• Published 17th Jan 2015
  • 12,251 Views, 1,060 Comments

Changelings, Love and Lollipops - Georg



When the Royal Wedding scatters defeated changelings all over Equestria, a member of the hive winds up being captured in Ponyville, tied up, stunned, shot by a cannon, and held against his will. The truly frightening part is he’s starting to l

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Chapter 1 - Hard Landings

Changelings, Love and Lollipops


Chapter 1
Hard Landings


The world was pink.

One moment the changeling had been happily returning to his Queen after chasing down and glueing another pegasus guard to the Canterlot castle floor. The next moment, pink.

He was beginning to hate pink.

Not just any pink, but the cloying, nostril-stunning, tidal wave of absolute pinkness that smashed him in the face just at the exact moment he had cleared the castle wall to enter the Queen’s new throne room. There was even a flavor to that pink-to-the-face. It tasted pink. Somehow it smelled pink, probably due to the colorful bits of confetti he had still jammed in his nose after that horrible fight with the terrifying mares. Much of the confetti was pink too, and some of it had jammed up his nose so far he swore he could hear it. And worse, it sounded pink.

The air was not pink. It was a soft blue, speckled with little black dots, and one larger dot who his fuzzy pink brain idly identified as the Queen, tumbling head over thorax into the distance. The other dots must have been fellow changelings, caught in the pink too.

Air roaring by his ears grew thicker, and the ground was coming up very fast. Fortunately, it was not pink. Unfortunately, it looked like he was going to land in a tree. Fortunately it was a blessedly soft, green tree filled with springy leaves to soak up any impact.

Unfortunately it had a house.

Right in the middle of the tree. A huge, solid, house. What kind of idiot puts a house in a tree?

The stars he saw when he crashed through the roof were not pink. But somehow even the darkness that swallowed him up seemed to have pink undertones.

~ ~ ~ ♥ ~ ~ ~

For the fourth day in a row, the changeling lay curled up in the back of the treehouse, wrapped in a blanket and wishing he could just die. The disgusting blanket may have been pink, but it was warm, and the evening chill warranted more than just his chitinous hide for protection. In particular, he appreciated how the soft fuzzy nap protected his battered bottom from the hard wooden floor of the house, because otherwise he would have happily thrown the cursed pink thing out the window. Scrounging through the loose cardboard box he had discovered stuffed under a table, he pulled out the last juice box and slurped the contents down while trying to keep his rebellious stomach in control.

Something inside his gut had certainly broken when that damnable pink sphere had thrown him and the rest of the changelings out of Canterlot, because the low buzzing of the Hivemind was completely absent for the first time in his life, and it terrified him more than his present battered condition. A changeling was defined by his link to the Queen. Without it, he was nothing but an abomination to be rendered down for food or killed on sight. Even though the multitude of cracks in his chitinous skin had healed somewhat, and his wings could be flapped now without the hammering pain in his head making him blind, he had no real interest in flying back to his hive and being killed.

He still could not change forms; the fuzzy spinning sensation that had encompassed him the last time he tried had taken nearly a day to go away. And despite multiple attempts to clear his sinuses of confetti, he still could not breathe right, and little flecks of pink kept fluttering out at random times when he exhaled.

At least for the last three days, noling and nopony had found him in the tree house, giving him plenty of time to distract himself from the stabbing pain in his belly by thinking about his ultimate fate. Since he was unable to return to the hive without being killed, and certainly unable to wander about the pony lands in his natural form given their certain reaction to the invasion, that only left hiding in the dark and forbidding forest somewhere until he either starved to death from lack of love, or became some creature’s midnight snack, neither of which really held an appeal to him.

As the sun began to set, the changeling settled down uncomfortably on the floor of the tree house and tried to sleep. The emotions of any sentient creature approaching his tiny hive of one would awaken him from his slumber, and maybe if he was lucky, give him enough time to painfully fly away into the darkness unnoticed.

What he failed to notice was three little figures who had already crept up to the clubhouse on silent hooves and were watching him through the windows.

With rope. Lots and lots of rope.