believe right now. I hope the corn grows well, and don’t be afraid of asking Fluttershy for help with the crows this season. She really does enjoy spending time with you.
Much love,
Apple Bloom
——————————-
Dear Applejack
Sorry it’s been so long. I can tell that you’re worried about me, but I couldn’t rightly send anything your way. They’ve been reading my mail and asking all sorts of questions about my day-to-day. Figured it was safer if I pretended I didn’t talk to you much. Thanks for sending me Winona’s old blanket. I get weird looks, but I was getting them anyways, and at least now I have a familiar smell to fall asleep to, when I can.
Send my love to everyone, ‘Specially Sweetie Belle and Scoots. I miss ‘em powerful, but I don’t know if when I’ll get back. I guess the rot went deeper than I thought.
Apple Bloom
Author's Note
Prompt 359: Mare-do-well: Year One
I don't even know
From the moment Applejack had met Twilight Sparkle, she’d known that the young, uptight mare needed some good home cooking and a new set of friendly faces to let her loosen up a little. And that night, the longest in a thousand years, She’d looked into Twilight’s eyes and seen a nervous, budding trust and friendship. And she’d found in Twilight a friend who wouldn’t back down for anything, somepony brave and stubborn enough for Applejack to see past her stupidity and stubborn family ways and finally ask for the help she needed. Applejack had watched with pride and joy as Twilight took to wearing Ponyville like a second skin, took to loving Ponyville like a second family. So when Twilight had told her in no uncertain terms exactly how much Twilight wanted her, she’d known without a doubt that Twilight was telling the truth.
It had taken long nights full of serious talks and loving reassurances from Rarity for Applejack to finally see that she wasn’t intruding on anything her three friends had, to finally agree that she was just as welcome as Twilight had been, months back, and finally relax and open herself to the love they offered. Through those nights, Applejack had seen exactly how kind and honest and thoughtful and heartachingly selfless Rarity was, and she’d remembered those half-thoughts and idle fantasies she’d squashed out once Pinkie had Rarity out, halfway through the winter slump. She saw past the elegance and glamour once more, to the mare she respected, to the mare she admired, to the mare she found beautiful... And when Pinkie’s strong hugs and playful nuzzles turned to lazy caresses and chaste kisses, when Rarity would smile and wink over breakfast, her well-shined hoof teasing Applejack’s beneath the library table, Applejack knew without a doubt that she was loved, that was safe, that she had another home to come home to.
Fluttershy had taken some coaxing, after Applejack had noticed the half-pained, half-guilty looks she shot them at pony-pet playdates or their picnics together. And with Applejack’s solid insistence and Rarity’s careful hints and questions, the four of them had made their way into Fluttershy’s cramped, overheated kitchen, had sat and talked and confessed and watched as Fluttershy’s shock had faded away into confusion, as that confusion had melted off her tense face and that glorious, saintly smile of hers had bloomed and grown to stretch across her soft yellow muzzle, and she’d thanked them for extending their trust and love to her, as if it were something to be repayed. And Applejack had known without a doubt that with her mares by her side she could do anything, make anything happen.
And time had passed, gloriously. Pinkie would show up at just the right time to help her slumping mood with treats or banter or a well-intentioned prank. Rarity continued to give wonderful advice and the occasional romantic dinner with wine and fancy cuisine, would brush out Applejack’s mane and file her hooves, because she could see how much Applejack wanted to be a lady sometimes... Nights spent with Twilight, learning more about the stars above her than she’d known was possible, sitting still while the librarian read aloud to her, cozy and safe, wrapped up in a warm blanket and a warmer voice... Days spent with Fluttershy watching animals at play, holding down sutures and cooking dinners, sharing folktales and old songs from the earth and clouds, sighing in contentment as the peaceful stillness that surrounded her lover seeped into her own heart, her restless hooves her busy mind... But when Rainbow had sat bravely in front of the five of them and asked them if there was a place for her there, Applejack had been the first to kiss the pegasus and draw her into their warm pile of hooves and wings and deeper into their hearts. Because Applejack knew without a doubt that the six of them belonged. And she knew without a doubt that she was the luckiest mare in the whole magical land of Equestria, to have such wonderful ponies who she loved, who loved her right back.
Applejack started as Fluttershy’s gentle wing gave her a firm nudge. Her eyes darted around and crinkled up with a smile... Rarity stood, teary-eyed and grinning far past the point of propriety. Twilight quivered with equal parts excitement and joy and happiness. Pinkie stood perfectly still, radiant, but Applejack could see the billions of songs and jokes swimming inside her bright blue eyes. Rainbow, for the first time in a long time, was too busy looking at the others to even consider the partly-cloudy sky, and Fluttershy... Fluttershy stood proud and calm and smiling, even in front of the hundreds of ponies lining the grounds beneath them. And Applejack knew without a doubt exactly what she had to do, had to say.
So she looked Princess Luna right in the eyes, rolled her shoulders beneath her heavy, gorgeous dress and smiled. “I do,” she said, loud and clear. Her voice echoed over the heads of the ponies behind her, before they all erupted into thunderous applause, into catcalls and cheers, more noise than she’d heard ponies make in her entire life. And she knew without a doubt, as she traded joyful kisses with her lovely new wives, that she’d never said truer words in all her life.
Author's Note
Prompt 360: How do you measure a year in the life? … How do you measure the life of a woman or a man? In truths that she learned, or in times that he cried, in bridges he burned, or the way that she died …”
Oh hey, I omnishipp'd.
"... He will be sorely missed by those who loved him and worked beside him..."
They had done the best they could with him, but the makeup lay caked on thick and pasty, and his wrinkles were still showing strongly. His jaw still jutted razor-sharp and bony from his thin, greying neck, and his mane, combed delicately away from his whorled, scarred horn, looked brittle and waxy in the dim light.
Author's Note
Prompt 378: The next step beyond Alicorn
Together... Alone...
Apple Bloom blinked in confusion as a full picnic service appeared between herself and Scootaloo. A pitcher full of ice-cold lemonade wobbled precariously on her physics textbook, a plate of sandwiches bounced off her saddlebags and fell into the long grass, and an entire bowl of salad sat upside-down on Scootaloo’s head, showering her withers with leafy greens and diced tomatoes. She glanced around behind her, and sure enough, the telltale glint of a telescope lense flared out from Sweetie’s bedroom window across the lake from where they sat. With an ominous whistling sound, a shadow grew in size above her head. Apple Bloom looked up in alarm just in time to catch a faceful of tapioca.
She pulled the bowl from her mane with a wet little splort and sighed through the layers of dessert. “Now this is just getting ridiculous.”
Scootaloo brushed a reluctant cucumber off her neck and sighed in agreement. “I mean, it’s not like we don’t know she’s watching us,” she groused, puffing her windswept purple bangs out of her eyes. “She stopped being subtle weeks ago.”
Apple Bloom wiped the worst of her face onto the grass and clover beside her, sneezing lightly after a faceful of pollen. “I mean, when have we ever shown any legitimate signs of attraction toward each other anyhow?”
Scootaloo rolled her eyes. “I swear she gets it from Rarity, though. Remember the week when Applejack and Twilight were arguing? And she made them matching outfits? The two of them will see anything and call it unrequited passion.”
Apple Bloom glanced back at Sweetie’s parent’s house and sighed as the lense flared in the afternoon sun yet again. “...And she hasn’t figured out why she’s always getting grounded, yet, either.”
The two of them chuckled comfortably. Then Scootaloo’s smile, the one that always meant she had an amazing plan, showed up on her face like a drunken brawler.
“Alright, what’s going on in that dang fool head o’ yours?” Apple Bloom asked, raising an eyebrow.
Scootaloo’s smirk shifted to an outright leer. “She still watching us?” she asked, scooting closer.
“Well, we’re still here, so I’ll go with yes,” Apple Bloom deadpanned.
“So let’s give her a show, ‘Bloom. Whaddaya say?” Apple Bloom tensed, froze, and stared into Scootaloo’s mischievous purple eyes, her daredevil’s grin.
“Aww, What the hay?” She puckered up and mashed her face into Scootaloo’s, relishing the tingles it sent down her spine, the lovely way Scootaloo’s lips worked against hers, the adorable little whines and whinnies that escaped Scootaloo’s mouth in little gasps and pants. Maybe there was something to Sweetie’s claims, after all.
Author's Note
Prompt 383: One of the Cutie Mark Crusaders ships two of the others.
When I thought of Sweetie Belle's tactical picnic launcher, I knew this had to be written.
It was almost a normal morning in Sugarcube Corner. Almost. A throng of ponies clamored for coffee, croissants, and anything else they needed to start the day. As usual, Pinkie Pie danced her normal morning ballet, joking, congratulating and chatting up every pony at the register with her usual indomitable charm. And as usual, her words seemed tailor-fit to each and every pony who dropped their bits at the counter. But over the bustling hubbub of the overcrowded bakery, Rarity could still tell that something was terribly, horrible wrong with her rambunctious friend.
Pinkie Pie wasn't laughing. Although she had her usual cheery grin, natural as breathing, not a single guffaw, not a single giggle, not a single chuckle had escaped her lips. And Rarity knew by now that nopony laughed harder or louder at Pinkie's antics than Pinkie herself. So, regrettably aware of the five half-completed orders waiting for her at the Boutique, Rarity excused herself from the queue and waited for the breakfast rush to die down. Pinkie obviously needed someone to talk to, and Rarity was there to listen, whether Pinkie knew it or not.
As the last pony finally decided between a raspberry or lemon poppyseed scone and left, Rarity trotted up, as casual as a mare who had spent the last fifteen minutes lurking in a secluded corner could be. Pinkie turned to her, with a nearly-convincing smile, her ears perking up brightly.
“Good morning, Rarity,” Pinkie chirped, her smile growing brighter. “How are you doing?”
Rarity could see a glimmer of something unpleasant in Pinkie’s bright, open eyes. She sidled closer to the register and smiled back, although she didn’t really feel it. “Actually, Pinkie, I was wondering how you were doing,” Rarity said, her brow furrowing in concern.
“I’m doing fine, Rarity,” Pinkie answered, quirking her eyebrows and fidgeting in place. But there was no laughter in her voice, not like there usually was.
“Pinkie, darling, I have an eye for detail,” Rarity sighed, glancing around the room. Nopony was there to chastise her, so she trotted around the counter and lay a gentle hoof against Pinkie’s chest. “And you haven’t laughed all morning. Please, will you share whatever’s bothering you?”
Pinkie scuffed the floor with a bashful hoof in an awkward silence. “I’ve just been thinking,” she said eventually, looking up from the tilework. Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears, and her mouth was set in a timid, crooked half-smile. “I mean, I’m a full-grown mare, Rarity,” she continued, softly. “Shouldn’t I … grow up a little?”
Rarity had never seen Pinkie look this fragile, this lost before in her life. She hugged Pinkie with as much strength as she could find in her forelegs, pressing her neck against Pinkie’s, trying to form words. A few comforting nonsenses came through her tight throat, but nothing else presented itself. So instead of fumbling with words, Rarity squeezed Pinkie even tighter while her mind raced. Finally, she released her friend and took a step back, swallowing.
“Pinkie, whyever would you feel like you haven’t grown up yet?” Rarity asked.
“I’m always doing something weird, I guess,” Pinkie said, flicking her ears in irritation. “I never say the right things to ponies besides you girls, and … and … and they get this look on their faces like ‘oh, that Pinkie’s sure a weird one, don’tcha know’... and I can see it. I can always see it, and it hurts.” A single, lonely tear trickled down Pinkie’s muzzle. She rubbed at it angrily, muttering something angrily under her breath.
Rarity thought for a minute, choosing her words as carefully as she had ever picked through a pile of gems, or color swatches. “Pinkie,” She began, hesitantly. Pinkie looked up at her, those bright blue eyes of hers burning with intensity. “Pinkie, you spend your days fulfilling others’ lives without asking for or ever expecting reciprocation beyond a smile. You help run the best bakery in Ponyville, you take care of your friends in a way nopony else can. You’re curious about the world, and you show exactly how much you enjoy life with unparalleled enthusiasm. And you love everyone so freely, so completely...” Rarity broke off, trying to find the words she needed. “You don’t need to ‘grow up’, dear. You’re one of the most mature and amazing ponies I’ve ever met,” she finished, smiling a little herself at the hope shining out from Pinkie’s face. “Pinkie Promise.”
Pinkie Pie wasn’t laughing, not yet, but she still tackled Rarity to the ground in a full-body hug, whispering ‘thank you’s and trembling with emotion. And as she lay on the dusty floor, with looming deadlines ahead of her, still hungry and badly wanting a strong cup of coffee, Rarity couldn’t think of anywhere else she needed to be.
Author's Note
Prompt #386: "Pinkie isn't laughing"
Princess Twilight Sparkle sighed and glanced yet again at the lengthening shadows cast through the Great Hall windows. She turned and glared at the nervous earth pony before her, watching with some small satisfaction as his hopeful face fell.
“Lord Gypsum, I believe I’ve already denied your request,” she said coolly, resisting the urge to shift about on her cushion.
“Please, your Highness,” he began, holding up his blueprints like a shield. “This would benefit the people of Appleloosa --”
“I believe I’ve denied your request twice now, Lord Gypsum,” she snapped, ruffling her wings. “Feel free to show yourself out.”
“But, your Highness, if you’d just listen --”
“Lord Gypsum, unless you can prove to me beyond a reasonable doubt that you can halve the water this dam would lose by evaporation and come to me with a reasonable plan for evacuating and relocating the cliff swallows the reservoir would affect, I will refuse to reconsider. Now, I have a pressing engagement I am running late for, if you would be so kind as to leave,” Twilight growled, rising to her feet in agitation.
“Your Highness, please at least --”
“NOW!” she bellowed, rearing up. He turned tail and fled the room in a panic. A warm wave of shame and regret washed over Twilight as she galloped through the back door and skidded through the hallways, narrowly missing guards and servants alike in her rush to her room.
She tossed her tiara onto its stand with a thought and pulled on her travelling cloak. The weight and line of the fabric hid her wings comfortably, another reminder of Rarity’s brilliance. Subtle spells that encouraged a pony’s eye to pass over her lay in the sturdy cloth, a welcome gift from Princess Luna. Twilight cursed as she saw the time and focused, gathered her magic, and disappeared in a burst of sound and noise.
She reappeared in a bathroom, just as she had hoped. She trotted out and through a carpeted hallway, eased through the auditorium doors, and looked around desperately. A flash of light pink and yellow showed through the crowd, and Twilight squeezed past a row of seated ponies, whispering a litany of “excuse me, sorry,” as she bumped up against them.
“Sorry I’m late,” she whispered, settling down next to Fluttershy. Fluttershy looked at her for a moment, tension seeping out of her graceful neck.
“It’s alright,” Fluttershy murmured back, leaning against her. “I know it was probably important."
Probably the least important thing that’s happened all month , Twilight mused, sighing. She rested her head atop Fluttershy’s in a half-nuzzle and sighed. “What did I miss?” she murmured back.
“Erudite, Dissembler, Consecutive, and Lackadaisical,” she answered, nudging Twilight’s neck gently. “Here she comes now.”
They turned their attention to the stage, and Twilight watched as her little filly, their little filly walked boldly up to the microphone.
“Alright, Goldfinch,” the proctor began, “Your next word is Onomatopoeia.”
“Could I get that in a sentence?” Goldfinch asked, her wings fluttering.
“‘Zap’, ‘Atchoo’, and ‘barf’ are all examples of an onomatopoeia,” The proctor said, his face betraying nothing. Goldfinch nodded and swallowed nervously. Twilight could see her sounding out letters quickly, eyes tight shut, before looking out at the crowd.
“O-n-o-m-a...” Goldfinch stopped to collect her thoughts. Twilight leaned forward slightly, biting her lip, her feathers tingling in the heavy silence. “t-o-p-o” Goldfinch’s eyes widened as she finally noticed Twilight leaning against Fluttershy. She shook herself and cleared her throat. “O-n-o-m-a-t-o-p-o-p-o-i-e-a. Onomatopoeia,” Goldinch finished proudly, eyes front and center.
“I’m sorry, that is incorrect,” she proctor announced. Twilight watched in horror as Goldfinch drooped and trotted back to her seat, quivering. “Congratulations to Red Pen, winner of the Equestria-wide spelling bee!” Ponies stood and stampeded their approval, but Twilight couldn’t help but replay the little shocked pause before Goldfinch slipped up. Did I cause this?
--TIME LIMIT--
Twilight slipped through the crowd and up to the stage with Fluttershy at her heels. She caught Goldfinch’s attention with a little wave, and their little girl walked over, gloom-faced.
“I’m really proud of you, sweetie,” Twilight said, giving Goldfinch a little nuzzle. “I’m sorry I was late, but your mama Fluttershy told me you did really well.” Goldfinch huffed and rustled her wings again, kicking at the stage. She mumbled something petulant, just below Twilight’s hearing.
“What was that?” Twilight asked, swivelling her ear forward.
“I said, you’re always sorry, mother,” Goldfinch growled. “You’re always sorry, and you’re always late anyways.”
“Goldie, please,” Twilight soothed. “I do what I can, and I’m sorry, alright? But I love you so much, and I’ll try to make it up to you...”
“If you loved me, you’d be there when I needed you,” Goldfinch hissed, storming past and out into the hall. Twilight made to follow her, but Fluttershy’s warning hoof made her stop.
“She needs time to calm down,” Fluttershy chided, looking Twilight in the eye. Twilight opened her mouth to protest.“You two need to fix this, but not right now,” Fluttershy preempted. “See you at the cottage?” Twilight nodded and walked away slowly, already thinking of a way to explain things, to compromise. Anything to fix this rift, if it could be fixed at all.
Author's Note
Prompt 388: "A princess and a mother"
“Wait, what?” Twilight shook herself and turned away from the stacks of paperwork crowded onto her simple desk and whirled around, her ears bolting up with surprise, curiosity. “Applejack, I’m not sure I heard you right.” Applejack smiled wearily and moved a few steps closer.
“Just putting forth the idea of marriage, sugarcube,” she said, smiling softly. “No pressure, I hain’t gotten a ring or anything like that yet. Just wanted to know your thoughts.”
Twilight furrowed her brow and fidgeted slightly. “I don’t know, AJ. I mean, I love you, and you love me, right?” Applejack nodded patiently. “And I know that, and you know that, and everypony who really matters knows that. And that’s enough for me. A wedding seems like overkill, almost. Like we’re making a huge production out of something that doesn’t need to be that way. You get what I’m saying?”
Twilight wasn’t sure what hurt more; Applejack’s resigned sigh, or the wounded little smile that crept onto her face. “Figured as much,” Applejack said, shifting. After all, Twilight was pretty private. They didn’t do much kissing in public, and Twi tended to keep about a hoof-space between them while walking anyplace.
“What’s up, AJ?” Twilight asked, laying a hoof on Applejack’s slumped shoulder. “C’mon, talk to me, please?”
Applejack’s smile grew a little in strength and she met Twilight’s gaze, a fragile little hope burning in her bright green eyes. “I just... It’s just...” she stammered, “I’m not getting any younger here, Twi. And... I don’ know, I guess I’m worried a bit about being forgotten. Not by you,” She soothed, smoothing out Twilight’s ruffled feathers, “Never by you. I know you better than that.” She paused and worked her mouth in silence, as if tasting her words before continuing.
“I mean, I know I’m not gonna be forgotten by Equestria either, not with the way my face is all over the Hall of Glass. Not with the way the six of us have saved the world and all. And it’s mighty humbling to think that I could be helping colts and fillies lead a better life even when my bones are lost memory to the trees...” Twilight flinched, and AJ ducked her head apologetically before continuing. “And yeah, I’ve saved the world. But that’s not all I’ve done. And yeah, I’m a hero, but that’s not all I am, you get what I’m saying?”
Twilight nodded slowly. “Sorta, yeah. You’ve got the Orchard, and your family, and you’re a pillar of the Ponyville community, and --”
“And I’ve got you,” Applejack finished, stroking Twilight’s face gently. “See, I don’t want to just be the mare who saved Equestria again, and again, and again.” Applejack’s eyes flashed with that wonderful, heart-melting confidence Twilight loved so much, and she planted her hoof back on the worn floorboards with a quiet authority. “I wanna be the mare who loved Twilight Sparkle,” she announced, sitting a little straighter. “I wanna be remembered as the pony who could make her smile, who could let her cry, who’d give her somethin’ to lean on when things went rough. I wanna be remembered as the mare who loved her powerfully, with every beat of her heart, with every day in her life. I wanna be the mare who did right by her. Because outta everything I’ve done in my life, Every tree I’ve planted, every monster I’ve kicked, that’s what I’m most proud of, Twi. Jus’ loving you the best I can.”
“Applejack,” Twilight breathed. But no other words followed that one, wonderful name, and so she lapsed into enraptured silence.
“I dunno,” Applejack murmured. “I guess I thought maybe a wedding was the best way to get that...” She trailed off and turned her head to the far wall of their bedroom. “Sounded better in my head,” she grumbled, her voice far too shaky.
Twilight threw herself onto AJ, held her tight in her forelegs, caressing Applejack’s tense neck, rubbing her back with gentle, insistent wingstrokes, and carefully, lovingly nuzzled and kissed away every stubborn, frustrated tear that fell from her love’s eyes. And finally, after AJ’s shakes and suppressed sobs faded and stopped, Twilight smiled and pecked her on the lips.
“Just promise me you’ll think on it, sweetheart?” Applejack asked.
“Of course I will,” Twilight promised. “Cross my heart.”
A little smile, gentle, teasing, and warm, found its way onto Applejack’s lovely face. “That’s all I could ask for,” she whispered, her breath tickling Twilight’s ear. Then she pulled herself out of Twilight’s limbs and rolled her neck. “I’ll call you down for supper,” AJ called as she went downstairs. “But you really gotta finish reviewing those new zoning laws, ya hear?” Twilight chuckled and picked up the stack of papers in her magic, a red-inked quill poised and ready.
Author's Note
Prompt 393: "I think I wanna marry you"
Rainbow Dash could hardly keep herself from shaking, or flying loops, or blurting everything out right away as she walked alongside Rarity. Keep it cool, Dash, she repeated. Everything will be awesome if you keep it cool. But her every feather buzzed with lightning, her hooves were itching for some action, and her pulse thumped in her ears from the adrenaline in her veins. A dozen sappy love-songs that Pinkie had helped her with bounced through her head in a cacophony of old and frankly embarrassing serenades, and she could burst for the excitement of everything she had planned. But she took deep slow breaths and smiled easily at Rarity, only to nearly walk into a lightpost when she saw Rarity’s answering grin. She shook her head furiously, focusing. Keep it cool, Dash!
“Darling, is there a reason we’re headed to Sugarcube Corner?” Rarity asked. Her perfectly trimmed eyebrow was raised slightly, just as graceful and biting as the rest of her.
“Yeah,” Dash answered, her voice husky and trembling. She cleared her throat. “Yeah, the Cakes let me use their kitchen tonight. I know how you’re not a huge fan of cloud cuisine and all...” She whipped out what she hoped was a winning smile and upped the pace, just a little. As much fun as it was walking through town on a warm summer evening, if this didn’t go faster, Dash would definitely ruin everything somehow.
Nopony had pretended to understand why Rainbow had started asking Rarity to watch her practice, least of all Rainbow herself. But then again, Rarity was so exacting, so demanding, so intent on perfection. And when she criticized a move or a routine, it was always intelligent, always careful, always exactly what Rainbow needed to hear. And when she praised Dash’s maneuvers, it was always well-deserved, always left Dash blushing and full of a buzzing warmth.
It was more than that, though, Dash had realized. Rarity was passionate. Rarity was kind one minute, explosive the next, always a ste away from crazy, always shifting and changing like the winds and thermals. Rarity’s eyes, deep and blue as the sky, could entrance her with a moment’s notice, and her insecurities, her strange fragility, barely hidden, made Rainbow want to hold her tight and never let go. But Rarity had fire, too. She’d never go down without a fight, she’d never let anypony badmouth her friends, and she’d never stop trying, no matter what went wrong. Rarity wasn’t perfect, but that was part of her charm. Being around Rarity was unpredictable, thrilling, visceral. Being around Rarity was almost like flying.
Rainbow held out a cushion until Rarity sat down and grinned as she trotted into the kitchen and pulled out the first dish from the warming drawer. It had taken her four tries to get the vegetables sauteed just so, this afternoon. But Rainbow saw how Rarity’s eyes lit up and sighed happily. Worth it.
“You made this, Rainbow?” Rarity breathed in the aroma of the cauliflower and bell pepper, smiled even more as she caught the hint of a balsamic reduction.
“Pinkie’s been teaching me a lot about food, lately,” Rainbow admitted, grinning shyly.
Rarity laughed in delight. “Oh, you absolute charmer!” Yep, Rainbow thought, fighting back the biggest blush in the world. Totally worth it.
The dinner passed in a haze, with Rainbow getting more and more anxious with each passing course. Rarity talked on about her latest project for Sapphire Shores, the latest gossip in the fashion circle, anyhing and everything that came to her mind. Rainbow just smiled between bites and listened to the joy and animation in Rarity’s voice, watched the way Rarity’s hooves moved and fluttered along with her words. She knew when to answer, when to nod, when to give input. It wasn’t like Rarity was being boring or anything. She just had other things on her mind. And finally, it was time. Finally, they’d reached the dessert course.
Rainbow pulled out the two ramekins of creme brulee, thankful that Pinkie had recommended putting the pudding in different colors. She set the red ramekin in front of Rarity, along with a small dessert spoon. And she grinned as Rarity took the first, sinful bite, chuckled slightly as Rarity’s eyes fluttered in culinary bliss. Of course, Rarity was a lady, and took very small, dainty mouthfuls, savoring each bite before swallowing, That was exactly what Rainbow was counting on. She took careful bites of her own dessert, but her eyes never left Rarity, never strayed from her lovely face, from her sky-blue eyes.
Rarity stopped suddenly, shocked, and worked her tongue around something. She lifted a napkin in her beautiful blue magic and daintily spat a shining gold ring into it. She stared at the ring, and then her eyes whipped up to Rainbow’s face-splitting grin.
“Umm... Yeah,” Rainbow stammered. “W-W-wasn’t sure how to say it, so I figured I’d try this...” Rarity’s eyes darted between Rainbow and the ring, the ring and Rainbow. “Umm...” Rainbow rubbed her hoof along her neck as something, anything to do. “Soo... Whaddya say, Rares?”
Rarity stood up and walked over, tears shining in her eyes. “I say yes, Rainbow,” she choked out. “Yes, I would love to marry you.” She pulled Rainbow into kiss as electrifying as a thunderstorm, as wild as turbulence, as lovely as Spring’s first shower. Being around Rarity was almost like flying, but thus? This was so much better.
Author's Note
Another Prompt 393...
There was a certain reverence in placing a new constellation. Luna swayed and hummed to herself, drunk off the powers flowing through her. With a grunt of effort, she sent out a mighty font of power to light up the sky, and watched as thirteen stars rose in brightness. Then, she carefully readjusted them. Those three became a beak, those six were wings and tail, poised in a mighty dive, and those four became outstretched talons. A fitting monument to a worthy adversary, she mused.
“The stars look wonderful.” Luna glanced at her sister walking up slowly behind her, smiling, before looking over the parapet again.
“‘Tis a good night,” she agreed, casting her gaze outward.
Celestia sat beside her with a rustle of feathers and a clink of her regalia. She sniffed and nosed at one of the dark streaks that ran up Luna’s neck, nickering softly. “Luna, why art thou yet bloodstained?” Celestia asked softly, clearly concerned. “‘Twould put a damper on the festivities to show up as such.”
Luna shifted a little, scanning the horizon. “I had no intent to join the celebration,” she admitted, frowning.
Celestia sighed and leaned gently against Luna’s soiled armor. “Luna, were it not for you, our army would have fallen under beak and talon in an instant.”
Luna smiled grimly. “And yet the Griffon’s empire has fallen into weakly fiefdoms,” she answered. “And we are safe again, no matter.” She looked at Celestia, her head tilted in question. “Your ponies make merry, sister. Shall you not join them?”
Celestia’s eyes flashed for a moment. “Our ponies, dearest Luna,” she corrected gently. Luna snorted and tossed her starry mane.
“They tremble at the mere mention of me,” she spat, rustling her wings and looking again into the darkness.
“Luna.” She turned and watched a lonely comet reflected in Celestia’s teary eyes. Her sister swallowed. “When we threw Discord down, when we took on the mantles of leaders, I never intended...” Celestia choked up, a single, precious tear trickling down her muzzle.
“I know, sister,” Luna murmured, nuzzling Celestia’s neck gently. “I know.”
“Sister, thou knowst I love thee?” Celestia asked in a trembling voice.
“Aye, and know it well,” Luna answered, stroking Celestia’s elegant wing. “As I love thee, Fair Celestia.”
Celestia shivered and leaned harder into her touch, ignoring the day-old gore that stained her coat. A soft, mewling whine came from her throat as she desperately nuzzled at Luna’s horn, down her filthy neck, as if assuring herself that her sister were truly there. “I worried overmuch,” she cried into Luna’s neck. “Fain, I could hardly raise the sun this morn for fear of a day without you.” Luna shifted so she could fully embrace her weeping sister in her strong forelegs, shushing her gently. After some time, Celestia quieted and stilled, and Luna broke away, smiling softly.
She butted Celestia’s chest and nudged her towards the Great hall, full of light and music and the murmuring thunder of a thousand ponies talking, eating, laughing. “Go and join them,” she coaxed, still smiling. “They wish to see thee, Sister.”
Celestia wiped the tear tracks from her eyes and looked at Luna, deep in contemplation. “Luna, I would move mountains for thee. If ever I can do something, anything for thee, please name it.”
Luna grinned. “Peace, sister. This I know.” She swatted Celestia playfully with a wing. “Now go on , Celestia,” she chuckled, thumping her shoulder. Celestia yelped from the treatment, and gave a sheepish grin at Luna’s raised brow. “Laugh, feast, sing, do what ye must,” Luna ordered. Celestia nickered, a ghost of doubt shadowing her face. Luna nudged her again. “Rest easy, dear sister,” she finished softly. “As ever, I shall guard the night.”
Celestia smiled back and walked away. A cheer rose like the ocean tides as she entered the Hall, leaving Luna outside in the shadows. Luna sighed and scanned the surrounding forest, searching the shadows for any dangers.
Author's Note
Prompt 397: "I don't need my own dreams if I can help you achieve yours"
Writing in old-ish English was a fun excercise, but mostly I felt like writing a pre-nightmare Luna who wasn't a huge, angsty teen about everything. This one was fun to write
The clock ticked loudly, echoing out in awful, booming clicks through the grand bedroom. Pinkie had lost count of how many seconds she’d lain in the huge bed after 13,000. She sighed and started again. one. two. three. four...
It wasn’t that she liked counting the ticking, but she had nothing else to do. If she stopped for one awful second, if she let a percussive clack go by unnoticed, then her thoughts would start up again. Her imagination would move onto better uses of its time, and the shadows would mock her. The creaking bathroom door would begin its nightly ritual of mocking laughter, and the queen - no, the Princess-sized bed would stretch and grow until she got lost in the sea of chilly, uncaring bedsheets. She sighed again and shifted, taking the weight off her aching hip. twenty-one. twenty-two. twenty-three. twenty-four.
She could hear the scratching quill in the room next door, hear it as clearly as the terrible ticking noise or the rustling of the fine silken sheets as she shifted listlessly, glancing at the full moon through the balcony window, at the canopy above the bed, at the curling, writhing shadows in the corner. She shuddered and looked away. thirty-nine. fourty. fourty-one.fourty-two . Pinkie climbed off of the wonderfully soft mattress and stretched out her stiff back and neck before creeping out of the bedroom and into the study.
Twilight grumbled something and scratched out another paragraph before summoning a fresh sheet of paper and copying things over with a fevered pace. Pinkie stopped short a few feet from Twilight’s desk and coughed politely. Twilight didn’t like getting surprised while she was working.
“Are you coming to bed?” Pinkie asked after Twilight’s ears twitched. Twilight potted her quill and turned around, a slight frown on her face.
“In a little while,” she answered, her eyes softening a little at Pinkie’s concern. “I just need to finish this one last revision, alright?” Pinkie smiled and nodded, curling up on the rug. Out here, with Twilight’s mutterings and the lamplight, far enough away from that damned clock, she was safe. Twilight kept glancing at her after each sentence, her lips curled in distaste. “I’m sorry, Pinkie,” she said, crossing another t, “But you’re kinda distracting me.”
“Alright,” Pinkie sighed, walking back into the bedroom. She curled up on her side of the bed and tried to get more comfortable. one. two. three. four. five... It wasn’t that Twilight didn’t love her. But she was always so busy these days, and so she didn’t have as much time for laughing at jokes or baking cupcakes or reading stories aloud like she used to. twenty. twenty-one. twenty-two... After a while, Pinkie gave up and let herself begin to drowse away, remembering better times with chases and laughter and sunshine. Back when Twilight would stop the shadows in their tracks with a tender lullaby. She could see them now through half-lidded eyes, watched as they grew and twisted into bizzarre, frightening shapes. two hundred twenty-seven. two hundred twenty-eight.
The door opened and closed, and Twilight stood exposed in the moonlight. Her haggard face and tense, flexing wings stood out starkly in the silvery glow of he room, and she staggered over to their bed.
"I'm so sorry about that, Pinkie," she murmured. Pinkie could smell whiskey on her breath, again. But Pinkie smiled all the same and stroked Twilight's cheek. "I had to hammer out The details on the treaty with the Griffin tribes by tomorrow," she continued, her wing stroking along Pinkie's back.
"It's alright," Pinkie soothed. I know you have more in your life than me." Twilight flinched and nuzzled her neck fervently.
"I love you," Twilight whimpered, rolling on top of Pinkie beneath the silken sheets. She drew Pinkie into a desperate kiss that reeked of liquor, that burned too hot for Pinkie to want. She tried to push Twilight away with a small noise, but Twilight looked at her with haunted eyes. "I love you," she growled, before kissing her harder, forcing her whiskey-laden tongue into Pinkie's mouth. Pinkie held her right and safe and warm, like she needed. one. two. three...
Author's Note
Prompt 399: I will be loyal to you, even as you destroy me..."
Oh god the first strictly Twinkie piece I wrote is dysfunctional.....
Fluttershy should have seen the signs earlier: a special pet name, the way Pinkie treated her gentler than anypony else, the extra strawberries that Pinkie left on her plate at picnics. The party continued on in the next room over, with the normal mix of lively music going, with laughter and shrieking foals leaking through the closet door. But Pinkie’s face was terrifyingly earnest, more serious than Fluttershy had seen it in a long while, her bright, intelligent eyes sparkling in the dim secondhand light. Fluttershy should have known this was coming, should have prepared. But her thoughts ran circles around themselves, ending up in a tangled, confusing pile of worry and shame.
“I’m sorry, Pinkie, could you repeat that?” she managed. Anything for a few more seconds to sort things out.
Pinkie took a shaky breath and her smile sagged a bit at the corners. “Fluttershy, I think I love you as more than a friend,” she said, her eyes drilling into Fluttershy’s, so intense it hurt to look at. Fluttershy shuffled into a pile of neatly folded linens and tried her best not to hide in her mane.
“Um... that’s very flattering, Pinkie,” she mumbled. “I really don’t know what to say...”
Pinkie deflated even more, scuffing at the tiles and sighing, suddenly seeming much, much more tired. Fluttershy cringed and made a move to comfort her as per usual, before deciding at the last moment that a wing-hug would send mixed signals. Would be too intimate. So she settled for patting Pinkie’s shoulder gently with a hoof. “Promise me you’ll think about it?” Pinkie looked up, with hope shining brightly in her beautiful eyes.
Fluttershy went through the motions; crossing, flapping, covering an eye. “Pinkie Promise,” she murmured, rubbing at Pinkie’s shoulder again. Pinkie smiled, a watery, wavering thing. It fluttered around the edges like a lost baby bird, and Fluttershy’s chest seized up.
“Better than a no, I guess,” Pinkie sighed, turning for the closet door. “Thanks for listening to me.” She raised her neck and twitched her ears and bounced out and into the fray, ever the jubilant hostess. But Fluttershy could see the way that Pinkie’s tail kept drooping, could hear that terrible edge to Pinkie’s normally warm, bubbly voice. She quietly said her goodbyes and headed for her cottage. Pinkie didn’t need her around causing extra stress.
After a sleepless night spent thinking in loops and circles, Fluttershy was no closer to any solutions. She’d seen Pinkie cry before; she’d caused it before, and she’d promised it would never happen again. Saying a harsh ‘No’ would probably crush poor Pinkie, but pity-dating was awful, manipulative and painful. She would never wish that on anypony, after what had happened back in flight school. Now that was the fastest way to lose a friend... Fluttershy shook herself and tossed back another cup of tea. Then she left her kitchen table and fed her animals, yawning all the while. She dusted her shelf of curios, shook out the mats, checked litter boxes, and freshened up the warrens. And when she finally ran out of excuses, she trudged her way to Sugarcube corner, to try and let Pinkie down gently.
The town of Ponyville looked somehow larger, somehow much more frightening than it ever had before. Everypony in the marketplace could be whispering about her, and what she was trying to do. Every shadow wsa sharper, darker than ever before, and every shopkeeper leered out the window. Fluttershy shrank herself down to a more manageable size and apologized her way to the looming bakery.
Pinkie was working the counter. The lunch rush had probably ended, since only a few ponies still lurked at corner tables. Pinkie brightened and waved her over. “What’s going on, Flutters?” she chirped brightly, her smile radiant, almost too bright.
“Is there somewhere we can talk?” Fluttershy asked, fluttering her wings and staring at the display case.
Pinkie shifted her eyes around and gestured towards the staircase. Fluttershy followed Pinkie up into her room and shut the door behind them. It was pretty obvious Pinkie wanted this to be private. “So I guess you thought about it?” Pinkie asked, practically vibrating with excitement.
“Yes,” Fluttershy stalled. The raw joy and hope on Pinkie’s face was too much to handle. The pain in her chest swelled up to a steady throb, and she looked around the room for anything else to talk about.
--TIME--
“Well, Pinkie,” Fluttershy stammered, “I was thinking all last night, and I think I’m … not a place emotionally where I’d be a good partner for anypony. I’m so busy trying to figure myself out that I wouldn’t have room in my head for … y’know, us.” Pinkie blinked and smiled again, big and happy and absolutely out of place.
“That’s alright, Flutters,” she said, giving Fluttershy a firm, gentle hug. It lasted about seven seconds too long, Fluttershy thought. “I can wait until you’re ready.”
Author's Note
Prompt #401: Kindness can be the greatest cruelty of all
Pinkie had seen her at market the last three days, the orange filly with the hat much too large for her, who was always so polite to the ponies buying her apples. Her customers always left with a little smile, but Pinkie had never seen one from the filly herself. She probably had good teeth, with the way the rest of her was kept up so nicely, but Pinkie had never seen them. Sure, the other filly had a good business face, always being pleasant and friendly but not too overbearing, just like how Mrs. Cake said Pinkie needed to be, but as soon as they were gone, she sagged again. She never left the stand, not even to stretch her legs, not even when nopony was in the market square. And she looked so sad all the time, Pinkie wanted nothing more than to give her the biggest hug in the whole world, and never let her go. But she’d learned that surprise hugs to strangers were a really good way to get yelled at a bunch, so she figured she should probably get the filly’s name first.
She trotted up to the apple stand during a lull, proudly holding her first month’s savings in its red velvet pouch. She spat the bag of bits onto the side of the table and gave a shiy, winning smile. “Hi, I’m Pinkie Pie,” she said, holding a hoof over the barrels of apples. It barely cleared the red-and-green mottled ones.
“How many apples of which kind?” the other filly asked, studiously ignoring Pinkie’s wavering hoof.
“I don’t really know apples that well,” Pinkie admitted, growing a devious little smile. “Which ones do you recommend?”
The other filly brightened slightly, the lonely ghost of a smile tickling her freckles. “Well, what do you want them for?”
“Just snacking, I guess. Didn’t really think about it.” Pinkie took her hoof back and shook herself from head to tail, to get rid of her nervousness.
“Well, If ya don’t know why ya want apples, why’d you come to my stall?” the other filly snapped, tilting her hat back to show her indignant emerald eyes.
“Well, I wanna get to know you better,” Pinkie answered, grinning again. “I mean, I never see you at school, and --” Pinkie stopped short when the other filly flinched, baring her teeth. She’d gone and said something she shouldn’t have, again. “Sorry,” she squeaked, grabbing her bit bag and running off. She’d just have to try a different approach, once the other filly had calmed down.
Applejack shucked off the heavy wagon and sighed, rolling her sore shoulders. The last few orders she’d filled before leaving had taken longer than she’d wanted, so now Apple Bloom was probably gonna scream and holler for food soon as she saw Applejack’d come inside. her ears twitched as she walked inside; somepony was singing a lullaby, and it sure as heck wasn’t Big Mac or Granny. Applejack picked up the pace, grabbing a fire poker for defense as she headed for the kitchen, towards the mystery voice. She walked through the door and almost dropped the poker with a clatter as her jaw went slack. That weird pink pony from earlier was in her kitchen with Apple Bloom in the crook of one forearm, suckling at a bottle. She looked up with clear blue eyes and gave a guilty, wry grin, hobbling over to where Applejack stood frozen. She passed ‘Bloom off with a surprising gentleness and backed away slowly, still grinning.
“Sorry, Applejack,” she whispered, cringing a little. “Your granny fell asleep and she was hungry, so I figured while I was waiting for you I might as well...” She trailed off under Applejack’s glare.
Applejack tried her best not to yell as she rocked her baby sister gently. “What the hell are you doin’ in my house?” she almost snarled. Apple Bloom whimpered slightly while swallowing the last of whatever that pink fool had given her, and Applejack took a moment to calm her.
“I was gonna make you dinner,” the pink filly answered, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Applejack burped ‘Bloom and lay her down in the spare crib before rounding on the stranger before her.
“What, because the dropout cain’t handle herself?!” she shouted. “Because pore ol’ Applejack cain’t hold the right end of a spoon?!”
The pink pony had backed up so far she hit the stove. She yelped from the heat of it and jumped to the side, breathing faster than she should’ve. “I just thought, since you mighta had a rough day, and ‘cause your family is so nice, I’d make it so you didn’t haveta,” she cried, trembling.
“You’re gonna use my family ‘gainst me?” Applejack had gotten real calm, raising up her head and glaring as hard as she knew how. If this pony was gonna play dirty, she’d just run her off the farm, show her who was boss. Nopony got one over on Applejack, no sir. But the pony whispered another broken little ‘sorry’ and run off her own self, leaving behind a pot of respectable veggie stew. Applejack snuggled in tight to Apple Bloom that night, to make sure no strange ponies could touch her baby sis. She dreamt of pink, and woke confused and irritable.
Twitcha-twitch.... Twitcha-twitch.... Pinkie looked around for whatever would be falling, while her tail danced the conga behind her. Twitcha-twitch.... Twitcha-twitch.... Finally, she saw the impact zone. She ran forward, not really caring about the looks she got while she barreled out of the bakery and into the market square.
“APPLEJACK, LOOK OUT!” she screamed. Applejack jumped and muttered something. Pinkie continued on full-steam. She tackled Applejack just as an entire box-planter smashed right where Applejack had stood. One of the barrels of apples in reserve had turned into a mush of splinters and applesauce, and a wilting peony sat atop Applejack’s hat. Underneath the hat, Applejack’s eyes, confused and angry, locked on to Pinkie’s.
“What in Celestia’s name do you think you’re doing here?” Applejack spat, shoving Pinkie away. She rolled twice and smacked into a wall. “For that matter, do ya even think at all? Do ya have a brain between those ears of yours?” Pinkie tried not to cry. She couldn’t cry, not here. Not where everyone could see. “Well?” Applejack shouted, spittle flying from her mouth. Pinkie got her feet beneath her, and unsteadily walked away. Applejack really, really needed a friend, but right now wasn’t a good time. Pinkie would just try again once she’d cooled off. All she needed was a different approach...
Author's Note
Prompt 403: I’ll try to be your friend even if you won’t try to be mine.
I tried to make Applejack seem suspicious and overprotective of her family, as well as sensitive to certain lacking parts of her life, but then she was just a bitch. Whoops...
Pinkie Pie flopped down in the long, sweet grasses of Whitetail wood and breathed the clean air, smiling all the while. It had been a busy week, with seven birthdays, two anniversaries, lots of silly relationship advice, and a kitchen fire. It had been fun - every week was fun, but Pinkie still felt like old taffy, all stretched out and stringy with all her colors mushed together. It happened sometimes, when she got really tired or grumpier than she should have or cried over nothing. Twilight had called it burnout, and said it was natural to feel that way. Because Pinkie wasn’t as amazing as everypony made her out to be, really. It seemed like all of Ponyville thought she was running at 100% every second of every day, like some kind of Supermare. But when she’d finally gotten brave enough to talk to Twilight about it, Twi had understood. She’d given Pinkie a hug and flashed her awkward little smile and said, “You’re just a pony like the rest of us.” And that was that.
Pinkie rolled around on a root and giggled a little as it scratched at just the right spot on her spine. It was always important to be happy and comfortable before starting everything. So she stretched out her neck and shook out her legs and sneezed twice and shook the dead grass from her coat before lying down again, with more ceremony behind it. Then she began breathing, in and out, steady and slow and peaceful. When Twilight had first given her a book on guided meditation, she’d been skeptical. But she’d tried one out and surprised herself. She’d done it so many times since that she knew it by heart.
Think of somepony you love. That was easy. Twilight, Fluttershy, Applejack, Dashie, Rarity, the Cakes, her Granny... the list went on and on. Picture them in your mind’s eye. Dozens of faces filled the darkness behind her eyelids, all smiling. Breathe in, breathe out. Wish them health, wish them peace, wish them happiness. She wished it so hard she could feel a bead of sweat running down her neck and fought to relax her jaw. Breathe in, breathe out.
Now think of somepony you don’t know well, or that you don’t like quite as much. Think of why that is.Pinkie searched her mind and pondered, breathing slowly, letting her brain drift free like a kite. Bon Bon? She didn’t have anything against Bon Bon, but she didn’t like the way she treated Fluttershy. Wish them health, wish them peace, wish them happiness. Pinkie felt the weight of petty anger fly off her chest as she breathed away her dislike. Breathe in, breathe out.
Think of somepony you actively dislike. Think of what it is that makes you dislike them. This was always the hardest part. Everypony had their reasons for being the way they were. Pinkie searched all through her mind and finally, guiltily, settled on Discord. He was better than he had been, but the way he had treated her friends, the way he had made her act... Pinkie breathed a little harder and made an effort to relax her muscles. She still trembled with indignant rage, although it was less than it had been. Now, picture this pony in your mind and forgive them. Wish them health, wish them peace, wish them happiness. Pinkie took a deep breath and tried to let out her anger. It took four more breaths until it was gone, and Pinkie could almost be flying. Finally, she sent her well-wishes towards him and calmed herself down with some simple breaths.
Now picture somepony who loves you unconditionally. Feel the warmth of that love. The Cakes. Twilight. Applejack. Rarity. Dashie. Fluttershy. Her parents. Allow that love to flow through you. Pinkie basked in the love, felt warm pulses of it throbbing through her veins with each beat of her heart. She could be her own sun, right now, lighting up the forest glade. She almost cried for how much love she felt in that instant. Breathe in, breathe out. Now take your love and turn it towards yourself. Wish yourself health, wish yourself peace, wish yourself happiness.
Pinkie felt tears trickling down her face as she breathed slowly, filling herself with the love she so often threw at others. She could feel a buzzing happiness start in her hooves and work its way into her heart. She sat behind closed eyes, holding the love to herself closely, feeling it get stronger and stronger with each calm breath she took. Finally, the love inside her was ready to overflow. Pinkie opened her eyes and blinked in the bright afternoon sunlight, wiping away the lingering tears on her face. And she smiled, so wide it nearly hurt her lips to let it happen, and bounced up high into the air, free as a bird, light as a cloud, and full to bursting with warm, electric love.
She ran back to Ponyville, grinning a little bit wider with each step. With so much extra love, it only made sense to start sharing.
Author's Note
Prompt #404: Choose at least one of the following.
Applejack takes a day off work and parties hard.Pinkie Pie enjoys some peace and quiet.
I’d like to thank you so much for everything you’ve done for me. I can still remember that evening in the orchards, just before this all began. We were all laughing about some joke or another, and I wanted nothing else in the world but to kiss you. But I didn’t know why, and I didn’t know how, how to kiss you and show you how much I wanted you. But you could tell, I guess, from my face or something, and so you did. And it was perfect. That whole night, with all the kisses, with all my crying, with all our talking, was the best night of my life. Thank you for letting me into your lives like that, and thank you for opening your hearts to another.
Applejack thought, tapping at the paper and leaving little speckles of graphite as she chewed on her words, sounding out various thoughts until she found the ones that were true. Rainbow would be home from her first tour today, and Applejack needed to say this. She’d tried to do the same thing right before RD had left, but she’d ended up choking up and breaking down during dinner instead, weeping freely and mewling about how much she loved both of her girls so much. So she figured she should be prepared this time.
You girls have made me so much better than I used to be. I’m calmer than ever, happier than ever, and I love it. You’ve taught me to laugh instead of yelling, you’ve taught me that it’s okay to cry when I need to. And you’ve gotten me to realize how beautiful I am, in a way I never saw before you showed me. And I’m not so scared about letting other ponies take control, thanks to you. I’m not afraid of being loved and giving love freely, thanks to you. Nowadays, I can’t hardly remember why I was so scared in the first place. Thank you.
Two distinctive, familiar bursts of laughter floated through Applejack’s open window on the lazy August breeze. She looked down the road and smiled gently around the tooth-scarred stub of a pencil as a pink and a blue pony frolicked towards the front gate. Then she turned her attention back to the paper at her hooves, writing feverishly.
You two are the loves of my life, no doubt about it. I feel like I can do anything, with ponies like you supporting me. I reckon I smile almost as much as you now, Pinkie, and my heart couldn’t hold all the love I have in it, since you give me so much every day, even when you’re not around. So I guess I’ll have to give even more to you. And Rainbow
Applejack stopped, trying to think of any words to describe what she meant. She glanced out the window again and chuckled as Raibow flew a loop above Pinkie, gesticulating wildly with her hooves. From Pinkie’s expression, Rainbow was probably describing a show the ‘Bolts had done. She smiled wider and picked up where she’d left off.
And Rainbow, You showed me that a tough pony can cry. You showed me that dreams shouldn’t have to come at the price of values. You showed me that I don’t have to win everything every time. You set me free from myself, and I sometimes feel like I’m flying just as high as you ever did. Thank you both for everything. I love you more than words can say, and I believe I always will.
I’m not asking you to marry me -- well, not yet, anyhow. Not ever, if you don’t feel comfortable being tied down like that. But it would mean the world to me if you’d live your lives with me.
Two sets of excitable hooves banged on the front door. Applejack neatly folded her paper, tucked it inside her hat, and practically galloped downstairs. Her heart hammered in her chest and her smile threatened to take her jaw glean off. She waited for one second at the door before opening it, so that Rainbow and Pinkie tumbled across her threshold, off-balance from another knock. They looked up at her with laughing eyes even as their mouths twisted into comic parodies of wounded pouts. Applejack play-glared at them, gesturing to the door.
“The poor thing’s been through enough without you two beating it half to death,” she chided, before breaking into a wide grin. She tackled the two of them, rolling back out into the afternoon sunshine, nuzzling and kissing every inch of them she could reach. Finally, Rainbow pushed her back hard enough to get back on her hooves, grinning through a light layer of dust.
“Hey, Applejack,” she said, shaking herself off with a warm grin.
“Hey, hotshot.” Applejack smooched her and then beckoned both of them indoors. “There’s something I want to say to you both,” she admitted, pulling the paper out. She blushed. “I wrote it down, to make sure I said it right...”
Author's Note
Prompt 406: You’re the best thing to happen to my life. I think I want to keep you around for the rest of it.
Bleeeeeeeagh... Pretty neutral with this one.
The winter winds screamed and wailed around the old cabin, and little gusts of snow curled through the warped window frame, glinting in the weak lamplight. Pinkamena shivered and huddled deeper into her quilt. Even though it had been stitched with love, the cold got through. Even though her bedroom was safe and sound, with sweet dreams waiting for her, Pinkamena was wide awake. Even though it was past her bedtime, she was terrified, her sore eyes never quite leaving the snow lazily drifting onto the stone-tile floor.
What if she froze to death? What if the window broke and the whole storm came into her bedroom? What if the oil in her lamp burned up, and she couldn’t even see it happen? What if they got snowed all the way in and nopony found them again? Pinkamena pulled her quilt up past her chin, breathing in the old-cloth and mothball perfume that surrounded it. Her eyes never left the window. She could barely remember to blink, could hardly force herself to breathe. Icy terror, stronger for the cold room, gripped at her legs and turned her muscles into jelly. She whimpered a little and squirmed around on her creaky bed, furrowing out a trough of warmth.
“Pinkie, you gotta stand up tall, learn to face your fears,” she sang softly to herself. her words misted and froze in the air and she wished more than ever that she knew where her nightcap was. The tips of her ears tingled with a numbing cold, and she twitched them madly to try and keep them warm. A huge gust of wind rattled the windowpane, and Pinkamena whimpered. “You’ll find that they can’t hurt you, just laugh and make them disappear...” Pinkie’s nose stung from the cold, and she held her quilt just a little bit tighter, breathing in the old-cloth and mothball aroma. It smelled like love, it smelled like warmth. It smelled like Granny Pie. A shy little smile appeared under the safety of the quilt, perched carefully on her mouth. And a little, tiny, wounded chuckle dropped from her lips, heavily landing in the chilly room.
The winter winds screamed and wailed around the old cabin, and little gusts of snow curled through the warped window frame, glinting in the weak lamplight. The windowpane rattled again, and Pinkamena shivered with cold and terror. She laughed again, a bitter, painful sound. She kept laughing because there was nothing left to do. She’d been tucked in, she’d had a lullaby, and she’d gotten a goodnight. And that meant she should stay in bed. Good little fillies stayed in bed. And Granny Pie loved her because she was a good little filly. So she kept laughing, because she was still scared. She kept laughing, because it was better than crying. Tears would probably freeze right now, and that would hurt a bunch.
Pinkie laughed until her throat felt tight and raw from the winter air she breathed. She laughed ‘till she shook in a cold sweat, ‘till her rictus smile showed teeth half frozen, ‘till she could only manage harsh, percussive “Ha!”s that sounded almost like crying. Each angry, pathetic little “Ha!” echoed through the chilly room, as if reminding her exactly how alone she was. Pinkie laughed some more, laughed even though she was tired beyond tired, even though her eyes slid out of focus, even though she wanted nothing more than to dream of warm summer afternoons. Pinkamena couldn’t close her eyes, not for one second. She was terrified.
The door to the bedroom opened with a low groan, and old, slow hooves walked their way over to her bed. Pinkie caught a whiff of old-fabric and mothballs, before a warm, loving hoof pushed her damp, chilly mane out of her rictus smile and shaking, frightened eyes. “Pinkie?” She looked up and saw Granny Pie’s wrinkly face, extra wrinkly from being worried. “Pinkie, dear, what on earth are you doing?”
Pinkamena licked her cold teeth and winced at the warmth of her tongue, before swallowing. “I was scared,” she whispered back. “An’ I was going to be a good little filly and stay in bed, but I was scared, so I was laughing.”
Granny Pie picked Pinkamena up and hoisted her onto her strong, unbowed back. She walked the two of them past the glowing-coal hearth and into Granny’s bedroom. Though the wind wailed, it didn’t seem quite as angry. The floor was clean of snowflakes, though it was still cold. Then Granny tucked them both in and snuggled Pinkamena tight. “It’s alright now, Pinkie,” she whispered, kissing Pinkamena on the forehead. “You’ll be alright, now that I’m here. There’s nothing to be scared of.” And Granny gave a big, wrinkly smile to Pinkamena before closing her eyes and gently drifting back into her dreams. The winter winds screamed and wailed around the old cabin, and Pinkie was terrified. But at least she was warm now, and so she hugged her Granny tight and slowly sank into sleep herself, as the storm outside howled and raged at the four walls around them. She dreamt of wolves and ice and cruel, angry laughter.
Author's Note
Prompt 407: Her most faithful student has started to doubt
I kept throwing Pinkies in where I shouldn't have. Any you find are probably unintentional.
Fluttershy suspects from the moment Rarity knocks on her cottage door. There’s a little hitch in the rhythm of hooves on wood, a shy little hesitation that wouldn’t ever come into Rarity’s anything on a normal day. She suspects, but she won’t place any blame until she knows for sure. That wouldn’t be fair to Rarity. So she sets down the ladle and trots to the door, smiling graciously, and opens it wide.
Fluttershy is fairly certain, looking at Rarity now. Her mane is curled tighter than it has been in a while, and groomed perfectly, gorgeous and glossy and heartbreaking. Rarity knows Fluttershy doesn’t need her to look perfect, but she always does on days like these, as if the extra attention to her appearance will be some form of acceptable apology. The strange part is that it almost is.
And Fluttershy knows as soon as Rarity brushes past her, into the sitting room. A ghost of perfume hangs onto Rarity’s neck, light, floral, but with the spicy accents of pepper and fresh rain. It was probably an intern, one of those young, fresh creative minds Rarity can’t resist. Fluttershy entertains the thought of looking harder, to find more clues, more tells, to try and understand more about the other pony this time. She shudders lightly and closes the door against the chill evening breeze.
“How was your fashion show?” Fluttershy asks on her way to the kitchen.
“It went very well,” Rarity answered easily, a trembling smile on her face. She can’t quite meet Fluttershy’s eyes, and her tail quivers with a flighty, nervous tension. “I have twelve new commissions from Canterlot.”
The vegetable stew is well-cooked, with just a little springiness in the carrots, just how Rarity loves it. Fluttershy carries a steaming toureen to the table while Rarity places the tablesettings with her usual attention to detail. She flinches as Fluttershy’s wing brushes her ribcage on the way to grab the bread and salad. Did you meet nice ponies? Fluttershy can’t ask. She’d never be that petty, not to Rarity. She understands, in her own way. She knows better than many about the nature of change. She’s laid too many animals to rest to believe in fairytales. She’s spent too much time in introspection to deny that she’s changed a lot in the time she and Rarity have been together.
It’s not beauty - she knows she’s still beautiful; Rarity tells her so every chance she has, and she can see it herself in the mirror Rarity gave her a while ago. But Rarity needs excitement in her life just as much as she needs a stable place to rest, needs turbulence and drama to feel happy, to feel like herself. And Fluttershy doesn’t have that anymore. Life runs in cycles, cycles of death and birth and water and time and the two of them, together and yet so far apart. Fluttershy is part of Rarity’s cycle, the part that lasts. She has to wonder, though, if Rarity thinks she’s stupid enough to not see, if that's why she tries to hide it.
Throughout dinner, Fluttershy and Rarity fill up on chatter and warm, homecooked food. Rarity has stories of Fleur de Lis this and Fancypants that, tales of stupid models and wardrobe malfunctions and drunken adventures through the midnight streets of Canterlot. Fluttershy offers up her own little stories, of the young badger who claimed the teakettle as its den and wouldn’t leave for two days, of how Angel had tried to share a carrot with Opal before being scratched, of how Harry the Bear had finally caught enough fish to feed himself without her help. It’s meaningless and empty, blessed noise to fill the void between them, but it helps. By the time they finish the fruit course, Fluttershy isn’t choking on her own slow anger and it doesn’t hurt to breathe.
Rarity takes the dishes to the sink and attacks them with soap and washcloth, scrubbing and scraping at imaginary stains long after the china has reached the pristine, glowing white it was when they first bought it. Fluttershy imagines Rarity doing the same to herself this morning, before catching the train. She swallows bile and lies down on the couch with her nature journal, reading a light article on the mating habits of phoenix.
After a while, Rarity comes over and drapes herself across Fluttershy’s barrel, sighing in release. Fluttershy smiles and sets down her magazine, nibbling and tugging at Rarity’s elegant neck in the motherly gesture of trust and love and comfort they’ve both come to rely on. Rarity slowly turns to face her, nibbling Fluttershy’s ear gently in reciprocation, murmuring sweet happy sounds into it.
“I’m glad you’re back,” Fluttershy whispers, leaving a wet little kiss on the side of Rarity’s muzzle. Rarity smiles, and her eyes meet Fluttershy’s in full, and the world is glorious for those three long, breathless seconds...
“I missed you,” Rarity breathes, nuzzling into the hollow of Fluttershy’s collarbone. Fluttershy knows it’s true. She smiles softly and lifts Rarity’s chin with a gentle hoof, drawing her into a kiss.
One kiss becomes two becomes three becomes countless little meetings of lips and hooves and tongues and bodies, shifting in careful little shows of affection that all melt into one long, tender moment. And Fluttershy feels so right, so loved, so loving. But that painful, insistent longing and wrongness hovers at the edge of all the warmth and closeness, sending bolts of bittersweet pain through Fluttershy’s heart and mind. And then Rarity rustles her hooves through Fluttershy’s wings in the way she does when she wants to...
Fluttershy breaks the kiss and rolls over slowly to stare at the sofa’s back. She can’t stop thinking, wondering whose lips had been touching Rarity’s like this last, can’t help but feel dirty, secondary, used ... She hugs herself with shaking forelegs and sighs angrily, trying to huff out the worst of the anger and frustration. The pain spikes and bites at her, and she can’t help but wonder at how the pain and the love are so tightly wound together. They come so close to each other in every way, to the point where she can’t tell one from the other anymore.
--TIME--
“Fluttershy, what’s wrong?” Rarity asks, stroking her mane cautiously.
I think we need to stop this, Fluttershy doesn’t say. “I’m tired, Rarity,” she sighs. “Maybe tomorrow?”
The pain and love flare up together, so strong that she’s shaking and keening and can’t stop for all the love and comfort Rarity is throwing her way. And she wonders again, if one would die if the other left. She’ll probably never know.
Author's Note
Prompt 420: Why does it hurt so much to love you?
Cup and Carrot Cake woke gradually to the aroma of coffee and eggs. They blearily blinked their eyes and shook their heads weakly against their fluffy pillows before noticing the tray of still-steaming breakfast that sat beside their large bed. Cup picked up a folded note and read it out loud in a raspy morning voice.
“Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Cake -- I know the twins were restless last night, so I took your alarm clock. Don’t worry about the morning rush - I’ve got it all covered! Love, Pinkie.”
Cup and Carrot smiled at one another sleepily and snuggled together, lifting over the breakfast tray. They traded sweet nothings and little kisses and giggles as they fed each other bites of toast and scramble. Far below them, the clatter of dishes and the murmur of a contented crowd played a lovely little soundtrack to their unexpected lazy morning.
Rarity took one last check in the mirror before stepping outside. It was important to look her best every day; it would be downright disrespectful to put forth any less effort. Just because she would be spending her day in the Whitetail woods with Fluttershy on one of their little nature hikes didn’t mean she could be anything less than fabulous. She stepped forth into the bright, sunny morning with a smile and saddlebags filled with a picnic lunch.
“Ooh, Rarity, I love your hat!” Rarity whirled around to see Pinkie Pie waving at her from Sugarcube Corner’s kitchen door. Rarity waved back smoothly, unruffled. Then Pinkie gave her a wink so huge it travelled the distance with ease and a smile that sent blood rushing into her cheeks. “I bet Fluttershy will love it, too!” Pinkie continued easily. Rarity shook herself and trotted off, grinning with abandon as Pinkie rushed back inside. Today was shaping up to be absolutely wonderful.
Applejack smiled at the pink shape bouncing up the road. She bucked another tree and listened with satisfaction to the apples thumping into their baskets. Not a one had missed. The bouncing turned to an all-out sprint, and Pinkie crested the hill with a sunny grin brighter than the noonday sun. Pinkie tackled her in the last second, laughing, and the two of them rolled through the grass and dirt, coming to a stop at the split-rail fence. Then Pinkie helped her up and gave her a bone-creaking squeeze and a playful ear-nip. Pinkie’s laughter washed away the hours of work from Applejack’s shoulders and legs, and the playful clonk! on Applejack’s nose didn’t hurt one bit. She grinned easily, lazily, and gave Pinkie a teasing chuck on the shoulder. There weren’t many ponies Applejack could roughhouse with, and she was glad she could be so childish around Pinkie without it feeling wrong.
“AJ, were you gonna skip lunch again?” Pinkie asked, frowning a little.
Applejack shifted nervously and tugged on her hat. “Uh... maybe?” the thought hadn’t crossed her mind, but by the sun’s height, it was heading that way. And if Pinkie hadn’t broken her out of her rhythm, she wouldn’tve noticed how hungry she was right now.
Pinkie sighed, her eyes rolling hugely. Applejack didn’t feel quite so guilty after seeing Pinkie’s silly face. “Well, come on, AJ,” Pinkie declared, ridiculously serious. “We’re giving Apple Bloom a cooking lesson.”
“Since when?” Applejack asked, panicked. Had she forgotten something important again?
“Since right about now,” Pinkie giggled, butting Applejack into action with her poofy head.
The sun was a little too hot today, Rainbow decided, twitching her nose and shifting on her comfy cumulus. Dash felt the whirring wind of the propellor blades and opened one lazy eye. “Hey, Pinks,” she grunted, stretching out on her cloud. “Whazzup?” She rubbed her eyes with a foreleg and sat up, taking in Pinkie’s manic grin and laughing eyes.
“Do you wanna keep laughing, or do you wanna prank Roseluck?” Pinkie asked, quivering with excitement even as she pedalled her crazy contraption.
Rainbow Dash shook herself and grinned - from the looks of things, Pinkie had something radical in mind. “Is that even a question?” she cackled, shooting off into the sky. “Whaddya got in mind?”
Cranky Doodle Donkey had a problem. Namely, he’d forgotten about a very important date, a date that was going to start in exactly fifteen minutes. He searched through boxes of memorabilia and drawers of junk, looking for something, anything to give his dearest Matilda.
“Couldn’t remember one measly anniversary, huh?” he grumbled to himself, slamming shut his dresser in disgust. His ear twitched and he jumped a little as somepony or somedonkey knocked on his door. He limped over to the mudroom in fear and peeked through the little peephole. Pinkie Pie waved at him with a box of chocolates and Matilda’s favorite bouquet, laying them down gently and bounding off to whatever crazy plan she had next. He sighed in relief and reminded himself to invite her over for dinner sometime soon. She always had some great story to tell, and she was one of the best listeners he’d ever met.
Twilight looked over the casserole she’d created with some moderate concern. The edges looked entirely black, although the cheese in the middle bubbled enticingly. She lifted it to the table with a thought and rifled through the drawers of her kitchen for a proper serving utensil. The casserole was a far cry from her mother’s, but much better than the last time she’d tried to bake unattended. There had hardly been any smoke in the kitchen this time. That’s progress, Pinkie would say. Twilight let loose a giddy little giggle and fluffed her wings, grabbing three plates and glasses. The door opened and she set the table quickly before trotting towards the main room.
“Hiya, snugglebutt!” Pinkie laughed, giving Twilight a heartmelting smile. Then Pinkie’s rump swayed hypnotically. She gave a playful growl, a waggle of her expressive eyebrows, and tackled Twilight into a reading cushion, nuzzling her chin and sighing happily as Twilight wrapped her tight in hooves and wings.
“Long day?” Twilight asked, kissing the spot behind Pinkie’s ear that made her melt. Pinkie purred and squirmed for a few seconds before snuggling further into Twilight’s chest.
“Just the usual,” Pinkie murmured, shrugging slightly.
“So that’s a yes, then,” Twilight giggled, cuddling Pinkie a little bit closer. Dinner could wait a little while longer.
Author's Note
Prompt 425: The city of love
I tried to Show Pinkie helping along a bunch of different types of love here just by being her usual bouncy nosey self ... I think it came across pretty well.
Twilight stepped over the threshold cautiously, her wings clenched tightly against her body. Her hooves sank into the plush cream carpet as she walked inside. She glanced around the room as foals outside played in the bright sunshine (sunshine, ladybugs awake… )
Twilight ran a gentle hoof across a dusty bookshelf (… That creaks with the weight of a hundred obscure volumes on magical theory as she pulls off yet another in a shaky cloud of fragile magic , cramming one last time for the exam tomorrow, since she know she can’t sleep, not tonight… ) and turned to regard a silent, ragged plush bear siting on a bed.
Her eyes travelled to the bright window with its blue shades, so different than (… The dark red curtains drawn tight against the sun as she stains her blankets with tears, blubbering out the latest petty cruelty through wracking, choking sobs. Shining’s warm hoof runs along her trembling back soothingly.
“I almost feel sorry for them, Twily. Because they can’t see how special you really are." His voice is as warm as the mug of jasmine tea he’s brought her… )
The old yellow stain still marred the ceiling after all these years. She can still remember back when
(… “I’m sorry, mom! I didn’t know it would react that way, I’ll never do it again, promise! Not without a fume hood"…. )
"Thank you for letting me visit," she said, as warm and aloof as Celestia taught her to be.
"It was our pleasure, Princess," one of the mares answered, grinning nervously. Twilight walked into the afternoon outside, into the crowded street, before finding a place to take off and fly to the palace. She didn’t cry - it’s not her room, it hasn’t been for at least a generation. But her heart still pinched as she landed in the courtyard and made her way to the throne room.
"Bring in the first petitioner," she sighed. “Evening court is officially in session."
Author's Note
Prompt 429: The room never felt the same after that.
I was thinking a bit of "The Old Apartment" by the Barenaked Ladies, if you've heard it. But mostly I wanted a moody, nostalgic Princess Twi remembering her childhood. All her family is dead by now, unless you count Cadence...
They seemed to appear out of nowhere, almost materializing from the dusty, smoking ruins. The ghostly, horrible, tuneless humming surrounded the ruined city square, and the Lost Ponies came with it, their eyes glowing a deep, horrible purple. Cheerilee backed against the half-ruined statue of Celestia, biting harder on the rusted knife that trembled with her jaw. The filly she had met a week or so ago cowered down beneath her legs, her tiny orange pinions tickling Cheerilee’s knees. She couldn’t say exactly how long it had been, which bothered her more than she thought it would. After the sun had frozen, time had lost meaning. They ate when they needed, slept when they must, and moved while they could.
The awful humming got louder, and the purple glow in the Losts’ eyes grew fever-bright, searing. Cheerilee squinted and looked around. Above her, pegasi flew in a tight net. Behind the Lost earth ponies, Unicorns charged their horns their magic all tinged through with that same, haunting purple. One Lost mare took a heavy step forward. They looked to be three deep, surrounding the square and humming their horrible, tuneless murmur. Damn, damn, damn, damn... Cheerilee’s eyes darted around, looking for any place in the circle with fewer of the Lost.
They parted suddenly, the humming coming to a complete standstill. Then she walked through, and Cheerilee’s blood nearly froze. She was the leader of the Lost, once the brightest unicorn in Canterlot, celebrated for her many, many discoveries in the field of Magic, once Princess Celestia’s favored advisor. Now few dared to say her name, lest it call her upon them.
“Twilight Sparkle,” Cheerilee half-whispered, half-cursed. Sparkle smiled disjointedly, her eyes gleaming with a terrible manic light. Her head twitched momentarily, her ears flicked and her eyes spasmed before rolling back to show whites. After two long breaths, she blinked and returned to whatever passed as normal.
“Ms. Cheerilee, and Scootaloo,” she giggled. The filly between Cheerilee’s legs whimpered and shrank back further. “Such a pleasure to see you both.” Her voice resonated with strangeness, as if three voices all slightly out of sync were rushing through her mouth. “Will you accept my friendship?”
Cheerilee’s eyes raced over the gap behind Sparkle. It hadn’t closed yet. She lowered her head and pretended to scratch her ear. “Filly?” she whispered. the quivering pegasus didn’t answer. “Scootaloo?” she tried. the filly stood up between her legs, greasy, matted mane tickling Cheerilee’s belly. “Get on my back,” she whispered again. She took one hesitant step forward, towards the oddly-grinning Twilight Sparkle.
The Scootaloo filly buzzed her tiny wings and landed on Cheerilee’s back. She reared and galloped, through the slowly closing gap of Lost and into the serpentine streets of Canterlot. Like so many, she had gone to the Castle for help. Like so few, she had escaped the initial attack and made her way into the dark alleys and sewers, grabbing preserves from empty houses and weapons from dazed, Lost guards.
Cheerilee skidded around a corner and into a dead end. With a loud BANG! and a flash of light, Twilight Sparkle appeared before her. She backed into a corner, shifting her grip on the knife. She twitched the Scootaloo filly off and behind a dumpster, before scraping at the ground and charging. Maybe, if she could just take this Twilight bitch out, the world would be safe again. Strong, horrible purple magic picked Cheerilee up, crawling along her skin. Her hackles raised at the wrongness of it, and she thrashed her neck and knife wildly even as the cloud of horrible, wrong, painful magic pulled her closer to the still-smiling, unnatural unicorn before her.
“I just want us to be friends, Ms. Cheerilee,” Twilight pleaded with a childlike guile. “Life is so much better when I have friends.” Then her eyes glowed white, and the painful, horrible magic flowed into Cheerilee’s eyes, into her mouth, up her nose, into her heart and brain, buzzing and crawling and stinging like a colony of fire-ants.
Cheerilee’s rusty knife fell to the cobblestones as she screamed, and she could taste blood in her throat as she screamed and screamed and breathed in to scream some more... Her eyes filled with magic and tears and she had never felt so violated as it swarmed through her and she screamed and struggled and thrashed and cried and it was all SO WRONG SO VERY WRONG and then ….
...And then Cheerilee saw. She blinked and smiled in the bright, cheerful sunshine. All around her, the colts and fillies she taught everyday laughed and played in the rolling green grass and the cheery playground.
All around her, Ponyville bustled with another busy Tuesday, the vendors and the children all working together in Harmony to create a wonderful new day. Cheerilee was so happy she could teach her students to be such upright, stalwart citizens. She was happy she could help each one of them find out their own, personal Destiny. She was so very, very happy that Princess Twilight Sparkle was her very, very best friend.
Cheerilee was a very happy pony. So happy, she almost felt like singing...
Author's Note
Prompt 431: Reimagine My Little Pony as a horror story
... Because what says horror like Twilight Sparkle forcing her new-found "friends" into a massive shared delusion?
Apple Bloom sat hunched at her desk, staring blankly at her math assignment. The numbers wavered as she blinked, wincing as her dry eyes burned. She’d forgotten again. She huffed and picked up her pencil and slogged through another trigonometry problem, dutifully writing every step. Soon enough it was done, and she dropped the pencil, fidgeting. She knew what was happening tonight, and she could hardly wait for the worst part of the night to be over and done with.
Three problems later, Apple Bloom heard a firm knock on her doorframe. She sighed with relief, let her pencil fall, and worked her aching jaw. “Come in,” she called.
Steady, slow steps clacked on the hardwood floor as Apple Bloom fixated her eyes onto another mystery triangle. “Apple Bloom, I just got back from talking with Cheerilee,” Applejack sighed from somewhere behind her. “She says you haven’t turned in a single assignment this semester.” Apple Bloom shrugged, reaching for her pencil. “You told me they made it onto her desk,” Applejack accused, gently. “Did you even do any of them?”
“More or less,” Apple Bloom mumbled.
“‘More or less’ as in you didn’t finish all the assignments or ‘more or less’ as in you didn’t complete them?” Applejack asked, taking another heavy step forward.
“Some of each,” Apple Bloom mumbled again, hunching over herself a little more. The dull burn of shame and guilt fired up in her cheeks and stomach, and tiny shivers ran through her hooves.
“Apple Bloom, please look at me,” Applejack demanded. Any louder and it could have been yelling. Somehow the gentler tone made everything worse. Apple Bloom shoved away from her desk and spun around, staring at her sister’s broad chest, at how it twitched and rippled with muted tension.
“Why didn’t you turn them in?” Applejack continued. “Even an incomplete’s better than a zero, you know that.” Apple Bloom swallowed and shrugged. She’d thought about that herself, late at night. All that ever came from it were strange loops of logic, debating with herself on how terrible a pony she was.
Applejack sighed, a heavy sound that nearly threw Apple Bloom to the floor in hysterics. “But you still do all your chores?” Apple Bloom nodded. “So what’s different ‘bout chores, then?”
Apple Bloom licked her lips and stared at the floor. “Well, the chores affect everypony,” she choked out, “And also you check ‘em to see if they’ve been done right.” If she traced the grain of the wood between her hooves, she could almost make out the shape of a scooter. Maybe if she squinted right....
“Apple Bloom, you look me in the eyes,” Applejack snapped. She twitched her head up and met her sister’s steady gaze, so full of concern and love. Apple Bloom felt bile rising in her throat, but she couldn’t dare to move her eyes away. Why was Applejack so worried? Why did Applejack look so sad? Why did Applejack look like she still loved her? Apple Bloom whimpered slightly and shifted as the weight of the trouble she was causing closed tight around her chest.
“Bloom, darlin’, I’m not always gonna be there to look over your shoulder to see if things are done,” Applejack said, her face creased in a vague grimace. “You gotta learn to do that yourself.” Apple Bloom nodded. “But I’m also worried ‘bout how you lied to me, Bloom,” Applejack continued, her face darkening further. “How can I know it won’t happen again?” Apple Bloom filnched. “How can I trust you?” Applejack’s voice cracked, and Apple Bloom bit her cheek so hard she could taste coppery blood oozing through her teeth. Anything to feel even a bit of pain, anything to atone for her terrible actions. How could she be trusted? How could she ever look at Applejack again? Apple Bloom shrugged, finally looking away from Applejack’s damning, loving eyes.
Applejack sighed again, and took another slow step forward, as if Apple Bloom were some wild animal. “Where’d you keep the homeworks?” She asked, drilling Apple Bloom with those green, honest eyes of hers. Apple Bloom opened the lowest drawer in her desk and yanked the papers out, nudging them across the small distance between them. Applejack looked through them as quickly as she could, a single eyebrow raising and lowering as her eyes darted across each page.
“These are pretty well done,” Applejack remarked. “Why didn’t you jes’ turn them in?” Apple Bloom shrugged. Her own brain was pretty much a mystery right now. Applejack set them down and rubbed at her temples with her hooves. Apple Bloom could finally see how tired Applejack looked, with her frazzled mane and furrowed forehead. Apple Bloom tried to swallow the horrible guilt that crawled up her throat at that, and fixed her eyes back on the floorboards. That wood grain looked almost like a cirrus formation, now.
“I’ll call you down to supper,” Applejack said, clomping out of the room. Apple Bloom hugged herself tightly for a few minutes before slowly turning back to the desk and picking up her pencil. She slogged through another trigonometry problem, dutifully writing down every step. It was better than remembering the hurt on her sister’s face.
Author's Note
Prompt 439: Parent-teacher conferences
Rainbow woke before sunrise and sighed, shifting slightly in Applejack’s embrace. AJ’s heart thumped slowly against her back, solid and steady, reliable. The pre-dawn sky, a confusing matte grey, beckoned her through the open window. The ghostly silhouette tops of the orchard seemed to float and sway in unseen waters, their bare branches drifting in lazy arcs. The air would be cool right now, perfect for a morning flight -- But Applejack held her tighter to her chest with a sleepy murmur, transfixed her with gentle snores. Rainbow’s wings twitched and she turned around in the loving cage of legs, stroked AJ’s ribs with a gentle hoof, a precious little smile on her lips.
Applejack was still … precious to her. It wasn’t easy to put into solid thoughts, but Rainbow knew that much. The fires of passion and competition that had drawn them together had faded from her, and her wings no longer twitched and itched when they kissed. She no longer yearned for Applejack’s company and closeness when she was off on tour. It was getting harder and harder to resist the exciting young fangirls who breathlessly asked for her autograph, or a drink, or a fling. But Rainbow couldn’t bear to leave Applejack alone, not when AJ needed her so badly. She could see the unrestrained joy that lit up Applejack’s whole being when she landed outside the farmhouse. She could still hear the desire in Applejack’s voice whenever they talked. Applejack could never hide things from her, because Applejack said what she meant and did what she wanted and acted how she acted with no excuses, no walls. It was probably the bravest thing Rainbow had ever seen.
Rainbow kissed Applejack’s forehead and cringed a little at the happy sigh AJ gave, even in her dreams. Her eyes roved over Applejack’s face, mapping out the little creases and whorls of her warm orange fur before nuzzling into it. She could remember when this got her heartrate up, sent a terrible blush into her cheeks and a blazing sense of completeness and contentment rushing through her very self. It was nice, she decided. Whatever fancy soaps Rarity had finally convinced Applejack to start using had left her coat smooth and velvety to the touch. Applejack yawned muzzily and blinked herself awake, her bright green eyes slowly, joyously focusing on Rainbow’s.
Applejack nuzzled her back sweetly, that tiny crooning, happy sound of hers coming husky from her throat. Applejack nosed through Rainbow’s mane and nibbled lightly along the edge of her ear. Rainbow’s breath caught slightly; it seemed that still affected her. Applejack giggled quietly, squirming playfully and kissing the corner of Rainbow’s mouth before leaning up and glancing outside.
“What time is it?” she murmured, blinking away the final shredded strands of sleepiness.
Rainbow shrugged. “Around 5, I’d say,” she answered, running her hoof along Applejack’s side again. She smiled a bit as Applejack squirmed and sighed happily.
“Mmm, should we get up?” Applejack asked, an adventurous foreleg rubbing the base of Rainbow’s wings.
“Nah,” Rainbow half-moaned. She still loved what Applejack could do to her wings. No other pony had ever been quite so good at exciting her with a mere touch.
Applejack chuckled again, a throaty, playful thing, before moving in and nipping at Rainbow’s collarbone. “Fine by me,” she purred, nipping again. Rainbow squeaked. Then Applejack was kissing her, running her hooves through Rainbow’s feathers, and she was kissing back, ignoring the stupid thoughts and doubts in her head. This was simple. She didn’t have to think, didn’t have to do anything but feel. Rainbow tensed and whimpered all the same as her brain reminded her how this used to feel, back when the passion was there. Applejack stopped. Rainbow swallowed.
“Hey, sugar, what’s up?” Applejack asked, tensed with concern.
Rainbow forced out her cocky, confident grin. “Nothing’s wrong, AJ.” Applejack looked down, practically burying her head into her pillow. “Hey, c’mon, it’s fine,” Rainbow crooned, trying to lift AJ’s face with a terrified, gentle hoof. “Hey, babe, c’mon, we’re fine.”
“Baby? Applejack? C’mon, AJ, talk to me?” Nothing. “Applejack, it’s okay, everything’s okay,” Rainbow soothed. “C’mon, AJ, I love you.”
Applejack looked up with teary eyes and a pathetic, shaking smile. There was so much love in her eyes that it hurt to look at, but Rainbow kept her eyes locked. And Applejack gave a horrible little shake of her head, that strange, weak smile still plastered on her face. “No you don’t,” she said, and Rainbow’s world fell apart.
Author's Note
Prompt 448: Sometimes loyalty requires you to lie, and sometimes honesty requires you to betray.
So I broke AppleDash... apparently the first time I ship something it's got to somehow be terribly broken. Or something.
“ I can see why you asked me out here tonight,” Rarity murmured, watching another shower of comets streak across the sky. “The stars are beautiful.”
“Not as beautiful as you.” Rarity giggled and turned to where Twilight sat, gazing joyously at Rarity’s face. With any other pony, it would be a horribly corny sentiment. But somehow Twilight could take the strangest things and make them beautiful. There was an honest intensity to her every action that filled Rarity with a flighty joy and an incredible warmth. Because, at this moment, looking into Twilight’s deep, lovely eyes, Rarity could see that Twilight really meant it.
Rarity swirled her wineglass and took another sip of the vinho verde , delighting in the supple tingle the light carbonation left on her tongue. She shifted closer to Twilight on the soft blanket and reached for a strawberry, dipping it in the dish of clotted cream and lifting it to her mouth. Twilight’s wing settled gently over her withers, fluttering slightly with nerves. Rarity sighed happily and leaned in even a bit closer, smiling as Twilight’s wing gripped her comfortably, warding off the chill night air quite nicely.
“Twilight, I just wanted to say that this was the best first date I’ve been on in a long while,” Rarity murmured, nuzzling at Twilight’s neck. Twilight kissed the base of her horn, and Rarity’s mind went fuzzy.
“Is that so?” Twilight whispered back, kissing her way over Rarity’s ear, along her jawline.
“Absolutely, darling,” Rarity moaned, tilting her head, presenting her neck to those soft, warm lips. Twilight chuckled and continued her way down to Rarity’s shoulder, her wing gently stroking Rarity’s sides, one of her hooves pinning Rarity’s with a welcome pressure.
Twilight looked up at Rarity, her eyes shining with such a pure adoration that Rarity’s chest seized up. Then slowly, cautiously, Twilight moved her head closer, her whole body asking permission. Rarity could feel a ludicrous grin spreading across her face as she leaned forward and kissed Twilight. It was the simplest meeting of lips, short and chaste, but it set Rarity afire in a way she’d never really felt before. And when she opened her eyes again, Twilight was looking at her with those beautiful loving eyes, shimmering wetly in the starlight.
“Rarity, thank you for giving me a chance tonight,” she murmured, pulling Rarity into a full-body hug that almost hurt. Almost. Rarity could feel the tension running in tremors through Twilight’s forelegs and wings and tightened her own grip.
“It was my pleasure,” she answered, nuzzling Twilight’s cheek. “Do we have any more of those daisy sandwiches?”
With anypony else, a late-night picnic of mediocre sandwiches, strawberries and admittedly excellent wine would be a disaster. But as Rarity looked into Twilight’s eyes again and saw that deep caring warmth, when she saw Twilight’s ears perking up at her every word, she felt safe. As Twilight’s hooves gently kneaded her sore back, Rarity felt wanted. And when Twilight kissed her gently at her doorstep and said goodnight with a smile Rarity had never seen on her face, Rarity felt loved. With anypony else, it would be corny. But with Twilight Sparkle, it was absolutely perfect.
Author's Note
Prompt 451: Twilight Sparkle: The Most Romantic Pony In Equestria
Nopony gave her a second glance, as she stepped off the train. The desert winds had weathered her down to a ghost, to a little wisp of earth-tone flesh and bone that slipped right under the eyes. Her neck slumped forward from work and wind and tiredness, and her tired eyes skirted around constantly, watching high and around for danger. Nopony gave her a second glance as she slung a dusty green duffel over her back, sighed, and began plodding along.
She walked with slow, steady intent. Her shoulders rippled and rolled with the strain of carrying most of her weight, and her back legs trembled and shook. Nopony noticed. The years away had worn her into a ghost, into a little wisp of earth-tone flesh and bone that slipped right under the eyes. And so she soldiered onward, puffing a strand of greasy, sun-whitened hair from her tired eyes. She walked with slow, steady intent, towards the town center, towards the sunset, towards the silhouette of a cupcake.
She butted the pink door open with a slam of her head, steadfastly ignoring the CLOSED sign before her tired eyes. Somepony gasped, and somepony trotted out from the kitchen. And her eyes lit up and her neck straightened as bright, wonderful pink filled her vision. She smiled with her wind-chapped, frowning lips as those bright pink legs hugged her tight. She hadn’t smiled in years, it seemed. At least one. The constant, weary loneliness had ground her into a ghost, into a mere wisp of the pony she had once been. But she smiled into that wonderful, bright pink shoulder as a cascade of joyful babble and banter cascaded over her, and some of her terrible, dusty emptiness was filled.
The noise stopped, and Pinkie pulled away from the hug, looking her over curiously. “AJ, what happened?” she asked, herding her to a table and sitting her forcefully on a plush cushion.
“Appleloosa went under in the big drought,” she rasped. The dust and wind had scraped her voice into a ghost, a mere wisp of its old authority. “Started tryin’ to help other frontier towns.”
“Can I get you something to drink?” Pinkie gave her a gentle pat on her over-muscled, aching shoulder and a nervous, worried smile. Applejack returned a ghost of that smile and shifted on the plush pillow to ease her aching hip.
“Some water’d be much appreciated,” Applejack grunted. Pinkie nodded and ran to the kitchen, popping back out a minute later with two glasses and a large pitcher balanced on her back. Applejack helped her unload onto the table and poured herself a shot, tossing it back like whiskey. She sighed in relief as the cool water trickled down her throbbing, burning throat. She poured another, and another, and finally met Pinkie’s questioning eyes.
“After Brae and his folks skipped town, I was about to do the same, head back to Ponyville,” she began. The water had done wonders for her voice. “Ran into Cherry Jubilee, you know ‘er. She said Dodge Junction was in the same pickle. So I picked up and moved and worked to save it, but th’ drought got them, too. Dust storms started up, meaner n’ a cat in the bathtub, so ponies skipped outta there, too. So I moved again and again, an’ all of ‘em got the same.” Applejack met Pinkie’s eyes and watched as concern shifted to fear inside them.
“There ain’t no frontier left, Pinks,” she whispered, shuddering. “It’s all gone to dust.” She poured another shot of water and downed it like whiskey, sighing in relief as it quieted her stomach.
Pinkie rushed off again and came back with a cupcake, a milkshake, and a tiny little party hat. She put the silly cardboard thing onto Applejack’s head. It tickled and scratched her greasy, dusty mane. And Pinkie lit a single candle for the cupcake and pushed it across the table, smiling gently.
“Welcome home,” Pinkie giggled. Applejack blew out the candle in a little huff of air, and a tiny little laugh of her own burbled up in her chest. It was a ghost, a dusty little wisp of how she used to sound. But it was a laugh all the same, the first in a long haze of work and dust and disappointment. It was a start.
Applejack bit a clean half of the cupcake and nosed it over to Pinkie again before assaulting the chocolate malt before her. The thick drink, cold and creamy, felt more intense, more real to her than anything in the last years ever had. Her brow furrowed when her straw gurgled at the near-empty bottom of the glass.
“Pinkie, is this still home?” she asked, shifting on the plush pillow to ease her aching hip. She’d been a ghost, a dusty wisp of earth-tone flesh and bone, just passing through for so long she’d nearly forgotten quite what home meant. Family, for one, Dinners and laughter and staying put, resting.
Pinkie raised her eyebrow and caught Applejack into a hug, humming a cheerful, meandering ditty that perked Applejack’s ears and brought another ghost-smile to Applejack’s dusty, weatherbeaten face. “It is if you want it to be,” Pinkie murmured, still hugging her tight. “Apple Bloom would love to have you back on the farm, and Twilight and Fluttershy and Rarity and Rainbow will all want to see you too, and…” Pinkie swallowed and hugged Applejack a little tighter still. “I’m glad you’re back,” she said, nuzzling Applejack fervently. “And I really want you to stay.”
The dust and the drought and the despair had beaten Applejack’s hope into a ghost, a meager, dusty wisp of what it had once been. But she could feel it wavering and growing stronger, fluttery and warm in her chest. “That sounds mighty nice,” she rumbled, leaning into Pinkie’s wonderful hug.
Author's Note
Prompt 453: One of the mane six moved away from Ponyville. But that was years ago. Today she moved back.
I'm a sucker for the power of repetition, but I can't help but feel I went too far this time...
The stairs creaked. A light, sharp tapping came from low down on Rarity’s doorframe. She rolled over on her messy bed and blinked her sore, puffy eyes.
“Rarity?” Spike’s voice carried from the half-open door. Rarity curled tighter around herself, idly twitching her tail, watching how the tangled knots and snarls swished across her quilt. “I’m coming in now,” Spike announced, and his head popped around the door, all furious green eyes and wisps of smoke and bared teeth.
Rarity swallowed as he near-stomped in, his little claws balled up into tight, tense fists. “Are you here to yell at me, too?” she croaked, the hairs on her neck prickling up as he caught her in a glare. Rarity could feel sweat trickling down her neck and withers as Spike’s bright green eyes bored into her, sharp and unforgiving as emerald shards.
And then, it seemed, he took her in, her whole miserable self. His anger dimmed and his eyes softened, his slitted pupils widening in … shock? Forgiveness? He took two cautious steps forward, nearly soundless on the hardwood floor. “That was the plan when I got here,” he admitted, scrutinizing her from a distance. “Now I’m not so sure…” He took one more step forward and shifted nervously, still looking her over.
Rarity breathed a sigh of relief. After Applejack had come in chomping at the bit and torn her up even more, a little respite was welcome. Spike cleared his throat, and Rarity swallowed heavily. “So I guess what I want to know is, why did you do it?” Spike asked, his pupils narrowing again.
Rarity teared up again and scrubbed furiously at her eyes, flinching as they came away streaked with damp mascara. “I didn’t want to,” she choked out, “But it’s for her own good, I think. I hope.”
In three sudden, alarming strides, Spike was right by her, smoke curling again from his nostrils. “Twilight loves you, Rarity,” he growled, pinning her with a glare. “She loves you, and I thought you loved her back. And then you left her, and it’s somehow for her own good?” Rarity’s ears pinned back against his bellowed words and her own shame.
“She’s a Princess now,” Rarity half-whispered, staring intently at the quilt below her. “Everything she does, everypony she consorts with is multinational news. She needs somepony who’s …” She choked up, fighting back tears and hugging her aching chest with her forehooves.
“Who’s what?” Spike prompted gently.
“Who’s good enough,” Rarity spat, before she lost herself in grief. Wracking sobs shook her body, her wailing cries tore into her throat, hot, burning tears streamed from her already burning eyes, leaving sticky tracks on her face and stains on her bed. And suddenly Spike was holding her, hugging her silently, a warm pillar of love and comfort. After a long while, Rarity quieted down into shaky breaths and hiccups, sniffling away the last of the runny, salty snot that dangled from her nostrils. Spike’s claws, diamond-hard and sharp enough to gouge granite, ran through her mane like a comb in steady, smooth motions.
“I probably would have destroyed Ponyville with the power of my own greed if you hadn’t been there to stop me,” Spike said, almost conversationally. “But you reminded me of who I was. You reminded me of who I wanted to be. And when I went off to find myself with the Migration, you put aside all your work to follow me and make sure I was safe. You stepped forward and protected me, in front of a whole gang of teenage dragons, without a second thought. Do you know how amazing that is? Do you realize how amazing you are?” Spike paused and sighed, still running his claws through her mane with a gentle care that melted her pain away.
“I thought I was in love with you, back when,” Spike continued earnestly. Rarity breathed the whisper of a chuckle at that. “And I’m still happy that I was, y’know?” Rarity didn’t. So she flicked her ears and shifted and waited for him to continue.
“Because I still think you’re beautiful, even though I don’t want you that way. Because I still think you’re one of the most amazing, kind, hard-working ponies I know. Because I can see how much of yourself you put into your work, and I can see how much your work affects people. Because you’re never just making clothing, Rarity. You’re using clothes to make ponies shine out. You’re helping the world see what they already have. And I can respect that. You’re always finding the beautiful things in everypony and bringing them into the light. And so I’m glad that I thought I loved you, because if the first mare I ever wanted romantically was you, then I’m probably gonna do alright for myself, right?”
Rarity felt lighter than she had in weeks, as those wonderful claws ran their way up and down her neck. She sighed happily and lifted her head to look at Spike, at his kind, warm eyes and the small smile that lingered on his face. “So don’t you ever let me catch you thinking you’re not good enough for Twilight,” he rumbled playfully, thumping her forehead with two knuckles. “She needs you more than you think, Rarity. Especially now that she’s ‘multinational news.’” Rarity chuckled softly, lifting herself onto shaky hooves and dropping off the bed, making for the bathroom.
“I’ll be by to apologize after I’ve washed up,” she rasped, smiling gratefully at Spike.
“You’d better,” he answered, quirking an eyebrow before hopping off her bed.
Author's Note
Prompt 462: Spike in Rarity's Boudoircannot be directly related to Spike's crush on Rarity
Twilight had been gone longer than expected. Far too long to remain entirely relaxed, but Rarity was a talented enough actress to manage. She had to be. Spike, the darling that he was, had offered to do the dishes, giving her time to compose herself properly, setting the mask of control and poise firmly over her face before trotting over with a rag to help dry and put away what was left of their impromptu pasta for two. She glanced at the clock again and shuddered lightly, wiping harder than necessary at a plate. Eight hours. The worst state of emergency Twilight had faced since coronation had taken her four. Rarity slipped the plate on its stack with barely any clatter and smiled at Spike eagerly, as genuinely as she could.
“Would you like to come upstairs, Spike?” she asked, adding a little shimmering chuckle to her words. His face lit up and her smile felt a little less forced. “I’ve got some designing to do, but I’m sure you can stay quiet enough, right?” Spike nodded happily, looking a year younger in seconds. That’s right, keep him occupied. Keep him distracted.
Rarity led Spike into her bedroom and nearly laughed aloud as he gazed about in wide-eyed wonder. He really was still a baby dragon, as much as he would insist to the contrary. Rarity sat down at her desk and took her vellum and charcoal, sketching out a basic shape to hold the details of the dress, keeping an eye on Spike between stroked and lines. She was going for a daring cut, down past the knees in the back and then sharply, boldly upwards, showing a teasing edge of the cutie mark, travelling along the hip with a gather to accentuate the grace of movement, attaching to a side-lace bodice…
Spike looked at her many shades of lipstick, straightened her wall-mirror five times, bounced on the edge of her wide mattress,rolled across the same mattress in a tight somersault, alphabetized her bookshelf, glanced at the clock, looked at her many shades of lipstick …
The dress would be reminiscent of water, the skirt made of two layers of blue-green lace over pale lavender satin, loosely tacked together. The bodice - Embroidered with gentle wave patterns, would shift colors subtly in the light - washed silk, a murky olive green. The sleeves would be sky-blue slashed to show turquoise, slightly poofy yet streamlined, ending right before the elbow. A half-cape, a warm yellow on one side and a dark blue on the reverse, depending on the mood of the party…
Spike cleared his throat again, standing right behind her. Rarity jumped slightly and turned with a smile. “What can I do for you, Spike?” she asked sweetly, smiling carefully. Calmly.
“Do you have something to write with?” Spike asked. Rarity handed him a pencil and pushed her work aside. He grabbed a scrap of old paper and set to furiously crunching numbers.
“What’s this?” Rarity asked, looking over his shoulder.
“She probably burned herself out in a fight,” Spike explained, “So she’ll have to fly back. And since her average wingpower is 8.5 and the Macintosh hills are 35 kilotrots away, it’ll take her…” Spike’s sharp eyes flew over the paper and he mouthed numbers to himself… “Seven hours to get back.” He smiled easily, although Rarity could see a flighty, haunted tension in his eyes. Rarity nodded thoughtfully. “See, she’s been gone for 13 now, but she might’ve headed back already. And it probably took her longer to take down whatever she’s going after, since she doesn’t have the magic left to teleport back.”
Rarity smiled and nuzzled Spike’s crest comfortingly. “I’m sure she’s fine then,” she crooned. Then she pulled her deck of cards out of its drawer and waved them teasingly beneath Spike’s nose. “Would you like to play some rounds of war?”
Spike’s face brightened again, and Rarity shuffled the deck and handed it to him to split and deal. Just keep him occupied. Just keep him distracted, and we’ll be fine.
Author's Note
Another Prompt 462, because my muse wanted more Spike/Rarity interactions.
Since Winter Exodus, hostilities had died down between the three tribes. In the capital, it wasn’t that strange to see earth ponies breaking bread with unicorns, or pegasi parking their houses above strongholds for weeks at a time. Friendship abounded in the giddy relief of peacetime and plenty, but Smart Cookie still relaxed as the door shut behind her. And earth pony this far in Little Unicornia this late in the evening attracted attention.
Smart Cookie tossed her hat onto a peg, shucked off her coat and stamped the snow from her hooves before nuzzling Clover happily. “Thanks for letting me stay tonight,” she said before entering the sitting room.
Like most of the rooms in Clover’s house, the walls were lined with shelves of books, artifacts, reagents, and bizarre curios. Unlike many of them, the stone-mortar walls had been plastered over and a fire blazed merrily in the crowded hearth. Smart Cookie flopped onto the raw-wool rug, a gift from some Northern dignitary, sighing happily.
“I didn’t get the details from your letter,” Clover said, lying down near Cookie on the rug, almost touching. “Not that I don’t mind your company, but what’s going on?”
Cookie rolled onto her stomach, sighing and rolling words around on her tongue. “Another anonymous death threat,” she admitted, leaning against Clover’s side. Clover’s breathing hitched slightly before returning to its steady, calming rhythm. Cookie snickered softly and nuzzled at the hollow of Clover’s throat. The blush that spread across Clover’s cheeks and neck sent a fluttery warmth racing down Cookie’s spine.
“I still don’t understand how you can be so casual about it,” Clover murmured, a little frown hovering on her elegant face.
Cookie smiled and shifted herself even closer to Clover’s side, looking in Clover’s deep eyes for a few long seconds. “I’ve got you looking out for me,” Cookie said, nudging at Clover’s shoulders with her hoof. “And for all the crap I get for being a ‘traitor to my race’ or an ‘embarrassment to earth ponies everywhere’ for the way I choose to live, nopony’s got the guts to actually kill a hero.”
Clover frowned and sighed, scowling at nothing in particular, or perhaps the world at large. “I don’t like it,” she rumbled, rising in one smooth graceful ripple, pacing around the room with her long, smooth strides. Smart Cookie clambered to her own four hooves and ran a quick interception, stopping Clover short with a hoof across the withers.
“I don’t like it much either, but there’s nothing we can do to change it,” she soothed, nosing Clover’s cheek reassuringly. “I’m safe here, right?” Clover nodded. “Then I’ll just keep coming back here when I need to, alright? Eventually this’ll all die down.”
Clover smiled, though some shadowy doubts still flitted across her visage. Smart Cookie herded Clover gently to the rug and settled her down, curling around her with a happy nicker. Traitor. Horn-lover, a tiny part of her brain accused.
“Clover, do you mind if I groom you a while? It’ll steady my nerves.” Smart Cookie’s heart soared with Clover’s tiny, jerky nod. So what if I am? she shot back. She nibbled through Clover’s forelock, feeling safer and warmer than she had in a while.
Author's Note
Prompt 474: Choose one or more of the following: A visit from an old friend, overcoming a fear, a slumber party, changing the seasons, cutie mark stories, a wedding
I totally wanted to write some ancient-ass multiracial shipping. From back when that was controversial. So I made this...
Twilight shuffles her wings and fidgets in front of the door. It shouldn’t be hard to open. It’s just the storage cellar to Sugarcube Corner. At least it is, most days. Twilight’s about to walk back up the stairs and out into the crisp autumn air, pretend none of this happened, pretend she never got the invite from …
Pinkie Pie walks down the stairs, a sad, gentle little smile on her face. “Twilight, I promise it helps,” she says, laying a gentle hoof against Twilight’s quivering, sweat-damp shoulder. Twilight leans into the friendly contact desperately, quivering even harder as Pinkie rubs down her shoulders in little soothing circles. Pinkie’s hooves run through her tense and aching coverts, and for a moment Twilight is wrapped up in warm bliss and comfort before she remembers … She yelps as the sharp pain comes back and jerks away from Pinkie, to thud against that infernal door.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” Pinkie blurts out, nervously taking a step towards Twilight’s quivering form and giving the lightest of nuzzles. “I remember that Dashie …” Pinkie cringes again and shakes herself. “I thought it would calm you down,” she mumbles, rubbing one foreleg against another.
“It’s not your fault,” Twilight answers, turning towards the door. Her voice is heavy and thick, almost belonging to another pony. “It used to calm me down, it’s just … still pretty raw right now.” She raises one heavy hoof. Her muscles were replaced with gritty sand, from how hard it is, how much it tingles and burns as she forces the heavy oaken door against its worn doorjamb and lets is creak open.
Soft candlelight flickers around the room, a room that looks nicer than it has any right to. Somepony’s bedsheets hide most of the cut-dirt walls, and a buffet of pastries and fresh daisies sits perched atop piles of flour sacks. The thick beams and joists that form the cieling have been cleared of any but the most picturesque spiderwebs, and Twilight can see why as her eyes adjust.
Fluttershy sits solemnly on a cushion, looking thoughtfully at the rough wood floor. She looks up as Pinkie and Twilight walk in, blinks, and gasps, a sorrowful, broken thing.
In a second, she’s pressed up against Twilight in a clingy, trembling hug. “I’m so sorry,” she murmurs into Twilight’s drooping ears. “I had no idea…”
Twilight swallows and returns the hug. It’s warm and soft and wonderful, and tears leak down her face unbidden. “Neither did I,” she answers, wooden. Something’s caught in her throat - she swallows again, rubs her cheek absently into the crook of Fluttershy’s neck.
“You too, huh?” Twilight’s ears twitch at a slightly familiar voice. She’s heard it before, angrier than this. She reluctantly breaks herself from Fluttershy’s deathgrip and scrubs at her face with a fetlock before turning.
“Gilda?” The griffoness quirks her beak into a wry grin, holding out her talons in a fist. Twilight knocks it gently with a hoof, a snigger from the absurdity of seeing Gilda and Pinkie in the same room like this.
“What, are you surprised?” Gilda asks gently, padding closer with inequine grace.
Twilight shrugs. “I guess… I mean, this explains a lot,” she says, her eyes flicking from Gilda to Pinkie and back.
Gilda chuckles and throws an eagle-arm around Pinkie’s withers. “Yeah, Pinks actually asked around and found me for this. Said we should make a time and place to talk about it, that one of her other friends was also … yeah.” Twilight can’t fathom the relief that comes from Gilda’s little omission. More tears leak from her eyes and she almost breaks completely.
“I … I just … I thought we were… “ she blubbers, her eyes swimming with tears. There’s two, no three warm bodies pressed up against her as she wails and quivers and sobs and finally, finally runs empty, slumping onto the rough wood. She can’t bother to worry about splinters.
--TIME LIMIT--
“It’s not anything to do with you, alright?” Gilda’s rough voice sounds almost motherly in her ears. “She tries so hard, but it’s just not how she works, you know?” Twilight nods. She knows better than she ever wanted to. Than she ever thought she would.
Pinkie guides her to standing, smiling in that same sympathetic way, and pulls Twilight into a hug, carefully avoiding Twilight’s wings. “You remember what I told you about this?” Twilight nods. PInkie’s smile gets a little wider, and she joins Fluttershy and Gilda in rapt attention. “Go on,” she soothes, “Say the words. They help a little.”
Twilight coughs and breathes deeply, in and out. In and out. “Hello, My name’s Twilight,” she begins. She swallows again to loosen her suddenly clenching jaw, “And up until three days ago, I was dating Rainbow Dash.”
Author's Note
Prompt 484: Somepony joins a secret organization
Hey, Silvernis! Hey! I broke TwiDash for you!
Twilight scowled and upped the intensity of her stirring, holding the beaker up to the light. The reagents were reacting unexpectedly again, forming red-purple particulates. She chewed her lip worriedly and stirred faster, the silver rod whizzing in a well-described circle, scraping against the treated glass. With a thought, Twilight lifted her rowan branch and passed it three times over the mixture, hoping against all else that she’d measured correctly this time. A loud, sudden flash proved her wrong, and Twilight blinked spastically as she registered a shard of ex-beaker poking halfway through her safety goggles.
Twilight thwacked her head against her lab table in the vain hopes it would help the budding headache in her temples. It didn’t. She blinked furiously and centered her power, reaching out for everything that had been her beaker and drawing it together. The shards assembled neatly and she began fusing them together. Her power flared and the glassware melted to slag, splashing on her fire-resistant safety matting, releasing even more noxious smoke into the basement.
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAUGH! GHAAAAAA!” Screaming wasn’t enough for this frustration, and Twilight wanted nothing more than to throw something into … her expensive lab equipment. So throwing was out. Twilight sighed and cleaned up what spills were quick to clean, hung up her safety gear, and trudged upstairs. Tea would help. Tea always helped.
Will the stupid water BOIL ALREADY? Twilight stamped and shuffled in place, sending death-glares at the annoyingly mundane kettle and the drawers next to the stovetop. She’d promised to never use a boiling spell while compromised since the freak weather incident she’d caused vaporizing the kettle itself during a three-day study binge. That promise, and her own integrity seemed to be mocking her. Finally, at the first hint of a whistle, Twilight lifted the kettle and filled her mug with as much water as she safely could, dancing the tea-ball with her magic and watching the bottom for the cup for the perfect tint of golden-brown.
As soon as the tea was within permissible boundaries, Twilight smiled and took a large delicious mouthful. Her tongue sent out every possible alarm signal and she spit it out into a fine mist. Her whole mouth was pins and needles, her tongue bloated and slow to respond.
Twilight slumped onto the kitchen floor, sobbing heavily, unable to stop herself. The front door jingled, and she shakily clambered to her hooves even as her lungs heaved in and out, even as her eyes blurred with a curtain of tears.
“Twilight? We wanted to know if you’d join us for lunch.” Two blurry ponies, White and pink, greeted her as she rounded the corner, sniffling heavily.
“Twilight? Whatever happened, dear?” Rarity started forward, and Twilight cringed back.
“I’ll be okay,” she wailed, “Jus-just give me a m-minute…” She was filthy, she reeked of sulphur and vinegar and who-knew-what-else. Rarity was hugging her. Huh.
Suddenly, Pinkie hung over her back, warm and soft and cozy. “Twilight?” she asked softly, gently. “Are you using a new shampoo?”
She sighed and started to explain. “It’s probably the sulphur dichl--”
“It smells like my Granny’s socks,” Pinkie interrupted, nosing slowly across Twilight’s neck. “I like it!”
Twilight couldn’t stop herself from laughing, tears still flowing down her face. She was on the rug with two wonderful friends, crying and laughing and twitching and flapping, high off the joy of four forelegs wrapped around her, shedding the frustration and pain with each little nip and tug and squeeze that rolled through her.
She finally calmed down enough to control her wings and wrapped them tightly around Pinkie and Rarity, pulling them closer and nuzzling contentedly up and down their necks, letting her mind wander.
“Counterclockwise!” she blurted suddenly, alert.
“Counter-what-now?” Pinkie asked, looking at her with some mild concern.
“Since I’m binding the arcane with the Elemental properties in an odd-balance, I need to stir counterclockwise,” she explained. “It was that simple…” It could also wait, though. So Twilight grinned and kissed Pinkie’s cheek, then Rarity’s, and settled back into the warmth of them.
Author's Note
Prompt 488: Cuddling with friends
She’s beautiful, no doubt about that. It’s almost a natural law of its own - Gravity is a constant force, magic flows through the ground and air and rivers, and Twilight Sparkle is gorgeous. She smiles sheepishly and walks regally into the throne room. Her legs shake with nervous energy, and her wings haven’t relaxed from the fight response they’ve been stuck in for the last hour. The door slams and she slumps gratefully, exhausted, onto the marble tiles.
Luna’s there in a second, helping to pull her out of the beribboned coronation dress. Twilight twitches her head up when Luna’s magic grazes her coat, and Luna blushes, almost hides. She’s an idiot, should have asked first. Even after two years back she’s a mess when it comes to other ponies.
“Sorry…” she blurts, shuffling backwards a bit. “The dress doesn’t look comfortable right … now…” She scratches one foreleg with the other and flicks her ears, fluffs her wings, looks at the ceiling. Anything but Twilight’s face. Luna couldn’t bear to see that lovely face screwed up in confusion or derision or pity. She gets enough of that from Celestia these days…
But Twilight is standing now, smiling angelically, and something in Luna melts and pools in her stomach, her chest, her hooves, her wings. She rides the wonderful buzz of it, smiling a bit in return “I would’ve liked you to ask first, but it was really sweet of you to offer,” Twilight says, and Luna grins feeling lighter than she has in a while, almost checks her hooves to make sure they’re still on the ground. Instead she helps with the many ties and ruffles and buckles and zippers in the coronation dress, blissfully twitching whenever her power and Twilight’s power overlap.
She’s become such a beautiful pony in such a short time. It’s impressive how different she is now than her years at the academy. She laughs and swaps jokes with Fancy Pants, daintily lifting another forkful of eggplant to her mouth, following it with a napkin. She’s sitting straighter than she ever has at any formal function, no doubt from time spent with Rarity, but that’s not the real surprise. She’s enjoying conversation from complete strangers seated near her, smiling effortlessly. Not four years ago, that face was locked in a permanent frown. But now? Now, her eyes dance, Now, her voice carries a vibrant luster, a shimmering energy that sends shivers down Celestia’s neck. Nopony notices - Centuries of masking emotion have made her an expert, but it takes all that practice to keep a straight face with a pleasant expression. Tonight, Twilight Sparkle shines, and Celestia’s sweating lightly. Will she be blinded by that light?
“ … Tariffs could be reconsidered?” Celestia turns with all the smooth grace she doesn’t feel and looks the noblemare in the eye. Something to do with rocks? Semiprecious …. Right.
“Lady Garnett, I will take your concerns into consideration,” Celestia says warmly, smiling slightly. It’s her standard response to these situations, an easy escape. She rarely uses it - her citizens’ concerns do mean a lot to her. But then Twilight laughs and she’s lost again, floating, drowning in a river of emotions.
“If you’ll excuse me for a moment?” She glances around the table. Nopony denies her. She’s the princess, the Sun. Of course they don’t. She trots over to where Twilight sits, sipping a glass of fine red.
“Twilight?” she puts on a casual smile, wider than most of the table has ever seen from her. Centuries of practice help with the easy, playful edge it grants her. Her heart is stampeding, making mad rushes up her throat. “Would you walk with me a while?”
Twilight excuses herself graciously and joins her in a heartbeat. They go out the doors to the gardens, breathing the fresh spring air. Celestia clenches her jaw and changes course, coming an inch closer to Twilight’s side. Twilight glances at her before eyeing a large oak tree nearby and flopping under it, rolling in the grass, a splay-legged filly. Celestia smiles and joins her, staining herself green and hoping against hope that her nerves will soak into the ground. Some of them trickle away.
“What’s going on, Prin-- Umm … Celestia?” Twilight’s looking at her, and her eyes beneath the full moon are breathtaking.
Celestia swallows and centers herself. “Twilight, there’s something I need to put into the air, and I hope you’ll hear me out …”
They’re sitting beneath a tree, just talking. And Luna feels ridiculous for following them out here, feels ridiculous for the cool relief that washes through her when she notices the three hooflengths between them. Nervously, she moves closer, hating herself for each step forward. She should let them have their privacy. But that aching desire inside her will burn her up, and the way the starlight shines across Twilight Sparkle’s hair is so truly wonderful she has to take a closer look.
The crickets are quieter than usual, and little washes of conversation drift across the grass to the bush she’s standing behind, just tall enough to meet her chest.
“… pressure you, ever. Just …” That’s Celestia, concerned. there’s silence for a painful minute, then Twilight caresses Celestia’s shapely foreleg with a tender affection that sends hornets down Luna’s throat and into her stomach and clenching chest. Her ears perk forward shamefully, and her eyes narrow in on Twilight’s opening mouth, intent.
“.... love you…” Twilight’s saying more, but it’s all Luna needs to hear. Of course it’s true, of course it’s Celestia. Celestia’s bright and kind and gentle and warm and everything she herself isn’t, could never be. Celestia could never stop talking about Twilight when they broke their fasts together. Always Twilight this, Twilight that… How could she not have seen? How could she have been so stupid?
--TIME--
Luna throws herself into a thicket and cries, stifling her sobs in her painful throat, the branches and thorns around her scratching at her sides. But she can’t be too loud. She might disturb them. Hoofsteps. They know. Gentle magic, Twilight’s magic, pulling her out from the branches and setting her on the grass. Luna would run, if she had the strength in her legs. Twilight shouldn’t see her like this. Twilight shouldn’t see her at all tonight… Twilight should be where she belongs at Celestia’s side.
“Luna, what’s going on?” Twilight’s frail voice hurts more than her own shattered illusions, another knife in her side. Luna heaves in some breaths and centers herself, some late-blooming tears still chasing others down her cheeks.
“You should go back to Celestia,” Luna rasps. Her throat is sandpaper, scratchy and dry and unpleasant. “I wouldn’t want to ruin a night like this for you…”
“How much did you hear?” Twilight asks, settling down beside her and rubbing her tense shoulders in steady circles.
Luna almost bristles. She almost shouts, or stands up and flies away, almost. But that warm hoof, that gentle touch is holding her steady and still. She can only manage a whimper. “Enough to know you love her,” she sighs. She’s too tired for anything else.
“As a friend, or a sister, or family,” Twilight says, scooting a little closer to Luna. Her body heat is searing Luna’s side. Another whimper. “A few years ago I would have welcomed this,” Twilight continues softly. “I saw so much in her, so much beauty and grace and kindness, so much life, so much confidence. I thought I loved her, then. Maybe I did. But she was unattainable. So far beyond me that I couldn’t think of telling her anything. And then I left, and I changed. So did my feelings.”
Luna looks cautiously at Twilight’s open, lovely face. “Would you be opposed to joining me for dinner sometime?” her voice cracks horribly on the word dinner, and she cringes slightly.
Twilight smiles, and her wings shoot out wildly, making Luna chuckle, then laugh madly for the joy of laughing. She gently eases Twilight’s wings into a resting position with practiced hooves. “That sounds nice,” Twilight admits, blushing.
Author's Note
Prompt 491: Twilestia vs. Twiluna. Two ships enter. Only one ship leaves.
Have some overblown, cliche'd, tawdry romance. Because everybody's gotta write some overblown, cliche'd tawdry romance at least once.
Twilight’s parents’ living room was pretty cool, all things considered. All sorts of wacky archaeology stuff took up space on the bookshelves, and star charts had overtaken the desk in the corner. The ancient sofa was more comfortable than it looked, too. Scratchy, though. Rainbow squirmed a little on the seat cushion, trying to scratch out the niggling itch between her wings. That was definitely a huge advantage of clouds, really. They didn’t make her all sweaty and tense, even if they were still carrying lightning.
Twilight’s mom was pretty awesome, too. Almost radical, really. The ghost author of Daring Do? Actually, yeah. That totally counted as radical, in Rainbow’s books. But the thing about Twilight’s mom, even as radical and awesome as she was? Twilight’s mom was scary. And Twilight’s mom was practically glaring at her from across the scarred, scuffed coffee table. Rainbow squirmed a little bit more as Twilight Velvet shifted and cleared her throat. Darn fabric cushions…
“So, Rainbow,” Twilight Velvet began. Rainbow swallowed hard and fought to keep a whimper down at those two, perfectly friendly words. Something in the eyes, or maybe teeth, of the other pony sent waves of ice down her spine. “What exactly are your intentions with my daughter?” Rainbow jumped half a foot in the air and struggled to fold her wings into some semblance of decency, blushing. Twilight’s mom raised one eloquent eyebrow, the ghost of a frown on her normally warm mouth.
“Umm… I … uh …” Rainbow choked, looking around the room for inspiration. It was a pretty cool room, after all. She fixed her eyes on a pristine pith helmet, focusing on it instead of the way the little hairs on the back of her neck were all prickling up to attention. After a few seconds, the worst of her free-fall panic subsided, and she turned back to look at Twilight Velvet. “Look,” she sighed, brushing her mane out of her face. Her bangs still tickled her cheekbones after five quick swipes. “I’ve been saving up a lot, since, y’know, the Wonderbolts salary is pretty great…” Rainbow winced. “Not that I’m trying to brag!” she squeaked, her voice cracking horribly. She coughed and chuckled nervously.
“But I was thinking about buying a place, soon. For the two of us. I know Twi … Twilight ... I mean, not you Twilight but your daughter Twilight …” Twilight Velvet’s eyebrow raised itself a few more notches, and blood rushed to Rainbow’s cheeks. “Yeah. I mean, Twilight has the library, but it’s not really all hers, see? But I’d get this little bungalow, maybe with a couple extra bedrooms in it. And then we could move in together. And if she wanted we could get married or something. Like, if she’d be cool with that, I mean,” Rainbow clarified, before rubbing that stupid itch on her wings against the stupid itchy comfy couch.
Twilight Velvet broke out into a huge, amazing smile that made Rainbow feel like she’d just done three Rainbooms at the same time. And suddenly Twilight’s mom was hugging her, tighter and warmer than Rainbow could ever remember being hugged. She keened a little and nuzzled into the softness of Twilight Velvet’s neck, pressing herself into this strange comfort.
The front door opened and slammed shut. Rainbow couldn’t care less. Something in this bear hug made the rest of the world less important, at least for now. Hoofsteps came closer, and Rainbow finally looked up from her constant nuzzling, bleary.
Twilight Sparkle’s dad closed his gaping jaw with a crisp snap. And Twilight Sparkle took a single, hesitant step forward, looking quizzically at her mother and her girlfriend. “What’s going on?” she asked, her mouth halfway smiling, her forehead showing clear signs of confusion.
[TIME]
Twilight’s Parents’ living room was pretty cool.Watery, but cool. Two more sets of forelegs and familiar, well-trimmed claws had snaked their way around Rainbow’s shoulders and back, adding even more warmth, even more softness. Twilight’s family … no, their family was the best thing ever. And the rest of the world could wait for a while.
Author's Note
Prompt 503: The fourth child.
Because Twilight's parents are super new-agey, they just randomly adopt their children's paramours. Or something. Also, this was written well before Daring Don't aired and utterly destroyed IDW's canon of Twilight's mom writing the Daring Do books. Curses.
The knocking on the library door was too fast, too happy to be anypony but Pinkie Pie. Twilight initialled off another sub-addendum and scanned the next paragraph of new tax code on the off-chance it wasn’t related to the last fifteen clauses and would be a good place to stop. The knocking continued.
“With you in a minute!” Twilight hollered, wading through sticky layers of legal subtext to make sure the new laws wouldn’t further some shadow-pony’s agenda. After a third reading, it cleared her inspection, and she added a crisp T.S. to Line 246.a.a. A pink hoof waved in front of her eyes impatiently and she marked her spot with a quill end and sagged quite happily into Pinkie’s lap.
“I waited a minute and let myself in,” Pinkie admitted, her wonderful blue eyes sparkling with a playful pride.
“And just in time to save me from another twelve pages of semantics, too,” Twilight teased, tickling Pinkie’s tummy with the point of her horn. “My hero.”
Pinkie sniggered and wrapped her forelegs around Twilight in a secure snuggle. “You won’t believe what happened on my lunch break,” she began, and from the manic joy that tingled through her voice, Twilight knew this was what had brought Pinkie over to the library half an hour early.
“Alright, I’ll bite. What happened?”
“Rarity told Applejack she loved her and then Applejack said she loved Rainbow Dash and then Rarity said she was open-minded and patient and then Fluttershy said that she and Rainbow were kinda-sorta-maybe-dating right now and you know that totally means they are and then …”
Twilight held up a hoof for silence and shuffled around to face Pinkie. “Hold up for a second, Pinkie,” she said. “Could you run it by me a little bit slower?” Pinkie nodded brightly.
“Rarity said she loves Applejack. Applejack said she loves Rainbow Dash. With me so far?” Twilight nodded. “Rarity said she was open-minded…” Pinkie’s grin became a little less innocent.
Twilight smirked. “Making note of that for later uses?” Pinkie nodded unabashedly before clearing her throat.
“So then Fluttershy walked over and said…” Pinkie drooped the slightest bit. Twilight waited patiently for Pinkie to get into character. “Umm, Applejack? I didn’t mean to listen in on your conversation, but, well, the thing is, Rainbow and I are kind of … trying out dating each other right now…” Pinkie threw some switch in her head and popped right back to her normal, easy joy. “And then they all started talking about boundaries, and they mentioned that they’d all be talking to Dashie tomorrow, since it’s her off-day.”
Twilight blinked. “Wow.” She thought for a little bit longer, her lips moving silently as she worked through Pinkie’s retelling again. She shoved Pinkie playfully with a wing, smiling in disbelief. “You’re really good at this, Pinkie,” she half-chuckled. “Crazy good at this.” Pinkie’s sunny grin only grew wider, until Twilight almost shaded her eyes against it.
Twilight forced her lips into a frown, although she knew it was the fakest thing ever. “That’s the last time I wager against you on love stuff,” she grumbled. “What do I owe you?”
Pinkie leered and leaned in close. “Later,” she whispered, and Twilight shivered slightly in giddy anticipation.
Author's Note
Prompt 519: One love confession at a time, please!
Basically, Twilight and Pinkie are the most childish couple ever here. They bet on everything and have a great time hanging out. And no, Pinkie did not use Pinkie Sense for this. That would be cheating.
Scootaloo shook her hair into its normal, unruly state and peered through the door anxiously. The sliver of room she could see was full of dazedly bored fillies and colts, slouching at their desks as their teacher droned on. She fidgeted with the flight goggles around her neck, making sure they lay just enough off-kilter that she looked like she didn’t really care how she looked. Sure, her personal stylists would go off the wall, but she wasn’t here for them. She wasn’t really here for herself, either.
“... And now, if you could please put your hooves together, we have a very special guest speaker today,” The teacher said, finally sounding excited about something. She glanced at the door nervously, and Scootaloo walked in, pushing the door aside with a mix of humility and coolness that had taken weeks of practice to perfect. She grinned a little as the entire classroom sat up straighter, as unicorns, pegasi and earth ponies alike whispered to each other in awed excitement, as their bright young eyes sparkled, starstruck. Yep, still got the magic. She cleared her throat when she reached the teacher’s desk and the room went completely silent. A bead of sweat trickled down her neck and she shifted, minutely.
Crowds were fine by now. HUndreds upon hundreds of ponies watching her every move was so commonplace by now that Scootaloo barely gave it a second thought. But 17 children who looked up to her? Absolutely terrifying. The pressure of the situation prickled across Scootaloo’s chest like static, and she barely kept herself from running.
“So I guess a couple of you have heard of me, then?” She began. The smattering of awkward laughter that followed her cheesy joke helped her find her center and pull her game face on. She chuckled lightly and swept over the crowd of fascinated students, meeting each one eye to eye for slightly less than a second. “You start a new organized sport and suddenly everypony knows your name or something…” A few more sniggers from that line. Perfect. She had their attention.
“So yeah, even I’ll admit I’ve done some pretty cool stuff,” she continued, “but that’s not why I’m standing here in front of you all.” She paused a second and waited for that to sink in. “See, I’m here today for a bigger reason than athletics. I’m here today to tell you a story.
“See, when I was a filly, around your age, I was bullied, I was harassed, I was humiliated … because I didn’t have a cutie mark.” Cue the dramatic gasping, like always. “I was one of the last three little ponies to get mine, actually. And it was hard.”
She’d started pacing and reminded herself to slow down. Motion helped her talk, helped her think, but too much would distract the students from her story - Sweetie’d said so, and Sweetie knew more about audiences than anypony else Scootaloo knew. So she kept it as mild as she could.
“Because it wasn’t just my Cutie Mark that was late in coming. I couldn’t fly, either. I could barely hover when I was nine years old, and I hated that I was so weak, so helpless… I felt broken, a lot of the time. Like there was something wrong with me and that’s why I was still a blank-flank. I felt like the world was spitting on me and I deserved it.
“I had some friends, though. They were actually the other two blank-flanks in the schoolroom. We’d get into trouble all the time, by trying things out as our special talent, or just by being the crazy kids we were.” Scootaloo stopped herself entirely and grinned at the class. “How many of you listen to Sweetie Belle?” she asked. About half of the students’ hooves shot into the air. “Would you believe that she was one of my blank-flanked friends?” Cue more shocked gasping.
“She and my other friend Apple Bloom … You know, the inventor?” More nods. “The three of us were almost done with school when we finally figured out what we wanted to do. And look at us now, yeah? We’re doing alright for ourselves, don’t you think?” Even more nods.
“Sometimes I think the reason we took so long to get there was because we never felt safe enough to really try things out. Our sisters and friends, our teachers all couldn’t take us seriously after the first few times we nearly destroyed the town. And somewhere along the line, we stopped taking ourselves seriously, either. The three of us were the Cutie Mark Crusaders, and we could do anything, but time and time again we were shown that we could never do anything well enough.
“It hurt, feeling that way. It hurt, seeing our classmates laughing at our latest attempts, and it hurt when the nastier ones called us names, or called us out, or rubbed their talents in our faces. But eventually, we got there. Eventually, we realized that it didn’t matter if we had our Cutie Marks, so long as we found something to do that brought us joy. We realized that having a cutie mark didn’t make our classmates better than us. And most importantly, we got there. We found our special talents. We got so good at what we loved to do that we became some of the best at what we do, and we want to show any of you late bloomers that it’s alright to take your time.
“So we started the Crusaders Foundation. It’s a nationwide mentoring program designed to help fillies and colts who don’t know what they want to do yet. Every pony who applies can explore different interests until they decide which one they really love to do. Then they’re paired with an older pony who shares the interest, and together they experiment with it. That’s why I’m here today, really. To let you know that there’s a place for you if you don’t fit in. There’s a safe place for you to go if you don’t know what you’ll be doing with your life.”
Scootaloo glanced at the wide-eyed young foals in front of her one more time, meeting each of their eyes for slightly less than a second. “The Crusaders Foundation is only a letter away, if you need anything. And we’ll help any way we can.” She glanced at the teacher, cuing with her eyes.
“Does anypony have any questions for Ms. Scootaloo?” The teacher asked. Dozens of young hooves shot in the air. Scootaloo flashed her trademark grin without even thinking. Stuntwork was great, flying was awesome, but this … This is what she was meant to do.
Author's Note
Prompt 526: Now that we have our Cutie Marks, what should we crusade for?
Rarity stared mournfully into a filthy puddle, deep in thought. Her prized mane tumbled down her shoulder in filthy strings, and the rain had left her coat looking shaggy and unkempt. At last , she mused, I look as disgusting as I feel. Another taxi splashed by and sent icy-cold, muddy water flying into her chest and legs. She sighed and glanced at the clock. Another six hours before the next train to Ponyville. Perfect.
She’d missed her friends by minutes; the engine’s smokestack was still barely visible on the horizon when she’d sprinted to the station in the freezing rain. She’d given the station employee her last few ruby shards for his prompt answers, as if throwing gems about would cleanse the icy-cold misery that clung tighter to her body than any rainwater could manage. Material generosity was easy for a pony on the up-and-up. Fling enough wealth around, share enough time, give enough favors out, and the world sees a generous, well-mannered mare. But the moment it really matters, with the ponies who really matter … Rarity’s ears drooped even lower and she sniffled back another tear, remembering her behavior.
--“There’s our good friend Rarity, going down in flames. Isn’t friendship magic!?!”--
Rarity flinched at the stinging memory and rose to her feet, her once-proud neck drooping low. She shuffled, in a daze, towards the hotel she’d booked. Packing up her things was a smart idea. It would give her something to do, and it would ensure she made the train on time. She couldn’t miss this one, she really couldn’t. The sooner she got home, the sooner she could make amends.
Ponies rushed past her, cursing her, jostling her. She couldn’t be bothered, really. If this was the worst Manehattan could do to her now, she’d consider herself lucky. After what she’d done to her closest friends in this city … Please, Rarity. The snide voice of her inner critic send another barrage of almost-tears to Rarity’s eyes. As if the city had anything to do with this? We both know what really happened. Precious little Rarity, reaching for the spotlight. Who cares how many ponies we step on to reach it, hmm?
“Rarity?” Rarity’s head shot up. Somehow in the depths of her despair, she’d ended up at the plaza again. Coco Pommel, Suri’s assistant, looked at her with concern. “Rarity, are you alright?” she asked, taking a hesitant step forward.
Rarity shook her head slowly and turned around. She didn’t want to be here, at the place of her greatest shame. Here, where she’d showed her true colors at last.
“Rarity?” Coco had moved up right beside her, and spoke in a whisper. “Suri doesn’t want me to tell you, but … maybe you should collect your trophy.” Rarity shrugged. So she had won. But what was a golden cup compared to the warmth of friends? Nothing. She began trudging away. “Don’t you care that you won?” Coco asked, plaintively. Like a lost child, reaching for something to understand.
Rarity blinked away the tears in her eyes before they could fall. “I’ve lost everything that matters,” she admitted softly. She finally, finally turned and met Coco’s eyes, a wistful smile on her face. “If you’ve got friends, hold on to them,” Rarity croaked through unshed tears. Coco’s eyes widened. “They’re more precious than any prize, rarer than any diamond. Hold on to them, Coco.” In the distance, a clock tower rang out. Five more hours before the next train out of Ponyville. Five more hours before she could try to do things right.
Author's Note
Prompt 544: Write an AU story where an assumption made in the show turns out to be true.
I'll admit, I thought this had happened in the episode itself. Then it didn't, which was cool, but I started thinking about how it would go if Rarity's friends had actually rage-quit. It was a fun writing experiment.
The excitement in Twilight’s voice was almost palpable as she led them through the crowded streets. “The Metropolitan Art Museum has the largest collection of ancient Roaman statuary in the world! Not to mention the exhibit on Mesopony and Paleopony death masks.” Her eyes sparkled with a childlike joy Applejack knew all too well. Twi had torn through three different guidebooks on the train in, and the ‘Metro had probably shown up in all of ‘em. So of course Twilight would wanna see it. It was a great museum. Applejack knew that all too well, really. Just like the street they turned onto, and the elegant brownstones that stretched on towards the stately marble building. Applejack swallowed guiltily and found herself counting down numbers.
257 … 255 … 253 … At the curve of the road, her eyes were drawn to 199, third story. Velvety red curtains still hung in the bow window, glinting with reflected sunlight. Her tail twitched and her ears flicked.
“ … And, Fluttershy! I know you’ll just love the watercolors exhibit,” Twilight was saying. “There’s some of the greatest nature scenes and close-up animal portraits ever made there. They’ve somehow gotten almost every original of J.W. Plower’s western landscapes, and all of Odd Bun’s work with birds.”
Applejack had half-skittered to the far side of the walkway as they passed 199. She kept her breathing calm, though, and looked at everything but steps leading to the front door.
“Young ladies do not say ‘ain’t’, Applejack. Why, I’ve not heard such crude and boorish language since Clem’s wedding…” Applejack jolted upright as she caught her name on the wind, and looked around. She found Rainbow Dash, staring at her with protective concern.
“Applejack? You cool?” Applejack shrugged with a little smirk, although her eyes darted nervously to number 199. Dash’s concern shifted slowly to understanding, and she trotted up to where Twilight explained the difference between Reneighsance and Bayroque oil paintings to Pinkie.
“Hey, Twilight,” Dash interrupted with a surprising gentleness. “I know you’re dead-set on the museum, but could we come back later, maybe? The weather’s awesome right now, and I’m itchin’ to check out that big park we saw earlier.”
Twilight looked up at the bright blue sky and smiled, her ears perking up. “You know, Dash, that’s a great idea.” Applejack could almost see the gears shifting behind her eyes, and the childlike glee came back in full force. “Just wait ‘till you girls see the botanical gardens. They will blow your minds! The Public Gardens have one of the only living Griffons’ Friend flowers in captivity. It’s kinda gross to think about, but the Griffons’ Friend is called that because it puts out the aroma of rotting meat, which tends to attract both insects to help pollinate it and smaller scavengers that make up a good part of most forest-dwelling griffon’s diets …”
Twilight was taking the lead, probably off of some map she’d memorized. The tension melted away from Applejack’s back and shoulders with each block they put between themselves and those brownstone buildings. She smiled gratefully at Dash, who’d come back to walk beside her. Dash rolled her eyes and bumped playfully into Applejack’s side in return. Applejack almost looked back to catch one last glimpse of number 199 Museum blvd. before it disappeared into the forest of stately old buildings, but she kept her head forward and her eyes to the sky. Rainbow was right: The weather was wonderful. The combined smells of thousands of flowers wafted along on the breeze as the wide, green gardens came into view.
Author's Note
Prompt 546: What were the others doing in Manehattan while Rarity was busy with Fashion Week?
I have it in my head that Applejack had the worst time in her life staying with Aunt and Uncle Orange. They're this rich couple who've never had children and don't know how to deal with them. I see Applejack as having gone there after her parent's funeral, trying to find another, less painful way of living, while Aunt and Uncle Orange are taking this opportunity to 'fix the mistake' Clementine Apple nee Orange had made marrying into the Apple Clan. Complicated, but there you are.
Applejack winced as something thudded and tumbled downstairs. “Nothing broke!” Twilight yelled up a few seconds later. Applejack smiled and felt her shoulders relax. From the sound it had made, Twilight had probably dropped great-aunt Peel’s victrola. Would have been a shame to lose such a fine machine to clumsiness.
“Hey Twi?” Applejack called back, turning her attention to the bedroom and, more specifically, to the tiny bonsai bush cradled in one of her forelegs. “Is there anywhere in particular I should put Tranquil-stream-flows-down-the-mountain?” The teeny plant had been an anniversary gift from Pinkie, and was at least twice as persnickety as any of the trees on the Acres… but Applejack liked the challenge of it.
“Anywhere’s fine,” Twilight answered when she’d reached the top of the staircase. “Pinkie? You want help with those curtains?” Twilight brushed by Applejack, throwing in more wing contact than was strictly necessary. Applejack shivered in delight and made a note to get Twilight back somehow.
“Y’sure about that, Twi? I don’ wanna interrupt your workflow or whatnot,” Applejack said, glancing around for surfaces near the windows, but not too near. Twilight turned around with a playfully exasperated smile on her face.
“Really, AJ, it’s fine,” she promised. “Just put her wherever you think she’ll be happy.”
“Alright, then,” Applejack mused, looking again. She finally placed Tranquil-stream on the far side of the nightstand and fidgeted with the pot until her leaves were getting just enough of the afternoon sunlight.
“Oh, that’s nice,” Twilight almost moaned. Applejack sighed -- she knew that tone of voice intimately.
“Please tell me the two of you aren’t …” Applejack began, half-threatening.
“Yeppers! Tootally rolling in the sheets!” Pinkie crowed. The two of them burst out into hushed giggles, and Applejack turned around to see exactly what her girlfriends were up to. Two tousled heads poked out from a pile of every sheet and blanket Twilight owned. Applejack shook her head. They only giggled like that when one of them was being clever with words.
Twilight smiled bashfully and held up two forelegs tangled in thick, red cloth. “Applejack, what do you think of the flannel ones?” Applejack checked the door was more-or-less closed before she trotted over, smirking slightly. She nuzzled at the fabric and found it soft and cozy; exactly what she’d want to be sleeping on tonight.
“I think I like it,” she admitted, “But I may have to join y’all in a full immersion experience to be completely sure.” Pinkie giggled as Applejack tackled her into the body-warmed mass of bedclothes and wrestled playfully for a while, nuzzling into Pinkie’s chest while her hooves tangled into Pinkie’s mane and massaged the lithe muscles beneath her soft coat and wonderful layer of pudge. Pinkie giggled and nipped at Applejack’s ear, then careened mercilessly into a tour of any and every spot where Applejack was still ticklish. Eventually they came to a natural truce, breathing in satisfied pants. Then Pinkie got a mischevious glimmer in her eye and twitched ever-so-slightly toward Twilight, who watched them happily. Applejack gave a barely-perceptible nod and squirmed, wriggled her way through the sea of cloth until she’d reached Twilight’s side.
“Well,” Applejack began, “I think the flannel is probably the way to go. Pretty darn soft, though not nearly as soft as this.” And while Twilight’s face still registered confusion, Applejack nosed into her wing, getting a wonderful faceful of downy-soft feathers. Twilight’s eyes unfocused and her mouth moved soundlessly. With a sinfully wicked chuckle, Pinkie began working her magic up and down Twilight’s neck in little licks and nibbles. Twilight whimpered from the dual sensations, desperately trying to wrap her hooves around the both of them.
--TIME--
“Hey, you guys gonna be ready for dinner --” Whatever Spike had been carrying had fallen to the ground, and Twilight stiffened as if she’d been electrocuted. Applejack was out of the tangle in seconds and gently herded Spike out the door. She sat down next to him in the stairwell and sighed as he leaned into her.
“Sorry you had to see that, Spike,” she began. His little claws wrapped around her chest. “Musta been around eight times, I’d need to ask Mac a question and I’d see things I ought’nt.” They sat in silence for a while, until Spike’s breathing had evened out. “So to keep it from happening again, it’s real important that you remember to knock before you walk into the room like that, okay, Spike?” Applejack felt him nod against her, and she nuzzled the top of his head gently. His scales felt smooth a silk against her chin.
“Alright, Spike. You feeling better?” He nodded again, stronger this time. “Now I seem to recall you sayin’ something about dinner, right?” Another nod. “So how’s about I teach you the recipe for that cream sauce you like so much?”
Spike pulled back and looked at her with wide eyes. “Applejack, last time I asked you you said it was a secret!”
Applejack grinned and ruffled his crest. “Last time you asked was different, Spike. You weren’t family back then.”
Author's Note
Prompt 550: Two or more of the Mane Six move in together.
I think these ponies are now my favorite threesome ever. Not much more to say here.
It was a rare sight, seeing Rainbow Dash awake before the sunrise. Applejack looked Dash over as she forced her hair into its usual ties. Dash looked crisp in her dress uniform, her hooves buffed to a slight sheen, her medals and awards and rank pins square across her chest. Her hair, now regulation length, had been tamed with a comb over who-knew-how-many minutes. Her eyes … Applejack blinked sleepily and trotted across the bedroom to take a better look. Dash’s eyes were sadder than Applejack had seen in a long, long time.
“Sugarcube, what’s wrong?” Applejack asked. She reached out a foreleg and stroked Rainbow’s neck just above the collar. Rainbow’s face twitched and she swallowed, her ears drooping slightly.
“Listen, AJ,” Dash started nervously, cautiously, “This tour I’m going on …” Her eyes flicked away from Applejack’s for a moment, and her shoulders squared slightly before she once more met Applejack’s eyes. “I’m worried,” Rainbow admitted in a rush, before she swallowed again.
“What’s to be worried about?” Applejack frowned and shifted closer. “You tol’ me it was a diplomatic envoy deal.”
“Look, I don’t actually know, AJ!” Rainbow yelped. “Spitfire’s not telling me anything. I thought I’d get briefed in before I left, but I’m guessing everything’s need-to-know and there’s nothing I need to know yet. We could be doing espionage, special ops, training … I don’t know.” For a tense eternity, all Applejack could hear was the pounding of her own heart. Rainbow cringed toward the ground, studying it intently.
“I don’t know,” Rainbow muttered. “I didn’t want to worry you, but I had to say something.”
Applejack stroked the leading edge of Rainbow’s left wing and watched the muscles twitch and shift. Rainbow let one tiny whimper out of her clenched jaws and leaned in to Applejack’s touch, hard enough that Applejack nearly toppled over. Eventually, Rainbow went to her saddlebags and pulled out something hastily wrapped in brown paper. She set it at Applejack’s feet with a look that made Applejack open it right away.
One of Rainbow’s feathers floated in a jar half-full of liquid rainbow and half-full of a misty cloud. Applejack stared at it for a few seconds before her eyes met Rainbow’s. “What’s this for?” Applejack asked. Her mouth dried up as Rainbow winced, barely visible.
“It’s called Fortune’s Favor. The tradition, at least. Dates back to Commander Hurricane and all that.” Every clipped sentence fell heavily from Rainbow’s trembling lips, as if the words physically hurt her. “It’s … It’s a part of me, Applejack. It’s a little part of me that I’m giving to you. For safekeeping.” Rainbow’s feathers rustled from tremors that ran through her entire body, tense and tight. “Keep it close to you for me, alright?” Rainbow’s eyes were burning into Applejack’s, as focused as a laser, hot as dragonfire. “Take good care of it, to help me stay safe.” Applejack nodded dumbly.
Rainbow pointed at the jar as it sat, many-colored raindrops and tiny thunderbolts flying around inside it. “That’s my heart, Applejack,” Rainbow said, smiling a little. But just barely. “That’s my heart, to stay here with you. That’s my heart, and it’s yours until I come back for it, and for you.”
Applejack could barely force the question past her dry-rot tongue, but the words had to be said. “...And if ya don’t come back?”
Rainbow cringed again and gave a horrible, twisted little smile. “Then you have something to bury,” she whispered.
Applejack threw herself into Rainbow and their lips met in a desperate, clingy, teary kiss. She stroked Rainbow’s damp cheek, nuzzled into Rainbow’s hair and breathed in her stormcloud-and-pepper scent, memorized the contours of Rainbow’s skull with her mouth, the sound of Rainbow’s soft sobs with her ears, and finally, finally stepped back.
“You be careful now,” Applejack commanded. Her voice sounded like she’d drowned, all wavery and full of bubbles. “I’m expecting this to be a loan.”
Rainbow saluted and flew out her bedroom window. Applejack watched her until the rising sun made her impossible to spot. Then she picked up the little jar full of rainbow and cloud and watched the miniature storm rage on until Apple Bloom threatened to break her door down.
Author's Note
Prompt 553: Giving somepony a gift that resembles your cutie mark has a special meaning.
Have some AppleDash light-angst.
Rarity awoke to a cold, empty bed. The duvet beside her still held the telltale wrinkles that were par for the course, and the dented pillow beside her still held the faint, alluring aroma of sweat and fresh rain. She found the bathroom to be just as empty, the bottles of hair product and perfume untouched, the shower curtain still dry. And no sound came from downstairs.
Still, with the uncrushable optimism that came from living with the highs and lows of popular fashion, she trotted into her workspace and looked around, checking the couch and kitchen for a glimpse of blue or that telltale mane. Only the wine glasses from last night greeted her, glinting dimly from the dishrack. Not hide nor hair nor feather of the brash aerobat could be found.
She distractedly threw on a base of makeup, just some eyeshadow and a ghost of blush, enough to be presentable to the world. Then she was straight out the door, searching the clear morning skies through her misty breaths, the light snowfall crunching below her hooves. Breakfast could wait, as could the backlog of custom orders put in place for the early Spring debuts. What she and Rainbow had was about comfort and stability, and this sudden change in routine was a warning sign, almost a cry for help. Rainbow Dash had caught her so many times, saved her more than anypony could know, and it was clearly time to return the favor. Time to step up and help before the ugly fear of a freefall could catch up to Dash’s fearless, free spirit.
The dirt road to Sweet Apple Acres, although clear of the snow that dusted Ponyville, was freezing. A zinging ache set into Rarity’s hooves and spiked with each step, causing her to shudder and shiver as she passed the last of the dormant trees and reached the barn. Sure as the sun was out, so was Applejack, checking over her brother’s plow with a practiced eye.
“Well, Rarity, I sure wasn’t expecting you,” she greeted, letting it rest against the wall. “What can I do ya for?”
Rarity smiled and stamped her feet a bit. “I was wondering if you’d seen Rainbow this morning,” she hedged. “I think something’s bothering her, and I know how she goes to you for advice sometimes.”
Applejack shook her head. “T’weren’t me she went to for advice today, sugarcube.” Her bright green eyes clouded with worry. “I saw her on her way to Fluttershy’s ‘round about sunrise.”
Rarity thanked her and went on her way, worry compounded. If this were a ‘Fluttershy-grade’ problem, then Rainbow must be in quite a state. She sped up to a brisk trot, ideas bouncing around her skull like vengeful hornets. What if I caused this? Am I pushing her too far? Does she want out? Am I not enough ny more? Or a more sobering possibility - Has she found somepony? As much as she was content with their arrangement, Rarity was becoming far too used to seeing that confident, open grin in the mornings, with a husky greeting and a few minutes of relaxed cuddling. When Rainbow had approached her with those feelings of loneliness and worthlessness months ago it had been a favor, freely given. But now, it had become a comfort, a vice, a way of life. It was hard to tell who needed it more, sometimes. And she would gladly end it for Dash’s happiness, but it would take a while to feel herself again should that happen.
She knocked politely, then insistently, on Fluttershy’s door. Finally, after several minutes of nervous waiting, the door creaked open to reveal Fluttershy, concerned and on edge.
“Oh, Rarity? What are you doing here?”
“Is Rainbow here? I need to talk to her about things.” Fluttershy’s ear twitched at that, and she ushered Rarity in with a faint, mysterious smile. Rainbow sat at a table with an abandoned tea set, drooping with a heavy melancholy. Rarity approached slowly, as she would Opal on a bad day. “Rainbow? Are you alright, dear?”
Dash’s head snapped up to meet her, those lovely scarlet eyes of hers brimming with tears and a strange intensity, somehow familiar. “Rarity, I-I’m sorry, about this morning,” she stammered, flushing. It was odd for this much emotion to show freely on the pegasus’s face. “I needed to get out and think... I’m not sure we should do this anymore.”
Rarity took a deep, calming breath and forced back the impending tears. If this is how she wants it, this is how she gets it. “Whyever not?” she choked out.
“Look, Rarity, I know what this is for us, for you... And I’m really sorry, but I’ve... I mean, I think I’m...” She trailed off, swallowing heavily.It finally clicked, where she had seen eyes like that before. A year ago, with a young dragon in freefall, about to profess his love. Rainbow steeled herself, the fire that Rarity had come to respect and love filling her eyes. “Rarity, I think I love you. Sorry.”
“I know, darling,” she murmured, moving closer to within striking distance. “I think we’ve been headed that way for a while, Dash.” She surprised rainbow with a soft, chaste kiss, a simple reassurance. “And I wouldn’t have it any other way.” Perhaps I can’t catch you, Dash. Perhaps I don’t have to. Perhaps, together, we can fly.
Author's Note
This was written for prompt # 242; "Whatever happened to Rainbow Dash?"
“You brushed your teeth and your homework’s all packed up? Yeah, that deserves a story alright. What d’ya want to hear? You want a story about Apple Bloom? Yep, I reckon I got one of them hanging around for ya. Alright, here’s how it goes...”
One day, Apple Bloom was going into the Everfree forest to visit her friend Zecora. Yeah, that’s right. The zebra. So anyhow, she’s going along the path, all alone, when she hears this awful din. There was somethin’ caterwauling and wailing to wake the dead. She goes off the trail and follows the sound, and what does she find but little baby manticore, all caught up in a thornbush.
“Is this story true, mama?” “‘Course it is, sweetpea. I’m telling it, right?” “But you said she met a manticore. There aren’t any manticores that aren’t in zoos.” “Remember, this is from back in the before, when we still had the Everfree. Manticores ran free back then.”
Now, manticores didn’t have the best reputation, since they tended to try and eat ponies on seeing ‘em. But the thing that was great about your Auntie Apple Bloom was that she looked, she listened, and she made her own judgements on what she saw and heard. And she took one look at that manticore, and she didn’t see no monster. She saw a lil’ bitty baby, lost and hungry and hurt. So she calmed it down and worked it outta that bush, slow and steady-like. And she decided right then and there that she was gonna raise it.
So she comes back to the old home place, ‘bout two hours late for dinner. I had already decided she was getting a talking to, with her crazy ways, when she walks right on in, scratched up from branches and thorns, with her new pet on a piece of rope. I just about lost it at that, lemme tell ya. She talked me down and explained her crazy scheme to me, and I eventually saw some reason. I went and talked to Fluttershy about giving her help with it, but your Auntie was dead set on taking care of that little fella on her own. She spent three hours a day working with him on obedience, and by the end of the third month, we had one heck of a guard-animal. And he was loyal to her, too. Woulda followed her to the end of the earth. He was her closest companion for nigh on two years, all because she stopped to help ‘im out in the first place. That’s the way things went in the before. Now you should be getting to sleep, sweetheart.”
“Why don’t you tell any Apple Bloom stories from these days, mama?” “I don’t have any, sugar.” “What happened to her?” “Why’re you asking so many questions? Have you been talking to Twilight lately? I knew I had a smart little daughter.” “But what happened to her?” “That’s a story for another time, sweetpea. I promise I’ll tell you when you’re older, but right now you wouldn’t understand it all. It’s a scary story, and it doesn’t have much by a happy ending. Some day I’ll let you know, but for now, I think we’ll stick to the happy ones. G’night, sugarcube. Sweet dreams.”
Author's Note
The prompt: "Somepony tells a bedtime story."
This is one where I suffered for time, rushing to submit it before the deadline closed. And it shows, I think in the half-complete hints toward greater things. I may go back and flesh this out more at a later date.
“My students have been all aflutter about their costumes. It’s almost all they talk about right now, the little dears.”
“That’s... nice, mama.”
“And, well, can you blame them? Nightmare night is a good excuse for them to meet their neighbors and eat more candy than their little stomachs can handle. I know it drives the parents off the wall, but it’s all in good spirit, don’t you think?”
“I actually... well, I really, really don’t like Nightmare Night all that much, mother.”
“Whyever not, sweetie?”
“Well, the children are loud and noisy and grabby, and they always startle me with their little chants, and they won’t leave me alone, and Rainbow Dash always takes it as an excuse to do all her best pranks, and nopony is who they actually are, and it’s all a bit... overwhelming.”
“Well, that’s the whole point of Nightmare night, Little Wing. You get to pretend to be somepony you’re not. It’s the one night of the year when you can try to be different, when you can take silly risks and go wild, and nopony will judge you for it. Because they’re all going just as crazy, being just as free.”
“......Um, I guess I can see that.”
“Think about it, Little Wing. It’s the one night when you don’t have to be sweet, timid little Fluttershy. You could be a warrior princess, or a manticore slayer, or even Sapphire Shores. It could be fun, being a sexy, confident mare for a little while. And the next morning, you’d go about your business as normal and nopony would mention it again. See what I mean?”
“Yes. That could be … fun, I think. A lot of fun, really.”
“So, Little Wing, what are you going to be?”
“I didn’t think much about it, mama. I was kinda planning on sitting alone in my house and hoping nopony came by to visit...”
“If that’s how you want to spend it, I won’t stop you, sweetheart. Whatever makes you happy.”
“Well, actually... umm...”
“Yes, Fluttershy?”
“Could you maybe help me put something together tonight? After supper?”
Author's Note
The Prompt: "Mom's favorite holiday". Special Rule: Celestia may not be featured.
Not much to say about this one. As a personal challenge, I wrote it dialogue only...
It certainly wasn't any natural wildfire that brewed in the distant horizon. But this was the Everfree, so we should've figured as such. Our emergency rain clouds did nothing to quench the hungry flames, and our attempts to study it any closer left us burnt feathers and blistered wings. The wall of fire rushed on towards Ponyville, stopping for none, consuming all. It ignored its headwind, travelling at a blinding, terrible, steady pace. We had at most a quarter of an hour before it hit.
Rainbow Dash, as ever, remained calm in the crisis. She sent us out to form evac routes from the moment we knew it was going wrong. She went from team to team, shouting and shepherding the throng of civilians to move out and get safe. She sent letters to Celestia through Ms. Sparkle's dragon and rounded up her hero friends. If anyone could stop this ungodly conflagration, it would be them.
We watched in awe as the six of them checked every building for anyone unable or unwilling to leave. They loaded us up with town records, canned food from basements, rare books from the library. And still their work wasn't done. They emptied out the hospital while the terrible fire showed on the horizon.
Sweet Apple Acres was long gone, and Fluttershy's cottage full of wildlife was'nt long for this world. She and Applejack had grimly chased the animals they could find out of Qhotetail woods and toward the distant plateaus that would be safe from the flames. For once, Fluttershy had no time to spend on gentleness, snarling and shouting and head butting any stragglers with a determined glare etched onto her angelic face. It no longer seemed so strange that she could shout dragons into submission.
The flames writhed and stretched unnaturally, reaching for the buildings of Ponyville with fiery talons. And they bade us farewell with a smile and a salute before turning back, shoulder to shoulder in grave camaraderie. The last we saw of them, they were facing down that wall of fire, defiant till the end. Their power should have moved the very world like on any other day, and for a minute we thought they would pull through as the cursed fire grew smaller, contained by their wit and ingenuity.
The rest is ashes, blown on the wind.
Author's Note
The Prompt: "Fifteen minutes. A quarter of an hour. That’s all the time I have, so I have to make every second count."
Yet another one where I was racing the submission clock. Not much else to say here.
Pinkie Pie could do almost anything. She knew because years ago, Granny Pie had told her so. And she knew so because she had done so many of them. She could throw a party like nopony’s business. She could decorate the Throne Room in a matter of minutes. She could reset a broken bone, although thankfully that wasn’t needed much. She could pull a smile from the most dejected pony, juggle fifteen kumquats while riding a unicycle, change diapers, write a song for any occasion as she sung it, and even herd elephants, if the situation called for it. The list of things Pinkie could do, even if Twilight wrote it out in her smallest hornwriting, would go on for miles. But Every single one of them was useless right now. Every single thing she knew she could do was pointless, because of one big thing.
Pinkie Pie could never get a heart to start beating again. She knew this because years ago, Granny Pie had showed her so. No bargaining, no Pinkie Sense, no parties or cupcakes could get the blood and life to start flowing again once it stopped like this. Pinkie sighed and gently, reverently, pushed Angel Bunny’s eyelids closed and crossed his tiny forelegs across his chest. It had been a tough few days around Fluttershy’s cottage when he finally gave in and showed signs of being ill. And Pinkie had done what she could to help, because she knew how much Fluttershy loved Angel Bunny, how much she needed Angel Bunny. Pinkie knew how much Fluttershy could hide from everypony else, how she hated to bother their friends with sad news. And Pinkie knew how Fluttershy could never really say no to her, and so had invited herself into the cottage with pony food and comforting hugs and patient, reverent silence.
Years ago, Pinkie might have kicked something or cried at the noble bunny’s final breath. But she knew better now. Kicking and screaming and wailing never did anything in a case like this. She’d learned that when she got thrown out of the hospital, years ago. So instead she stroked her free hoof through Fluttershy’s greasy, unkempt mane and drew Fluttershy’s limp head closer to her chest. In the past 72 hours, Pinke was almost certain Fluttershy hadn’t slept a wink, instead choosing to sit by Angel Bunny’s bedside, catching every moment she could and holding each second in a deathgrip.
And Pinkie had been by every moment that she could, in those three days, but she still had a job, still had responsibility. But the moment she had gotten that terrible, awful set of twitches, the ones no one else knew about, the ones she hated to feel, that she had learned from Granny Pie all those years ago, she ran out the door and through town, straight towards the Everfree. Her right foreleg had lost feeling slowly as Fluttershy’s sleeping head had crushed it two hours ago. She didn’t dare move that leg, not a single twitch, though. Fluttershy needed as much sleep as she could get for now, before grief and hopelessness would rob her of that simple pleasure.
And Pinkie would be by the cottage much more often, to make sure she ate, she got outside, talked to ponies, made her appointments … the things Angel had done. Broken hearts weren’t easy to fix, but it could be done. And Pinkie was going to take care of Fluttershy the best she could. After all, she had a Pinkie Promise to a certain bunny to keep in mind.
Author's Note
The Prompt: "There are some things Pinkie Pie can't fix."
Lemme guess here... You screwed up real bad and your special somepony won't look you in the eye, right? And when they do, you can't stand it. They've got that look in their eyes, that hateful, sad look. How do I know? Cause I know that face you're making. I've made it a lot myself, through the years.
And you're chasing the wrong cloud if you want me to tell you everything gets better, that it all goes away. That look in their eyes never leaves you, lady. It may leave their eyes, they may forgive you, but you're scarred. Marked. That look will never leave you, and you will never forgive yourself. Not all the way.
You'll probably be careful about it all, but the moment you slip, they'll find out. Broken trust is hard to rebuild, and the guilt of everything will drive you halfway insane sometimes. And with every hug, every hello, every 'I love you' you'll bee on watch for that look, checking to see if they believe you. To see if they're disgusted at you. No, lady, it never goes away. But it gets better.
Now, I'm guessing it had to be real bad, 'cause I can't think of any good reason a nice mare like yourself would be trying to catch the 1:00 redeye outta 'Filly. And I'm gonna tell you right now to take your bags and turn around while you still can. Don't give me that look, lady. Do you know what 'forgive and forget' is all about? Yeah, I agree that's a load of bullcrap. Scratch the forget part. If your stallion or mare really loves you, you'll get a second chance. It won't be easy, it won't be pretty, and there'll be a lot of venom and a whole world of hurt to go through. But it'll be worth it in the end if you push through. If you dust yourself off and try again, the real magic can happen.
If you turn around and face up to whatever it is you've done, you apologize and all, you have a chance. You might scream, you'll probably shout, you'll cry, you'll kick something, and with all good luck, you'll kiss and make up. Now, you remember what I said about those eyes, that look? It'll haunt you for years, but not all ghosts are bad.
I'll be the first to admit I'm not the best of mares, and I certainly can't get on my high horse about anything. I lost that right years ago. If you read tabloids, you've probably seen that. And when I'm out on business or I have a long tour, things'll start happening that are bad, things I know I shouldn't be doing. And I almost let them. I'm drawn to the idea of corruptness, for doing exactly what I shouldn't, of feeling the old thrill of taboo. My whole body starts clamoring for it, fighting over right and wrong. But then I think of her eyes and that disappointed look, and everything goes away.
I think of her heartbroken pity and shame and hurt, and I know right away what I should be doing, where I should be to make sure it never happens again.
You have a chance to make this work. And that's the best thing in the world. Maybe it won't work out, but you should at least try. If you run now, you'll be running whenever there's trouble. Don't do that. Don't make my mistake.
Author's Note
The Prompt: "The look in their eyes never leaves you."
This one came across much more clearly in my head than it did upon writing it, and I was pushing it in the direction of the Twinyl continuity I have simmering on backburner. Looking back, it's much too unclear for that and stands much better on its own.
“Hello again, ‘princess’,” Itsneered. Twilight shut her eyes, hid in the safety of the darkness behind her lids. “It seems we’ve gotten cocky since my last visit, isn’t that right, Sparkle?” Its seductive, lilting, taunting voice dripped with disdain as sweet and thick and sickening as a cold tincture. “We’ve gotten all righteous and perfect and lovable because we have wings now, eh, Sparkle?” Twilight cringed down further, shielding her head with a shaking foreleg, her eyes still closed, still safe from it.
“Well, let me tell you... You haven’t changed a bit.” it crooned. She could almost hear the predatory smirk that had to be on its face. “Maybe you have some extra limbs and a new cause for your sickening entitlement, but you’re still the same arrogant, lonely, insufferable bookworm you always were and always will be. Right, Sparkle?”
The last two words of its little monologue tickled her ear, sent little prickling mites of fear and shame racing down into her spine. She held back a shudder and curled up tight, with that nasty electric ball of negative emotions caged in her chest, fighting to move. She couldn’t let it happen. She couldn’t let it see its effect on her, even if she already knew it would know. It always knew, in the end.
“N-n-no,” she choked out, her eyes still shut. “I’m n-n-n-not the … same mare I was. I’m better now...”
“Reeally now, Sparkle,” It purred, prowling around behind her. Her feathers picked up the wake it left in the still air, not even an inch from her rigid, fetal pose. “And what in Equestria makes you say that?”
“I have friends now,” she whispered, fervent as any prayer. “I have friends and they make me better.” Her courage finally stirred and showed its head, moving sluggishly up her frigid, tingling spine and bringing with it the warmth of love, of home, of the Sun. “I have friends, and they love me. They tell me when I’m wrong and help me become right again. They find me when I’m lost and trust me to do the same. They give me courage and strength, and they give me a place in the world, one that I helped carve out. They stand beside me and show me how to stand on my own.”
She uncurled her wings from around her sides and moved into a sitting position. She still slumped, but there was a dignity to her drooping that hadn’t existed before. But still her eyes stayed shut. They had to be shut, because she couldn’t stand to see what it truly was.
It had always been there in her head, the little, snide voice that drew her away from the world and into her studies, that drove her to be the best with no exceptions, no distractions. The voice that spurred her towards greatness, but that scolded and insulted her, that tore down what tattered confidence she had left when she did something wrong. It was the voice that had shown her the way to power, that had hatched Spike. But it was also the voice that told her what a show-off she would be, going against Trixie. The voice that told her how fickle her newfound ‘friends’ really were. The voice that spoke of banishments and dungeons and magic kindergarten. The voice that gave in to Discord’s games. The voice that reminded her, over and over, how truly unprepared she was for anything important.
And it had been just that, a voice. Heard, but not seen. And it had stayed that way until the Crystal Empire, when she truly saw what it was. That voice was a part of her. Regal, disdainful, with a greyed-out coat and eyes that shone with Shadow magics, with her face, her Mark, her identity. And so she stayed brave behind her closed eyes and sat a little straighter.
“Excuse me, Sparkle? You have friends?” It chuckled. “Please! They’re not your friends, they’re just another hand-out from the Princess. You don’t stand on your own hooves, she props you up with these fake companions and continues to run your life and your fate.
“They’re not friends, Twilight. They’re your fellow Elements of Harmony. They couldn’t hate you if they tried. It’s sad, really. The six of you, tied together by destiny, stuck together for the rest of their pithy mortal lives so that Celestia can have her little watchdogs.”
Twilight sank down again, stroking her tail compulsively as she shivered openly on the ground. “No... no... no...” She whimpered, over and over and over. It snickered as it paced around her again, sending fresh shudders down her wings as tears seeped through her tightly shut eyelids. “It’s just a dream, just a dream, just a dream,” Twilight murmured, trying her hardest to take control of it , to just this once have some sway over it in the battle for her unconscious mind.
“But dreams are truths themselves, are they not, Twilight Sparkle?” It sneered. Princess Luna had told her that once, and those very words were tainted by its poisoned tongue. It chuckled and caressed her tearstained muzzle with a gentle hoof. Twilight tasted bile in the back of her throat, hot and bitter and repulsive. “Your so-called friends and you are tied together by the Rainbow of Harmony. WIthout it you would still be alone... disgusting … worthless … It’s not friendship you’re feeling, Sparkle. It’s Destiny.”
Twilight whimpered in the cold darkness she sat in, her stomach turning with each smooth stroke of its hoof against her face.
“That is the biggest pile of horseapples I’ve heard, an’ with a sister like mine, that’s sayin’ something,” a voice called out. Applejack! Twilight jerked upright and swiveled her ears desperately.
“Yeah, we don’t care about the Elements,” Rainbow Dash snapped, off to her right. “Twilight’s our friend for more than that, and she knows it!”
“Perhaps the Elements and Destiny played their parts in our meeting her, but we truly care about Twilight for more than that. We see the truly humble, beautiful powerful, tenderhearted mare in her, and we love that Twilight, not just the one who saves the world.” Rarity . Twilight found her legs and shakily stumbled towards their voices, still safe behind her closed eyes.
“Twilight doesn’t have to worry about that Destiny nonsense getting in the way of it. She’s not just our friend, she’s our best friend, you jerk. So don’t you go messing with her pretty little head, or we’ll do much more than yell at you!” Twilight had never heard Pinkie so angry with anything before, and the snarl in her normally bubbly voice was as frightening as it was empowering.
She stumbled over something, but Fluttershy was there with a warm wing to steady her, to guide her towards the others. She leaned into her friend’s cascading, silky mane and chattered her teeth with the shock and pain of it all. “It’s alright, Twilight,” Fluttershy murmured. “Luna got us, told us what was happening.That thing ... that monster … can’t touch you anymore. You’re safe now, I promise.” She nodded and wept and whimpered as Fluttershy guided her to the open arms, the open hearts of her friends, her amazing, beautiful friends.
“Twilight?” Fluttershy continued, soft and gentle and warm. Warm like home, warm like the sun, warm like love. “You can open your eyes now.”
Twilight slowly let her sore and salty lids flutter up and looked around in wonder. The world was light, the world was warmth, and it was nowhere to be found. Instead, her friends crowded ‘round her with smiles and eyes full of warmth and sunlight and love. Everything was alright. Everything was beautiful, Destiny be damned.
Author's Note
Prompt 283: “Don’t you put any stock in this destiny hogwash!”
Mixed feelings on this one. I really liked it at the time of writing, and now I'm not so sure. I may rework it as a full story at some point, because I feel like that would help.
Also, Holy Italics Batman. Not sure I want to try something like that again.
The smell of his mane was wrong. The hints of armor polish and steel shavings and sweat were there, but his sweat was too sharp, too reminiscent of mushrooms and caves and dust. The hairs were too soft, and by the half-moon light the blues seemed a little too green, although it might have been the sleeplessness talking. His mane was all wrong, and she knew it, but Cadence still nuzzled into it, still drank in its scent greedily as she wrapped herself tighter around his broad shoulders. His mane was all wrong, but it was close enough, and she was all wrong, too. She had been for years now.
His breaths were wrong, too. The rythm of them was off, shallower and raspier than they should have been. The sleepy little murmurs came from too far up in the throat instead of the comfortable rumblings she remembered feeling in his warm, soft chest. But that was so long ago. Before... she banished the thoughts with a dark glower and took another defiant whiff of his mane. Wrapped herself more tightly against his solid, fuzzy warmth.
Tonight, under moonlight, he would be gone, the spell would be broken. The white fur would slip away into a black, fibrous exoskeleton, his voice would become many voices with taunting laughter and a sarcastic, fanged smile. That was part of their agreement.
And Cadence was just tired enough that she didn’t care anymore. That she couldn’t care anymore about what was wrong. She was just tired enough that it was almost real. It was close enough.
Author's Note
Prompt 303: The mind makes it real
I can imagine that being the Alicorn of Love and loving a mortal would hurt a bunch. So my brain reminded me that we have changelings around for a reason... I don't even know.
In the arctic darkness, far away from sunlight and warmth and love, he shivered and writhed and cursed the darkness and the cold that held him tight in wintry grasp. Days passed, black as night, years even, as time and thought slowly lost meaning. At some points, the ices shifted in their sleepy way, sending ripples and groans and screams that tore at his hearing and terrified him in the all-consuming black.
Words became useless as time wore on, until he could hardly remember what he had hidden from Time, why he lay in chains beneath the empty, lifeless ice. And ever, ever, the hungry darkness clawed and whispered and nibbled and crooned, seductive and harsh, not the least bit kind or soft. He sighed in sweet surrender and gave himself to the darkness, felt his body eaten into nothingness. He was no longer cold, he was no longer worried about being trapped inside the subzero gaol, for he could feel himself everywhere.
The dark was everywhere, and he was the dark. Mighty, unassailable, all-consuming. This spell would break soon, and victory would be his. He knew it, although he didn’t quite remember what he was fighting for. He thought hard as he nibbled at spells around him, wearing them down a little bit at a time. The spell broke, and he surged for the surface and watched in awe as the sun set. He hated the sun, but could not truly know why. Not anymore.
He called up a wild snowstorm, one to keep him safe from the sun’s burning eye. The cold embraced him like an old lover as he looked around, a feral grin spreading on the face he had formed.
“Crystals,” he murmured, wandering towards the odd warmth and light he felt far away. “Crystals,” he repeated, in wonder. He had remembered. Crystals! Slaves! His for the taking. For he was darkness, all-consuming, and he was everywhere. He would find that warmth and light, and he would make it his, conquer it. It would be his before the sun rose, and all would be darkness. He need not fear the angry sun. Tomorrow would be a great day, all pitch black and freezing. Like him.
Author's Note
Prompt 345: The world is all darkness. Tomorrow will be pitch black.
Maybe? went for both? Anyhow, have some Sombra.
Everything hurts. Throbbing, insistent pain as real and terrifying as the blood soaking through the clouds around her. Her blood. Rainbow Dash shakes her head to try and clear it and nearly loses her measly lunch as a wave of nausea sweepst over her in a tidal wave. Something terrible happened to her right ear this time, from the way it burns when she moves it.
Wings? workable. Legs? All moving, not broken. Ribs? Rainbow sucks in a huge breath and tries not to scream. Cracked. Blood drips down her face from some cut beneath her mane, and she’ll have one hell of a shiner tomorrow.
It wasn’t too surprising, really, what had happened. Somepony... Hoops, probably, had bothered Fluttershy again, and so Rainbow had done her usual thing and roughed up the whole gang of them in return. They’d promised to leave Fluttershy alone after she’d won the race, but they still went at it, and Rainbow’d come into her shared room and see Fluttershy curled up and shivering on her neatly made bed. Nopony got Fluttershy that worked up and got away with it. Not only that, but Rainbow’s honor was at stake. When they messed with ‘Shy like that, it was like they were saying Rainbow’s win didn’t count for anything. And that was almost as bad.
But rooming with ‘Shy had made her softer than she had been, to the point where the bullies could get the jump on her. Used to be, she’d always be ready for them and anything they’d try to dish out. Used to be, Rainbow’d be too fast, too strong, too devious and calculating for them to even touch her. Her dad had taught her all the places where a wing was delicate, all the places where a ribcage could break, all the places where a well-placed kick would leave a pony out cold. It was how life went in the Stacks, hit or be hit. But Fluttershy had shown her how kindness could stop a blow as quickly as a wing-swipe, how a well-placed hug could end an entire fight without a bruise. And so, this time, those five colts had really put her through the ringer.
Rainbow tries to stand, wincing as her bruised and aching foreleg shook and buckled and she landed with an agonizing -whump- in the bloodstained cloudbed.
Hoofsteps. Shadows. Voices.
“Are you alright?”
“I’m fine,” Rainbow snaps, weakly flaring her wings. There’s too many ponies, they’re all too close to her, they won’t shut up and she’s fine, she knows it. But they won’t shut up, and they’re being stupid and they’re questioning her honor. She can stand up fine in a little bit, but she has to do it herself, is all. But now they’re touching her, and she can’t see the sky and she needs to leave, needs them to leave NOW.
“Will you just leave me ALONE?!” Rainbow roars, standing defiantly on four shaking, near-dead hooves. Her voice cracks, but the crowd around her doesn’t laugh or tease, they just back off real quick, just like she wanted. They’ve seen the madness in her eyes and in her bloody, toothy snarl. They see the agressive, muscled wings and not the bruises and cuts that cover them. And she relaxes as they move on their way, leaving her free again. She turns around to revel in the space she has, in the glorious space … and then Rainbow sees her for the first time.
Fluttershy is sitting there - shocked, trembling, hiding behind her mane. Rainbow walks toward her, slow and steady, low to the ground and nonthreatening. Fluttershy starts whimpering, that awful, low whimpering that Rainbow hates. The kind that happens when Hoops or the other bullies have scared her.
“Fluttershy, I …” Anything else Rainbow would’ve said is caught in her throat, caught in the single, terrified turquoise eye that peers out from a shaking curtain of pink hair. Rainbow’s never been good with words, and it’s always been worse with Fluttershy. So instead she tries another approach and reaches out one throbbing, aching, chipped hoof to touch ‘Shy’s shoulder in the way she always does to calm her down.
And When ‘Shy flinches away from her with another damning squeak, Rainbow feels her angry heart drop through her stomach, through the city, onto the Groundside. She almost tosses up again, but the pain has nothing to do with it. Nopony’s allowed to make ‘Shy that scared, not even her. She can’t even make this better. Because ‘SHy’s finally seen exactly how much of a monster Rainbow can be, raw and furious and ugly. Rainbow takes one more burning breath and snorts it out, turning her back on her shaking … friend. Then, cursing her foolishness with each agonizing wingbeat, she sets out, leaves the damned city behind. Cloudsdale holds nothing for her now.
Author's Note
Prompt 351: Be careful what you wish for - you might just get it
Pinkie Pie limbered up her lips with a few silly faces before moving on to the next phase of her morning routine. She unwrapped her damp mane from its towel turban and began smiling at herself in the slightly fogged-up mirror. It wasn’t too strange, really, practicing her smiles. She had so many of them it was hard to keep them straight. But today was important, more important than usual. And she was trying so hard to get one smile in particular. She was lost somewhere in the mix of silly and flirtatious and loving, trying various amounts of each. Because today, she needed to find the smile that Applejack loved so much.
It had been rough for Applejack when Rarity moved away. The two of them hadn’t been suited for the distance, in the end, and Applejack had cried for weeks after they’d ended things. But Pinkie had been there to help her pick things back up again. Pinkie had been there with open ears and as much advice and support as she could fit into their gloomy hours of conversations. With hours of patience and hugs and an alarming amount of tissues and ice cream, Pinkie had helped Applejack through her heartbreak and onto her feet. And then Applejack had asked her out to dinner sometime, and the world had been perfect. And when Rarity had found time to visit, the world had still been pretty good. But it had stopped being perfect when she’d seen the way Rarity and Applejack still looked at each other.
Applejack still loved Pinkie, of course. She’d said it, and she’d meant it, and PInkie knew it was true. But Applejack still loved Rarity, too. And some days, it was harder than it should have been to see which one of them Applejack loved more. It hurt, those days, hurt deep in Pinkie’s chest, all the worse because Pinkie understood. She’d been a farmpony herself, growing up, so she knew how it went. She could still remember the long lonely nights before long days of hard work. She could still remember the constant self-denial in the name of profits, in the name of keeping the farm afloat another season. And she could still remember, with such clarity it frightened her, that the things a farmpony wanted most were the things a farmpony could never really have. And besides, who would settle for silly old, noisy Pinkie Pie when glamorous, aloof, cultured Rarity was just on the horizon, still tragically smitten herself? Who could resist the allure and guilty, dark pleasure of holding on to a doomed relationship, no matter how far, how implausible it could be? Not Applejack. Pinkie huffed and chided herself for being so petty. It was getting better, a little. Applejack was trying to make it better, to be better. Applejack loved her.
And when Rarity was in town, the two of them spent a lot of time together, catching up, walking around town, drinking deep of their togetherness. Pinkie didn’t worry about it anymore, though. She knew Rarity as anything but a homewrecker, and Applejack had too much honor to do anything unfaithful. But Pinkie wished, sometimes, that the two of them would understand how much it hurt her to see how much they wanted to, even if they never would.’
There it was, the smile she was looking for. Just shy of flirtation, with a show of honest love and a tiny hint of mischief. That was the smile that would make Applejack’s heart thump, that would make Applejack’s knees turn to jelly. Pinkie practiced making it a few times, until it looked absolutely effortless, absolutely natural.
As the final part of her odd morning routine, Pinkie shook her head a couple of times, paying close attention to the little golden ring that ran through her right ear. The little, flighty thrill still buzzed through her chest at the way her ring glinted in the light. It felt a little bit heavier than usual, but it was a sunny morning, and her playful little smile no longer felt as practiced. She trotted downstairs, following her nose into the kitchen. Her tummy rumbled excitedly as she categorized each warm, gooey smell. Nothing, not even triple-chocolate-raspberry-glazed cupcakes, could beat Applejack’s pancake special when it came to breakfast. She flashed Applejack’s favorite smile with a little giggle and kissed Applejack on the cheek, lovingly.
“Happy anniversary,” she chirped brightly, laughing as Applejack chased her around the countertop, licking and nibbling at her chin and neck. The two of them loaded the table with delicious food, said grace, and tucked in. And Pinkie couldn’t help but feel a little lighter as Applejack’s loving green eyes smiled at her across the table.
Author's Note
Prompt 363: One year too late
“…So there we were, the four of us, surrounded by manticores, with only three pies between us and them. The rogue stormclouds around us finally broke, and we could hardly see, it was raining so hard. And the biggest, baddest manticore of them all started charging us.”
“Woah! Really?” Rainbow grinned and nodded, practically exploding with glee as her godfilly’s bright green eyes widened in shock. “How big was it?”
Rainbow grinned even wider. The best part about watching Bramley was messing with her. The kid would believe anything. “Oh, she was about six times as big as me,” Rainbow answered, polishing a hoof on her chest. “With claws about this big,” Rainbow squinted and spread her hooves wider than strictly necessary, “And fangs like a dragon’s.” Bramley’s melodramatic gasp gave Rainbow a happy, guilty little rush. “So, she was charging toward us, tearing up tree roots with her great big claws, shaking the branches with her great big roar, with her teeth flashing in the lightning.
“That was about when I had a really smart plan. I rocketed up into the cloud layer and broke a nice fat thunderhead free. So I flew it down to intercept it, and I kicked all the lightning bolts right into her big, ugly face. But I wasn’t figuring for her being quite so big and tough. I thought I’d knock her down, but instead she just got angry. And that was right about when I started getting worried.”
“What kinda nonsense are you filling her fool head with this time, RD?” Rainbow turned around and waved at Applejack.
Applejack sighed through a weary smile and raised a single eyebrow. “As I recall Spitfire telling it, there was a whole lot more shrieking going on for your part,” she deadpanned.
Rainbow huffed and inflated slightly, playfully angry. “That was my war-cry,” she protested, flaring her wings, carefully tickling Bramley’s chin with her coverts. Bramley shrieked with laughter, and rolled away on the carpeted floor.
Applejack chuckled and shook her head, ambling back towards the kitchen. She paused and smiled, though her eyes looked slightly off. “It’s bad enough what you get Pinks to believe,” She laughed. “In no time, you’ll have Lil’ Bramley eating from your hooves.”
“What’s that supposed to mean, AJ?” Rainbow asked, quirking her head.
Applejack snorted and chuckled, all the way real this time. “Nothin, Rainbow. Jus’ forgive me my little quirks, hey?” Then she walked over to the stovetop and stirred at the bubbling stew, humming a song Rainbow had never heard before.
Rainbow started as Bramley chewed on her tail, yanking her hairs with a playful energy. “What?” Rainbow practically cooed, turning around and chasing the giggling filly with a huge grin and ungainly, ridiculous leaps and pounces.
“How’d you excape the manticores?” Bramley asked, wiggling even as she sat attentively.
Rainbow smiled. “We ran away,” she said, laughing inside at Bramley’s nonplussed expression. “It happens, kiddo,” she continued, picking up Bramley and holding her in a gentle half-hug, eyeing her poofy mane and bright, eager eyes. “Sometimes, the monsters are a bit too big or a bit too scary. Sometimes the only thing to do is run. And that’s not being a coward, alright? That’s being smart. Remember that, ‘kay?” Bramley nodded seriously, scowling in a thoughtful pout. Then the moment was over, and Rainbow gave Bramley a gentle noogie, watching her usual smile ooze out and spread onto her tiny face.
“Now,” Rainbow asked, her mischievous smirk coming back full-strength. “Do you wanna hear about the time your mama Applejack drank princess Luna under the table?”
Author's Note
Prompt #411: Tall Tales and/or Tall Tails
I somehow missed this one while updating last. Whoops...
Applejack looks around the peaceful forest glade and smiles. Mid afternoon sun filters through the thriving trees in ribbons of molten gold, accenting the lazy bursts of pollen and dust that swirl in the breeze.
She shifts off the picnic blanket and sighs as her shoulders hit a soft patch of clover, rolls in that glorious, soft bed of greens, taking in the scent and the feel of it, before shifting her head up and cloud watching.
A year ago, she would’ve thought about all the undone chores waiting for her at the farm. A month ago, she would’ve muddied up the near-silence with inane questions and idle, empty chatter. But lately, she’s come to love the whispers of the wind through the trees, the murmur of a far-off brook, the tickling blades of grass beneath her. But she’s not quite where she wants to be, and that old, restless shifting, that need to move and do something itches through her legs and hooves. She squirms uselessly in the heavenly clover bed before rolling up onto her stomach and cracking her neck out, causing an awful, embarrassing echo through the peaceful glade.
"D’you want some more tea?" She rumbles in a half-whisper. Fluttershy starts and shudders before smiling kindly at her.
"No, thanks," she murmurs back. Applejack nods and hums a little something before settling back into the luxurious, springy greens around her. She tilts her hat just a tad, shading her eyes from the glaring, beautiful day, breathing in a comforting aroma of clover and daisy and Fluttershy and her musty old hatband. Her eyes droop and unfocus, and from underneath her hat-brim the leaves across the clearing move in sinuous, hypnotic waves. A sleepy little smile drifts across her face, light and steady as a low-hanging cloud.
Applejack barely registers the clink of flatware and wonderful warmth and weight of another pony against her as she drifts towards sleep. The dreamy softness of feathers tickles her chest, and then she’s gone.
Author's Note
Prompt 428:
This is more or less how I see AppleShy working on AJ's end of things.
“This week on Pimp my Homestead, we visit the idyllic, sleepy town of Ponyville. It’s a quaint sort of place, with thatch-roof cottages and a lot of small businesses all vying for customers. The biggest source of trade for this little hamlet is without a doubt Sweet Apple Acres, a large family-run orchard with a certain charming rustic feel to both its workings and inhabitants, where I will work my magic.
“In short, this is the most boring place I’ve ever laid eyes on. I’m your host Discord, and we’re gonna SHAKE THINGS UP!”
“S’cuse me … sir, but can I help you?”
“Are you a Miss Applejack?”
“Umm... yeah. Who’s asking?”
“Discord. I’m here to tell you it’s your lucky day! You’re on Pimp my Homestead, and we’ll give you a renovation free of charge or taxation.”
“Aw, shucks, Mr. Discord. That’s mighty kind of you to offer, but I don’t think we need any o’ that...”
“Oh, but I insist. Please? I’ve got to, it’s in my contract! … Just stop staring at me like that!”
“You listen here, mister! I ain’t got time for some namby-pambies be running ‘round fixing up my ancestral home for their own chuckles. So you jes’ turn around and march on out, else I’m gonna kick y’all out myself, y’hear?”
“Oh, Ms. Applejack, it won’t take that long at all. Why, It’ll be done as soon as I snap my fingers. Then I’ll be on my way, and I’ll never trouble you again.”
“Fine. Do yer thing and leave.”
…......
….....
“I’m waitin’, Mr. Discord. c’mon, work your mojo and skedaddle.”
“I was trying to bring out my artistic side... And.... I-DE-aaaa....”
*SNAP*
“What in Sam Hill did ya do to my farm?! Put it back how it was!”
“But do you see how much space you save when you don’t have to follow Euclidean designs? That’s a whole new cornfield for you, if you want it!”
….....
“Oh, think of the possibilities here! Work with me, Applejack! You’ll be a landmark now! Tourists love this kind of kooky stuff. I can see it already - Ponyville: Chaos capital of the World!”
“Nnope!”
“Well, whatcha gonna do, huh? Sue me?”
“I’m grabbing the girls and we’ll throw some Harmony on yer ass, bucko.”
“Harmony? Pfft! As if that could stop me!”
“Suppose we’ll see at that, Mister Discord. Suppose we’ll see.”
Author's Note
Prompt 434: Reimagine My Little Pony as a home and garden show
I cannot for the life of me explain where this fever-dream came from.
It should have been you. It should have been you at that altar, it should have been you reciting vows in a shaky voice. You’d always been there to pick her back up and put the pieces together after one of their fights. You’d always patiently listened to every complaint she made, every story that needed telling, every guilty confession that would threaten her precious public image.
It should have been you that evening, stammering out your heart to her as the porchlight buzzed with fireflies. It should have been you who waited, blushing and stamping, as she processed your feelings and gently lifted your head with a manicured hoof and looked at you with her bright blue eyes and smiled. It should have been you at that Fancy restaurant, grinning like a fool and spilling coffee on the crisp linen tablecloth. It should have been you she called uncouth, terrible, whom she whacked playfully with her tail on the way out.
It should have been you she caressed and cuddled and kissed. Her whispered words of love and desire and faithfulness should have drifted into your ears. Her extra hairbrush and cosmetic kit could have found their rightful place in your dresser, always a bit too large for one pony. Your pillowcases could have carried her fragrant shampoo even after several washings, your sheets could have carried her fine white hairs tucked neatly into the weave. Your hooves could have felt her warmth, the softness of her coat, the fullness of her mane. You could have had her beside you for every day and night. You could have shared her life as you have never shared the life of another, could have let down what awkward walls you still carry inside you. You could have been safe, you could have been vulnerable. Because it was her, it would be alright.
But instead you just watched and heard and stewed, so this is your reward. So instead, you smile again, a worn-out ceremonial thing, as flat and inappropriate as the robes she didn’t make you. So instead, you raise your wings beneficently and smile at your two friends, radiant and beaming and close to each other, even through the three feet of distance. So instead, you nod your head once and keep the trembles out of your voice. So instead, you speak, and your voice carries through the rafters, wise and warm and caring. So instead, you say, “You may now kiss your bride.”
White and pink lips meet below lovely, intricate half-veils, and it’s all you can do to keep from screaming, from crying, from fleeing the scene in anguish. Because it should have been you. It could have been you kissing here, before all assembled. It could have been you pressing harder into her face, matching her passion with tears of joy, knowing that you’d been bound to her side for all the time you had together. But instead, you watch with the mask of a Princess, the faint and ever-present knowing smile and shining eyes. This is your reward.
Author's Note
Prompt 444: It should have been you
Writing in second person was surprisingly enjoyable.
We were proud, once. We shone with a light not of the Sun’s making. We charted constellations beyond the Moon’s wildest dreams. And through the nights, our auroras far outshone any comets, glowed through the heavy clouds of Winter. There was peace, and there was joy. There was sadness and there was plague and there was hatred and there was war. And still we stood, beholden to no nation, the Paradise Among Blizzards, the Empire of the North. And we were proud.
Darkness fell upon us, a darkness so complete that our lights could not shine, our stars could not be seen. Sun and Moon thought to save us, even as we fell into the never, or the ever, a place beyond time. We were lost, frozen. We were lost in the mysteries of our own minds. We shambled through the once-lively streets, mere shadows of our former glory. Until she came to save us.
We knew from the instant we saw her Mark that she was the Crystal Princess we were promised by the winter winds. She gave us hope, she gave us shelter. And when her heartstone lay in the altar, we let loose our joy to shine over all kingdoms. We were whole. We remembered. And we stood, proud.
And yet, a steel monstrosity smoked and coughed its way to our homeland on long tracks of the same. Outlanders, like those heroes who reminded us of ourselves, came in droves and took up shops, took up jobs, took up houses, took up power. And our princess looked out in joy and proclaimed that we are safe now, that we are a part of something great, that the Sun will protect us.
We polish the walls and spires until they gleam from miles away. We look up at our Princess and pray she will find her senses someday. We work in the shadows, work for the outlanders while understanding their ways, the better to rise above them. We are the Paradise Among Blizzards, the Empire of the North, beholden to no nation. We are patient. We are steadfast. We are proud.
Author's Note
Prompt 484: "Oh, no, not me. / I never lost control. / You’re face to face / With the mare who sold the world.”
I noticed that during Games Ponies Play, the ponies with power were all decidedly not Crystal Ponies, and I thought that was weird. So have some weird shit.
