A collection of shorts based on your prompts and suggestions. Drop your idea off in the comments and hope I'm feeling good today!
Here's something you don't hear every day: I'll write your fic idea for you! Drop your idea in the comments, and if it excites me, I'll scribble up a thousand words or so when I have time.
This little project, a LONG-ass time ago, was meant to get me writing and explore a range of fics from cute to cloppy to grimdark and back. Many of these were written long ago, as you can see--and in many cases I have developed far past them--but I'm still writing minifics. I figure I may as well post them, so I'm going to add them here. Think of this as just a collection of short things that I write whenever they hit me.
I have no content restrictions whatsoever and I enjoy trying unusual things, so throw me your craziest ideas--maybe the crazy will appeal to me!
Rainbow Dash's medical record was reputed to be almost as prodigious as her collection of flight accolades. According to Ponyville Urgent Care's files, she'd been treated for twelve fractures, nine sprains, six potentially life-threatening lacerations, two concussions, and twelve lost or damaged primary feathers, all in only fifteen incidents. And those were only the ones she actually came in for. Despite the fact that she was often too stubborn to submit to treatment, Dash herself didn't mind the legendary status she had among Ponyville's nurses, and even seemed to find it flattering.
So it always came as a surprise to the nurses whenever one of them tried to give Dash a proper examination. As one Ms. Silver Cross described it, "It was like I had touched her with a live wire. She jumped a foot into the air and tried to stand on her fractured shins, mumbling something about how maybe she just needed to go home and sleep it off. Is there something we should know about her rear hooves?"
The answer wasn't to be found in Dash's medical records or psychological profile, but in her not too distant past. The scars on her ankles had mostly healed-- and of those that remained, nopony would see them underneath her hair. Nopony-- no pony, at least, had been around to see how she'd earned them, but she knew they were there. She remembered every tiny cut crisscrossing her skin, and when she looked at her own legs sometimes she thought she could still see the white lines where they had been, years ago.
None of her friends ever questioned her decision to fly over tall grass instead of walk on it. It was dumb luck that none of them ever noticed her violent reaction to the nurses touching her hooves, and even after seeing her reaction in the salon they just wrote it off as her being stubborn as usual. The occasional unfortunate tickle against her ankles was bad enough, but to have another living being working at her down there...? Every instant of every sensation came rushing back. The sheen of golden eyes in the sort of moonlight that can only be found above the clouds, fur and feathers dragging against each other in trembling rhythm, talons biting into blue-coated skin while a smooth beak probed and scratched and hissed with warm breath.
Rainbow Dash had never been a pony to forget parts of her life easily, and she intended to hold this secret close to her heart. She was a bad-flank, the toughest in Equestria, and those other ponies could just mind their own business.
AN: I have one regret about how I wrote this: Until the very end, it sounds like Rainbow Dash did this to herself with a boxcutter. I wanted to bait-and-switch the reader with the idea that it's an old wound, or at the very least I wanted to imply that breaking up with Gilda left a 'wound.' Now I wish I'd taken the darker route and made Dash a recovered cutter. Oh well.
Look, I don't believe in ghosts. No good scientist should, if you ask me. A week before I left on this expedition, I would've told you to screw right off if you told me that I would be spending the first night after our arrival back to back with Professor Rainfall and Doc Scope, all three of us shivering like a foals who've lost their mommy. Yet there we were. None of us would've admitted it, but you could smell it. We were spooked. Even Rain, grouchy bastard, didn't manage more than a few half-hearted insults before deciding he wanted to cower along with the rest of us.
I know, I know it sounds stupid. I mean, we could practically see from one side of the sandbar to the other from where we were. Not only was there nothing out there that could hurt us, there was nothing out there. Just us and the wreckage. But that was more than enough.
The ruin was a strange enough sight by day. Curved metal plates like gigantic seashells scattered around where they were shed off the hulk of the main body. Fossilized rigging rotting in a haphazard mess on the sand. And the remains of the envelope, a tattered cloth stretched over an oxidized-black skeleton. Part of why we were here was to find out what the ship was built for. I had my suspicions as soon as I saw the pictures, but now I'm sure, and even Rain agrees: This ship was a war machine of an age long past.
So how would you feel, then, making camp out on a deserted island, surrounded by the bones of a dead machine, a thousand miles from real solid land in any direction? There was a kind of terrible beauty to the whole thing. The deep, jagged shadows that sunset threw across the water as it started to get dark. The harsh black and white of the floodlights. Then, finally, nothing but the blood red of the emergency lights as we turned off the big guns to save power.
I'll never forget that night. The wind whistling between the bits of wreckage, I could swear I heard whispering in it, the whispers of the ship's crew. But most of all I remember being surrounded by that red glow reflecting off metal scraps and decaying walls. Like firelight from Tartarus, offering no warmth, shining only on sorrow and suffering. We made camp right underneath the logo printed onto the hull's east side. The image of the rising phoenix was supposed to be inspirational. That night, it looked to me like death-- like the harbinger of doom, rising over the three of us and staring down with an uncaring, judgmental eye.
The past is not always glamorous, romantic, inspirational. The dark side of our history lurks just beneath the surface, testing us, making sure those of us who choose to live in the past really have the guts to tear back the veil and look the blemished, scarred face of ponykind right in the eye.
"My grandma used to say something about that." You find yourself staring into those eyes again, eyes as warm and as brilliant as the sunset all around them. Their owner, a chestnut Earther, has soft fur and a softer voice. When he speaks, it is in a deep, gentle murmur that risks being blown away by the high-altitude winds even when raised in passion. Only groundbound stallions speak like that, a fact that makes the sound of his voice somehow all the sweeter.
"She used to say that the skies are wasted on the winged." At this, Hearthfire--for that is his name--shifts slightly, looking a little quilty. "I guess it kind of sounds, well, mean. Racist. I swear she wasn't, though! She loved Cloudsdale and Cirrus Crossing and all the ponies who visited from there."
"Sorry," you say, keeping your voice soft. "I don't think I understand. Wasted? Only Pegas really know the clouds, right?"
"I think that's just what she meant," Hearthfire replies. "You set every single cloud in the sky every day. A lot of you live your entire lives up here. So..." He pauses and breaks eye contact to sweep his gaze across the cloudscape all around them, slowly, as if he wants to experience every contour, one at a time. "So you Pegasi don't realize... how incredibly beautiful this all is." You almost lose Hearthfire's words to the breeze because he's on his back and speaking to the sky, but looking at him, he's easy to understand. The look in his eyes as he watches the way the sunset paints the cloudscape is more than just the openmouthed reverence that marks a first-time tourist. There's longing in his eyes--Hopeless, impossible desire. His chest rises and falls with deep, wistful breaths of cold high-altitude air. From this close, he smells like the flowers your mother used to bring from the market.
You reach out and gently brush Hearthfire's mane with a hoof that's colored a darker yellow than your mane by the setting sun. "You don't have to leave, you know," you murmur, trying to pull his gaze away from the sky and towards your own. "I can find you some work... enough to keep paying for cloud-walker enchantments. And I have enough saved to keep you going for a few weeks if you can't make enough, and--"
Hearthfire interrupts by turning away and shutting his eyes tightly. He speaks again, but he's facing away, and all you hear is his tone, low and flat yet somehow weak, not stoic.
"I can't hear you when you face that way. Can you look at me?" You say, a little apologetically.
Hearthfire snorts bitterly before turning around to face you, but his eyes are closed. "I said-- I said please stop." When he breathes again, it sounds forced. "I can't just stay. I have a job, I have a little brother, and my mom can't take care of him forever."
"You're a grown stallion! You could--"
"Stop," he says, more forcefully. "This week has been the most wonderful-- I can't even tell you how amazing this has been, but..." He opens his eyes gradually, and he kooks like he might cry at what he sees. "What if I told you to come with me? You don't have family. You can do your job from the ground. You could visit your friends once in a while."
Your stomach turns as you understand what he means. "I... I could!" You spit out desperately. "I don't have many things, I can join a weather crew down there, I..."
You stop as you feel his face nuzzling against yours. How did he manage that? Groundbounds had trouble moving on nimbus like this one; they were too soft, they tended to wobble and roll around... you must have edged closer to him without meaning to...
"But I can't ask you to do that," he coos. A shadow falls across your face as he blocks out the sunset, hovering over you. "Maybe we'll meet again someday. But until then..."
You can't hear the rest of what he says as he nips at your neck, hard enough to evoke a yelp. Cool hooves come to a rest against your shoulders, turning you willingly onto your stomach with not a feather more force than necessary. As you feel his weight come to rest on your back, pressing you deeper into the pillow-like cloud, his teeth drag a path of impossibly deft nibbles and kisses from your ear all the way to the crook of your left wing...
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
"Hey! Cloudia! What're you doin' wearin' that big thing?"
"Hey!" You force a smile as you wave at Moonwing. "Hey, um, would you come here for a minute?"
Moonwing looks confused as she glides closer, coming to a rest on top of the cirrus walkway. "Are you sick? It's too warm for a high-neck."
"No, I'm fine. Look, I need you to go to the market and get me a scarf."
Captain Cornerstone burst through the office's enormous doors and immediately bowed his head as he came to a skidding halt. "I stand ready, Princess," he announced, trying to keep his voice level despite his ragged breath.
"At ease, Captain," Celestia replied, her tone as unreadably sweet as always. "Thank you for your haste."
The Captain raised his head and gave a quick salute. "Units nine through twelve have been alerted. They will mobilize immediately at your command."
"That will not be necessary." The Princess even offered a small smile as she circled around her desk to address Cornerstone directly. "I've just finished a private meeting with a few advisors, and I'm pleased to say that Discord has confined his activities, for now, to a single small area."
"I am aware, Princess. Ponyville." The Captain's voice did not waver as he said the name of his childhood home... the birthplace of his father, the place where he learned how to coax pears down from a stubborn tree, decades before he learned to buck, bite, and charge.
"Yes, Ponyville. Fortunately for all of ponykind, Ponyville is small and isolated." Celestia's smile faded, but she never once let her voice darken. "I would like you, Captain, to deliver a message personally to the Sixth. Tell them to keep their lances ready at all times, lest night fall upon Canterlot next."
Cornerstone's eyes widened at the word 'lance.' He needed to hear nothing else to understand the terrible meaning of Celestia's simple words. He suppressed his gasp of horror, but could not keep the shaking from his knees or his voice.
He said, "At once, Princess," but he did not move for several seconds. When he finally turned to gallop out the door again, he was stopped.
"Permission to speak freely, Captain."
Cornerstone slowly turned around where he stood. Princess Celestia stood before him in all her regal beauty-- outstretched wings framing her perfect head and neck in traditional posture, muzzle held high. "My Princess is of course aware that I was raised in Ponyville," Cornerstone said, too quietly. "I hope... I hope night does not fall there."
"It will not," Celestia said, approaching him. He instinctually bowed again, but she placed a hoof to his chin and raised it to look her in the eyes. "The Elements will defeat Discord. Ponyville will live on in prosperity. You have my word."
"Then... why am I being told to prepare the Skylancer?" Again Cornerstone could not conceal his emotions.
"Because Discord's power threatens not only Ponyville but all of Equestria. This situation is the very reason why we trained the Sixth in the Skylancer's use." Celestia lowered her hoof to the floor. Cornerstone didn't look away from her.
"You mean to say I should order them to... to perform it, should the Elements fail?"
"They will not fail." For the first time, the Princess' words sounded dire. "Now hurry. We cannot know how much time we have before true disaster may strike."
I'd like to make a request, not for necessity but just for fun: Princess Luna having a conversation with a voice inside of her head, the voice belonging to Nightmare Moon (assuming the headcanon that NMM is sort of a symbiote entity wanting to take control of her for her own purposes). Luna tries to convince herself and NMM that she shouldn't hate her sister or any of her subjects even though her night is neglected. NMM tells her that she's being naive, and she should wrestle away control from her older sister to get what she wants. Luna eventually gives into despair, and whereas before their speech was vastly different, now it's difficult to clearly tell which of them is speaking as they plot an uprising against her sister. Princess Luna is gone: All that remains now is Nightmare Moon.
Sound like something up your alley?
Note: This is to be read like a 'duo interpretation,' with two actors standing side by side and facing the audience. They are not to physically interact with each other, but must pretend to be facing each other. There are also no explicit instructions as to the emotions of their lines.
LUNA: It is not morning, and I am not your sister.
NIGHTMARE: So you say. What shall we call each other, then? Shall I call you 'Other Me?'
LUNA: You may call me Luna. Or Princess. Or Princess Luna.
NIGHTMARE: As you wish, oh Princess. What will you call me, if you insist on keeping that lofty title for yourself?
LUNA: I will call you nothing, because that is what you are. Leave now me to my duties.
NIGHTMARE: Of course: Your duty of bringing in the glorious night.
LUNA: Indeed.
NIGHTMARE: It's fortunate for us both that you have me to keep you company throughout these great, important duties of yours.
LUNA: The night is beautiful. Presiding over it is my honor and privilege. You should understand that.
NIGHTMARE: Beautiful indeed. We never grow tired of seeing the star-scattered sky, do we?
LUNA: The night holds wonders that few ponies could appreciate like I can.
NIGHTMARE: Day and night are two sides of a coin.
LUNA: Opposites that must always coexist.
NIGHTMARE: You are wrong.
[Beat.]
NIGHTMARE: Opposites never coexist.
LUNA: Opposites define each other! Light and darkness, good and evil--They would not exist without their opposites.
NIGHTMARE: Opposites destroy each other, Sister. Light pierces darkness; good and evil are fictions that drive ponies to violence and destruction. All around you, opposites are at war with each other, and you think yourself the one exception to the rule.
LUNA: My sister and I are not at war!
NIGHTMARE: Do not deny what is made plain by the very cycles of the world! Just as day and night can never rule the sky together, Luna and Celestia are--
LUNA: My sister and I have always ruled together!
NIGHTMARE: Then why do we so rarely even see her royal face?
LUNA: Princess Celestia loves me! Opposites we may be, but we are sisters!
NIGHTMARE: She loves us so much that she would leave us to our night, while our adoring subjects hardly know that we exist.
LUNA: Watching over the ponies as they sleep is my sworn duty, one that we should be proud--
NIGHTMARE: You disgust me.
LUNA: We should be proud to rule alongside Princess Celestia.
NIGHTMARE: Alongside? Rule? You aren't a ruler. You're a foalsitter for sleeping fillies!
LUNA: She will agree, soon, that we are as fit to rule as she is.
NIGHTMARE: How soon? How many generations of ponies have lived and died without ever knowing the Princess of the Night? How many more will pass before your dear sister deems you worthy of showing them your face?
LUNA: We will prove ourselves to her. She will--
NIGHTMARE: Will you? Prove yourself?
LUNA: Her task requires the greater exertion of magic power. She thinks us weak.
NIGHTMARE: And you will prove her wrong?
LUNA: She will see us for what we are.
NIGHTMARE: Yes, she will.
LUNA: Her opposite.
NIGHTMARE: Her sister, equal and worthy.
LUNA: Tonight's time has come.
NIGHTMARE: Do you hate your sister, Princess?
LUNA: Do we?
NIGHTMARE: No. You do not.
LUNA: And that is why we deserve better from her.
NIGHTMARE: She should be your sister, not your opposite.
LUNA: No longer will we be confined to the dark underside of the coin.
NIGHTMARE: Time to bring about nightfall, Princess.
LUNA: No. There will be no nightfall. Because there will be no morning.
I've always wanted to see someone tackle a Diamond Tiara shipfic. No, I don't mean something like Diamond TiaraXSilver Spoon, or any of those kinds of ships. I mean a STRAIGHT-UP ship fic (Not SERIOUS shipping, but the kind of puppy love-type filly ships you'll find) between Diamond Tiara and a school colt. I find that idea so unique, and it hasn't been done before.
I'd honestly like to see if you could pull that off.
Playground justice. The Princess handing down judgement on the lowly fillies and colts who had to learn to worship her better. Somepony else had done the work of spilling his bags; all Diamond Tiara needed to do was the fun (but equally important) part. "Hah! Maybe YOUR special talent is being pathetic! I think I'll call you Tiny..." Diamond Tiara's namesake headgear glittered harshly in the afternoon sun as she stalked towards her downed target. "... Because that's the size of your brain!"
She turned her muzzle smugly upwards as she strutted away. Her denouncement was met by a chorus of mocking laughs--a chorus that was suddenly silenced, far sooner than it was supposed to end. Tiara hardened her gaze as she looked around for who could be responsible for cutting her fanfare short. The answer she found wiped both the triumph and the annoyance off her face.
"Diamond Tiara!" Miss Cherrilee glared down from the school's front steps. "What have I told you about mean nicknames?"
The congregation dispersed at once. Those who couldn't find something to pretend to be doing simply turned tail and trotted briskly away, afraid of getting in trouble themselves.
Tiara didn't conceal her glare. Her head was lowered, but she stood her ground and didn't break her gaze. "I was just telling the truth," she spat back.
Miss Cherrilee's expression hardened. "I suppose my lesson about mean nicknames and how they can have very real consequences sent completely to waste. Come inside, miss Tiara. We need to talk." The playground was silent for a a few spare moments. "Now, Tiara!"
Tiara didn't just scowl; she practically snarled at her teacher as, in front of a silently staring assembly of foals, she marched up the stairs and back into the schoolhouse. Her glare was positively focused, as if she was putting great effort into looking as angry as she possibly could.
"Sit in your chair, Miss Tiara."
Diamond Tiara glared for just a single moment of defiance before obeying her teacher.
"Do you remember what I said about calling other ponies names?"
Diamond Tiara didn't answer.
"Miss Tiara, I asked you a question."
"Yes, Miss Cherrilee."
"Well?"
"You said..." Diamond Tiara was failing, badly, at containing her hate. What didn't show in her glare came through in her voice. "You said calling ponies names hurts their feelings and makes it harder for them to do the things they like, and if you call them names enough times it might even make it harder for them to find their special talent because then they might think about their mean name all the time and not realize their potential."
"If you were listening so closely, why did you still call Trace that name?"
"Because he's stupid!" Tiara shot back unflinchingly.
Cherrilee frowned, looking genuinely upset for the first time. "Trace got a better score than you did on last week's geography quiz. What makes him stupid, exactly?"
"He... he just IS!" Tiara scrunched backwards into her chair miserably. "He's little and stupid and I hate him!"
"You hate him? You seemed to be playing nicely with him just the other day." Cherrilee trotted around her desk to face Tiara head-on. "Is this how you treat all your friends?"
"He's not my friend! He's stupid!"
"You really seemed to like each other--"
"I don't LIKE him!"
Cherrilee narrowed her eyes and walked closer. "Well, it doesn't matter whether you like him or not. We are not supposed to treat our classmates this way. Understand?"
Tiara pouted. "Yes, miss Cherrilee."
"What are you going to do about this?"
Tiara didn't answer.
"You really hurt Trace's feelings. You need to apologize."
That took some of the pout out of Tiara, but only a little. "I'm sorry, miss Cherrilee."
"You need to apologize to him."
Amazingly, even to herself, Tiara didn't snap back. For a long few moments of silence, she just stared angrily at her desk. "Fine," she finally said.
"Good." Miss Cherrilee trotted out the front door, and soon returned with a small white colt in tow. Trace was staring intently at the floor, the fur around his eyes dark with dried tears. He looked perhaps half as miserable as Tiara felt. "I'll come back to check on you in a few minutes," Cherrilee said, heading back outside and closing the door behind her.
The muffled noise of their classmates playing outside was the only sound for what felt like an hour. Tiara, forelegs crossed across her chest, stared out a window while Trace simply stood, looking bored and vaguely uncomfortable. That was when Trace walked up to Tiara.
"Hey, Diamond Tiara?"
His voice was as tiny as his head. Tiara's nose wrinkled in disgust.
"Um... I'm sorry."
Tiara's nose un-wrinkled rapidly as she leaned back in surprise. "What?"
"I said I'm sorry. I know you don't like me... I'll try to stay out of your way."
"What are you TALKING about?" Tiara dropped out of her chair to stare Trace down. She was unable to stop herself from smirking at how he cringed under her deadly glare. "I was supposed to apologize to YOU, you stupid--!" She bit her tongue before saying "tiny."
"I know, but I guess I kind of feel bad too. And um... you can call me Tiny if you want."
Diamond Tiara's eyes widened and she leaned back again for an instant. No! Little Tiny wasn't going to unbalance her that easily! "Are you just trying to make it so I can't apologize to you? Just trying to get me in more trouble?"
"No! I just want to get this over with so we can be friends again!"
"What? After you got me in trouble like this?"
"I didn't mean to!" Trace's eyes started to water as he looked back down to the floor. "I was trying to ask Silver Spoon to ask you to go to the slide with me!"
"Well you did! You got me in trouble!" Tiara glared at Trace just a little longer.
"I'm s-sorry!"
Trace looked up as Tiara stalked towards him. Their faces almost touched. She could smell his tears. She liked that smell. "Good. I don't want you to get me in trouble any more, got it?"
"Um... can we play together again once you're not being punished?"
Tiara stood up straight, her full pride restored. "I'll think about it, but you have to sit and wait for me by the slide like before. If I want to, I'll come see you. Okaaaa-y?"
"Oh, um... okay!"
"And you have to tell Miss Cherrilee that I apologized to you really nice!"
"I... of course!"
Tiara strutted to the door, Trace close behind. Miss Cherrilee smiled as she saw how the two friends were getting along once more.
The tiny little jerk was tiny, and stupid, but he was sort of cute, thought Tiara, especially during recess periods like that Tuesday, when he told her how much he liked playing with her and how pretty her tiara was. She planned to meet him at the slide, as promised, and she would be extra nice to him because of how he'd apologized to her for getting her in trouble with the teacher.
Well, if she had time. The Princess led a busy life, after all.
"No," Bon-Bon seethed, "What's racist is those Neighpon ponies inventing a way to make Earthers look stupid! The Unis in that country think they can create this system of humiliating those of us who weren't fortunate enough to be born as dick-heads, and we're supposed to follow their lead!"
The silence in the wake of Bon's tirade lasted only for a moment as the sushi bar's other patrons quickly turned back to their own conversations, lest they get caught staring. One or two took it upon themselves to glare for a moment, offended either by Bon's tone, or her volume, or the racial epithet she'd used.
"We could've gotten take-out, you know," Lyra muttered. She was barely audible, as she was busy glancing around, trying to see if anypony was still watching them. There were a lot of unicorns in the place-- most of the patronage sported horns, in fact-- and a fair few of them looked to be Neighponnese, too. "Bon, you won't be the first Earth Pony to not be able to do this. Please..."
"Oh of course." Bonbon's slightly husky voice was at its full, unladylike rasp. She was just as loud as before, but this time most of the room knew better than to spare more than a glance. "Can't take the clunky-hooved Mudder anywhere. Better keep her inside, or else someone might see her!"
This time Lyra was the one who inhaled sharply at Bonbon's language. Her horn glimmered, as inconspicuously as she could manage. Sorting telekinetically through her bag wasn't easy without looking... There! A telltale jingle told her she'd found her coin purse. "I'm serious," she blurted out, trying to cover up how she was scheming for a quick escape. "It's expected in a place like this. You can't levitate the sushi, you use the chopsticks. You can't use the chopsticks, you bring it home. Nobody judges--"
"The hell they don't! I have a food-based Cutie Mark, and if I'm going to eat Neighponnese food, I'm going to eat it properly! Don't you tell me to hide while eating it because it's not worth having me try to do it properly!"
"Properly" was, of course, a poor choice of words. In front of Bonbon was a scene of utter carnage. Cucumber, takuan, and ginger were scattered as if tossed carelessly onto the table from a distance. Rice was arranged into deformed lumps, and nori was shredded to the point of uselessness for any purpose except perhaps as a condiment for the disastrous salad that had started off as a collection of artfully arranged sushi.
Lyra suppressed a sigh as she watched Bonbon fumble with the chopsticks again. Her dear Earth Pony lover's strong hooves were having no success with the delicate movements that a helpful staffer had tried to demonstrate at the beginning of the night. Of course, now that she wasn't using such terrible language, Lyra remembered why she liked it when her Sweet got annoyed. The determination, the insistently beautiful spirit she showed whenever she stomped her hooves or flared her nostrils made even the most infuriating arguments tolerable, even endearing-- for a strong heart is the birthright of every pony of every type, and Bon was no exception, even though sometimes she could get a little bit carried away with herself. And it was more than just the knowledge that they could always kiss and make up; Bon's focused, thoroughly annoyed expression at times like these, the way muscles tightened in her neck and her breath turned harder, more determined-- It gave Lyra all the right tingles in all the right places.
"Listen," Lyra murmured as she slipped down from her stool and onto all fours, sidling up next to her Bonnie with just the right kind of saunter. "We still have some Marediterranean in the fridge. C'mon home and there'll still be time for a little dessert."
The signal was not lost on Bon-Bon. "A little after-dinner treat, hmm?" She replied, unwilling to totally shed the sullenness from her voice just yet.
"Why wait until after?" Lyra crooned. "You know I like eating sweets first."
Bon-Bon snorted, but allowed Lyra to pay for the meal and escort her out.
While I'm working on things, I thought I'd share some random stuff I've done that fits nicely into the theme of this collection. This one was an interesting self-imposed challenge: I pushed myself to cram something into the span of a single youtube comment.
Do feel free to suggest other videos I should try my hand at. I also did what I thought was a pretty great one for "reach for the stars," the Sonic Colors song.
Ain't that just like ponykind to romanticize their wars, callin' it a "revolution" or some crap. Still, though... You shoulda seen it. Even from my cave it was somethin'. Rivers, oceans of 'em marchin' like one body. Helmets carpetin' hills like how their Goddess sprinkled the sky with stars.
... Listen. Signing up to die for a cause is bullshit. I always believed that, always will. But not even I could tell that to the Loonies' faces. All those ponies waitin' to die that night. Makes ya think.
Celebratory fireworks filled the sky, threatening to outshine the sunrise. No more war! Peace and prosperity! Equestria and beyond would be warmed by the sun once more!
The moon stared down accusingly at victorious Celestia, and she stared back. Slowly, stars began to melt into the orange-pink of a new age. The Solar Princess turned and trotted, regally, down the stairs. Time to address her people. Time to face the breaking dawn.
When you first gave me this assignment, I regarded it as an academic, even martial pursuit-- the study of a weapon with which to defend ponykind. As time went on, I realized that I was learning the true meaning not only of friendship, but of magic. Last night I slept under the stars with my five closest friends. There, I felt the presence of the most powerful magic I've ever known.
Some of you may feel like the bearer of the Element of Kindness deserves more than such a small gathering, but Fluttershy never liked crowds. Her love will live forever in all the hearts she touched, but especially in ours. This song was written to honor her long life bringing beauty to a world sorely in need of it. Flutters, wherever you are, I know it's a much better place, because now it has you.
Goodbye, Fluttershy. Goodbye, friend. Equestria will miss you, and so will we.
At first, pony society tried to accept them. Love and tolerance and such; most ponies saw no reason why these strange in-betweens could not live among them. Even before the ponification program was put into effect, few truly believed that powerful magic like the Conversion Bureau's could be without risks or side-effects. The unfortunate cases of the in-betweeners only confirmed these suspicions. Many of them were stricken with sorrow at their condition; still others found that their minds were at constant war with themselves, waging an endless war of human vs. pony sensibilities.
The day of the in-betweeners' revolt will forever be known as the Night of Terror. The streets ran with blood as they lashed out with impossibly, horrifyingly coordinated malice. Homes burned. Innocent villagers were murdered in their sleep. Mayoral offices, guard outposts, and mail routes fell to the rioters in a matter of hours. The only thing that saved pony society from meeting a bloody end at the hands of the in-betweeners was the relatively small number of rioters who dared to continue the fight when faced with the power of the first alicorn, Queen Reverie, nee Christina Dawn. The changelings who remained converged on the town where she had taken residence, thinking to decapitate pony society in a climactic battle--and every last member of the attacking army broke itself against the Queen's godlike power.
Queen Reverie, with her once-human failings, decreed that the in-betweeners be banished to the Outlands for all time, subject to immediate imprisonment if ever seen near a pony settlement.
Reverie would never see another in-betweener in her lifetime, nor would Queen Nocturne after her, nor Queen Daybreak, or Queen Astra. Improbably, the in-betweeners seemed to be willing to abide by the terms of their exile.
In truth, of course, the in-betweeners were among them, unseen. For thousands of years, dozens of generations, they watched. They watched as the old world's dreams of peace and love came to full fruition, dreams that no longer included them. They watched science crumble without humans to tend it, and they watched its slow resurgence. They watched nations rot away to make way for one glorious, beautiful, harmonious Equestria.
Each one of them is born with their mother whispering to them what they are: An aberration, an exile, a hated enemy of ponykind. The name given to them in the beginning still remains: In-betweeners. In-between what? The infants invariably ask their parents, and the answer is always "Between hope and despair." The in-betweeners do not know what they are, nor do they remember what they once were or why the first ones were exiled. They have only stories, stories that teach them hate, sorrow, jealousy... and hunger.
It was inevitable that they would one day lash out again. Like the first time, so many thousands of years ago, their target was the home village of the Queen, though this time there was no queen but a Princess, and she lived in the glorious city of Canterlot.
Princess Celestia's niece was to be married. All of ponykind's eyes would be on Canterlot. There, the in-betweeners would rise again.
The prompt for this one would be a spoiler. I pasted it onto the end. ==============================
"Seriously! Like, for super EXTRA serious!" she squeaked, glancing around as if she expected the serious she was talking about to come and smack her right atop her pink-maned head any moment now. She was wearing a vest and trousers that covered her rear legs, the sort worn when trudging through thorny or poisonous plants, and they were caked with dust from the road. "Like, what if Canterlot just falls off the side of Mount Harmony? And then the mountain erupts and buries everything? And then monsters come and make their OWN city on top of where Canterlot is buried? Or maybe the monster ITSELF will bury the city, like, it'll be some huge grey slime thing and--" Her mane flicked occasionally in front of her face before springing back into its usual large tuft.
Mr. and Mrs. Field, a pair of aging unicorns, exchanged sidelong glances. The poor panicked filly on their front step was in danger of breaking into tears. "Um," Amber Field said gingerly, "Are you... the Pie family's young one?"
"What? I mean, yeah, I'm Pinkie Pie, but that's not important! You HAVE to believe me!"
"How did you get here?" Amber's husband Green cut in.
"I ran! Look, I know this sounds crazy, but ever since last week when I got my Cutie Mark, I've been feeling these-"
"All the way from the Pie family farms?"
"Yes from my family's farm, where the heck else? Anyway, there have been these signs that warn me about things, but yesterday I started noticing a really weird one, and it really scares me because-"
"Can you find your way home? Do your parents know you're here?"
Pinkie stomped her forehooves and let out a frustrated little huff. "Why do you grownup ponies always get distracted from what's important? Something really ridiculously bad is going to happen, I don't know when, but really soon, and the best chance we all have is to stick together until we know what we're dealing with!"
Again Amber and her husband Green tried to flash discreet, worried looks at each other. "Pinkie Pie, maybe you should come inside. It's late, it looks like it might rain soon, and your parents are going to wonder where you-"
"There's no time for that! I still have to warn the rest of the farms!" She shouted, jumping up and down to emphasize her point. "Just promise me you'll come over to the Pie farm after this, please please I really really really really really need you to--" Pinkie's bouncing accelerated until she practically vibrated, her mane turning frizzy from agitation.
"I'll walk you home," Green Field said, stepping forward. "You need to get back to your family before it gets dark, and..."
"Argh! FINE!"
Green Field galloped after Pinkie with a startled "Wait!" as the little pink doomsayer tore off down the road.
As they ran, the rain began in earnest, turning the road into a minefield of slippery puddles. Pinkie pushed ahead with impossible reserves of energy while Green struggled to keep up. As she finally skidded to a halt at the Pie family's front gate, Pinkie's ears flattened against her head. A familiar sensation had taken over her backside-ish area. A twitching spasm, subtle but uncontrollable. It wasn't just her rump, though; there was something inside her head, a kind of itch, and her butt muscles were only channeling the sixth sense, which was warning her about...
Pinkie turned around as she heard a disgruntled yelp. Mr. Field was rubbing something white and icky-looking on his head. A bird dropping! Pinkie narrowed her eyes. Mr. Field gave up on cleaning the nastiness out of his mane, started to walk forward, and stopped as he saw Pinkie's intense expression. Her ears were flattened--no--they were flapping back and forth, up and then down again in rapid succession.
A harder one, thought Pinkie. Ears flapping. The flapping was sort of a haphazard motion, it felt somehow... messy... like big puddles or spilled cocoa powder or...
Mr. Field walked forward cautiously, watching Pinkie like she had turned into a timberwolf. Unsettled as he was, he didn't notice the mud-slick between them. He had time only for a short, indignant gasp as he went down hard, splattering himself completely with mud.
Just like before. The signs. The accidents. But she still didn't know about the doozy of a sign that had been going on since yesterday... a horrible, terrifying sign that came with no feeling except intermittent pain and creeping dread. She shivered slightly just thinking about it. Pinkie turned her back slowly on the scene behind her. Jaw set, staring straight ahead with grim resolve, she walked slowly towards her front door. None of the grownups could understand. It was up to her. Her knees trembled as she realized the terrible burden of being the only pony of all her neighbors who had this strange, terrible, frightening warning-sense... "Let's go," she said in as low and dramatic of a voice she could manage with her fillyish squeak.
Green Field, his fur now all sorts of matted and discolored, followed as instructed. He wiped his hooves on the doormate reflexively, though there was no fixing his coat.
Pinkie stopped in front of the door as she felt a sudden surge of signs. Knee cramp, eye twitch... twisting, heavy feeling... No time to lose; she had to get Mr. Field inside where it was safe! She turned and bucked the front door open full force, banging it open with enough force to send her father, who had been standing on the other side, into the far wall.
Pinkie's eyes widened. The sign had been for the door hitting her dad! The warnings were happening faster all the time!
"Daddy Pie! You know what I said on Monday about my tail twitching right before the pots fell out of the cabinets? It's happened again! Three times today!" Pinkie scurried forward, then started pacing rapidly in front of her groaning father as he picked himself back up to his hooves. "I'm sure now, I know it, there are signs! But that's not the scary part--ever since yesterday I've been noticing the scariest one of all, and it still hasn't stopped!"
She stopped pacing, and turned to Mr. Green. The foalish panic in her eyes was gone, replaced by true, genuine horror. "I thought and thought about it but I just don't know what this one means. I can't even start to think about it. It's so... just so..." Her eyes watered and she turned back to her father, who had approached her, looking utterly exhausted on top of being dazed from the hit.
"All right, Pinkie," he croaked in his usual monotone, "What kind of sign was this scary one? I bet it's nothing to worry about!"
"I... I don't really want to... it's kind of gross," Pinkie stammered. "But it's really horrible! I think it means, like... a flood, or some kind of horrible smelly monster made of slime or something, or..." Tears started to trickle down her face as she choked out the last possibility. "Or somepony getting really, really hurt. And the signs are always right! I'm so scared. I wish I wasn't, but I just don't know!"
"Okay," her father said, "why don't you just... Can you show us? Maybe we can help. Right, Green?" ,
Mr. Field, who had been trying his best to will himself invisible where he stood in the doorway, glanced in both directions before nodding once.
Pinkie bit her lower lip, backing away from her father and towards the kitchen table. "Okay," she said tremblingly, "But don't say I didn't warn you... it's really... it's gross and smelly and--"
Mr. Pie and Mr. Field joined Pinkie in the kitchen, both of them staring expectantly.
With a deep breath, Pinkie unfastened her trousers and flipped them onto the table.
The room immediately started to smell of copper. Dark stains marred Pinkie's rump and the inside of the trousers.
"I don't know what it means," Pinkie said, lowering her head, "But it has to be something horrible. None of the signs were anything like this. I'm so scared. I'm just so scared."
============================== irc.canternet.org #fic [18:18:41] [WriterInTraining] Bunch of things happening to Pinkie's body to predict the future. [18:18:55] [WriterInTraining] Comedy, Pinkie Pie goes through puberty and thinks the world is ending. [18:19:54] [WriterInTraining] Sorry, not puberty. I meant to say that other thing that happens which involves the blood [18:20:01] [Cassius] Stop. [18:20:06] CoS violent spittake!!
I meant this as a joke entry to the /fic/ write-off. We had three days to write something based on the prompt "cutting ties." I wanted to write this, but it probably would have been rejected for content, and this little joke would have no business being more than a thousand words long.
To call your screams unrestrained would be to imply that you still had the ability to restrain yourself. No; the only restraints holding you at this point are the ones fastened to your wrists and ankles. You're still panting from your last outcry when you feel another lash against your bare abdomen, sudden and vicious. Your back arches as you cry to the ceiling, your back arching off of the soft bed.
"You're doing very well, darling," your Mistress croons, tossing the flogger aside and floating the crop to her side instead. "Just two more rotations until you get the reward you've been waiting for. Ready for the next round?"
You start to answer, but interrupt yourself with a gasp as she deals the first hit, the crop landing a clean thwack against your left inner thigh. The gasp turns into a shudder as she drags the crop gently across your leg. "You've been so patient," she sighs into your ear. "But I suppose time flies..." She suddenly draws back the crop and strikes, evoking a yelp of surprise. "...when you're having fun."
Snap. "Two." That angelic voice.
Snap. "Three." She's not a sadist; just a very good top. You can tell that this is all for you. Generosity and all.
By the time she gets to "twelve" you're panting heavily between shudders. The distinctive singing noise of unicorn magic sounds again as she tosses the crop aside, then again as she picks up the next implement. You crane your neck to try to see what she's levitating towards you next-- the bullwhip, the cane...?
The moment is broken, however, as she jumps on top of you, her perfectly maintained white fur dragging gently against you. "Oh, oh, oh-oh-oh!" she cries, sounding rather upset. "Oh my goodness, you should have told me if it was too tight! Tch. It's my own fault. Should have taken a round of double-checking these sorts of things."
She removes the cuff from your left wrist and kisses you where the metal had rested against your skin. It stings for some reason.
You look over and have to chuckle at her concern over the thin red marks on your wrist. It's just a scratch. Sometimes binds can cut into skin when you give a particularly good thrash...
When the three kingdoms cried out for salvation, the Hearthfire was kindled for the first time, and the Sisters were born. On that cold winter night, in ponykind’s darkest hour, six alicorns drew their first breaths in unison, then exhaled the new world into being.
Today, the little ones look to my sister and I as their once and forever Princesses, whose wings are wide enough to beat back any storm, whose magic shines brightly enough to warm the world eternally. We rule the skies, but the world did not always belong to us alone.
Untold ages ago, my sister and I were born into another Equestria, one ruled by six instead of two. Ponykind named us as they came to know us, and through their names we came to know ourselves. Day and Night, Summer and Winter, Life and Death, these were our names.
These stories--lost, silenced, or never told at all--are the truest and oldest stories of Equestria.
===
My name is lust and passion, the life that burns within every heart. From the roar of a throng to the mewling of a newborn, the cries of ponykind are my voice. In the shuddering of lovers, in the rage of adversaries, in the joy and thrill of a pegasus filly first discovering the sky—in these things feel my breath, hear my heartbeat, bask in the fury of my fire!
My name was Fire, and it was Joy. Then it was Life, and War, and finally Love.
Just as Sun has her sister Moon, so did I have a sister, and like Moon, she was a dark and mysterious spectre who lurked in the places that my light did not touch.
What could I do but oppose her utterly? She whispered secrets to the little ones that quenched the fervor of innocence, turning them into husks incapable of their former zeal. She flicked across their paths through life, dimming the world around them until the despair that she gave them hid the beauty of my world from their eyes. And, of course, she was always there, always lurking in the margins of my domain, waiting to snuff out forever the beauty that I created.
I remember the day when I learned that my sister was not my enemy.
It began, as all things do, with a tiny foal. Foaling: The spark that ignites a soul. It is a furious onslaught of fear, hope, and glorious agony, and then, when the suffering is over, it is the beginning of a new flicker of life. It is the purest and most powerful act of creation in all of Equestria and beyond.
The child was to be one of the very first children of the new world. I was present for the little one’s birth, and so was my sister. It was rare for her to walk in my domain rather than skirting its edges, and rarer still for her to stand in my very presence. At first, I roared in offense: This moment, turbulent and full of pain, belonged to me alone! I demanded that she leave.
My sister refused, but she did not say that I was wrong. Instead, she begged me to look into the hearts of the nurses and loved ones who were watching the birth. I did, grudgingly, and I saw how my fire was leaving ugly scorch marks on the hearts of those who watched. I saw black scars marring their souls, and how the power of my fire invited in my sister’s presence as surely as a candle casts a shadow.
Then my sister urged me to look into the heart of the mother and her foal, and what I saw changed everything, forever. Inside the mother was an inferno that grew and grew, unstoppable and destructive. This was a consuming fire, one that destroyed all that it touched. Inside the foal was the same. Fire, and only fire. Suffering without end.
When my sister saw the understanding in my eyes, she lowered her head and touched them both, mother and child. Her touch turned the fire in them to ice, then turned the ice to nothing.
The little ones called it tragedy. I called it ugly necessity. My sister called it an act of purest kindness.
They named her Death, yes, and Sorrow. But they also named her Knowledge, and Hush, and Mercy.
Just as Day begins and ends at midnight, so too does Life begin and end in silence, and like silence, my sister's shadow is there even in the moments when Life roars the loudest.
My sister speaks to me still, but quietly. She knows that we cannot help but oppose each other--but no longer is our conflict a war between opposites. She speaks to me, and only me--while she has a name, and that name can never be erased, she has long since vanished from the stories that the little ones tell. They have forgotten that the name Death once belonged to a Goddess like me. They know only that I am the keeper of the flame, and that no flame can last forever.
Twilight closed her eyes, resting her head against the side of her prison of black stone. She had failed, but Spike would not. The power of the Crystal Heart would drive the darkness away from the Empire, and that was all that mattered.
Oblivion was closing in all around, an ever-growing chill of hate and corruption pressing against her tiny unicorn mind. She felt despair powerful enough to oppress the crystal ponies for a thousand years, malice patient enough to wear down the magic of an alicorn and her unicorn lover. Twilight opened her eyes again, and she felt her heart stand still as she stared up at a sky that was black with evil. Sombra might have been called King, but he had the power of a God.
It had been too long, Twilight realized. Spike should have reached heart of the castle by now. With every moment, Twilight imagined more desperately: Maybe there would be an explosion of light tearing the sky asunder and spreading light across the world again. Maybe Cadance’s magic would bloom forth and shield the kingdom with love. Maybe the crystal ponies themselves would join together to drive away their oppressor. Maybe the Rainbow of Light would streak across the sky, slicing through the fear and sorrow...
Salvation did not come. Twilight thought she heard faint screams from far below as King Sombra’s glowering visage rose, victorious, over the Crystal Empire. A shock of horror shot through Twilight's gut as she imagined something else: Her five friends standing back to back in the throne room, placing themselves between Cadence and the oncoming darkness, defiant to the last even as their end crept in under the door and through the windows...
In the last moments before the sun was blotted out forever, Twilight saw something she would never forget. Sombra’s black-on-grey unicorn head suddenly, ever so briefly, changed. Even as the icy grip of madness closed in on her mind, Twilight knew that what she saw was no figment of her imagination. The word that came to Twilight’s mind described the form that Sombra took, though the simple name was woefully inadequate: Dragon. A dragon whose wings spanned the horizon, whose eyes burned with unspeakable, unknowable power not of this world.
At that moment, as darkness claimed final victory over the Crystal Empire, Twilight’s planeswalker spark ignited.
