Blog Posts71

  • 1w, 50m
    Christmas Fic Update... and Kinda Sorta Contest!

    Yes, once again my gift to you all will be a pair of Christmas/Hearth's Warming themed stories. The first is the oft-delayed 'the Greatest Gift,' a story I will reveal no plot details about.

    The other... well, there's the issue.

    I have the story worked out, thanks to Rubycast. She suggested that since 'Let it Snow' was so entrenched in romantic love, that this year I should focus on familial love.

    This sequel to 'Let it Snow' will of course take place in the continuity, but not in one single night. I'll jump about the timeline in order to tell the best stories possible. Here's what I've got so far...

    -Rarity and Sweetie Belle's first Hearth's Warming as mother and daughter... and their first without Rarity's parents.

    -Rainbow Dash spending her first Hearth's Warming with the Apple Family. It also happens to be little Scarlet's first Hearth's Warming... and Granny Smith's last.

    -On the first Hearth's Warming since Applebloom and Sweetie Belle got their cutie marks, Scootaloo tells her parents exactly what she wants for Hearth's Warming.

    -Shining Armor hatches a scheme to attend both Morning Dew and Moon Shadow's first Hearth's Warming that requires Twilight's help.

    -Caramel comes with Pinkie Pie to visit her family on the rock farm for Hearth's Warming. How will they react when they find out that the pair have already gotten married?

    For a framing device, I'm thinking Bon Bon and Lyra's wedding. The chapters will be character recollections.


    So I throw it to you all. The best title wins and has the fic dedicated to them!

    7 comments · 64 views
  • 1w, 6d
    Hart of Fear: the Haunted House Project I've Been Working On- Part 2

    So here's the full haunted house backstory, written by yours truly under the name Karl Tzudonim (get it?).

    Would post the link to the website, but technical difficulties and all that.


    'Darkness Behind the Trees: An Investigation'

    By Karl Tzudonim

    I- Introduction

    II- de Vaca and the Natives: 1500

    III- Crossbones and the Call: 1600-1604

    IV- The Legend of 'Dollie:' 1650

    V- The Sins of Col. Walton: 1885

    VI- Spirits of the Bayou: 1938

    VII- The Family: 1963

    VIII- The Vanishing: 1964

    IX- What Lurks Behind the Trees?

    X- Conclusion

    Appendix A- The Dolls

    Appendix B- 'The Ballad of Crossbones McGurk'


    I- Introduction

    Someone once told me that every small town has its sins, certain events in it's past that taint the very air of a community with the scent of old blood. Longtime residents learn almost from birth to not breathe in the stench and go about life as normal. Visitors and tourists are plagued by a constant sense of unease.

    My town itself is not tainted, but the woods that lay just beyond are.

    Tainted with the blood of a reckoning still to come.

    Perhaps it was not mere chance that I discovered the cover-up of the Vanishing. Perhaps some outside force has guided me these past few months as I've uncovered the unfathomable events that have taken place in the shelter of those damnable trees.

    Or perhaps my discovery has driven me mad.

    Whatever the case may be, this report will contain all the information I was able to track down, beginning in 1500 with the arrival of Alvar Nunez Cabeza de Vaca and ending with the Vanishing in 1964.


    II- de Vaca and the Explorers: 1500

    The natives who called this land home were part of no major tribe, though some historians believe they were offshoots of the Weeden Island culture due to their use of impressive burial mounds.

    In 1558, the Spanish explorer Alvar Nunez Cabeza de Vaca arrived in the area while on his long trek from what is now modern Panama City Beach to Texas. He was disgusted by what he called the 'decrepit and poor' state of the natives he encountered and would have moved on without incident... were it not for the woods.

    The woods were cursed and forbidden, the natives claimed. The land there was sour, touched by some terrible darkness left behind from when the world was young and shrouded in night time eternal. No game could be recovered once it crossed the boundary of the high grass. Children were warned from birth to never, under any circumstances, cross under the branches.

    Nunez de Vaca believed none of this... save the native's claims that the evil in the woods was in possession of a vast mine of precious stones. Ignoring the native's warnings, de Vaca sent a search party into the woods to seek the gold and jewels he knew must lay within.

    What returned would haunt him until the end of his days.

    “The heathen natives of this place seem to be warning us in their own simple way to not venture into a certain stretch of swamp. I'm certain this is the hiding place of their gold stores. I have already assembled a party with instructions to find the hiding places as quickly as they can. Christ willing, they will not fail.”

    “This is truly a godless place. Shapeless, gibbering things that were once my men shambled from the swamp at twilight. Those who still had tongues spoke over and over again a word of the native's language, one I cannot besmirch these pages by repeating. What horror lies beyond those trees in that dark place? What darkness can take men chosen by the Lord and reduce them to beasts?”

    “I will not stay here a day longer. In the night, one of my men butchered his comrades, first with a sharpened stone and then with the bones of the first fallen. He feasted on the flesh and blood of his brothers in arms and vanished into the darkness, presumably back into that accursed swamp. He left behind an idol of some sort, fashioned from a bloody bone. I will sketch the thing and then burn it, as upon lying eyes on the unholy thing, the natives went mad. Not with rage. With fear.”

    -Excerpts from the log of Alvar Nunez Cabeza de Vaca

    Nunez de Vaca continued his long journey into history. He would never again mention his encounter with the Darkness that Lurks Behind the Trees. The pages on which he wrote and sketched even show signs that he attempted to burn them, so as to prevent others from exploring.

    Oddly, the pages look like they refused to burn.


    III- Crossbones and the Call: 1600-1604

    Very little is known of the pirate captain Gerald McGurk, more popularly known by his contemporaries by the not terribly original moniker of 'Crossbones.'

    According to pirate lore, McGurk began his sailing career as a privateer in His Majesty's Navy. It's said that one fateful evening, McGurk dreamed that he would attain immortality by collecting all the ocean's greatest treasures. Wooing his crew with tales of great fortunes, McGurk renounced his allegiance to Great Britain and escaped into the world of piracy, taking with him his crew of forty men and His Majesty's flag ship; the Call.

    For the next ten years, McGurk and his crew sailed the world gathering many rare and bizarre treasures. While no one will ever know the full extent of his collection, tales are told that he kept an actual mermaid's tail hanging in his cabin, a Deep One in his brig, and more legendary treasures than could be counted in his hold.

    The final mention of McGurk in the stories is that he met a shaman or witch-doctor on an uncharted island off the coast of Africa. The shaman gave McGurk a simple string doll with a perfect ruby nestled within.

    He claimed it came from the Spanish colonized piece of the New World.

    Rallying his men for one last adventure, McGurk set sail for the land we know as Florida today. But what happened after?

    This is our only clue.

    “It has been one year since the notorious ship of death, the Call, was sunk in the waters of the Caribbean. Her captain was a queer man, famous for his strange hobby of collecting oddities of the sea. Rumors persist that Captain Gerald McGurk, popularly known by his compatriots as Crossbones, did not go down in battle with Commodore Malcolm Henswich, pride of his majesty's Navy. Sailors still whisper that McGurk found a glorious prize in the swamps of the Spanish ruled peninsula of the New World. Those same whispers say that the price of that beautiful treasure was the souls of McGurk and all twenty men at his command.”

    -From 'Privateer Quarterly,' an early “pulp” newsletter published in the London Underground circa 1605.


    IV- The Legend of 'Dollie:' 1650

    Much ballyhoo is heaped upon the exploits of the Puritans that sailed to what is now New England, those hardy settlers that founded our very nation.

    Very little is spoken of those who tread a bit further south.

    The now long forgotten settlement of pioneers that made their home in that cursed stretch of wood are now as well-remembered as the native tribes they sought to convert. Their homes are gone, any evidence of their existence washed away in some hurricane of long past.

    All that remains is the legend of Dollie.

    It is said that she was a Puritan maid, left to fend for herself after her parents were taken by some animal in the forest. One day, man in the town confessed his love for her. She did not reciprocate his feelings.

    He would not take no for an answer.

    When it became clear that she could not be swayed by sweet poetry and pledges of undying love, the man accused her of witchcraft in the hopes of driving her to him. The Puritans, however, took his claim quite seriously. More and more of their people were vanishing into the night, prey for the beasts and more unsavory possibilities. With this accusation of witchcraft, they believed they had their culprit at last.

    The unfortunate young lady was subject to the 'drowning test,' a favorite amongst witch hunters of the time. The accused was bound, gagged, and rowed to the center of a deep lake or river. Once there, they were placed in the water and observed.

    If the accused drowned, they were no witch and ascended to heaven washed of their sins.

    If they floated, they were declared a witch and burned or hanged as such.

    The young lady of which we speak did not float, nor did she ascend.

    She returned... with a reckoning.

    From that day forward, men have vanished into those woods with a far greater frequency than women. The few that escape have their tales of 'bizarre glows' and a masked woman brushed off as hallucinations.

    Is Dollie real?

    Does her vengeance live on?

    "Dollie, Dollie, leave me be.

    I've done no wrong, why can't you see?

    My brother, though, has robbed my cheer.

    Could you take him far from here?"

    -Nursery Rhyme


    V- The Sins of Col. Walton: 1885

    The Civil War is a deep and festering scar in this great nation of ours. The War Between the States inspired just as many ghost stories as it did tales of military glory.

    Lost, as usual, is the dark chapter that unfolded in the very woods of which I write.

    The Confederacy’s Col. Sam Walton’s youth belied his impressive military strategic skills. In truth, had his religious views not been quite so… fanatical… he might well have been placed high among Jefferson Davis’ forces. Not wanting to release a monster-in-waiting like Walton nor willing to lose his battle skills to the North, Davis assigned the colonel to the Gulf Coast. There, he was instructed to build a fort and wait for further instructions.

    Sam Walton, to use a modern phrase, took the ball and ran with it.

    By October of 1885, the eponymous Fort Walton was completed and maintained by a force of two hundred and fifty men. Local women tasked as nurses and a few slaves used for manual labor brought the fort’s total numbering to just around three hundred and ten. Walton considered the fort his home and himself the master. He led church services six days a week and punished those of his men who did not attend. He was scarcely seen without his family’s Bible clutched in his arms.

    Everything changed when three Union troops, deserters in search of Crossbone’s treasures, stumbled across the fort.

    The three men were captured and made ready to face a military tribunal… but Col. Walton had other ideas. After all, he had heard the legends about that mysterious section of woods.

    He ordered the three men to be stripped, marched into the woods, tied to trees, and left to die. Many of his men were horrified, but did as instructed out of fear.

    That night, the air was rent with the deserter’s screams as the local fauna and other dark things made meals of their flesh.

    The next day, Col. Walton assembled a party and personally led them into the woods to see how the deserters had fared.

    All that remained of the men were splatters of blood and a few bones.

    Seeing this, Col. Walton began to laugh.

    His men could take no more. As one, they raised their rifles… and fired ten shots into the mad colonel’s legs.

    As they moved in to finish the job, Col. Walton begged them to at least return to the fort and bring him his family’s Bible. They agreed and left the crippled and bleeding man in the dirt.

    When they returned to the fort, other soldiers asked where the colonel was. When it became clear what had happened, those loyal to Col. Walton turned their guns on their brothers. A massive fire fight broke out and almost a hundred men fell to friendly fire.

    Some survivors claimed that the troops loyal to Walton had escaped into the woods to help their fallen master. They carried with them a number of screaming nurses.

    They also took Col. Walton’s Bible.

    “I serve a madman. Mama… I love you. There’s not much time. He’s turned so many of us against him… it’s only a matter of time. All we have to do is wait. I still believe in God, Mama, but if this man serves Him… then we are all already damned.”

    -Private Hop Daniels, Confederate Soldier at Fort Walton


    VI- Spirits of the Bayou: 1938

    As spiritualism fever swept the nation in the early 20th century, the popularity of voodoo exploded in New Orleans.

    Near the center of this explosion were two figures; Papa Shango and Mama LaBenna.

    LaBenna was born Marie Corsette, and her life was plagued from the beginning by strange visions and voices that only she could see and hear. Marie was a ‘channeler,’ a rare person who can make contact with both this world and the next. Her talents soon brought her fame in public séance demonstrations… and brought her to the attention of Papa Shango.

    Nothing is known of Papa Shango except that he was totally devoted to the darker aspects of voodoo. He believed that the powers found in the religion could help him find fame and fortune. In Corsette, he had finally found his in.

    Suave, mysterious, and charming, he seduced and married the young channeler and rechristened her Mama LaBenna. Together, the two were the toast of New Orleans. They attended as many lavish parties as they could, always providing a demonstration of supernatural power. Films were made about the pair and hardly a day went by without some mention of them in the news.

    Everything changed when Shango learned the legends of the Woods.

    Despite LaBenna’s initial misgivings, Shango made a grand announcement; together, he and his wife would venture into the Woods and do battle with the Darkness there. They would purge the land and make it safe at last for mortals.

    Shango’s true motivations were much darker. It can be ascertained by the letters LaBenna wrote her mother that Shango never intended to purge the Darkness. He merely meant to absorb it’s powers by using LaBenna’s channeling ability.

    Shango believed that by absorbing such power, he could truly become master of Death itself.

    The couple ventured into the Woods in October of 1938.

    They were never heard from again.

    Years later, explorers found a twisted tree that bled when cut. From its branches hung all manner of strange string dolls. Clutched in one doll’s arms was a yellowed note.

    It is believed to be the last testament of Papa Shango.

    “My wife is gone, taken in the night some time ago. My own time draws near. This Darkness knows my plans, knows what I seek. I can hear my poor wife, screaming in the night. I fear that, in death, her abilities have been torn asunder, that she is now trapped between the worlds. I weep for her, but I cannot waver. Let the Darkness take me… it will make things so much easier. I will not waver. If it takes me a hundred years, if I must harness the power of all the souls trapped in these damned woods… I will have that power!”


    VII- The Family: 1963

    The Vietnam War is remembered for as one of the darkest periods in American History for good reason, not the least of which is that, with the advent of live television broadcasting, people at home were truly exposed to the horrors of war for the first time ever.

    Live television would also be the catalyst for the darkest chapter in Fort Walton Beach’s history.

    Legends of a family living in the backwoods had been around ever since the founding of the town, but they were always brushed off as foolishness. One man who took the stories very seriously was a hungry intern at a local news station named George Kilready. Kilready believed that a live broadcast search for the mysterious family would be a ratings boon. With the station behind him, Kilready assembled a small crew and set out, delivering their findings nightly.

    By the end of the third day, they had found nothing.

    Kilready’s crew wished to quit, citing the strange, oppressive atmosphere that permeated the air the closer they drew to that most infamous section of woods as well as strange noises in the night. Against his journalistic instincts, Kilready agreed that if nothing was found by the end of the fourth day, they would return home.

    Almost as though something had been listening to them, they made their grand discovery on the fourth day, and it was beyond what any of them had been anticipating.

    The crew stumbled on a small village of forest-dwellers, all of whom were apparently related to the same family. Their patriarch, a mountain of a man who identified himself as Ezekiel Walton, claimed that the whole of the family was descended from Colonel Sam Walton himself. The cabins in the village all contained lumber that seemed to be more commonly found on sailing ships.

    The family had evidently been in the woods a very long time.

    As night fell, Ezekiel led the family in a ceremony of holy protection, broadcast to the entire nation who watched with rapt attention. Young members of the family explained that Ezekiel believed that reading from the Walton Family Bible was the only way to keep the family safe from the ghosts and demons that haunted the woods. They talked of monstrous swamp creatures, bipedal apes, and a watery looking woman with long and deadly looking claws.

    But mostly they talked of a war, a war between two spirits the Waltons called ‘Papa’ and ‘Mama’ and a great darkness that stalked the woods.

    After a fitful night in the Walton’s hospitality, Kilready and his crew began the long and arduous journey home.

    They were never seen again.

    Transcript of the final moments broadcast live by the Kilready Expedition.

    Kilready: Well ladies and gentlemen, that’s all we have for you tonight. Be sure to tune in tomorrow for…

    Crew 1: Did you hear that?

    Crew 2: Hear what?

    Crew 1: I don’t know. Sounded like some kinda animal.

    Kilready: Anyway, be sure to…

    Crew 3: JESUS CHRIST!

    (The camera cuts to black as the cameraman is yanked into the woods. Only the audio continues.)

    Kilready: Where the hell did Blair go?

    Crew 1: It took him. The woods f…


    Kilready: RUN! FOR GOD’S SAKE RUN!

    (Running Sounds)

    (Distant screaming)


    (Heavy Footsteps)

    (Indecipherable, guttural language)


    VIII- The Vanishing: 1964

    Following the discovery of the Walton Clan, the whole family became local celebrities and minor tourist attractions. People would flock to see the Walton’s collection of cabins with the same enthusiasm with which they’d rush to the beach. It was not uncommon to see one or more of the Waltons out and about in Fort Walton Beach.

    But everything changed on October 31st, 1964.

    That night, Halloween went about as usual in the city. Children dressed in costumes and trick or treated. Adults got boozed up at office costume parties.

    In the early hours of the morning, the parties died down. The children were tucked into bed.

    Something else began to move through the city.

    When the sun rose the next day… the screaming began.

    Since the event, the city government has done their best to erase the Vanishing from history. No records exist, no missing persons reports of any kind can be found.

    It’s as though the fifty men, women, and children that disappeared that night never existed.

    No signs of forcible entry could be discovered. The victims had simply been spirited away in the night.

    The people of Fort Walton Beach demanded justice, and they believed they knew exactly who was responsible for the disappearances; the Walton Clan.

    An angry mob stormed the woods at dusk and lay waste to the Walton’s village. A number of the simple folk were slain, but rumors persist that some escaped. Among those not accounted for were Ezekiel’s young son Zebadiah, and the family Bible.

    Terrified that the Vanishing would tarnish the tourism industry, the local government erased all records of the incident. The stretch of woods where so many had died was cordoned off and re-christened a park and nature trail.

    But there’s a reason the trail closes at night.

    Since 1964, almost two dozen people have gone missing without a trace.

    Nearly all of them were heading into the woods.


    IX- Conclusion: What Lurks Behind the Trees?

    It has been a week since I began this report, three weeks since I opened that blasted book someone left on my door-step. It appears that someone in the city has been keeping track of all these events, holding tight to thought-to-be-lost documents and scraps from long destroyed books.

    One thought burned in my brain; why did they choose me to reveal this information to?

    I found my answer at the back of the book.

    It appears that a local haunted house group, Hart of Fear, plans on operating a haunted attraction in the woods this October.

    October marks the fiftieth anniversary of the Vanishing.

    I believe that Hart of Fear is being played, operated without their knowledge by that ancient and cunning force that lurks in those woods.

    What is it? I have no idea. But it has always been there. Its influence has cost men their lives, their sanity, and their very soul. Over the past few centuries, it has waited and fed when the time was right.

    The time is right.

    I believe this thing, this Darkness That Lurks Behind the Trees, is awake once again.

    And it is so very hungry.

    I will send this to Hart of Fear in hopes of persuading them to abandon this fool’s errand. If they do not listen, then I will go there in person.

    And then I will go to the woods.

    I will walk the trail until I can hear nothing but the wind in the trees.

    I will wait until the last rays of sunshine fade away.

    I will wait… until it comes for me.

    -Karl Tzudonim

    October 3rd, 2014


    Appendix B- ‘The Ballad of Crossbones McGurk’

    Come sit lads, I’ll tell ye of Crossbones McGurk,

    A man born of two bloodlines, both Irish and Turk.

    Some called him a pirate, others called him a king.

    Whatever he was, of his exploits I’ll sing.

    Now McGurk was a sailor and collector by trade,

    Sought all the world’s treasure so’s his life ne’er would fade.

    He gathered a crew, manned a ship named ‘the Call,’

    And set out a’sailin’ to seek out them all.

    Now the sea holds many wonders, both beautiful and dark,

    From the virtuous mermaid to the monstrous shark.

    But McGurk feared no fish, nor could he be swayed

    By some siren’s sweet song nor her ravishing braid.

    He caught hisself a mermaid and more I hear tell.

    Even fished up that mystic old Judgment Day bell.

    The men soon grew homesick, the seas they grew rough,

    But for Crossbones McGurk it was never enough.

    He heard of a new treasure from a shaman I’m told,

    A treasure worth more than mere silver or gold.

    He rallied his crew, his flag did unfurl,

    And they set out for the Spanish piece o’ the New World.

    Well what happened after? No one’s quite sure.

    ‘The Call’ ain’t be seen since sixteen ought four.

    Did McGurk find his treasure? Does he sleep ‘neath the seas?

    Or did he run afoul of something Dark in the Trees?


    Thoughts? Feedback?

    0 comments · 36 views
  • 4w, 1d
    Updates! Updates! Get 'em while they're hot!

    -October 1st draws near, which means I can finally start writing 'Lunar Slender.' Swirling's already finished the stellar cover art, so now I just have to have everything ready to publish on Halloween. The story's only split into three this time, with two parts and an epilogue. As I said before, I'm going to do my own origins of the Slender One, not going off any previous media and suggested only by the established mythos. I hope you like it.

    -The bum-rush of dislikes on 'Changelings' really threw me for a loop. It's recovering now, but it was still a blow on a weekend that had one blow too many. Working on Chapters 2 and 3 now. Chapter 3 will feature Carapace's true introduction as well as Celestia's confrontation with the Smooze. Chapter 3 will be back in Ponyville, as Crescendo and Twilight discuss the last prophecy, Cheerilee  proposes something to Mac, and Applebloom finds a strange old book in the attic...

    -Thoughts on things in 'Changelings' so far? How'd you like my reinvention of the Smooze? Anything you can see that matches up to those notes I posted a while back?

    -Trying to figure something out for Christmas. What would you all like to see me try?

    3 comments · 63 views
  • 4w, 5d
    DerpyCon South 2014, or How I Learned to Love Being a Brony Again

    I awoke Sunday morning refreshed and ready to roll. I had spent most of the past day familiarizing myself with the panel room layouts, getting to know the tech crew (who recorded all panels, so stay tuned), and beating people much younger than me at Smash Bros. Brawl.

    After a mediocre breakfast provided by the hotel, I headed to the con floor to set up for 'Dark Corners of Equestria.' Once everything looked good, I took a seat and waited the customary (for me) five minutes for people to arrive.

    About 20 did. Most everyone else was still worn out from the dance the night before.

    Undaunted, I rolled the video introduction and started the panel up. My computer started giving me issues as soon as began talking, and I was so flustered that I actually ran out of content with fifteen minutes to spare.

    I took requests, I we laughed along with 'Friendship is Manly' and 'Cartoon Horse Program.'

    An hour later, I was ready in the other room for 'My Little MST3K.' The room was actually packed this time and, accompanied by a stand-up comic named Bradley, we proceeded to mercilessly mock some of the worst pony videos we could find. This was absolutely the highlight of the con.

    Another hour passed and it was time for my first fanfiction panel; 'Writer Wrap Up.'

    7 people showed up for that one. No surprise, since it was scheduled at the same time as Ingrid Nelson's second panel.

    I was perturbed, but those attending said that the fanfic panels were the ones they had been looking forward to the most. We had a fun and breezy discussion on the dos and don'ts of writing before I had to abdicate the room to Flutterwhat. I made a joking comment to my fellow writers, saying that I hoped to see them at my final panel... along with a few dozen other people.

    Two hours later, 10 took their seats for my flagship panel, 'Fanfiction is Magic.'

    I'm not sure if it will come across in the video, but the low turn-out really started to affect me. I still presented everything and everyone there seemed to have a great time. At the panel's end, I delivered a bit of a sermon on why we fanfiction writers didn't deserve to be looked down upon more than those who did art. The panel closed and I received a standing ovation from my ten watchers, all of whom took contact info (and some of Swirling Line's art cards.)

    The experience reminded me that even though my main audience may be small, it's so damn satisfying writing for you.

    Smiling, I gathered my belongings and headed for the garage where my car waited to take me home.

    It was booted. I had accidentally parked in a reserved space. The guard wanted $150 to remove it. I wittled him down to $80. This brought my available money to $30, barely enough to cover parking let alone get me home.

    Devastated, I grabbed my laptop to read my directions to get home... realizing at the same time that I'd left my computer cord in the panel room. Parking in a safe spot, I ran back over to the con and grabbed my cord.

    Then I broke down. I was comforted by two of my fanfiction buddies who listened to my whole story with rapt attention.

    Three wonderful guys gave me $160.

    I've never experienced brony financial aid before, but I know this; I will NEVER be ashamed to count myself among these men.

    I am brony, watch me write.

    (BTW, revising Chapter 1 of 'Changelings.')

    3 comments · 53 views
  • 5w, 1d

    6 comments · 77 views
Viewing 21 - 25 of 25 stories
  • ...

This story is a sequel to Dear Sweetie Belle

Years after the events of 'Dear Sweetie Belle,' Rarity convinces herself that her not-so-little-anymore girl is stealing her beauty. What lengths will Rarity go to in order to take back what is rightfully hers?

NOW WITH A NEWLY UPDATED (and hopefully less confusing) ENDING!

Fantastic cover art by SwirlingLine. YOU ROCK!

First Published
26th Oct 2012
Last Modified
26th Oct 2012
  • ...

Applejack has put up with Rarity's barbs and insults for years. When the seamstress finally crosses the line, what lengths will the young farmer go to in order to set things right?

Inspired by Edgar Allan Poe's masterpiece of terror 'the Cask of Amontillado.'

A live reading of the story by the Living Library Players;

First Published
24th Oct 2012
Last Modified
24th Oct 2012
  • ...

This story is a sequel to Dear Sweetie Belle

Following Rarity's example, Applejack writes her little sister a letter. While Rarity's letter revealed the truth of Sweetie Belle's origins, Applejack's letter will shed light on the greatest unanswered mystery of the Apple family; what happened to Applebloom's parents?

Beautiful cover art by AcrylicDawn. Her DeviantArt. Check it out.

First Published
19th Oct 2012
Last Modified
19th Oct 2012
  • ...

After an accident robs them of their parents, Rarity writes Sweetie Belle a letter laying bare a secret kept all the little unicorn's life.

"It's fascinating the level of depth this story takes. Just the part alone about why Rarity represents generosity is enough to bring tears to even the toughest critics. This is an amazing story in every way. Mature in some of its themes and true to life, yet not graphic or exploitive, 'Dear Sweetie Belle' is a must for My Little Pony fans who need a great, sad story to tide them over."

-Obake, Pony Fiction Archive

Don't forget to check out the sequel; 'Paternally Yours'

Beautiful cover-art by AcrylicDawn

A fantastic bit of fan-art from my dear friend Kaitlyn Warner.

A live reading by multifanficaday;

First Published
19th Oct 2012
Last Modified
19th Oct 2012
  • ...

There's a strange, powerful attraction between Canterlot Castle's captain of the guard and a certain princess of the night. What will happen when the two give in and lose themselves to the power of lust?

Cover art is a cool piece of fan-art by LA Crow.

First Published
17th Oct 2012
Last Modified
17th Oct 2012