> The Starlight & Pals Magical Half Hour
>  by Cold in Gardez
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> S2E10: Unbridled Enthusiasm
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Knock knock!” Twilight Sparkle said at the threshold of Starlight Glimmer’s room. She didn’t actually knock, of course -- the door was already open and she could see Starlight sitting at her desk, leafing through some journal or other from the library’s periodical collection.

“Hey Twilight!” Starlight flipped the journal closed. “What’s up? Need help with something?”

“No, just thought I’d stop by, see how you’re doing.” Twilight stepped into the room and looked around. “Actually, there was one little thing I was hoping you could help with.”

“Of course!” Starlight leapt to her hooves. Her horn lit, and her saddlebags floated from their peg on the wall to her withers. “Where are we going?”

“No, no, not a mission. Just a question.” Twilight pulled a few documents out of her own saddlebags and shuffled them before her. “It’s just, I was going through the castle’s invoices this morning, for the budget meeting next week, and I found something that I thought was a little odd.”

“Oh.” Starlight floated her saddlebags back to the wall. “What’s that?”

“Well, uh.” More shuffling of papers. “This will sound weird and it’s probably nothing and I’ll feel stupid about it like that time I thought you were hitting on my brother but it turned out he just had some lint on his belly and we all had a good laugh about it and it was funny even though it kinda felt like you were all laughing at me but anyway I thought it was important enough to check so here goes—” here she took a breath, “did you by any chance order a premium subscription to www.live-pig-dissections.com?”

“Oh. Oh!” Starlight let out a little half-laugh. “That! Oh, yeah, I could see how that would startle you if you just saw it on an invoice. I’m sorry, Twilight, I should’ve given you some kind of heads-up – it’s not what it sounds like.”

“Heh. Whew! I figured.” Twilight grinned. A weight lifted from her shoulders. Just a little misunderstanding! Foals and their website names these days, all crazy and startling and misleading. “I mean, wouldn’t that be crazy? A website that actually sold videos of live pigs being dissected?”

“Hah! What a nutty idea!” Starlight smiled along with her. “No, it’s nothing like that, Twilight. The videos are live. All the pigs are already dead.”

“The videos…” Twilight stopped and reconsidered her words. “You… you’re serious?”

“Absolutely. All the videos start with a veterinarian certifying that the pig in question shows no signs of life, or its brain and spinal cord have been destroyed. No brain, no pain!”

“No, I mean…” Twilight closed her eyes. “You… you watch videos of pigs being dissected? Ponies makevideos of pigs being dissected?”

“Of course. How else are you supposed to learn about anatomy?”

“Books! From books! You don’t need to, to cut a pig open!”

“How do you think those books got written?” Starlight asked. She sat on her haunches and held up a hoof to forestall Twilight’s response. “Look, you know I love books. But books can’t show you how intercostal muscles expand your ribcage and make you inhale, or the weight of the heart, or how the liver balances the body’s humours.”

Twilight scowled. The shock and disgust bubbling in her gut gave way to something else – indignation, and a little anger besides. “I can’t believe this! Those were living beings! And you just cut them up for your own edification?”

“Well, no, I don’t cut them up. The doctors in the videos do. But you’re correct about the important thing, Twilight: they were living beings. And now they’re dead, and they don’t care what happens to them. Why shouldn’t we at least put their bodies to some good use?”

“Because they’re—” Twilight tried to keep speaking, but had no breath. Hyperventilating, that was it. She closed her eyes and lowered her head below her shoulders, focusing on her breathing. In, out. In, out. In, hold, out. Dimly she was aware of Starlight rubbing her back with a hoof.

“Easy, easy,” Starlight said. “I’m sorry, Twilight. I didn’t realize you felt so strongly about this. I wouldn’t have been so cavalier.”

Twilight took as deep a breath as she could, and let it out a second later. “How can you not feel strongly about it?”

“Hm.” Starlight gaze around the room for a moment before fixing her eyes on the desk. Her horn glowed, and a feathered writing quill lifted from beside her ink pot to float over to them. It hovered in the air, flying again. “You see this quill?”

Twilight nodded. “Uh huh.”

“Did I ever tell you about it?”

Twilight shook her head.

Starlight spun the quill idly as she spoke. Her eyes seemed to look beyond it. “This feather’s name is Ink Scratch. My mom gave her to me years ago, after I won top prize in an essay contest at school. See those little blue dots on the barb? They’re probably just marks from the quill-cutter, but when I was a filly I thought maybe the whole bird this feather came from had those blue spots, and she was a special bird, something beautiful like a peacock, and this feather came to me all the way from some distant land just so I could take notes. And everytime the nib cracked I’ve had her re-cut. Everytime I’ve moved, she’s been the first thing I pack. I saved almost nothing from Our Town, but I have Ink Scratch because I never let her out of my sight. Don’t you think she’s pretty?”

Twilight nodded. The residual anger in her heart had softened as Starlight spoke. “Yeah. You know, I have an ink pot that—”

Starlight snapped the quill in half.

Twilight gasped. “Starlight! What are you—”

“It’s a feather with a nib on it, Twilight,” she said. “I bought it last week from Davenport for three bits. I made all the rest of that up. All I did was break a quill, like you do every week, but because I told you a story about it, you felt bad.”

The broken quill bits floated over to the trashcan and fell, vanishing among crumpled papers and scraps of kite-making materials. Starlight continued: “There’s nothing wrong with dissecting dead animals, Twilight. It’s necessary for us to understand the world. It only feels wrong if you tell yourself a story that makes you feel it’s wrong. So tell a different story.”

Twilight stared at the trashcan. “How… how can you do that? Just… change what you want to believe?”

“Sentimentality is an indulgence, Twilight. Only the comfortable can afford it. Now, come on.” She nuzzled Twilight’s shoulder and helped her stand. “Wanna see how a pig’s lungs work?”

“No!” Of course she didn’t. Why would she want to see that? To see how they adhered to the pleural walls, how the negative pressure of inhalation inflated them, how the diaphragm compressed to expel them. That was… crazy. “Maybe. Okay, yes.”

“Great. Let’s start with this one here…”
> S1E7: Spur of the Moment (GaPJaxie)
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Spike!” Starlight called. “Could you add something to the shopping list for me please?”

“Sure,” Spike pulled out a quill. He always kept one at hand. “What do you need?”

“A live pig, an engraver’s kit, a pound of silver, ten pounds of salt, a dozen candles, a pinch of sulfur, and a sharp cooking knife,” after a moment, she added, “A cheap knife. I’m only going to get to use it once.”

“And uh…” Spike cleared his throat. “What do you need all this for?”

“I’m trying to lose some weight.”

After considering his options, Spike decided not to ask any more questions.





“Has Starlight lost some weight recently?” Twilight squinted across the way, where Starlight could be seen chatting up Trixie.

“I don’t know nuthin’ bout nuthin’.” Spike said, pointedly staring at the table.

“I think she has. She looks really fit.” Twilight and Spike were taking breakfast together on the castle balcony overlooking the town. Spike had his bowl of gems, and Twilight had a tall plate of pancakes. “Kind of toned? In a good way?”

Off in the distance, Twilight watched Starlight put a hoof under Trixie’s chin. Trixie swatted it away, but she also smiled a silly little smile, and her tail tucked up under her. “Like, you know, not out there. But confident in her appearance. That must be nice.”

“Every time you get involved in Trixie and Starlight’s business you regret it. Literally every time.”

“I could look that good.” Twilight brushed her mane with her hoof. “I don't know. Maybe braid my hair?”

“Shiny scales and large claws. Drives girls crazy.”

“You’re right. I should just go talk to her.” Twilight rose from the table. “Thanks, Spike!”

Twilight vanished in a flash of purple light. Spike sighed, and lowered his head.





“Oh, no secret.” Starlight let out a stiff chuckle. “I’ve been jogging more lately.”

“Jogging?” Twilight tilted her head. “Well, you know. It’s working for you.”

“Oh, uh… thanks!” She cleared her throat. “Well, anyway, I should really get to school for the day. Gotta shape those bright young minds!”

“Yeah, oh, of course. Pfft!” Twilight waved her hoof in the air, though precisely what she was dismissing wasn’t clear. “Don’t want to take up all your time gossiping. But hey, next time you go jogging, would you mind if I joined you? I could stand a little more exercise.”

“Oh. Join me. Uh…” Starlight took a half step back. “I mean, uh. I don’t know, Twilight. I’m kind of serious about jogging? You know. Preparing for the running of the leaves. I gallop, pretty much the whole way. You’d have to keep up, and I don’t want to put you under that kind of pressure.”

“Keep up? Uh-!” Twilight fluffed out her wings. “I don’t want to offend you, Starlight-”

“Great! See you.” Starlight vanished in a bright blue flash.





“I don’t want to put you under that kind of pressure.” Twilight sat at her desk by the window, doing her best snide voice. “My name is Starlight. My biggests interests are Trixie and being a huge jerk. And since Trixie is a jerk too, I guess I’m kind of a one note pony. And that note is also jerk!”

She tried to refocus on her book. It was well past 1 AM, and she knew she should already have been asleep, but she didn’t feel like reading or sleeping. She felt mad, and she felt like continuing to feel mad.

Then she heard hoofbeats outside the window. When she lifted her head to look, she saw Starlight running off into Ponyville, sweatbands wrapped around her ankles and a set of tight-fitting goggles over her eyes.

“And I’m the sort of jerk who wears sunglasses at night because I think they make me look so cool.” Twilight let out a sharp growl. Then she rose from her desk. “That’s it. Hey, Starlight!”

Starlight didn’t answer, continuing to jog off into the night. Twilight teleported away from her desk and into the air, taking off after Starlight with a few powerful wingbeats. It was a new moon, and the town was nearly pitch black, with only the starlight to see by. “Starlight!” Twilight called again, and again she received no answer.

“You…!” She grumbled. Below her, Starlight put on a sudden burst of speed, racing up the slopes outside Ponyville. Twilight had to beat her wings hard to catch up. “Hey! STOP!”

When still Starlight continued to run, Twilight lost her patience. “That’s it!” she roared. Her horn glowed, and she picked Starlight clear up off the ground. Her legs flailed helplessly in the air as Twilight landed beside her. “What the heck, Starlight?”

“Oh,” Starlight said. Her voice had a strange quality to it -- resonant and deep. It was like a great chorus of ponies were all speaking at once. “I’m very sorry. I did not realize you were calling me. I am not Starlight Glimmer.”

“...wait, what?”

Starlight reached up with her hooves, and pulled the goggles off her eyes. Without them, Twilight could see that Starlight’s eyes were glowing an unearthly red. “You are looking at Starlight’s body. I am Chpaxil the Bloodletter, servant to the Queen in Rags Who Waits Beyond the Crimson Path.”

Twilight blinked once. Then again. “You’re an evil spirit possessing Starlight’s body.”

“Yes.” Chpaxil nodded. “She summoned me on the night of the blood moon, and we struck a fel pact -- that whenever sleep should take her, I would possess her body and control its movements until she woke.”

“...and the jogging?”

“The terms of our accord demand that on five days out of each week, I shall use her body to perform those tasks to which she is ill suited. Namely: exercise, chores, and gardening. And I have to cook and leave it in the fridge.” Chpaxil explained. “But on the weekend, her body is mine to use for my own nefarious purposes!”

“Uh…” Twilight bit her lip. “And what nefarious purposes are those?”

“Well… honestly, it hasn’t been going well.” Chpaxil gestured up at the sky. “I’ve been trying to start a cult, but you know, it’s hard when you only have the weekends. You think you’re just going to do your job and then spend your off time on cool projects, but when Saturday rolls around, I don’t even feel like sacrificing a virgin mare to open the tenfold gate. I just want to unwind and enjoy that Starlight’s body can get drunk.”

Twilight stared in silence. She stared for a long time.

“You know,” Chpaxil offered, “I have a sister! If you want the same deal. She’s between summoners at the moment, but she works really hard and-”

“Nope.” Twilight said. “I’m out.” She dropped Starlight, teleported back to the castle, and went straight to bed.

The next morning, Starlight walked past the breakfast table, and asked Spike to add twenty gallons of blood and a hundred live spiders to their shopping list.

Neither he nor Twilight asked any questions. It was the best day ever.
> S2E5: Rein It In
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Good morning, Starlight!” Twilight chirped. She took another bite of her pancakes, paused, reviewed her mental schedule, checked the crystal clock hanging on the wall above the kitchen door, swallowed, and spoke again: “I thought your vacation to Pony Hawaii started today?”

“The flight was full and the airline asked if I could swap to next week,” Starlight said. She sat at the table beside Twilight and set her school supplies on the floor. “I got a voucher for a free trip anywhere in Equestria! Certain blackout dates apply.”

“They always do,” Twilight said. “So, what are your plans for this week, then?”

“Catching up on counseling paperwork, I think. The new school year is right around the corner, you know.”

Twilight sighed. “Don’t remind me. I always thought summer breaks were too long as a filly, but now that I’m an adult they just zoom by.” She assuaged herself with another mouthful of cream-and-blueberry-topped pancake.

They sat for a few moments in companionable silence while Twilight ate. Starlight stared out the kitchen window at the rousing town. Dark, pegasi-shaped spots drifted across the morning sky, shepherding clouds into place and chasing away the lingering mists.

Finally: “Say, can I ask a question?”

Twilight flinched a little. No, she wanted to say. No, no more. But of course she couldn’t. She had to answer questions. She was like a shark – if she stopped answering questions she would sink and drown. A question-answering shark… yeah, that was it. She closed her eyes and imagined swimming through the sea, a remorseless machine perfected by millions of years of nature’s cruel lathing to instantly respond to and devour any questions smaller than she was with razor-sharp tearing jaws.

Starlight was staring at her, she realized. She coughed. “Sorry, uh, of course! Ask away.”

“Okay, so.” Starlight clapsed her hooves on the table. “Imagine you’re at a train switch, and you see a runaway trolley barrelling down the tracks toward a group of five little fillies and colts. Now, you can throw the switch and redirect the train to another track, where—”

“No.” Twilight stood. “No. We’re not doing the stupid Trolley Problem. Find a question that hasn’t been done to death. If I’m going to be plagued with impossible-to-answer dilemmas, I at least want them to be original.”

Then she snatched up the remains of her pancakes and trotted out the door, leaving a trail of floating whipped cream in the air behind her.

Starlight looked down at the little paper-mache diorama she brought with her. The trolley, tracks and terrified foals were all rendered in precise details. She’d thought about painting them, but the stark monochrome perfection of the newsprint and glue appealed to some part of her.

“Sorry kids, you’re on your own,” she said, tipping the diorama a bit. Gravity took over, and the trolley rolled down the oiled tracks toward the foals.

Eeeeeeeee—

She winced. “Ugh. Why did I enchant them to actually scream?”





“So, Applejack,” Starlight said. She paused to take a bite of a fresh apple plucked from one of the dozens of baskets scattered around the Acres. “Do you believe in free will?”

Applejack squinted at her, or maybe at the apple, as if calculating one or the other’s cost, then shrugged. “Course I do. Don’t you?”

Starlight shrugged. “Maybe. But I’m asking you. How do you know it’s real?”

“Duh, cuz I can hear myself thinkin’ up here.” She tapped her noggin. “Don’t you got that?”

“Of course. We all have an inner sense of self,” Starlight said. “But how do you know you’re actually directing any of it? How do you know if you have any choice in what decisions you make?”

“I make decisions all the time.” Applejack paused to wipe the sweat from her forehead. “I just decided ten minutes ago to buck this here row of apple trees, on account of Big Macintosh being in town this morning on errands. Ah could’ve decided to buck any row I wanted, but I decided on this one.”

“But what part of you actually decided?” Starlight asked. “How do you know your decision wasn’t a predetermined outcome of external inputs and chemical reactions in your brain? What part of you actually decided anything? What muscle or switch or anything changed in your head to make you decide on this row instead of any other?”

Applejack was silent for a while. She frowned and stared at the trees, then over at some other trees down the way.

Finally: “Get off mah property.”





“And she just kicked you out?” Rarity asked. “How uncouth.”

“I know, right?” Starlight nibbled on one of the vanilla-frosted tea cookies Rarity set out for guests. “It was just a question.”

“Well, not all ponies are suited for such profound discussions,” Rarity said. She hummed quietly, comparing two swatches of purple cloth to the dress draped on the mannequin atop the stage in her design parlour. “What do you think, darling? Mulberry or orchid?”

“Uh.” Starlight glanced between the swatches. “The… darker one?”

“Mmm.” Rarity stared at them for a while longer, then set the lighter colored piece down. “Mulberry it is!”

Starlight snatched up another cookie and nibbled the frosting off the edges. “Say, Rarity, have you ever wondered if the colors we see are the same colors that other ponies see?”

“What do you mean?” Rarity pinned the mulberry swatch to the dress and began making little marks with a fabric pencil on the winged collar. “You mean, for color-blind ponies?”

“No. I mean, what if the color I see as red is actually the color you see as green?”

A little wrinkle appeared between Rarity’s eyebrows. “That’s impossible, Starlight. Color is an expression of the wavelength of reflected light – it’s an objective, measurable quality of the real world.”

“Yes, light and wavelengths are measurable. But your brain doesn’t see wavelengths – it’s just accepting the impulses from your optic nerve and translating them with a potentially arbitrary palette in your visual cortex. There’s no universal law that we know of that says the way my brain interprets light in the wavelength known as red must be the same way your brain interprets it. For all we know, a dress you see as cerise and amber could appear like, I dunno, orange and puce to another pony.”

Rarity stared at the dress. Her mouth opened, then closed. She looked back and forth between the orchid and mulberry swatches.

Finally, she turned to Starlight and frowned.





“Great work, girls!” Twilight Sparkle said. “We uncovered and captured the changeling impersonating Starlight Glimmer!”

The changeling in question hissed and spat at them from its mystical cage in the Friendship Castle dungeon. Actually, it was the wine cellar, the castle having no real dungeon, but for some reason Rarity had insisted they “keep the filthy beast in the dungeon,” so there they were. Bottles broken in the struggle littered the floor and the heady, yeasty scent of spilled wine filled the air. It was actually making Twilight a little dizzy.

“How did you know it was a changeling?” the real Starlight Glimmer asked. She still wore her Pony Hawaiian shirt, a flower lei around her neck and sunglasses atop her horn.

“The real Starlight Glimmer would never ask such sophomoric, pointless philosophical questions,” Twilight said. “Once I compared notes with Applejack and Rarity, we knew it had to be an imposter.”

“And not just any imposter!” Rarity cried. “A new breed of changeling. A devious attempt by Chrysalis to harvest an emotion other than love!”

“That’s right,” Twilight said. “This changeling feeds on existential doubt!”

“Oh.” Starlight said. “That’s… really?”

“Yeah, it’s not very threatening,” Twilight said. “I guess it could be annoying, sort of? Maybe cause some problems in the freshman dorms at universities.”

“Fools!” the changeling hissed. “You underestimate the power of my queen! Soon we will sow the pony world with thought-provoking, unanswerable questions designed to instill in you a sense of pointless malaise, which over the generations will erode your collective ambition with a creeping ennui—”

“Oh, be quiet,” Twilight snapped. She floated a book over to the changeling. “Here, have a collection of Prench fin de siècle poetry.”

“Ooh!”

“Well, fortunately Chrysalis’s drones aren’t getting any smarter,” Starlight said. “I mean, the Trolley Problem? Really? Everypony knows that ponies just give whatever answer they think will make them look like a good person. It’s basic virtue signalling. If you want to know what ponies actually think about disturbing moral questions, you have to run the experiment in real life.”

Twilight nodded. “Exactly.” A pause. “Wait, what?”

“You have to be careful, though,” Starlight continued. “Apparently, like, it’s against the law or something to position foal-sized crash-test dummies on railroad tracks in front of oncoming trains. Who knew?”

“Uh. I mean, I think everypony knows… What’s that in your luggage?”

“Nothing.” Starlight’s horn glowed, and what appeared to be a cracked and charred plastic pony leg was shoved deeper into her bags with a hollow rattle. “Just, uh, souvenirs.”

“Why do you have a tracking bracelet on your ankle?” Fluttershy asked.

“It was a condition of my bail.” Starlight said. “Hey, did you know that if you get arrested, all your research notes are entered into court logs as evidence? It’s like being published!"
> S1E1: Out to Pasture (GaPJaxie)
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Once," Starlight said, "I took a class called 'The Philosophy of Magic.' I don't know what I was looking for. This was before Our Town. I was angry and confused, and maybe I thought it would help. The class wasn't great, but one day, the professor asked us a question. A hypothetical—you have a button you can push. If you push it, it will make all of Equestria eternally verdant, beautiful, good, just, etc. A forever perfect world. But it will also kill half of the ponies who are currently alive."

"Mmm." Twilight said nothing. They lay side by side on the hill out beside the castle, looking up at the stars. Twilight's wings were splayed out behind her -- she still didn't quite know how to get them comfortable when she was lying on her back.

"I got a little annoyed," Starlight continued. "A lot annoyed, actually. I said it was a stupid question. Sure, it sounds all deep and profound, but we all know the answer. We all know the correct answer because it's obvious. The point of the question is just to make the speaker feel clever."

"How'd the professor take that?"

"Pretty well, I guess." Starlight shrugged. "He said the point of the question was to highlight inconsistencies in your thinking. First you ask it with half of the population, then a quarter, then five percent, then one hundred ponies, then just one pony, and see where your answer changes. See where it stops being wrong. And I gave him this confused, incredulous look, and asked him what in Equestria he was talking about. The answer is yes. Of course I'd push the button. Why would having it kill less ponies change that?"

Twilight turned her head to look at Starlight, but Starlight was still staring up at the sky. And so Twilight waited, letting the silence linger until Starlight went on.

"The class," she said, "was a little surprised by that. So was the professor. So he started going up. At three-fourths, do you push the button? Yes. Nine out of ten? Yes. Ninety-nine ponies out of a hundred? Yes. Literally everypony in the world but me? Yes, assuming there's a way to fully repopulate Equestria. Then he tsks and the class mutters and I can feel ponies staring. He says 'that's very selfish, young mare.' And I shoot back, 'You didn't ask about everypony in the world including me.'"

Starlight smiled slightly. "He didn't like that. It wasn't how he expected the conversation to go. The whole class is mumbling again. So he says, 'young mare, the hypothetical you're describing would kill everypony in the entire world.' And I say, 'As long as there are new ponies around to enjoy that perfect world, why does that matter?'"

She shifted in place. "What makes us so great?"

Twilight cleared her throat: "I know some ponies who are pretty good."

"But, so good you'd destroy a perfect world just to have them? That seems selfish." Starlight cleared her throat. "Twilight. Princess. Sorry."

"Is there a reason you're telling me this?"

"Because..." Starlight waved a hoof at the sky. "Ponies tell me I need to be more empathetic. That to be a good guidance counselor, or even good pony, I need to feel ponies' pain. I need to want them to be happy. And I just don't see why. Does Applejack need to feel the pain of her trees? When she kicks them? When she prunes them? When she cuts them down? Phrase the question that way. If Applejack could push a button that would make her farm eternally bountiful by destroying half of her current trees, would she press it? Shouldn't she press it?"

"Ponies aren't trees, Starlight."

"Why not?"

For a long time, the two of them lay there in silence. Eventually, Twilight said: "If you don't understand it intuitively, I'm not sure I can explain it."

"Yeah." Starlight sighed. "So ponies tell me."

"You don't want to..." Twilight bit her lip. "You don't care about ponies?"

"Of course I do." She waved at the sky, her tone turning frustrated. "But do I care about ponies, as in the specific group of ponies I happen to know? Or do I care about the ponies, as in, all the ponies who are presently alive? Or do I care about ponykind, as in the three races collectively?"

"Those are all the same thing."

"No, Twilight, they're not the same thing." Starlight's tone turned short and snappish. "And you're smart enough to know they're not the same thing. But unlike me, you're a good pony, so you want them to be the same thing. You pretend they're the same thing."

Twilight started to speak, but before she could, Starlight cut her off: "Don't patronize me."

A snort escaped Twilight's muzzle, and she rolled back up towards the sky. But when she spoke, her tone was soft: "You can decide what you think for yourself. But I don't think you're a monster."

"I..." Starlight shut her eyes. "Thank you, Twilight. I'm... sorry." After a moment, she went on. "In that class, for my final paper, the professor asked me to justify my position. So I said, there's a way I want the world to be. I want it to be fair and just and verdant and kind. That is good. And it's right. And I must pursue what is good and right by the most effective means available to me. To do anything else is negligent. Anywhere in the world that somepony goes hungry, or suffers, or where unicorns abuse earth ponies or stallions abuse mares. Anytime anywhere something bad happens. That's my failing. My problem. I need to make it as right as I can as fast as I can. And if that means sacrificing ponies, so be it. What right do I have to harm the ponies of the future, just for the sake of somepony who happens to be alive now?

"So I wrote it, and he called me into his office, and he said that it sounded 'supervillian ish.'" She made airquotes with her hooves. "He pointed out that many dictators and dark wizards throughout history said the same thing -- that they had their goals and they needed power to achieve those goals. That the ends justify the means. But I didn't see why that mattered. Their goals were wrong. My goals are right. Stealing to feed a starving family and stealing to buy a nice wagon aren't the same thing. Someone who accrues power for bad ends is a tyrant. Someone who does it for good ends is, well. Princess Celestia."

A laugh escaped her. "So he asked, what absolute universal truth makes my goals 'objectively right' and the tyrants wrong? And I told him that was a stupid question. My goals aren't absolute; they aren't written into the fabric of the universe. But they're mine. And I'll accomplish them by whatever means I see fit. And dictators will accomplish their goals by whatever means they see fit. And the professor will accomplish his goals, just the same."

Starlight licked her lips, and finished: "There is no right or wrong. No universal morality. Only the will to power."

"That does sound supervillian ish," Twilight agreed. "Honestly, maybe more than ish. Maybe a lot."

"Yeah. That's kind of why I told you." Starlight laughed, and it had a nervous tinge under it. "Are you going to blast me with the Elements of Harmony?"

"Not tonight. Maybe tomorrow." Twilight smiled and lowered her head. "You could just stop believing those things, you know."

"I can't. Not any more than I can stop believing the sky is blue. They're right, Twilight. And they're so obviously right it took me a while to even understand that not everpony saw it that way. That other ponies can be that wrong. I thought that whenever anypony disagreed, they were being intentionally thick. Or they were just weak."

"So..." Twilight's smile brightened. "You think I'm weak?"

"Ha ha. No." Starlight rested her head back in the grass. "No, Twilight. I don't think you're weak. And I'm glad you don't think I'm a monster." She paused for a few seconds. "But tell me if I ever do anything to... you know. Change that opinion."

"I will." Twilight reached over to rest her hoof over Starlight's. "And hey, Starlight? Thank you."

Starlight said nothing, and for the rest of the evening, they watched the stars go by.
> S3E2: Stud Up
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Twilight Sparkle danced into the castle kitchen, a smile on her lips and a song in her heart. She gave her head a little shake, tossing her bangs about like a filly showing off her new manestyle.

“Good morning, Starlight!” she chirped, seeing her friend with a stack of loaded pancakes. She skipped around the table, snagging a spare blueberry from the edge of the plate and snapping it up. A note of whipped cream graced the sweet fruity taste. Perfect.

Everything was perfect. She giggled a little giggle, spun in a circle, and headed toward the stove to see if Spike had made any extra pancakes for her.

“Somepony’s in a good mood today,” Starlight observed. “You find a new book?”

“Better!” Twilight blushed at the blasphemous thought – better than a book!? – but it was true. She hadn’t felt so giddy in years, and to think it was all because of something so silly. “I was at the esoteric flea market earlier, looking for a fresh ampule of gloom ink, when—”

“Oh, did you get spider legs? Remember last week when I said we were out of spider legs and you said you thought there was a mare who sold them every-other Tuesday but you hadn’t seen her in a few months and maybe she didn’t come to the Ponyville esoteric flea market anymore but you’d keep an eye out in case—”

“Yes, yes. I remembered.” Twilight dug through her saddlebags and pulled out two wax-sealed cloudy glass vials stuffed with some indiscernible fibrous mass. “There, fuzzy and spindly. Anyway, as I was saying, I was looking for gloom ink, when who should I run into but Thunderlane! And wouldn’t you know it, he was, hehe, excited to see me.”

“Oh?” Starlight took a sip of her orange juice. “Why?”

“No, Starlight. Excited.” She waggled her eyebrows.

“Oh. Oooh!” Starlight blushed. “Really.”

“I shouldn’t be so surprised, I suppose. It is spring, and I have been working out a lot. You know, walking more. I think it’s really starting to show in my figure.” She struck a little pose, nearly tripping on her hooves in the process. “And not just him! Every stallion I ran into was having the same problem.”

“Yeah, it’s a weird side-effect,” Starlight said. “I haven’t figured out what’s causing it yet.”

Twilight barely heard her. “Anyway, I’m going to go back out a bit, I think. Oh, I should wear one of those saddles Rarity made for us. The little black one, maybe?” Maybe she should even trim her bangs like Rarity said, show off the base of her horn. Yeah it was a bit slutty and her mom would hate it but she was a big mare now and she could do what she wanted. She trotted off through the kitchen door, down the hallway, stopped, turned around and returned to the kitchen. “Hey, that thing you said. Could you say it again?”

Starlight had a mouthful of pancake, and swallowed it before responding. “What thing?”

“You said something about a side-effect.”

“Oh, right!” She took a swig of her orange juice. “Priapism. It’s a weird side effect I haven’t solved yet. It’s harmless though.”

“A—” Twilight stopped and ordered her thoughts. “A side-effect of what?”

“An experiment I’ve been working on.” Starlight clapped her hooves together. “I was going to keep it a secret and tell you later, but I guess the cat’s out of the bag! I’ve developed a ritual that makes ponies friendlier! They’re happier, more sociable and less neurotic! Once I finish testing it we’ll be able to share it across Equestria! Can you imagine how many ponies it can help?”

“That, uh… really? You made a spell that makes ponies friendlier?” Twilight gawped at her. “That’s not real friendship!”

“It’s as real as Princess Cadence helping ponies fall in love,” Starlight said. “I even based the spell off of her notes.” She paused. “You know, I wonder if that’s linked to the side-effects? It makes sense, now that I think about it.”

“That’s different! Cadence is the princess of love! Making ponies fall in love is her thing!”

“Yeah, well, maybe making ponies be more friendly is my thing.”

Twilight sighed. All her happy thoughts from the morning stroll began to evaporate. “But an experiment? Really? How did you even get ponies to agree to that?”

Silence. Starlight took a long drink from her orange juice.

There it was. The first headache of the day, taking root right behind her horn. Twilight closed her eyes. “Please tell me you got ponies’ permission before using this spell on them.”

“Well, I don’t see why I would do that. It would ruin the experiment!”

“You can’t just test spells on ponies without their permission! That’s unethical!” Twilight shouted. “They have to know the risks! They have to give informed consent!”

“No, unethical would be allowing ponies to go one more day without a spell that could be helping them. Haven’t you noticed how much happier ponies who have friends are? How much better society runs when ponies are socially engaged? I remember how lonely I was before I found you girls, and I bet you remember how lonely you were too. If I have the ability to give this gift to everyone in Ponyville, and then everypony in the world, aren’t I obligated to? Think of how much misery we could eradicate with this one simple step. Of course I’m going to test it!”

“You should still ask ponies first,” Twilight said. “Tell them the risks. See if they even want to be friendlier.”

Starlight shook her head. “Yeah, I could. But then ponies might say no. This way is better.”

“And the side-effects? Somepony could be offended!”

Starlight waved a hoof. “They’re harmless. Come on, we’re all adults here, it’s nothing we haven’t seen before. Besides, it doesn’t seem to have offended you.”

Twilight blushed. “Yeah, well, maybe it did!”

Starlight raised an eyebrow.

“A-and what if there’s other side-effects, huh?” Twilight pointed out the window at the bustling town beyond. “You don’t know!”

“That’s what the experiment is for, obviously.” Starlight took another sip of her juice. “So far, though, so good.”

Twilight set her forehead on the table. The cool crystal helped ease the ache behind her horn.

Deep breath in. Slow breath out. “Okay, just one more question.”

“Sure.”

“Was Thunderlane one of the ponies you experimented on?”

“Would… you be happier if I said no?”

Twilight rolled her cheek onto the table and stared at Starlight. “Yes.”

Starlight smiled.
> S4E2: The Times They Are a Changeling (GaPJaxie)
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

“You know,” Celestia said, “there’s no such thing as ‘dark magic.’”

They walked through the forbidden section of the Royal Library, where the stones themselves were black and the books were bound with ponies’ skin. Their hoofsteps echoed into what seemed an infinite distance. Starlight looked all around them, waiting for the punchline that never came.

“Ha ha,” she finally said. After a moment, she added, “So uh… how would you describe all this, then? Princess.”

“Impractical.” Celestia paused in their walk to approach a display case, indicating it with a hoof. Contained within was thin book, as well as a wicked looking knife that ended in a serrated barb.  “Take this, for instance: The Meditation on Ashes. It contains a ritual that grants a pony the ability to breathe fire with all the strength of a dragon. But to complete the ritual, they must cut the living heart from a baby dragon and devour it.”

“That uh…” Starlight cleared her throat. “Seems pretty dark to me.”

“Does it?” Celestia asked. “Tell me, Starlight, how many times during a typical day do you encounter a problem that could be made easier by lighting another pony on fire?”

“Not many, I guess.”

“And how often,” Celestia’s tone pressed, “do you encounter a problem that is made easier by Spike’s assistance?”

“Oh, well. Every day.” Starlight looked around the archive once again, struggling to read the little labels in the gloom. “I get it. So you’re saying that even if I didn’t care about Spike’s life at all, I still wouldn’t use it.”

“Well you might, but if you did, I have to say it would represent very poor judgement.” Celestia tittered, then trotting over to another display case. “Or take this, for instance.”

Inside the case was a crude necklace made from twine and animal fangs. Tiny rows of writing were carved onto each tooth, so small they could barely be seen by the naked eye. “The Key to the Staghorn Gate. The spells recorded on its surface grant overwhelming physical strength, but drive the caster to eat the flesh of their fellow pony.”

“Right. And how many problems do I encounter that would be solved if only I could bench-press a thousand pounds?” Starlight sighed. “Plus I’d miss restaurants.”

Celestia giggled. “Precisely.”

“So that’s it?” Starlight looked around the darkened library. “I’m allowed to tour the forbidden section, but there’s no point because it’s all useless?”

“Well, not all of it is useless.” Celestia strode several steps ahead, indicating one more case. Inside it was a book bound in cheap blue fabric. The colors were fading and the binding was coming apart. It looked nothing like an eldritch tome should.

“You Can Be More,” Starlight read the title aloud off the spine. “What’s this do?”

“It contains a ritual that allows the caster to perceive the souls of ponies: to know others’ pain and struggles like their own. It requires the sacrifice of a single drop of blood, taken directly from within the caster’s still beating heart.” Celestia smiled. “How your heart bleeds for them.”

“Huh. I guess that could be useful. Not that I’m not already a great guidance counselor, but… Princess?”

Starlight looked around the empty hallway. “Princess Celestia?”





Starlight sniffed the air. It smelled like anxiety. There were other scents of course: happiness, sadness, joy, petty betrayal, puppy love romance, and boredom just to name a few. But mostly anxiety.

Teenagers would be teenagers, after all. She took a deep breath, and let the smell fill her lungs.

She let the breath out with a sigh, smiled, and opened her eyes. She stood in the main entrance to the school, students flowing around her like a stream flowing around a rock.

There was a young filly, who heard her parents fight that morning, and worried it was her fault. There was a colt, fretting that he was indeed a colt, not a ‘young stallion’ like ponies kept calling him. Something flashed in the corner of her vision—something more serious.

“Oh, Yona!” she called, before the young yak could pass out of her sight. Yona froze in the hall, turning back towards Starlight. “Stop by my office in second period, would you? Here, I’ll write a note for your teacher.” Starlight did so at once, pulling the pad and quill from her morning saddlebags.

“Uh…” Yona froze. “Is yak in trouble?”

“No!” Starlight said, her voice all sing-song as she filled out the note. Yak listened to older colt who told her she was a little ‘big’ for a mare. Yak needs to learn what ‘negging’ is. Yak gets friendly invitation to see school guidance counselor. Colt gets unfriendly invitation. “I just wanted to catch up with how you were doing.”

“Uh…”

“Run along now!” She stuck the note to Yona’s side. “You don’t want to be late for class.”

Yona made her excuses and ran off. Starlight made her way to her office, in no great hurry. Her course was not the most efficient, but instead took her through the school’s busiest hallways. Three other students got notes. One of them got a hug.

Starlight was nearly floating by the time she actually reached her office. She pulled the door open, waltzed in on two hooves, and then gracefully shut it behind her as she fell to all fours. “Ah. I love my job.”

“Wonderful!”

Starlight shrieked and lept nearly a foot into the air. Her heart raced, and when she finally did recover her wits, Twilight was laughing.

“Sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you.” She was seated behind Starlight’s desk, hidden by the chair’s back when it was turned to face the window. She lifted a hoof to hide her bright smile. “You okay?”

“Oh… fine!” Starlight’s lip curled, and she wrinkled her nose. The smell of her own fright was thick on the air, like she’d just pissed herself. And there was Twilight.

Starlight narrowed her eyes, and peered into Twilight’s soul. It was not a casual visit that brought her.

“Starlight?” Twilight asked. Starlight’s head snapped up. “Sorry, am I interrupting? I wanted to have a quick word.”

“Well, you’re not interrupting,” Starlight said, forcing her voice back to something casual and light. “But you are in my chair.” She decided to drop one of her little gems. “And while we’re on the subject, are you the one that’s been stealing my empathy coco?”

“No!” Twilight quickly rose from Starlight’s chair, and they switched places around the desk. “Even if it is delicious and Rainbow keeps using up all the regular coco,” she grumbled.

“Right.” Starlight settled back in her chair and sighed. “So what is up then?”

“I just wanted to talk. See how you’re feeling.” Twilight lied. “You’ve been doing really well as a guidance counselor you know. Like, really well. Really well. Not a day goes by I don’t hear from one of the students about how you helped them when they were down. And I heard one of the little fillies actually got her cutie mark in your office?”

“Nusha, yes. She likes gemcutting.”

Twilight looked around the office, which had a notable lack of either gems or gemcutting tools. “And… how did she come to realize that?”

“Talking things out.” Starlight shrugged. “I’m glad to hear I’m doing well.”

“Oh, you are. You totally are.” Twilight sat forward, putting her hooves on Starlight’s desk. “And I’m happy that you totally are! I’m just wondering. Because, it feels like you weren’t doing this well at first? I know, sometimes when you start a few job it takes a while to settle in. So sometimes a pony gets better at things after the first month or two! But it feels like in the last few weeks you’ve gone from being a kind of awkward but well-meaning… you know. Maybe B+ guidance counselor to, uh…”

Twilight cleared her throat. “To being so good at your job parents feel threatened you’re stealing their children’s love.”

“Oh.” Starlight paused. “Do guidance counselors qualify for the ‘Best Teacher’ award then?”

“Seriously, Starlight.” Twilight cleared her throat. “And there’s other things. Ponies say you stare at them.”

“Well,” Starlight leaned back. “I have been known to stare now and again.”

“And I heard you sniffed a student?”

“I sniffed his collar,” Starlight corrected. “It had this really strong cheese smell.”

“In the education profession, sniffing students is what we call a ‘no no.’” Twilight lifted her hooves to make air quotes.

“Well, I’ll keep that in mind.” Starlight sighed and sat forward.

Twilight knew nothing. Starlight could see that. But Twilight did have enough information to suspect. She knew Starlight was not the most empathetic of ponies, that she was prone to using magic to solve interpersonal problems, and that her judgement tended towards drastic action. That was enough for her to be suspicious. Suspicious and worried -- Starlight could smell that.

Twilight wasn’t out to get her. Twilight was worried for her. That made Starlight smile.

“Something on your mind?” Twilight asked.

“This isn’t really about me, is it, Twilight?” Starlight decided to drop another one of her little gems. “Something else on your mind? Some other reason you might feel a little mistrustful of your friends right now?”

“No.” Twilight frowned. “No, there’s no reason why I would…” She snorted. “Don’t try to change the subject.”

“I’m not changing the subject. You wanted to know how I’m such a good counselor to students, and I’m showing you.” Starlight’s horn glowed. She filled a mug with empathy coco, and set it across the desk for Twilight. “Because I heard you felt a little betrayed when you found Applejack was selling some of her apples as ‘Princess Twilight’s Personal Stash.’”

“That has nothing to do with this.” Twilight waved the matter off. But after a moment, she took a step of her coco. “I mean, she could have asked my permission first. I would have said yes!”

An hour later, the bell rang. Starlight told Twilight a student would arrive soon, and wished Twilight good luck chatting with Applejack about their feelings. The two hugged, and Starlight knew Twilight’s relief like it was her own. She could feel it, smell it, see it. It made her feel warm, and all seemed right in the world.

Twilight didn’t suspect a thing.
> S4E5: Dragon Her Hooves (GaPJaxie)
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Twilight awoke in her bed. She brushed her teeth. She brushed her mane. She walked downstairs for breakfast.

There, sitting at her kitchen table, was a fully grown adult dragon. Also, Smoulder and Terramar. Terramar was eating a muffin.

Twilight examined the adult dragon closely. It had light purple scales with dark purple highlights, a streak of green along its sides, and little marks along its scales that seemed vaguely sorcerous. “Good morning!” the dragon said. Its voice, while deep, was obviously feminine.

“Starlight?” Twilight asked.

“That’s my name!” the fully grown adult dragon said, and Twilight again noted that said fully grown adult dragon was sitting at her kitchen table.

“What…” Twilight lifted a hoof to her forehead, rubbing the spot where soon she would have a headache. “Why are you a dragon?”

“What’s wrong with being a dragon?” Smoulder demanded.

“Nothing.” A hiss of breath escaped between Twilight’s teeth. “I’m just wondering why Starlight is a dragon instead of a pony.”

“Oh, so there’s something wrong with feeling like you’re part of two races?” Terramar demanded, folding his forelegs over the table.

Starlight smiled, showing off a full set of dragon’s teeth in the process. Twilight looked from her, to Smoulder, to Terramar, and then to her kitchen table. There was a teeny tiny bowl of gems in front of Starlight’s spot. Plus, somepony had made Twilight pancakes.

“Fine,” Twilight said. “You know what? I don’t even want to know why. But I’m not helping you pick up small objects.”

Twilight stalked over to the table, picked up a knife and fork, and forcefully cut up her pancakes. Glowering at the table, she added: “And if you lay an egg, I’m not babysitting it. Eggsitting it. Whatever. In fact, I’m making a rule. No eggs in the castle.”

“Twilight…” Starlight laughed. A plume of smoke shot out of her nose and blackened Twilight’s ceiling. “Come on. I don’t have a special dragon in my life, so even if I did lay an egg, it would be unfertilized. It wouldn't need to be eggsat.”

“Fine.”

“But if you’d like, I am curious what a dragon egg omelette tastes like!”

For a long time, Twilight sat in silence. The glow around her horn flickered and finally went out, and her knife and fork fell to the table.

She buried her face in her hooves.





“A-and then,” little Dynamo leaned against Starlight’s leg and sniffled, tears pouring down her face, “Gimbal Lock said I was ugly. And one of her friends pushed me and everypony was yelling and then they locked my bag in the unused locker and I couldn’t get it out. And…”

“Shhh.” Starlight cooed. A little jet of flame shot out of her nose and ignited the school’s topiary bushes. They were on the school lawn outside Starlight’s old office, or as she was given to calling it, her new dragon-accessible office.

Because, as previously mentioned, Starlight was a fully grown adult dragon, and thus slightly larger than several of the actual school buildings.

“It’ll be okay. I know it hurts right now. Being bullied can hurt worse than anything. But your friends—your real friends—will be there to help you. And I promise, I’ll make sure you don’t get bullied anymore.” Her claws were as long as spears, and with the side of one, she gently brushed Dynamo’s back. “Okay?”

“Oh…” Dynamo sniffled. “Okay.”

“Good. Now drink your empathy coco.” Starlight watched Dynamo until she took a sip of her coco. Once she was sure the little filly’s breathing was slowing, she reached up to the school building with a claw. She counted windows, muttering under her breath. “It’s 3:30, so… one, two, three, four, five. There we go.”

With a single massive hand, she reached out and tore the exterior wall off of one of the classrooms. Bricks shattered, wood snapped, and metal sheared away. Fluttershy and a dozen students were left staring into the open air where once there had been a solid surface, their eyes wide and mouths agape.

“Hey, Fluttershy,” Starlight said. “I’m sorry to interrupt your class, but can I speak with Gimbal Lock for a second?”

“Eeeeeeee,” said Fluttershy, from her position hiding under her desk.

“Thanks!” Starlight folded her claws until only one was left, and with that single lance she pointed right at Gimbal Lock in the second row.

“Detention,” she said.

Gimbal Lock shook at her desk. She peed herself in front of the rest of the class. And then, staring at the pointed tip of that mighty claw, she started to cry.

“Don’t you try and sweet-talk me. You know what you did.” Starlight shook her head. “Anyway, sorry to interrupt the class.”

“Eeeeeeee,” said Fluttershy.

Starlight picked up a fistful of the displaced brick, wood, and pipes, and smushed them back into where the exterior wall had been a moment ago, more-or-less plugging the hole in the building with debris.

“You okay?” Starlight asked, looking down to Dynamo. She was still leaning against Starlight’s leg.

“Yeah. Thank you.” Dynamo reached out with both forelegs, hugging Starlight Glimmer as best she should. “You’re the best guidance counselor ever.”

Watching from her office on the top floor, Twilight ground her teeth.





“I wanna be just like you when I grow up!” said one of the little students. An earth pony. “I always thought I was going to work on a farm, but watching you fly around and do magic is amazing. Is there any way I can do what you did?”

“Well,” Twilight said, “not everypony can be an alicorn. But with friendship in your heart, you can accomplish anything. The first step—”

“No, not you. Starlight.” The whole class turned to look at Starlight.

“Oh,” Starlight said. She flicked her tail awkwardly, and destroyed one of the school outbuildings. “I don’t want to undercut Twilight. She’s entirely correct! With friendship in your heart, you really can accomplish anything. But if you want to complete the Ritual of Serpentine Ascension, you’re also going to need some supplies: a very sharp knife, fifty komodo dragons, one hundred yards of strong wire…”

Starlight paused: “Wait, hold on. Do you have something to write this down? It’s kind of a long list.”





“Foolish ponies!” An unnatural, resonant voice echoed across the streets of Ponyville. A bolt of green fire descended from the sky, and where it landed, a dark thing of chitin and unnatural hunger stood. “I, Queen Chrysalis, have returned to take my revenge upon…”

She paused. “Oh… I, uh…”

Starlight backhanded her, sending her flying into the town hall, through the town hall, out of the town hall, and finally into Cinderblocks and Convenient Backstops store in the Ponyville market. She hit the demo display case with a meaty thump, and groaning, slid to the ground unconscious.

“Oh.” Watching from her wagon, Trixie stood with her mouth agape. Then she grinned. She hopped out of her wagon and trotted across the square to where Starlight sat.

“Hey, Trixie,” Starlight called. When she sat, her long neck made her tall enough she had to look down at the tiny pony below her. “You okay?”

By way of an answer, Trixie climbed up Starlight’s side, scrambled up her shoulders, and lept up her neck like a dexterous mountain goat. She clung to Starlight’s head, and spoke in a throaty manner that sounded vaguely like whispering but that was anything but quiet: “Dragons are hot.”

Starlight laughed. “Oh you.” She let out a puff of smoke, and reached up to pluck Trixie from her head. It took her utmost care not to nick Trixie with her claws, but she managed it, and held Trixie tight in her grip. Ponies around Ponyville stared, unable to look away. A curl of smoke from Starlight’s muzzle brushed Trixie’s face, and a shudder passed through the little pony.

“Okay. Okay. Okay,” Trixie said. “How do we make this work?”

“I’ve been thinking about this. First, I lift-”

“Woah woah woah!” Twilight charged out into the open, stepping over Chrysalis’s unconscious body without so much as slowing down. “You two cannot do that in public! You’re outside, for Celestia’s sake!”

Bursting out of the door of a nearby shop, Smoulder shouted: “Mating outdoors is a cornerstone of draconic depictions of love! Stop oppressing my culture!”

“I’m not oppressing your culture! She’s not even a real dragon!”

From his seat at the frozen yogurt stand up the street, Terramar leapt to his hooves: “Oh, so you get to decide who is and isn’t a ‘real’ member of a race? Respect my species identity!”

“Is she paying you two to do this!?”

Smoulder shook her fist. “Bribery is a traditional part of dragon culture too you ethnocentric horse!”

Twilight started to a laugh. At first it seemed she might cry. Then the laugh turned manic. “What about Trixie? Is Trixie a dragon too?”

Then Smoulder, Terramar, Starlight, and Trixie all shouted at once: “And what’s wrong with interracial relationships!?”





Twilight awoke in her bed. She brushed her teeth. She brushed her mane. She walked downstairs for breakfast.

There, sitting at her kitchen table, was a unicorn pony named Starlight Glimmer. Also Spike. Starlight was sitting in the deep dragon-shaped depression in the floor and eating a bowl of hay. Somepony had made Twilight pancakes.

“Spell wore off?” Twilight asked, cutting up her pancakes without a pause.

“Nah. Too much trouble picking up small objects.”

“Well. Good.” Twilight ate in silence, and Starlight and Spike did the same.

Then Starlight sneezed—a powerful full-body, “ACH-CHOO!” that shook her in her place. A bright rush of green fire surrounded her, and when it subsided, a changeling drone was left in Starlight’s place.

It looked like any other drone: black chitin, hole-riddled legs, gossamer wings and all. The only difference was that its frill was a light purple instead of black.

Twilight didn’t ask any questions. She finished her pancakes, went out for a walk, and bought the biggest bug-zapper she could find.
> S1E2: Pure Bread
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

“I’ve been thinking about the earth pony problem,” Starlight Glimmer said.

“The… is there a problem with earth ponies?” Twilight Sparkle asked. It was a brisk day, and they were out lounging atop one of the gentle rolling hills that hugged the woods south of Sweet Apple Acres. The mid-spring sun toasted their coats, while the wind kissed and chilled them. Twilight relished the sensation of being caught between the seasons, and she let her wings rise to caress the air with each gust.

It was Starlight’s day to choose their activity, and Twilight had barely finished asking Starlight what she wanted to do when the answer exploded from the unicorn: “Kites!” And so they found themselves on Ponyville’s premier kite-flying hill a few hours after breakfast with all the instruments of kite-making laid out before them: balsa rods of all thicknesses, many-colored panels of fabric, rice-paste glue, miles of twine, metal pins, ribbons of every hue and a 64-flavor pack of artisans watercolor sticks. All were held down against the wind with rocks or hooves or little spots of magic when they ran out of hooves and rocks.

They’d agreed on box-kites, which Twilight knew only from picture books as a foal and glimpses of Starlight’s kite collection. She went for the simplest of designs, a rectangular prism wrapped with two panels of fabric. It didn’t look like something that could fly, but even half-assembled, with the glue still drying and the twine yet unattached, she could feel it grabbing at the gusts, threatening to lift off her hill and into the trees beyond. It wanted to soar.

Starlight crafted a far more ambitious design, a pentagonal prism that lacked the easy structural strength of a cubic design. But she’d already improvised a complex internal bracing far more elegant and clean than Twilight’s rather crude glue-and-twine foal’s play. Starlight’s kite looked like something a pony astronaut might use.

Then out came the watercolor sticks. By unspoken consensus they’d agreed on animal motifs, with the requirement that the animal in question had to have the same number of limbs as the kite had fabric panels. So Starlight drew dozens of five-armed starfish on each face of her kite, alternating colors and sizes until each face was more starfish than fabric, and her hooves and lips were smeared with waxy traces of the watercolor sticks.

Twilight gave her own eight-paneled kite an octopus motif, after briefly considering and then rejecting a spiderweb design. An octopus would better match Starlight’s aquatic-theme, anyway. She spent the hour drawing a single twining limb on each panel, adding suckers and spots and rings as fancy took her. She spent a bit of extra time detailing a hectocotyl arm – for her octopus kite was a colt octopus kite – which provoked a minute of giggles from them both.

Finally it was time to fly, and they let their kites spool out into the brisk wind rushing up the hillside. The taut strings, decorated with fluttering ribbons every few feet to make them visible to pegasi, hummed in the air.

And that was when Starlight brought up the earth pony problem.

“No, not a problem with them,” she said. “I mean, I certainly don’t have any problems with them. I like them! But society has a problem with them, right?”

“I… don’t think I follow you,” Twilight answered. Her kite wobbled a bit in the wind, threatening to start spinning. “Like, discrimination? There are still some older unicorns who say—”

“No, it’s deeper than just attitudes,” Starlight interrupted her. Her eyes were on her own kite, which held its position like a rock despite the gusty wind. “Look, you know I have a thing for equality, right?”

“Yes, I’d noticed that.”

“Right. So, have you ever noticed how unequal things are for earth ponies?”

Oh. It was one of those arguments. Twilight arrayed her mental cards and began to deal them. “All ponies are equal, Starlight, they’re just equal in different ways! Sure, earth ponies can’t use magic or fly, but they have durable family bonds and greater physical strength, and nopony can grow things like an earth pony—”

Starlight snorted. “Come on. You don’t really believe any of that, do you?”

“I–” Twilight frowned. “Of course I do. It’s all true.”

“It’s true, but it’s wrong,” Starlight said. “Earth ponies have larger families because they’re traditionally farmers who live in multi-generational households. They’re stronger because they have to be stronger – do you think Applejack has magically powerful legs, or maybe she can kick like that because she spends all day bucking trees? Maud’s one of the strongest mares I know, because she grew up breaking rocks with her hooves. It’s not magic. Any unicorn or pegasus could do the same thing if they grew up under the same circumstance, but no earth pony is ever going to cast spells like a unicorn or fly like a pegasus. How is that equal?”

Twilight reeled her kite in a bit, tugging it down from the stronger upper-level winds. When it stabilized, she pulled out her second card. “It’s equal because it’s harmonious. Unicorns and pegasi have abilities that earth ponies don’t, of course. Nopony would argue that. But pony society functions because each tribe uses its abilities to benefit all the tribes. The ancient Hearthswarming stories warn us about what happened when the tribes were separate. For Equestria to flourish, all ponies are needed, no matter their tribe or their abilities.”

“That’s the same argument traditionalists use when they say earth ponies should only be farmers,” Starlight said. She did something with her string, and her kite described a wide circle in the sky. “And pegasi should just be warriors. And of course unicorns should be all the nobles. Because we’re the natural leaders, right? That’s still harmonious. Society worked great that way for centuries. But it’s not equal, not by a long shot.”

“Okay.” Twilight discarded all the mental arguments she’d arrayed and deployed a new one on the spot. “How about this. Say you have two unicorns, one taller than the other. Being taller gives you certain advantages in life, right? So they’re unequal. But is that unfair?”

Starlight shook her head. “No, that’s part of a standard distribution. Some individuals will be tall, some short. Some pegasi can fly fast, some can’t. The individual might think it’s not fair, but for everypony at large it balances out.”

“Right. Don’t think about ponies as earth ponies or pegasi or unicorns.” Twilight said. “Ignore the categories. Instead some ponies can fly and some can’t. Some can use magic and some can’t. It’s part of that standard distribution, and as a society we’ve decided to call the ponies who can fly pegasi, and the ones who can use magic unicorns, and the ones who can’t do either earth ponies. But while that may be unfair for individual earth ponies who wish they could do magic or fly, it’s not unfair to earth ponies as a category because that category has no objective reality, any more than pegasus or unicorn. They’re just descriptions ponies used to conveniently sort each other by ability, and over time those descriptions became a part of how we organize our society. But they’re still just descriptions – there’s no such thing as earth ponies or unicorns or pegasi, just ponies.”

Starlight shook her head again. “That’s replacing reality with theory. We don’t break ponies into tribes based on height because height doesn’t matter in the end. Magic does. Flying does. Earth ponies will never get to do any of those things, and even if you only think of them as individuals, that’s still unfair. From birth they’re frozen out of so much potential that you and I take for granted. How many earth ponies have become princesses?”

Uh. Twilight was suddenly very conscious of the wings fluttering at her sides, and she pulled them in tight. “Well, none. Yet. But that doesn’t mean they couldn’t!”

“You’re a poor liar, princess.”

Twilight bristled. It took her a moment to realize Starlight was deliberately baiting her, and she let out a slow breath. “Okay, fine. Let’s say you’re right about everything. What can we do about it? It is a unicorn’s nature to use magic. It is a pegasus’s nature to fly. It is an earth pony’s nature to do neither of those things. If I thought earth ponies were broken – which I don’t –  and there were some way to fix them, I would. But we can’t, and if happiness means accepting the things we cannot change, then you’ll never be happy as long as you think life needs to be fair.”

Starlight was silent in response. She watched her kite, so far above them it appeared as little more than a pink dot against the blue sky. A few pegasi occasionally detoured to dance around it before going on their way.

“What if we could?” she finally said. Her voice was quiet, almost lost to the wind.

“Uh…” Twilight’s string shook, and she realized she’d been ignoring her own kite too long. It bobbled dangerously near the treetops, and she pulled the twine to give it some more lift. “How… do you know something I don’t, Starlight?”

She shook her head. “Just something simple. There’s no way I know of to give earth ponies horns or wings. But that’s not the only way to make ponies equal.”

The chill that swept over Twilight wasn’t born of the wind. “You can’t—”

“I could, though,” she mused. “Just cut off my horn, and I will have made earth ponies equal to at least one unicorn.”

Twilight’s eyes slid to Starlight’s forehead. “You don’t seem to have gone down that path.”

“I know.” Starlight’s shoulders slumped and her ears sagged. “Does that make me a hypocrite, or just a coward? It was the same back at Our Town. I was so happy to condemn all those ponies to a life without their cutie marks, but I wasn’t willing to do it to myself.”

Twilight licked her lips. The past was always a tender subject with Starlight, and she had to set her hooves carefully. “And it was wrong back then, wasn’t it? This thinking is all just repeating the same mistakes.”

“Maybe it wasn’t a mistake. Maybe the only reason you and your friends tried to stop me back then was because you found out I’d been lying about keeping my own mark. But what if I hadn’t been, Twilight? What would you have done? Would you have just… left?”

“I, uh…” What would they have done? There was no law against removing cutie marks; they had only confronted Starlight over her lie, and everything had spun out of control after that.

She could imagine it. Leading her baffled friends back to Ponyville, never having solved the problem of Our Town. They’d have abandoned Starlight to her insane plans, if only she’d been insane enough to really believe them.

“Where would that end?” Twilight asked. “A world with wing-shorn pegasi and dehorned unicorns? I don’t think any earth ponies want that. Certainly none that I know.”

“Sometimes the right thing to do is hard. It requires sacrifice. And you could… do it at birth. There are painless ways. And then we would all be earth ponies. Can you tell me why that would be wrong in a way that doesn’t also explain how terribly unfair the current world is to them?”

“It’s not our job to make the world fair!” Twilight said. “We can only try to be the best version of ourselves that we can! To… to mutilate yourself because your own gifts are unfair would be the first step down a path of annihilating every difference, because the only perfectly equal world is a world of perfect entropy where all things are flat and cold and gray—”

Something snapped high above. They looked up to see Twilight’s kite, some internal spar now broken, falling to the ground. The unmoored fabric panels fluttered like flags as they plummeted. It hit with the crunch of thin sticks breaking.

They both winced. Twilight picked the mess up with her magic and drew it closer. Little remained that resembled a kite.

“Well,” Starlight said. She drew in her own kite and snagged it once it was in range. “It was a good kite while it lasted. And I liked the octopus!”

“Yeah.” Twilight folded up the ruins as best she could. “Hey, Starlight?”

“Hm?”

“What about… if a unicorn uses their magic to make life better for others, especially ponies who can’t use magic, is that still unfair?”

Starlight was quiet for a while. She detached a single spar from within her kite, and the rest of it folded up neatly. She wrapped it with a bit of spare twine and set it on her back.

“I don’t know,” she finally said. “Who is the master, then?”

“Maybe there is none.” Twilight collected all the little scraps of their kite-making morning, putting them in her saddlebags. “Wanna talk about it over lunch?”

Starlight smiled. “Sounds great.”
> S3E10: Just Barn This Way (GaPJaxie)
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Knock knock!” Twilight called as she pulled open the door to Starlight’s office. “How’s my favorite guidance counselor in the world doing?”

“I don’t know,” Starlight said, sitting up in her chair. She had a mug of empathy coco in front of her, along with a thick book she was halfway through reading. “How is Princess Celestia doing?”

Twilight stared at Starlight. She blinked. Then she sat down in front of Starlight’s desk, and pulled out a bundle of papers. “So! I wanted to talk with you about something.”

“Too close to home there?”

“It’s about some of the students who have been seeing you!” Twilight pressed on, subtly raising her voice. “So, you remember that portal to Equestria High? Sunset Shimmer, alternate universes, that whole thing?Well, recently, Sunset gave me a lot of human cultural material for the school. Books, movies, she thought I’d enjoy it.”

“I know.” Starlight took a sip from her mug. “The students have been passing around those little square things that play movies. Most of it is actually pretty good!”

“They are really enjoying them!” Twilight said, but she spoke through a strained smile. “So when I decided we should have a class on cultural sensitivity, I thought it would be a good idea to have the students analyze some of the films from the human world. That way, none of the students feel like their culture is being analyzed. They can all approach the problem as equals.”

“Sounds like a good idea.” She swirled her mug, looking down into the brown liquid within. “So uh… what do you need me for? Help grading the papers?”

“They turned in their papers this morning, actually! Let me read one of them to you.” Twilight pulled a single paper from the bundle in front of her. “Ahem.” She cleared her throat. “‘The core theme of Star Wars: The Force Awakens is the futility of democracy. The inability of the Galactic Republic to fend off the military aggression of a rogue state serves as a classic example of the misallocation of resources under so-called ‘humanitarian’ regimes. By allowing domestic spending to take priority over the essential needs of the state, the Galactic Republic got billions of its citizens killed.’”

Twilight lifted her face from the paper and squinted at Starlight. Starlight took another sip of her coco. “Sounds about right to me.”

“Uh-huh.” Twilight pulled another essay from the pile, snapping the paper taut in front of her. “This essay is about The Incredibles. Have you seen it?”

“I have.”

“Do you think this essay says that it’s a fun adventure story with recurring themes of love, family, and the importance of honesty in relationships?”

“I mean,” Starlight waved a hoof and gave a little half-laugh. “Who knows what it says? Foals these days, right?”

“‘The Incredibles’” Twilight raised her voice, reading every word with force, “‘is the most sinister film of the contemporary era, employing bright and colorful imagery to conceal its menacing and ultimately self-serving themes. Its core story depicts a group of natural-born ‘superheroes’ as they thwart a ‘supervillain’s’ plot to give away his advanced technology and make the world a better place. Using memorable scenery, likeable characters, and gripping action scenes, The Incredibles conveys one clear message: ‘Some people are born superior and society has no right to judge them.’”

“Ha ha. Aaah.” Starlight chuckled. Her smile was wide and stiff. A long pause hung in the air. Then Starlight sat forward, resting her hooves on her desk. “You know, one way to look at this is that that’s very good use of language for someone their age.”

“Starlight!” Twilight’s ears folded back as she glowered. “Did you tell the students what to write?”

“No!” Starlight threw up a hoof. “If I did that they wouldn’t learn anything. I just made sure that they saw the movies in their proper context. So they could understand the broader cultural themes.”

“They’re all like this!” Twilight quickly sorted through the papers in front of her. “The Lion King: Hereditary monarchy whose royalty actually cannibalizes their subjects experiences family turmoil plunging the land into chaos. Beauty and The Beast: Legitimately elected champion of the people attempting to save kidnapped woman slain by unelected aristocrat. But it's okay because he was a jerk and she later developed Stockholm Syndrome. Up: An old stallion wastes helium to satisfy a foolish sentimental desire!”

Twilight brandished the paper like a weapon, waving it at Starlight edge first: “You didn’t like Up!?Fluttershy and Pinkie cried when we saw it! Plus Applejack cried on the inside.”

“Oh, come on.” Starlight waved a hoof, softening her tone. “I liked some of them! Monsters Inc was really good.”

“I noticed!” Twilight ripped another paper from the pile. “Monsters Inc is the—”

“Do you have to read them—”

“Yes!” Twilight sharply cleared her throat. Then she started to shout. “Monsters Inc is a heartwarming adventure story about two working class stallions who uncover a sinister plot by the bourgeoisie to harm a nearby parallel universe for the sake of their own profits. This surprisingly realistic portrayal of the rampant greed inherent to class distinctions highlights the need of capitalist regimes to constantly expand to new markets, harming the citizens therein. In the end, joy becomes the new energy source of the land, metaphorically reflecting the joy of the people as they are no longer alienated from their labors upon being united by the electrified collectivist state!”

Starlight sat in silence, a small frown on her face. Twilight needed a moment to catch her breath, the extended shouting having knocked the wind from her. She wheezed slightly.

Starlight filled a mug with more coco and placed it on Twilight’s side of the desk. “I can see you’re upset.”

“Yes! Yes I’m upset! You can’t tell the students these things, Starlight.”

“Why not? They’re true.” Starlight shrugged. “Come on. The Lion King has an entire scene dedicated to how the lions eat the other animals. And then we see that the other animals can talk? Tell me that’s not a little messed up.”

“They’re foal’s movies!”

“That just makes them more pernicious!” Starlight raised a hoof. “Foals learn their social cues from the culture around them. Think about Beauty and the Beast. If you had a daughter, would you want her to watch a bunch of movies about mares getting kidnapped and then falling in love with their kidnappers?”

“No, Starlight. It’s not the same. If you want to point out the little oddities in a story, that’s fine, but not to the degree that it overrides what the story is actually about. Star Wars isn’t about ‘the failure of democracy,’ it’s an epic battle of good against evil.”

“Is it though?” Starlight sat back in her chair. “Go back to the original movie. Alderaan sponsored a rebellion against the Galactic Empire before the movie even starts. That’s how Leia gets captured. Everything we see in the movie is the Empire responding to Alderaan taking aggressive action against them.” She folded her rear legs, putting a hoof up on the desk. “Basically, Alderaan shot first.”

Twilight sighed. She laughed. The threw up her hooves. “Fine,” she finally said. “Analyze them however you want. But if you don’t want to enjoy these stories as stories, you’re not going to keep getting invited to movie night.”

Starlight quickly took her hooves off the desk and sat up straight. “Woah. No. Twilight. I do enjoy these movies. Just because I interpret them a little differently doesn’t mean I don’t treasure them!”

Starlight pulled open one of her desk drawers and drew out a thick bundle of paper. “See? I wrote this during the slow hours.”

Twilight slowly took the bundle. It had a cover page. She eyed its title. “Death-Star Crossed Lovers,” she read aloud.

She knew she should drop the bundle. But she couldn't. She couldn’t look away. Dread fascination compelled her to continue. She turned the page.

“This is your fanfiction,” Twilight said. Her mouth was suddenly dry, and she swallowed. “Your protagonist is an imperial unicorn named ‘Starwise Sunbeam’ who thinks that Grand Moff Tarkin has a ‘sexy voice.’”

“I mean,” Starlight laughed. “He does have a sexy voice! But don’t worry. It’s not that kind of fanfiction. Starwise and Tarkin aren’t in a relationship or anything.”

“That’s…”

“Tarkin,” Starlight spoke firmly, “would never cheat on Darth Vader.”

A long silence came over the room. Then Twilight put Starlight’s manuscript down, rose from her chair, and walked out into the hallway.

“Twilight!” Starlight called. “Oh come on, Twilight! Don’t be that way! Twilight!”

After a long pause, Starlight shouted out the empty door into the hallway: “You can’t deny there’s something there!”
> Exclusive Web Special: Starlight in the Stars
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


Death Star-Crossed Lovers



A Star Wars Fanfic
by
Starlight Glimmer



Chapter 1: An Unexpected Encounter


Ensign Starwise Sunbeam hurried down the crowded, gunmetal gray corridors of Quadrant 4, Level 87 North. She dodged around squads of stormtroopers, hopped over mouselike MSE-6 repair droids, and raced toward the dwindling light of her objective.

“Hold the lift!” she shouted. “Officer--huff, huff--Officer coming through! Hold the liiiift!”

Ahead, the adjutant in the turbolift saw her coming and stabbed at the control panel. The doors began to slide shut.

“No! Noooo! Hold it!” Starwise put on another burst of speed, her hooves rattling the deckplates. “Please I need that lift—”

Sadly, the turbolift did not need her. The doors closed just feet from her muzzle with the quiet hiss of an airtight seal. Some mechanism behind the doors hummed, and the lift was gone.

“No! I can’t be late!” She spun around – the area around her was clearing rapidly, as the assembled technicians and troopers decided they had better things to do than surround a panicking junior officer. “Stairs! Where are the stairs?”

There: emergency signs directed her to the stairwell. She pounded through the door, knocking aside a gunner’s mate with a breathless apology. Yeomen hugged the walls as she trampled down the stairs, taking them four at a time. Beside, held in the faint cerise glow of her magic, hovered a dossier of critical engineering documents she’d spent the past week pouring over. Over her other shoulder hovered, under its own power, a heavily modified P5-32 personal assistant droid. No larger than a common sparrow, it deftly kept up with its charge no matter how frantically she tumbled and crashed through the winding maze that was the Death Star.

“I told you we were going to be late,” P5 said. He wasn’t out of breath at all. “I said, ‘Ensign Sunbeam, it will take 15 minutes to traverse the quadrant to the meeting room Commander Double Rhombus reserved for the meeting,’ and you said, ‘P5 you worry too much, we’ll catch the turbolift and—’”

“I know I know I know!” She paused on a landing and panted for breath. “Where’s the next turbolift?”

The LEDs on P5’s side blinked as he accessed the network. “Down two levels. It won’t arrive for 435 seconds, however. We’ll still be late.”

“Okay. Okay.” She licked her lips. “We’ll take the executive lift! It’s only one floor away!”

“Ensign Sunbeam, we can’t!” P5 cruised beside her as she jumped out of the stairwell. “The executive suites are for flag officers and their staffs only! We’re not allowed in!”

“No one will know!” Starwise Sunbeam paused to catch her breath and pat her mane back into order. She couldn’t be seen out of regs here, of all places. She trotted forward, legs high, just like they taught at the academy. She had to look like she belonged. “Now, just be quiet and—”

She rounded the corner. Something gray and solid and tall also rounded the corner, coming the opposite way, and they crashed together. Starwise fell back onto her haunches with a yelp, hooves reflexively rising to cup her muzzle. The papers held in her magical grip fell to the floor and splashed outward in a dozen directions.

“Ow!” she cried. “Careful! Didn’t your mother ever teach you to walk on the right side of the… of the…”

“I beg your pardon, ensign,” a deep, elegant baritone rolled over her, squashing her pitiful attempt at a witticism. The voice held within its dulcet tones a deep and bottomless well of confidence, born from decades of command, honed to a razor’s edge by the steadfast application of an iron will. His was the voice of glaciers, grinding continents to dust; his was the voice of the tides, a rolling, endless, depthless power that cared not the pitiful concerns of mortal men and ponies but shaped their lives to his will. His voice seized her soul with its first utterance, flayed her, leaving her exposed as she had never been exposed before, all her secrets laid out and revealed. She shivered, naked in soul if not in body, and longed to weep in gratitude of simply hearing him speak.

“Ah, you seem to have dropped your papers,” he continued. “Let me get them for you.” And he bent his knee, his uniform tightening around his legs as he lowered himself to her level to gather the papers she had lost. Her eyes strayed across his chest, his powerful shoulders, his graceful, artist’s hands, and finally her addled mind comprehended who he was, and she realized the depths of her mistake.

“Grand Moff Tarkin!” P5 buzzed beside her. “My lord, I am so sorry! I… I directed the ensign here! It was my fault we—”

“Silence, machine,” a second voice interrupted. Dark, where Tarkin’s was deep; it hummed its vowels and hissed its consonants, machine like, a robot’s voice given breath by a man. Black robes swept forward, and Darth Vader, the Dark Lord of the Sith, stood before her.

He raised his hand, and an iron vice gripped Starwise around the throat. She lifted into the air with a choked gurgle, her hooves pawing at the invisible force strangling her.

“What shall I do with this clumsy fool, my lord?” Darth Vader asked.

“Easy, Vader,” Tarkin replied. His eyes never left the papers gathered in his hands. He stood, towering over Starlight like her father Starwise like a stately elm. He leafed through the pages, humming quietly, his eyes never ceasing their constant dance.

“These designs… you drafted them?” he finally asked. At last his eyes turned to hers, and all thoughts of reply fled from her mind.

His eyes were the blue of the arctic ocean. They pierced her through, as easily as turbolasers pierce the weak tungsten hulls of rebel starships. She felt herself fall into his gaze, forgetting the crushing pressure on her throat, the panic of her flailing hooves suspended in the air, even the horror of being caught sneaking through this forbidden place. In some distant, still-rational part of her mind, Starlight recalled that only minutes before her life consisted of being late for some silly meeting with the head of engineering. But now she had seen this stallio man, and lost herself in his presence, and she wanted to laugh at her earlier self.

Reality and gravity returned. Vader released her to crash onto the deckplates. “Answer him, foolish girl!” the hideous cyborg demanded.

She coughed. She tasted blood. But still she met Tarkin’s gaze. “Yes. Yes, those are mine.”

“Mhm.” Tarkin flipped to the next page. Her biography, apparently: “Ensign Starwise Sunbeam, class of 17. Top of your year with a degree in mechanical engineering. You specialized in thermal exhaust port design. A rather esoteric field.”

“It’s underappreciated,” Starwise replied. “Not enough people understand the importance of proper reactor venting. I… I hoped it would be useful on the Death Star.”

“It may yet.” Tarkin tapped the edges of the pages, bringing them back into alignment, and offered them to the unicorn. “Vader, I believe we’ve found our new executive assistant. Start the paperwork to have her transfered to my office. I’ll see you bright and early tomorrow, ensign.”

With that he nodded to her and stepped past, already aimed like a missile at his next task. She shivered at the thought of being his target, and then – only then – did his words register.

“Executive… assistant?” Her heart skipped a beat. “Me… I’m his new executive assistant!”

“A position I have full confidence you will fail at,” Vader said.

Starlight Starwise gasped and jumped. She’d nearly forgotten he was still there. She started to bow and mutter some insipid vow to try her hardest—

“Save your words, unicorn,” Vader commanded. “Know this. Your obvious intelligence and peerless writing skills may have impressed Grand Moff Tarkin, but he is only concerned with the mission and the Empire. I, however, am entrusted with his well-being. Beneath that stern exterior lies a sensitive soul and tender heart. If you fail him, Starwise, if you hurt him, you will wish I’d been allowed to choke the life from you at our first meeting.”

With that Vader spun away, his cloak billowing out as he pursued his master. “Your trial starts tomorrow!” he called back as he vanished around the corner.

Starlight stood there panting. She barely heard P5’s nattering voice, or noticed the other staff officers peeking out from their offices to see who had just joined their ranks. Only one thing concerned her.

What have I gotten myself into??
> DVD Special: Season 3 Unaired Episode (GaPJaxie)
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

It began with Eyore, the Dynamite Mule.

Readers will, of course, be familiar with his villainy. Originating as a mine worker in the distant tunnels of Griffonstone, he became one of the early leaders of the anarchist movement, and the first to strongly identify dynamite with their cause. His spree of terror crossed the world and lasted for six years, as he threw his bombs at constables and crowds alike.

His greatest achievement was the bomb plot against the West Canterlot Orchestra House, where he hoped to destroy Celestia, Twilight, and all the nobility of Canterlot in one moment of conflagration.

Sunset never met him, but she wrote him letters while he awaited trial. They were anonymous so as not to reveal her identity, but she felt compelled to tell him of all the good he had done on that day.

Sunset herself had only narrowly escaped the blast. The thought of spending one more night with Celestia, with the hangers-on, with the new bitch-princess, had made her physically ill to her stomach. Once she could imagine a nice evening at the orchestra, but she could no longer hear the music. Instead, she saw her own face, smiling at the mare who had stolen everything she ever desired in life. She vomited on her lovely evening dress. Celestia relieved her of her duties and told her to get some rest, for she was clearly unwell.

Perhaps she might have done so. Perhaps she might have been a simpler creature, who thought of being relieved of her duties as nothing more than a free evening. She might have spent the evening in bed, or reading, or done anything else she desired. But she had been raised in the traditions of Canterlot, and raised by Celestia. To be dismissed from one's duties was not a gift, and she found her evening tormented by guilt and gnawing inadequacy.

Eventually, she pulled herself out of bed, swallowed her pain and her rage, and found a new dress. She rehearsed in her head an excuse, and something nice to say about Twilight when she arrived.

She reached Platinum Avenue just in time to see the explosion consume the Orchestra House. Later, of course, Celestia and Twilight would be pulled from the rubble unharmed; a thousand tons of dynamite could not pierce an alicorn's skin. But at that precise second, as she saw the building be consumed by fire, Sunset imagined them both dead.

She felt a lightness -- a joy so great it consumed her to her very bones. Her soul was transformed, as swiftly and completely as downtown Canterlot had been transformed by clay and blasting caps.

Sunset found herself in that explosion.





Sunset and Starlight Glimmer sat in Starlight’s office. A clock in the corner passed the seconds with it’s loud regular tick. A ceiling fan overhead slowly turned. Sunset was sitting quietly with her hooves folded. Starlight had the script open in front of her.

“Yeah,” Starlight said. “I don’t think so.”

“Heh… come on.” Sunset forced a smile onto her face. “It’s good, right?”

“It’s about murder.” Starlight rested a hoof on her desk and leaned forward. “You know this is a foals’ show, right?”

“You address adult topics all the time! Like that episode on involuntary organ donation.”

“That was for a good cause! It taught foals about utilitarian ethics. It didn’t tell them to write love letters to terrorists.” Starlight rolled her eyes. “Look, I just don’t think it fits.”

“Well, uh. I have another idea that might—”

“Sunset.” The mare behind the desk let out a heavy sigh. “I have a question for you.”

“Yeah?”

“Is this show called, The Sunset Shimmer Magical Half Hour? Mmm?” She lifted an eyebrow. “Is it? Because I notice you’re the main character in a lot of these ideas.”

“I just think it’s fair I get one episode!” Sunset raised her voice. “I mean, that was the deal when we got rid of Twilight, right? That’s why we did it! You know. We were in this together?”

“You know, that’s a good point. We did have a deal. And I do owe you something, don’t I? Step over here for a second?”

Sunset rose and leaned over Starlight’s desk. Starlight nodded and took a breath.

Then she slapped Sunset hard across the cheek.

“Let me be clear,” she got in Sunset’s face, until they were muzzle to muzzle. “This show has room for one magical mare. One. That’s why we got rid of Twilight. And you think I can’t see you’re planning to do the same thing to me? Mmm?”

Sunset stood there in shock. Her eyes were wide. Her jaw fell open. Tears filled her eyes: “But… I…”

“You got Equestria Girls. Your own show. You got character development. You even got Twilight’s ditzy copy to be your supporting character! Don’t say this didn’t work out for you.”

“I wanted to be a horse!” Sunset sniffled, trying to hide the tears running down her face. “I don’t want to be sixteen forever. I’ve been on the cheerleading squad for twelve years!”

“Them’s the breaks. You can be a supporting character in Equestria, or a bigshot at Canterlot High. Let me know when you work out what you want, but ‘Element of Magic’ isn’t on the table.”

“I… but… I…”

“Get out.”

Sunset fled the office in tears, and Starlight fell back to her chair. She spun around to face the window, and let out a sharp snort: “She’s even worse than Twilight.”
> S1E3: Halter I'll Shoot
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Every crazy pony is unique in their insanity, I’ve found,” Twilight Sparkle said. She applied her eyeliner with the edge of a safety razor, tracing a thin red line beneath her lashes that slowly wept into the soft, fine hairs of her coat. She blinked and wiped her cheeks with the back of her hoof, leaving a ruby smear behind. “I think I know more insane ponies than normal ones, and the pattern holds up pretty well.”

They were in the master bathroom of the Crystal Friendship Castle. A dozen opulent emerald basins lay in a row before a crystal mirror the breadth of a schooner’s sail. As Twilight was only a single mare and single mares needed only a single sink, the rest generally went unused except for the occasional run of the faucet to clear crystal dust and spiders out of the pipes. Everburning diamond lanterns filled the bathing suite with a soft, many-colored glow that somehow complemented the colors of whatever pony happened to be using them. As Twilight and Starlight both wore warm purples, the lights were gentle and yellow today.

Starlight usually didn’t join Twilight in the bathroom. Although ponies had little in the way of body modesty, their morning ablutions – washing and primping and preening – were still generally private functions, and Starlight considered it a sign of Twilight’s trust and affection that she was allowed to join her here.

Still, other parts unsettled her. She regarded the tongue-piercer with unease. Twin metal paddles captured the tongue and held it still, while a spring-driven mechanism slowly stored power as the user squeezed the handles with their hooves (it was an earth pony model), until a certain threshold was met and the energy explosively released in the form of a long, thin metal needle. She tested it in the air – the device fired with snap-TING that vibrated the bones in her legs. She wondered what the needle would taste like.

“So, which am I?” she asked. Better pose questions while she could.

“Oh, definitely crazy,” Twilight said. She finished with the eyeliner and smiled, checking the filing work on her teeth. They all still looked sharp to Starlight. “Megalomania, narcisism, antisocial personality disorder. The Villain Big Three.”

“Oh.” Starlight swallowed. All words she’d feared expected known Twilight would say, but to hear them uttered so starkly… “I was thinking… you know…”

Twilight chuckled. “What? That you’d gotten better? Changed?”

“I mean…” Starlight looked around the sink. So many sharp things: razor-edged spoons, porcupine bristle brushes, hair pins clotted with blood. “It could happen.”

Twilight snaked a hoof around her shoulder, drawing her into a comforting embrace. “Why would you want that?” she whispered. “Look at the others. You want their kind of crazy? A nervous, terrified wreck like Fluttershy? Schizophrenic, like Pinkie Pie? Or maybe you’d rather be obsessive like me. Count the blessings in your flavor of crazy, Starlight. They’re what make you special.”

“They’re what make me wicked.”

“That’s what I said.” The comforting leg draped over Starlight’s shoulders suddenly turned into iron; Twilight seized her with an impossible strength, trapping Starlight against her chest. Her horn glowed, and a magic of strength unseen in generations pried Starlight’s jaws apart. The tongue-piercer drifted up and into position. The metal paddles tasted like blood.

Starlight struggled with all her strength, but she might as well have tried to drink the ocean. Twilight’s embrace was a steel cage. She tried to scream, but with her tongue snared and pulled out so tight, all that could emerge was an off-key wail. Hot drool ran down her jaw and dappled the tufted coat on her chest.

“Relax,” Twilight whispered. The trigger-grip on the tongue piercer began to wind tight in her magic. The thick spring inside made little tic-tic-tic noises as it compressed. “You’re going to look beautiful.”

Starlight choked. She seized. And when it was over she finally—




Starlight Glimmer gasped, jerking upright. Sweat-damp sheets fell away from her shoulders, collecting around her waist. The bathroom, the lights, the taste of blood, they were all gone, replaced by darkness and the scent of the rice glue she used for kites. Outside, a faint nighttime storm tapped on her window.

She lay back down on her side. The pillow was wet and chilly against her cheek, but she didn’t care. She closed her eyes and focused on her breathing, willing her heart to slow.

The bed shifted as the pony beside her moved. “Bad dream?”

“Yeah.”

A slender hoof rested on her shoulder. “Same one?”

Starlight nodded. “Mostly. Sort of.” She rolled her tongue in her mouth. Why did it hurt? Was that pain an illusion? “Some parts were different. But the part about… you know.”

A cool nose pressed against the back of her neck. Warm breath washed over her shoulders. “You play every character in your dreams, Starlight. Those voices are just you doubting yourself. Questioning yourself. Whispering poisons in your ears. Part of you wants to change, and part of you fears change."

Starlights scooched back to press against her bedmate’s chest. “If I can change every part of me, what’s left of me?”

A laugh answered. It started high and sweet, but with each exhalation its tone grew deeper, more resonant, until it filled the room and buzzed in her chest. A hard, black limb squeezed her in a tight and loving embrace.

“That’s not the question,” the monster behind her whispered. “It’s not what’s left of you. It’s what you become.”

Starlight caressed the leg holding her close. Its edges were sharp, and she nicked the thin skin beneath her hoof on it. The tiny pain flashed through her mind, burning up the nerves and filling the nighttime with a blinding flash that—




Starlight Glimmer jerked awake. Her dark bedroom smelled of rice-glue and sweat. Outside, a faint storm whistled through the trees. The crystal spires of the castle caught the tone and resonated with it, filling the night with a mournful groan.

She rolled over. As usual, her bed was empty except for her. She thought dimly of ways to fix that problem, but before she could muster the energy to act on those desires, the tide of sleep washed over her again. Exhaustion tugged her eyelids closed, and the darkness again became complete.

She dreamed of sharp things.
> S2E4: Love Poison No. 9
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

“...and it was in that vital moment Ginger Gypsy realized her mask, the carefully schooled edifice of flesh and bone that she had trained for years to guard the secrets of her heart, had at last betrayed her. That those were tears leaving hot trails down her cheeks; that her lips, so long practiced to sneer in derision, now curled in pain. ‘Goodbye,’ she whispered, though she knew Buttercup had long passed beyond the sound of her voice. ‘Goodbye.’”

So saying, Twilight Sparkle turned the last page of 45 Reasons Why and closed the book, setting it gently on the coffee table in front of the couch. After a moment she lifted her glass of wine for another long sip.

“Wow,” Starlight Glimmer said. She lay across the couch’s other cushion, reclining against the armrest with her legs curled loosely beneath her barrel. Her own glass of wine floated somewhat unsteadily beside her, swimming through the air in time with her attention. “I mean, it’s a little, you know, over-dramatic, maybe,” she paused for another sip and cleared her throat. “It kinda hits you right here, you know? That place in your chest where you feel things.”

“Your heart?”

“Yeah, that’s it.” Starlight finished off her glass and concentrated hard on setting it down on the table, where several empty bottles stood guard over it. A magnum of Reisling, still half-full, filled the air with a heady, fruity scent. She very carefully lifted it and splashed a bit in her glass. Apricots assaulted her nose. “More?”

“Uh.” Twilight considered her options, which seemed at this point to consist of varying levels of being drunk. Since she’d already crossed that bridge, there didn’t seem like much reason to stop now. “Sure. Not… not too much, though.”

Starlight giggled at something. “Okay, princess. Just a smidge for her highness.”

“Stop that.” Twilight batted at Starlight’s tail and giggled herself. She couldn’t help it – she was in a giggly mood. That realization brought on a moment of introspection, followed almost immediately by a touch of the melancholy drifting that so often afflicted her in times of deep thought. She shook her head to banish the feeling and nearly tipped out of her seat.

“So, what did you think?” Starlight asked. She apparently didn’t notice Twilight’s attempts to capsize their couch.

“Oh, um.” Twilight blinked rapidly and focused on the book. “Well, for a romance novel, it seemed to flout some of the major conventions of the genre. Aren’t… aren’t the lovers supposed to end up together at the end? But that didn’t happen. Instead they just drifted away.”

“I think they failed the author’s test. If they deserved a happy ending, they should’ve earned it, but they didn’t. Ginger Gypsy couldn’t open up and be honest, and Buttercup was too concerned with her own dreams.”

“And Ginger Gypsy realized it too late.” Twilight licked her lips. They were sweet with the residue of the wine. “That… that’s the worst thing, I think. That she realized, at the end, what she could’ve had.”

“Yeah.” Starlight stared into her glass, as though some secret swam beneath the surface. “Did… have you ever felt like that?”

“I, uh.” Twilight cleared her throat. No. Of course not. That’s silly. “Yes,” she blurted out. As soon as the word escaped she gasped, as if to draw it back in, but by then Starlight’s ears had already perked up to full attention.

“...really?”

Well, too late to back out now. “I mean, sort of. It was just a crush! A silly filly thing. Stupid, really. Why, to think!” She forced out a laugh.

“It’s not silly.” Starlight took another long sip and closed her eyes. “It was Celestia, wasn’t it?”

Emergency! Abort! Abort! Twilight swallowed. Finally, she nodded.

“I figured.” Starlight mumbled. “She’s perfect. So wise and kind and beautiful and, uh, perfect. It’s common for students to have crushes on their teachers, you know. Unreq… unrequited feelings.”

“It’s still silly.” Twilight took a deep breath, willing herself to calm down. “What about you?”

“Oh, um.” Starlight studied her wine intently. “I’ve, uh, had relations before, but love? No. No time for love when you’re conquering the world, right? Ha ha.”

“Really?” Twilight scooted a bit closer and set her hoof on Starlight’s. “You mean you’ve never felt anything for somepony?”

Starlight’s eyes fixed on Twilight’s hoof, and for a long moment she stared at it in silence. Finally, she jerked back to the present. “Well, uh… since you mention it…”

“Yes?” Twilight leaned forward.

“There is one pon— mare, who I’ve, uh, had feelings for. She’s so smart and kind and perfect, but she could never love me. How could anypony love me?”

“Starlight!” Twilight’s voice cracked like a whip. “Don’t you dare say such a thing! You deserve love just as much as anypony! You’re smart, and funny, and being around you makes me, uh, feel like I need to be better. That’s… uh, lots of ponies could find that attractive!”

“But I’ve made so many mistakes. I’m not a nice pony. I’m not—”

“Shh.” Twilight silenced her with the tip of her hoof on Starlight’s lips. Her aim was a bit off so she kind of smooshed them a bit, but the effect was the same. “Starlight, you… you’re perfect just the way you are. You try harder than anypony I know to be good. And that… I…”

Starlight grasped Twilight’s hoof. “Yes?”

“Well, I mean, I’m just saying, like, hypothetically, um, if we were alone on an island—”

“Oh for fuck’s sake, just kiss already,” Rainbow Dash said. She finished off her half-full glass in one chug. “Fuck. It’s like watching balloon animals try to have sex.”

“That’s it, I’m cutting you off,” Rarity said. She floated Dash’s glass and the nearest two bottles of wine away. “You have to let them move at their own pace. Besides, I think they’re cute like this. Also, language, darling. Fluttershy is with us.”

“I’ll language you.”

“Sorry, Rares, I gotta side with Dash on this one,” Applejack said. “These two’re just gonna sit next to each other and blush and stammer ‘til judgement day at this rate.”

“Hey, we’re right here,” Starlight said.

“Sometimes I have to help my little woodland critters find the right mate,” Fluttershy said. She’d acquired Applejack’s stetson at some point, and wore it so low on her head that it concealed everything but the tip of her muzzle. “They’re not all smart enough to do it themselves.”

“Okay, first off, Starlight and I are not woodland critters,” Twilight said. “Second, why are we the focus here? None of you have special someponies.”

“Maaaaybe you’re just fun to tease,” Pinkie Pie offered. “Or maybe we’re all so afraid of our own lack of relationships that we hope by focusing on you to distract ourselves from the slow, impending realization that every year we grow older but never seem any closer to achieving the markers of adulthood that our parents’ generation mastered so easily and who now expect us to follow in their hoofsteps despite all the complications of modern life that make marriage, home ownership and parenthood so much harder to achieve.”

“Hey, have you met my parents?” Dash said. She eyed her stolen glass, now cradled in Rarity's hooves, like a slightly drunken hawk.

“Okay, listen,” Twilight said. She rose to her hooves, wobbled a bit, and held her wings out for balance. “I’m only going to say this once.”

There was a pause while she sorted out her thoughts.

And then she threw up all over the coffee table.
> S1E5: Asterisk
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Has it seemed quiet around here lately?” Rarity asked.

Starlight Glimmer considered the question. It was summer, which meant that the Friendship School was on break, with only a few students still haunting the corridors in pursuit of independent studies. Sandbar was volunteering ten hours each week in the school library, as transparent a ploy as Starlight had ever seen to justify spending time around Yona, who was in there every afternoon translating chalk rubbings of old Yakyakistani cenotaphs into modern Equestrian. At some point, Starlight supposed, she would have to intervene directly and coach the young stallion onto the correct path to wooing his heart’s desire, since it didn’t look like he was going to find the guts to do it himself. It would hardly be the first time she’d offered a guiding hoof in such matters – part of running a successful model society at her old town required matching ponies with their ideal mates, because sometimes ponies weren’t always bright enough to sort themselves out in the most efficient pairings. They needed guidance, which she was happy to provide without even being asked.

And now she was a guidance counselor. And it was nice. She took a sip of her chai tea latte. “I suppose it has. Is that a bad thing?”

“No, it’s quite nice actu—”

“Yes!” Rainbow Dash slammed her hoof down on the table, rattling all their cups. “Finally. Thank you for asking. It’s boring and it needs to stop.”

There was grumbling around the table as ponies mopped up spilled drinks. Several glared at Rainbow Dash, which might have evoked a sheepish apology had she been capable of interpreting non-verbal communication.

“If you’re bored, Rainbow, you can help me grade final assignments,” Twilight Sparkle said. “Compass Call wrote a lovely dissertation on friendship and bonding rituals among the breezies, and he wants to submit it for publication. You could help edit—”

“Ugh, nah, I’m good.”

“But you just said you were bored.”

“No I didn’t.”

“You did,” Starlight said.

“That’s what I heard,” Applejack added.

“Clear as a cucumber!” Pinkie piped in.

Rainbow scowled at them. “Okay, if I did say I was bored, what I meant was that something exciting needs to happen! Like, a monster attack! Those are always great. When was the last time that happened?”

“Three days ago,” Twilight said. “Harpies attacked the Ponyville Miniature Poodle Fancier Annual Pet and Pamper in the park. Remember? The Guard came and everything.”

“That was so sad,” Fluttershy said. “Those poor poodles.”

“Oh, yeah.” Rainbow gazed up at the sky, her eyes unfocused. “Yeah, that was pretty cool, I guess. Do you think they’ll come back?”

“The poodle fanciers?” Starlight frowned. “I think they disbanded.”

“I meant the harpies.”

Starlight considered the question. She didn’t know much about harpies. “I’m not sure. Fluttershy?”

“Not for a while.” Fluttershy cradled her milk in her hooves and gave it a little swirl. “They’re migratory. It will probably be years before we see them again. Maybe by then the poodles will be back too?”

“Circle of life,” Applejack said. 

“Anyway, if you’re bored and don’t want to help with grading schoolwork like you’re supposed to as a member of the faculty, you can come with me to…” Twilight squinted at the pamphlet floating before her. “Bro… Bronycon? I think I’m pronouncing that right.”

“Uh.” Dash squinted. “I dunno. Sounds kinda gay.”

Twilight scowled. “Dash, that’s highly inappropriate to say in 2019. Also, aren’t you attracted to mares?”

“Yeah, but that’s awesome gay.”

Starlight leaned across the table to peer at the brochure. “What is Bronycon?”

“It’s some sort of get-together in the human world. Sunset Shimmer says all the, quote, cool kids, unquote, go to it. It’s about ponies! In the human world!”

“Human-world ponies?” Rarity made a face. “I’ve seen pictures of them. Brutish things. Animals.”

“No no. Ponies like us! Apparently there’s a corporation that uses our images to generate billions of dollars in toy sales.” Twilight flipped the brochure over. “This is like those Daring Do conventions. There will be panels, discussions, a vending hall, a bookstore*, more types of artwork than I knew existed, and a single coffee shop attempting to serve thousands of guests.”

Rarity tilted her head. “What was that after the vending hall?”

“Which one? The bookstore*?”

“Yes, that… why are you saying it like that?”

“That’s how it’s written.” Twilight flipped the brochure over again and frowned. “There’s an asterisk next to it.”

“What’s it mean?”

“I’m… I’m not sure. There’s no explanatory note.”

“There has to be,” Rainbow said. “You must be missing it.”

“No, I’m not!” Twilight flipped the brochure over again and shoved it up against her muzzle. “Come on, where’s the note?”

“Maybe there isn’t one,” Starlight said. She took the last sip of her latte and set the empty cup down. “Anyway, Rarity, are you still planning that trip to Manehattan next week?”

“Oh, I’m not sure now, darling. They say there’s a heatwave coming, and you know how bad Manehattan gets during a normal summer. Can you imagine it being even hotter? And it’s so muggy in that city! Honestly Rainbow I don’t know why you weather ponies can’t keep the temperature down just a few more degrees. Would that really be so hard?”

“Look, every year some city has to get the heatwave,” Rainbow said. “This year it’s Manehattan’s turn. You want Fillydelphia to get it twice in a row or something?”

“No, of course not. But maybe you could spread the heat out a bit? I’m sure the Crystal Empire wouldn’t mind being a few degrees warmer. They’d hardly even notice.”

“So, wait,” Pinkie said. “Is hot weather good or bad for fashion? Like, are there more sun hats but fewer saddles?”

“You know, I don’t even own a saddle?” Starlight said. “Never saw the appeal.”

“Well, perhaps it’s best you don’t own a fashion boutique, then,” Rarity said. She sniffed. “Why, what mare doesn’t own a saddle! Even Twilight, who you know I love like a sister, she owns several saddles, and she is hardly the most fashionable… Twilight? Darling, are you alright?”

They turned back to Twilight, who ignored them. She scowled at the brochure. At some point she had conjured up a quill from one of her pocket dimensions and was fervently marking up the paper.

“Where is it?” She drew a line across another bit of text. “There has to be a note! You can’t just put an asterisk next to something and then not have an explanatory note! It has to mean something!”

“It’s probably in small type at the bottom,” Starlight said. “Did you try looking for small type at the bottom—”

“Yes! Of course I did! That was the first place I looked!” Bits of Twilight’s mane were starting to come unglued. She stood from her seat and leaned over the table, glaring at the brochure, and flipped it over again. “Where is it?”

“Maybe they forgot to add it,” Pinkie said. She edged her way around the table, away from Twilight. 

“You can’t do that!” Twilight lifted the brochure and held it up to the sun, as if its rays might reveal the hidden note. “What kind of monster puts an asterisk next to an item and doesn’t explain what the asterisk means? That’s misleading! It’s fraud!”

“Twilight…” Rarity started. “Ponies are staring.”

“It’s unbalanced! You have to balance the equation! Starlight, tell them! Tell them!”

“Sorry, Twilight.” Starlight shrugged. “We might never know what it means, and we’ll just have to accept that.”

“No! No! We can’t just leave it like that! I’m going to this convention, and I’m going to find whoever made this brochure, and I’m going to find out why they put that damn asterisk there!” Twilight’s horn flared, blinding them all, and when sight returned the mare was gone. The singed remains of the brochure drifted down onto the table like snow.

“Bring back souvenirs!” Pinkie shouted.

“Well.” Rarity sighed. “There she goes again. I swear, the oddest things will set that mare off.”

“Now I wanna know what it meant, too,” Applejack said. “Not, like, that bad. But a little bit.”

“It was probably nothing,” Starlight said.

“It must’ve been something important, though.” Rarity poked at one of the smears of ash. “Why else put it there?”

“Oh, who knows these things?” Starlight waved her hoof. “Maybe it’s only for a limited time, or you need a special badge to access it, or maybe it never existed at all and I just added the asterisk because Twilight used the last of my empathy cocoa this morning without asking me if it was okay and you know how much I really love that cocoa and it helps me get my day started on the right hoof and if I don’t get it I feel grumpy all the way to lunch? Maybe that was it. We’ll probably never know.”

The others were staring at her. Rarity sighed.

“What?” Starlight folded her forelegs across her chest. “Would you rather I tried to destroy the world again?”
> Season 1 Finale: Canterrevolutionary (GaPJaxie)
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

One of Applejack’s trees was on fire.

Twilight watched it in silence for a time. She could have snuffed the flames with magic at will, but she didn’t see the urgency—the tree’s wounds were mortal. When Twilight arrived on the scene, its leaves were already gone. Some of them had fallen before they burnt to ashes and remained in the ground yet, thin sheets of green whose edges turned brown, then black, then curled into tight rolls.

Beside them, on the ground, were the apples. They didn’t burn. Twilight had imagined they would burn, turn black, darken until they were like little spherical lumps of coal, but they contained far too much water for that. Instead, the apples boiled. They burst open like grenades, splattering apple juice in all directions. Steam rose from their hissing, roiling flesh.

The flames themselves were eight feet high from the tallest branch. They leapt from root to trunk to twig, gaining strength all the while, like the tree was not the source of fuel, but merely the center of the inferno. Their heat could burn a pony from twenty feet away.

“Twilight,” somepony said. She didn’t notice who. “Do something.”

So she put the flames out. Then she asked what happened. Rarity and Applejack were the only witnesses, and they did not give the answers she expected.

Rarity was normally long-winded. Theatrical. Dramatic. Twilight expected her to go on at length, to embellish, to craft her words. And yet, all she said was. “Starlight lit one of the trees on fire. Then she ran away.” Her manner was stiff and her speech stilted and uneven. She could say no more, but gestured at the tree behind them, as though Twilight might not have noticed it.

Applejack, by contrast, spoke at uncharacteristic length. “Do you know that kind of angry where a pony stops shouting?” she asked, her tone meandering. “Where they scream and rant and rave, and all of a sudden, it just stops? And their face gets all calm, but you can still see it in their eyes. Like they, you know, just decided that screaming ain’t enough. That kind of angry that says, ‘I’ve made a decision. I’m going to do something.’”

“I know that kind of angry,” Twilight said.

“Well, that was Starlight. It was Starlight, and she lit a tree on fire, and…” Applejack swallowed. “I didn’t know it was going to stop there.”

“I know,” Twilight said. “I know.”

“She could have, Twi.”

“I know.”

Twilight asked them other questions: what were they talking about before, what were the circumstances, what exactly did Starlight say, where did she go. She called off the idea of a search party, on the basis that what guards Ponyville had wouldn’t be able to do anything with Starlight in the unlikely event they caught her. Besides, Starlight was one of the few unicorns in Equestria capable of teleporting themselves great distances. If she wanted to leave Ponyville, she would already be gone.

But she wasn’t gone. Twilight found her that evening, curled up on the hill where the two of them went to lie under the stars.

It was a new moon that night. The stars were gorgeous, but the world was dark, and Twilight didn’t see Starlight until she nearly stepped on her. Given that she’d been using the glow of her horn to navigate, she knew Starlight must have been able to see her coming a mile away.

But Starlight didn’t run. She hadn’t even bothered getting up. She lay in the grass on her back and looked at the sky, like this were no more than a social outing, where Twilight might bring a telescope and some tea.

Twilight waited for her to run, to fight, or perhaps just to speak. But Starlight did none of those things, and eventually, the silence grew too long. “You’re in a lot of trouble back in Ponyville.”

“Mmhmm,” Starlight said, her voice distant and soft. “You can go ahead and blast me with the Elements of Harmony. Or lock me in Tartarus, if you prefer. I’m not going to struggle.”

“It didn’t have to be this way.” Twilight let out a long, slow breath, and when Starlight didn’t respond, she settled down into the grass beside her. Starlight rolled her head to watch as Twilight tried to get comfortable.

She still didn’t know what to do with her wings when she was lying on her back. Squirming, shifting, flexing, nothing would make them quite fit. “Applejack said you were talking about diamond dogs.”

“They were stealing from her orchard,” Starlight explained. “So she and a bunch of her neighbors ran them off. I explained that most of the diamond dogs I’ve seen lately at the edge of town had visible ribs. They’re malnourished. And fruit isn’t really great food for them, the same way it isn’t for normal dogs. If they’re stealing apples, it’s probably because they’re hungry. Desperate.”

“I could do something about that.”

“You could,” Starlight agreed. “Applejack could do something about that. She could leave out eggs and milk and other things they can actually survive on. Rarity could do something about that. She could help them find gems they can trade to Ponyville for food.”

It was Twilight’s turn to be silent, as the two of them watched the stars roll past. Given the time of night, The Chariot was high in the sky. Twilight could trace the imaginary line between the stars, forming the constellation in her mind. The air was chill, and while Twilight’s pegasus character protected her from any discomfort, Starlight shivered in a sudden breeze.

“But they wouldn’t,” Starlight went on. “It was very sad, they said, and somepony should do something about it. But it wasn’t their problem. They don’t know any diamond dogs.”

“So you lit one of Applejack’s trees on fire and implied the two of them might be next?”

“I didn’t say anything like that.”

Twilight turned her head to look at Starlight. “Your eyes did.”

A sharp intake of breath let Twilight know she’d hit the mark. Starlight laughed, tensed, bit her lip. “I got angry,” she said, her voice stiff and reedy, as though she might laugh again at any moment. “I got angry, Twilight. What else was I supposed to do?”

Without waiting, she went on. “They’re people. They’re people like you and like me, only somehow in Applejack’s eyes, they’re worth less. In Rarity’s eyes, they’re worth less. Oh, sure, they don’t have anything against diamond dogs. They’re not bigots. But love isn’t the absence of hate. So they wouldn’t help. They don’t think it matters. Not the way a pony’s life matters. Not the way a real person’s life matters. Because the diamond dogs are strange and foreign and far away and they don’t suffer where the two of them have to watch. So it doesn’t count.”

She gritted her teeth, looking off into the grass. “I reread my manifesto. The one I wrote in Our Town. I keep rereading it, because I can see what’s wrong with it and where I made so many mistakes, but there are also so many parts of it that are right, and I don’t know how to separate the right from the wrong. And one of the good parts was, page forty, second paragraph.”

She did laugh again. Then she quoted herself: “‘Above all, always be capable of feeling deeply any injustice committed against anyone, anywhere in the world. This is the most beautiful quality in a pony.’”

“It can’t work that way, Starlight. The world is unjust sometimes. That’s just how it is.”

“No. It’s not,” Starlight said. “Those diamond dogs at the edge of town. The ones going hungry. They’re not suffering because that’s just how it is. They’re suffering because a specific set of ponies decided not to help them. And it’s all that way. When we say, the world is naturally unfair, what we mean is we’re not prepared to accuse the ponies responsible.”

“You think I should accuse Rarity and Applejack? Of what?” Twilight scoffed. “Being bad ponies?”

“They’re letting an innocent creature starve because they can’t be bothered. In what sense is that not being a bad pony?”

“And if they helped the diamond dogs, what’s next? You’ll blame them for not helping the yaks? Or the changelings? Or for not helping rehabilitate the stormguard, or rebuild the goblin lands?  Where does it end?”

“Well if they did help the diamond dogs,” Starlight’s tone took an edge, “and the yak, and the changelings, and if they did rehabilitate the stormguard, and rebuild the goblin lands, and give aid to griffonstone, and teach disadvantaged earth ponies to read, and all the other things they could do, then I guess,” she snarled out the words, “this ends with a world that isn’t so fucking terrible!”

Her breath came out in short gasps. She shuttered in the grass. “Maybe the reason the world is so awful is because we make it awful. Did you ever think about that? Maybe that’s how it ends.”

“You’re getting angry again.”

“I know. I know, I…” Starlight sniffled, rolling away from Twilight and tucking her legs around herself. “I’m sorry.”

Twilight let out a soft, “Mmm,” so Starlight would know she heard, and then took her time considering her reply. As another chill wind blew over the hill, she asked, “You know they’re not bad ponies, right?”

“I’m not sure I do know that. No.” Starlight’s voice was tight. “Am I wrong? Am I wrong that they should care?”

“Charity begins at home,” Twilight said. “Maybe it would be good, if I could be friends with every creature in the world. But I can’t be. Nopony can. And that means there will always be creatures in the world I care about more than others. And that means Rarity and Applejack and Pinkie and Shining and… and you, get special treatment. Because that’s what caring means. I care about you because I want to help you, more than I would a stranger.”

Twilight gestured up at the sky with a hoof, even though she knew Starlight couldn’t see. “And, should I grow my circle of friends? Yes, of course. Should I take the time to be charitable to ponies who aren’t my friends? Yes, of course. And should I feel empathy for the pain of creatures I don’t know personally? Yes. Yes, Starlight. I should. But there will be times I treat you better than I would other ponies, because you’re my friend. And to those other ponies, if your special treatment seems unfair?”

She shrugged. “That’s life.”

“That’s selfishness.” Starlight sneered. “You’re giving to the ponies it feels good to give to, instead of to the ones who need your kindness.”

“I’m giving to the ones for whom my kindness means something. A judge could say, given your case history, your psychological profile, and current legal best-practices, you’re better suited to rehabilitation than punishment. Or I could take the time to come out here and chat with you, instead of shooting you with lasers. And from the practical perspective they’re the same thing, but I’d bet the second one means more to you.”

Starlight sniffled. “It does.”

“It means more because I love you.” Twilight paused. “I mean, platonically.”

“I knew what you meant.”

“Okay.” Twilight rustled her wings again. “It’s the same way for everypony, Starlight. Charity isn’t just giving the thing or the act. It’s kindness and friendship and community. I could go volunteer at a soup kitchen in Canterlot and hand out a thousand meals, or I could give Pinkie Pie half of my sandwich because I can see she’s sad. And the second one is better. It means more.”

Twilight lifted a hoof above her head, obscuring part of The Chariot. With the vehicle itself covered, only Celestia’s part of the formation was visible. “I’d rather get limited help from the ponies who truly care about me, than unlimited help from some cold unfeeling social machine.”

“You said,” Starlight mumbled, “that giving Pinkie Pie a sandwich when she’s sad means more than handing out a thousand meals to creatures you don’t know. But this whole chat started because creatures go hungry. What if those thousand meals were for creatures that were starving to death? Does Pinkie’s smile mean more than their lives?”

“You’re leaping to conclusions. All you know is that a few diamond dogs looked a little thin. You don’t know they’re actually starving.”

“No,” Starlight said. “And you don’t know either. Because you didn’t care enough to ask. And I’m sorry, Twilight, but right now, I think I hate you for it.”

She laughed again, and bit off the words. “I’m sorry. You’ve been very kind to me, with everything I did.”

“There will have to be consequences for this. Significant ones.” Twilight let out a small breath. “But, consequences befitting a powerful unicorn who struggles to control her emotions. Not a criminal. You didn’t mean any harm.”

And Starlight whispered, “Thank you.”

“Heh.” Twilight let out a little breath, and paused to watch a shooting star fly zip across the dark sky above. “I believe you, you know. That you care about them. You care about everypony, sometimes to the point that it’s disabling. You care so much you can’t control yourself.” She glanced at Starlight. “Have you tried caring just a little bit less?”

“I can’t. I can’t control how much something matters.”

“Well, I don’t think Rarity and Applejack can either.”

Starlight froze for a moment, then she lifted her head, and looked back over her shoulder at Twilight. But Twilight was still staring up at the stars.

“Let’s stay here for a bit,” Twilight said, “before we head back to Ponyville.”

And together, they watched the shooting stars go by.
> S2E7: Farmers Black Market
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

“You know, Library Amnesty Day was Starlight’s idea,” Twilight Sparkle said to Spike. “Originally, that is. Back before it was a real holiday.”

They were at the kitchen table for breakfast. In lieu of pancakes, Twilight had a bowl of shredded oats and blueberries. They didn’t taste like much, but it was summer, and that meant ponies like Rarity and Rainbow Dash and the spa twins were traipsing around, showing off toned bodies that looked like their skin and coat had been painted over cords of supple muscle. And though Twilight knew her body weight was well within acceptable limits for an alicorn mare her age, she couldn’t help but feel a little frumpy and dull and, yes, a bit pudgy if we’re being honest. So she was having cereal for breakfast and enjoying it in the same way the ancient pony stoics enjoyed being miserable, because it also meant they were being virtuous.

Spike wasn’t on a diet. He had all kinds of pancakes. Twilight gazed at them as she spoke.

“Yeah?” Spike rolled an entire pancake up into a little funnel, plopped in a dollop of whipped cream, and swallowed it whole. “Did she have any overdue library books at the time?”

Twilight shook her head. “It wasn’t about her. I think she knew how much trouble the library was in and wanted to help.”

Starlight was a mare of many talents – magic, dialectic materialism, leading cults, etc. As a cult leader she’d learned a lot about what made ponies tick, and she knew that ponies hated conflict. Specifically, she knew that returning overdue library books to Twilight Sparkle’s library inevitably led to conflict. Usually just verbal conflict.

Because few ponies with overdue library books wanted to fight an alicorn, they tended to keep their books forever and simply never went back to the library, which was simultaneously emptying the library of books and ponies. It was unsustainable. Twilight came close to losing her certification by the Equestrian Library and Pole Dancing Association, Canterlot Chapter. The library had to change, or she had to learn how to pole dance. 

Twilight had gotten as far as reading online reviews for various dancing poles when Starlight came to the rescue. The answer, she proposed, was Library Amnesty Day.

On Library Amnesty Day, any overdue library book could be returned with no penalty to the library, assuming it was still in readable condition. For scofflaws who had damaged their books or, Celstia forbid, lost them, Library Amnesty Day offered only a partial relief. Their fines were waived, but they were still glared at fiercely by Twilight Sparkle, and of course their dreams were haunted by the spirits of the books they had damaged or misplaced.

In Starlight Glimmer’s original formulation, Library Amnesty Day was followed immediately by Library Persecution Day, a public holiday in which librarians would ride out into their towns, corralling book criminals and herding them to the village square for mass trial and punishment. While the idea did appeal to something deep and primal in Twilight’s heart, she suppressed that feeling vigorously and only sometimes, long into the night when she would lie awake in bed, did she imagine herself sallying forth, flames bursting from her hoofsteps, clothed in the shining armor of virtue and righteousness, bringing justice to the lands and the library’s accounts-due ledger.

And so there was no Library Persecution Day. But Library Amnesty Day was a big hit. For three years Twilight had celebrated it alongside all the book-loving ponies of Ponyville, and today was the fourth. She finished the last of her cereal and drank the remaining milk from the bowl like her parents yelled at her not to. 

“Good morning!” Starlight Glimmer chirped as she trotted into the kitchen. She measured out a cup of pancake batter from the bowl onto the skillet and poured herself a smaller mug of coffee. While the pancakes sizzled she joined them at the table. “Ready for today?”

“Just about.” Her hooves beat a rapid tattoo on the table. “I’m so excited!”

“And I’m excited for you,” Starlight said. “What about you, Spike? Any plans for the day?”

“Chores, comics, dragon stuff. Mostly dragon stuff. You?”

“I was going to help out with the amnesty day,” Starlight said. “If you don’t mind, that is, Twilight. Every year you seem to have so much fun with it, and I thought, hey, maybe I could tag along? Just some community service.”

“I thought the judge said you were done with that,” Spike said.

“She did!” Starlight beamed. “This is all voluntary! No court order or anything this time. If you want the help, Twilight.”

Twilight did, and it was good to hear Starlight wasn’t serving another sentence. The apprentice-teacher relationship between the two of them was complicated, with deep feelings of respect and affection, but Twilight had to admit that when Starlight was in jail or on trial for some new offense it caused a bit of strain between them. Twilight’s preferred solution was for Starlight to stop committing crimes; Starlight insisted that the law had to catch up with the new, higher morality she was inventing to lead ponies into the next age. 

Sometimes, Twilight wondered what it was like to have an apprentice who wasn’t a reformed villain. Probably pretty nice.



After breakfast, Twilight left the private section of the crystal Friendship Castle to start her rounds about Ponyville, reminding ponies that any overdue books they had could be returned without fee. In her mind she plotted out a route through the market square, past Sugarcube Corner, around the old lumber mill, past the paper factory, west across the stream that divided the nice, clean part of the town where all the unicorns lived from the more ‘rustic’ and ‘weatherbeaten’ earth pony neighborhoods. Then she would cut back through the fields between the Carrot and the Apple clans, disarming any traps she might find along the path, and swing up through the pegasus houses floating overhead. Around lunch she would hit the town square again, snapping up any books she’d missed the first go around (and lunch as well), and finish her day with a circuit around the outskirts of the town, catching those ponies who preferred to live away from the herd, like Fluttershy and Zecora and the crazy cat mare who yelled at ponies to stay away from her trees.

She made it as far as the market. A young cream pegasus mare, perhaps a few years older than the Crusaders and with just the first blush of approaching adulthood gracing her limbs and hips, flitted over to Twilight. She had a set of unslung saddlebags clutched in her forelegs, and she came to a nervous bobbing stop a few feet away.

“Excuse me,” she said. “This is Amnesty Day, right?”

Twilight’s heart sang. Her wings trembled at her side, lifting her hooves a few inches off the ground. Already, ponies were coming to her with overdue books! She wasn’t even having to hunt them down! This was going to be the best Library Amnesty Day ever!

“It sure is!” She smiled at the mare, doing her best to imitate the warm, infinitely forgiving expression Celestia always seemed to wear. “Do you have something you’d like to turn in?”

“Oh, do I!” the mare exclaimed. She opened her saddlebags and pulled out a small necklace, a silver chain studded with glass gems, the kind one could buy for twenty bits from the beauty aisle of Barnyard Bargains. It glittered convincingly in the morning sunlight, and the young mare shoved it at Twilight.

“Uh…” Twilight said. She took the necklace with her magic. “What is—”

“Thank you so much!” The filly darted in for a quick hug. “I’ve felt so guilty since I took that thing, but now I feel much better! Ha, whew!”

“Uh…”

“Go Amnesty Day, right?” The pegasus spun in a little circle in mid-air, then burst away with a flap of her wings. Her voice faintly reached back to Twilight from the sky. “Thanks!”

Twilight stared at the necklace in her hooves. She stared at it until another voice startled her back into the present. “Excuse me?”

She looked up. A stallion was standing a few feet away. He was harnessed to a large cart, which appeared to have some sort of tarp-covered object in the back. Behind him, more ponies were lining up. They all seemed happy to see her.

“Okay, whoa, uh, I think there’s a misunderstanding,” Twilight said. She held up a hoof as if to ward off the stack of ponies. “This is Library Amnesty Day. It only applies to library books, not any other—”

“Actually, I changed that,” Starlight said. She appeared in a pale flash of light at Twilight’s side. Draped across her back and shoulders was a motley assortment of saddlebags, duffel bags, messenger satchels and even a bejeweled purse sparkling with rainbow sequins. Floating behind her were even more — bulging packing crates and bubble-wrap-enclosed mysteries and what appeared to be a bearskin rug rolled up into a tube. Dozens of smaller objects orbited around her like tiny moons: jewelry and watches and gilded horseshoes and even a book or two. Crossbows and stilettos and spiked clubs twirled like batons. They all bobbed in time with Starlight’s breath.

“It’s just Amnesty Day now,” she continued. She panted a bit, and her coat was already streaked with sweat in the early morning heat as though she had been running around town, perhaps collecting items as she went. “Keep accepting stuff, okay? We’ll make a pile in the castle foyer and go through it later.”

“Um…” Twilight stared at the mass of contraband floating around Starlight. “What…”

But it was too late. Starlight was gone in another flash. Twilight blinked away the blobby afterimage of the mare.

“Will you be here all day?” the stallion asked. He unhitched his cart and rolled it around to Twilight’s side. “I’ve got more back at the house I need to grab.”

“Uh…”

“Stop holding up the line!” somepony further back called. Twilight peered around the stallion and saw the line had grown down the block. A second line of Pegasi had formed in the sky.

Across the street, merchants were setting up food booths. A band began tuning their instruments on a stage set up in front of the town hall. As Twilight watched, a pair of pegasi hauled up a bright pink banner emblazoned with “FIRST ANNUAL PONYVILLE ANMESTY DAY!”

That’s not how you spell ‘amnesty,’ she thought. It was something solid her mind could latch onto. She imagined herself walking over to the sign, gently correcting its makers, and helping them write a new one. And then everything would be back the way it was supposed to.

“You have to be careful with this, okay?” a pale unicorn mare Twilight recognized as Amber Down gently set a wooden crate as tall as a foal on the cobblestones. It was bound in thick iron bands, and the lid was sealed with an industrial-looking hasp with a padlock the size of Twilight’s hoof. Tiny holes were drilled along its length and guarded with wire mesh. The wood above the holes was stained black with soot, and as Twilight stared in numb fascination she noticed a faint orange glow begin to build inside the crate, like a furnace slowly coming to life. The whole affair rumbled, and the wood seemed to expand, straining at the iron bands. Hot air rushed out with a dry whooshing noise and tickled her muzzle.

“I’d keep him, but he’s just getting too big, you know?” Amber Down put a little spritzer bottle on top of the crate. “If it gets too hot, spray this inside the holes.” 

Twilight didn’t want to spray anything into the holes. She didn’t want to go near the holes, or the box, and she was already wondering if she could dump it in the deep end of the Cattail Lake on the west end of town when the next pony in line interrupted her thoughts.

“You’re still accepting overdue library books too, right?” He held a pulpy, dripping mass in his hooves. It seeped down his fetlocks in fibrous runnels. “I accidentally left it in the toilet.”



“I’m sorry, princess,” Mayor Mare said. She sat beside Twilight in the square. Behind them the pile of contraband had grown throughout the morning, and now stood taller than the roofs of the merchant stalls selling elephant ears and cotton candy and lemonade to the festive crowd. The mayor had a sheaf of official-looking papers in her hooves, decorated with florid lettering and sealed at the bottom with a wax stamp and red ribbon. “The paperwork is all valid. Today is Amnesty Day.”

“I understand that,” Twilight said. Her voice was strained by now, each word clipped, ending with little explosive puffs of breath. Understan-Duh. Tha-Tuh. They’d been discussing this for a while. “And I reiterate that my apprentice appears to have… accidentally, I’m sure… filled those declarations out incorrectly. It was supposed to be a Library Amnesty Day. Just like last year. And the year before. And the year before that.”

Mayor Mare studied the wax and ribbon at the bottom of the cover sheet. “This has your seal on it.”

“I… may have delegated that to her.” A decision Twilight now counted among her deepest regrets in life.

“Excuse me,” Rainbow Dash said. She hovered in front of them, forelegs folded across her chest. “Are you two done? I have more stuff to confess.”

They’d moved beyond purely material amnesty by this hour. Instead ponies were coming to her with declarations of guilt. In the past three hours Twilight had learned more about her fellow ponies than in all the years of living in Ponyville combined. She wondered, absently, if her parents would still let her move back to her old room in their house in Canterlot.

Mayor Mare shrugged. “Legally, there’s nothing to discuss.”

“Great.” Dash flipped through her little notebook. “Oh, man, I’d almost forgotten this one. You’ll get a kick out of it. Remember cider week last fall? The night before the harvest I licked every apple in Sweet Apple Acres.”

“Every apple.” Twilight remembered the taste of her first Sweet Apple Acres cider. It was so delicious. And now, never again. “First, why? Second, how? There’s got to be… I don’t know, over a million apples on that farm. There’s no way you could lick every one.”

Rainbow Dash nodded vigorously. “So, I tried by myself at first, but it took like 20 minutes just to finish one tree. And I was like, no way that’s gonna work! So I flew up to Cloudsdale and asked if anypony there wanted to help me prank an earth pony town and they were all like ‘Hell yeah!’ so we had like a hundred pegasus ponies all licking apples.” She sighed blissfully, her gaze locked on gauzy memories. She shook herself, glanced back down at her notebook, and continued. “Okay, this next one’s more of an accident. So you remember that freak thunderstorm last month? The one that wasn’t on the weather schedule?”

Twilight closed her eyes and prayed to Celestia for a meteor.



It was late when Twilight got back to the castle. By law Library Amnesty Day lasted for twelve hours. So, apparently, did regular Amnesty Day.

For the last hour or so, after the legal confessions were done and ponies had moved on to purely moral failings, Twilight pondered what to do with the mountain of illegal goodness piled beside her. She could have incinerated the entire affair with a spell and a wish, reducing all her problems to ashes. But some of the items given over to her care were technically alive, and others treasures in their own right, and Twilight could not justify their destruction simply as a matter of convenience.

She could, she supposed, have just left them. It had a certain appeal – walk away from her problems, take a nice long bath, and go to bed. In the morning they would forget this ever happened. But that would mean leaving a pile of illegal items, some of them expensive, many of them dangerous and a few outright malevolent, just lying around town, where any foal could happen across them. And that was a weight on her conscience she likewise couldn’t abide.

So, in the end, she did what Starlight said she should. She brought them back to the castle and dumped them in the foyer.

“Whoa, nice haul!” Spike said. He was perched atop a similar pile across the way, looking a bit bigger than she remembered. Lanky, with limbs that stretched just a few more inches, and wings big enough to enfold her like blankets. “Starlight! Check out what Twilight got!”

Starlight trotted around the mound. She wore necklaces and bangles and an electrum circlet set with a bright orange zircon. Bracelets rang like little chimes on her fetlocks. When she saw Twilight’s stack of loot she grinned.

Twilight stopped her with a hoof. “Starlight, why?”

Starlight gently pushed Twilight’s hoof back to the floor. “What do you mean? Isn’t it obvious?”

Twilight huffed. “Yes, I think it is, actually. But I was hoping for something more elevated than ‘I wanted free stuff!’”

“Okay, you’re looking at this wrong.” Starlight walked around her and sorted through the collection of illegal, unfortunate and doomed items that littered the foyer. She picked a few up, tossed them aside, and after some hunting plucked one into the air. It was a small jeweled box, about a hoof-width on a side, with glass portholes set every few inches along its gilded faces. She brought it over to Twilight.

“Do you know what this is?” she asked.

Twilight grimaced. “A fairy box. Compass Call gave it to me. Said he found it in his grandfather’s attic after the funeral.”

Starlight tilted the box, sending little sparkles of light bouncing across the room. Something sang a quiet lilting hymn just below the range of Twilight’s hearing, like the ringing in her ears during the deathly quiet emptiness of night. “Believe him?”

“I want to.”

“Of course.” Starlight peered inside one of the box’s little windows. It was empty – Twilight checked it as soon as Compass Call hoofed it over. “But then, that’s what anypony would say, isn’t it? That it’s not theirs, they just found it, they would never have such a… thing in their house.”

That pause. What had Starlight wanted to say? Such a dangerous thing. Such a terrible thing. Such a fantastic, wonderful thing. Twilight gave her head a little shake to dispel the treacherous voice.

“And now we have it,” Starlight continued. “There are, what, five or six ponies in Ponyville who know how to use something like this? You want to put it back out there, maybe hide it in somepony’s attic or beneath their bed, until it falls into one of their hooves? And then just hope?”

“No. But I’m not sure I trust us with it either.”

Starlight froze for a moment. The fairy box teetered in her magical grip and almost fell, but she caught it before it could plunge to the floor. She looked at it, looked at Twilight, then set it back on the pile with an appropriately sober expression. 

“Look,” she finally said. “I get why you’re worried. I’m maybe not the best pony to be collecting all these things. But that’s why I needed your help! If ponies saw me gathering up everything illegal in town they’d all be like ‘There goes Starlight, off to be a villain again,’ but when it’s Twilight Sparkle, everypony knows you’re doing it for the right reasons.”

“I did it because you tricked me into doing it.”

“Well, sometimes you’re not as expedient as you should be.” She wrapped her foreleg around Twilight’s shoulder and leaned against her. “That’s why we make a great team.”

“Right.” Twilight sighed. “What do we do with all this?”

Starlight shrugged. “Whatever we want? As long as it’s good, I mean. Get rid of the weapons, put the books back in the library, sell the jewelry to raise money for the school. That sort of stuff.”

“Okay. And the weed?”

“The what?”

“The weed. The marijuana. There’s, like, fifty kilograms of seeds in there. I think Tree Hugger turned it in accidentally.”

“Oh.” Starlight gazed at the pile curiously. Her muzzle twitched, as if trying to scent it out. “Well, I mean… look, we’re all adults here, right? There’s an obvious answer, and I, uh, I don’t think I need to spell it out.”



They gave it back to Tree Hugger, of course.

She was the only pony who knew how to plant it for next year’s harvest.
> S4E7: Nuzzle Velocity (GaPJaxie)
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Twilight woke up. She took a shower. She had a nice cup of tea. Spike offered her a second cup of tea, but Twilight wasn’t sure she wanted this to be a wild sort of morning. Sure, she could “throw down” when the call of adventure demanded it, but she wasn’t the sort of pony who cut loose every day.

Water would do, served in a teacup, slightly warmer than room temperature, with a squeeze of lemon for flavor. A family of sparrows was tweeting outside the window when Spike brought it to her, their home gently rocked by the warm spring breeze.

Twilight had just opened the morning paper when there came a knock at her door—a forceful, angry knock, of the sort that might be delivered by a forcefully angry pony.

“Twilight, I got a bone to pick with you!”

The angry pony was Applejack, and when Twilight opened the door, she could see her friend’s rage. She could see it in Applejack’s narrowed eyes, tense posture, quick breaths and folded back ears—in the way she stood in a charging stance and dug at the ground with her hooves.

She could also see that Applejack was strapped to a harness, which was pulling a three-inch muzzle loading cast iron traditional black-powder cannon.

“There’s rumors going around town,” she snapped. “What’s this about I hear about hoity-toity city ponies bending your ear about taking away my guns?”

“Nope,” Twilight said, shutting the door and locking it. Perhaps, she thought, this would be a good morning to fly into town. It would be a chance to spread her wings and jump from her balcony, and perhaps take some time to enjoy being an alicorn.

“Twilight!” Rainbow Dash was on the balcony railing, a pinecone in her teeth and a bandolier of grenades across her torso. “Applejack told me Rarity is plotting to make it illegal for me to drop pinecones on ponies and pretend they’re grenades and also that I can’t own actual grenades anymore even though I never get them mixed up.”

“Nope,” Twilight said, shutting her balcony door. She decided to teleport into town, vanishing in a flash of light.

With a pop, she reappeared in Rarity’s boutique. The blinds were drawn. The interior was dark. All she could see was the gleam of Rarity’s bloodshot eyes, and then Rarity took her by the hoof.

“Twilight,” she whispered, “they’re everywhere. The barbarians are at the gates.”

Slowly, inexorably, Twilight felt herself pulled in. Rarity slid up to her, pushing her muzzle against Twilight’s ear. They were so close that Twilight could feel the moisture from Rarity’s every breath dampening her coat. And into Twilight’s ear, Rarity whispered.

“Think of the children,” she said. “Twilight, we must pass laws. Think of the children.”

There was nowhere to run. The great Equestrian gun control debate had come to Ponyville.







“Oh sure!” Rarity shrieked. “What’s to dislike about guns? In fact, the earlier we teach foals about guns the better. Let’s had them out to every child! Guns for foals. Wee little pistols they can use to shoot at their blocks.”

“Listen here you unicorn carpetbagger,” Applejack snarled back. “This gun has been in my family for four generations, ever since my great-great grandpappy brought it back from the war to use as a varmint gun, and ain’t none of us ever been hurt. Guns are only dangerous when you don’t learn how to use ‘em.”

“A varmint gun?” Rarity somehow managed to give her best incredulous stare while shouting. “It’s a cannon.”

“We live next to the Everfree Forest!” However loud Rarity could yell, Applejack could yell louder. “We get big varmints. Something any real Ponyvillian would know.”

“Any ‘real’ Ponyvillian?” Rarity scoffed. “I was born here you half-wit.”

“Yeah?” Applejack curled her lip. “You sound like you’re from Canterlot.”

“Well thank you!” Rarity snapped the words, stomping her hoof into the dirt. “I worked very hard to cultivate a realistic Canterlot accent. It’s nice to know my work is appreciated.”

“Don’t you go taking my insults as compliments!”

“I’ll interpret your comments through the lens of mutually respectful friendship all I want you ignorant hillpony!”

Then the screaming started in earnest. Nearly three hundred ponies had gathered on Twilight’s lawn, and it seemed they were no longer content to let Rarity and Applejack argue on their behalf. Each one was doing their best to drown out all the others, and the noise washed over Twilight with the force of a physical wave.

The unicorns had brought signs protesting the “gun menace” threatening Ponyville, while the earth ponies had brought their guns. Frankly, if she had to pick sides on the visuals alone, Twilight thought the earth ponies were making a stronger case. Never bring a protest sign to a gunfight.

Regardless, she’d had enough. She spread her wings, lit her horn, and shrieked at the top of her lungs, “Quiet!” Ponies fell silent out of respect for her royal presence, and also because she had magically taken away their voices. She gave their voices back, after a bit.

“I’m not going to negotiate with an unruly mob,” she said, keeping her tone calm and projecting her voice to the back of the crowd. “I want one pony to step forward from each side to make their case. A show of hooves for the side with guns.” Hooves went up, and she pointed. “AJ.”

Applejack was the first pony to step forward. She stood in front of Twilight, and proudly patted the cannon she dragged behind her. “Twilight, this gun has been in my family since the Great War of 822. I’ve cleaned and oiled it every month since I was a little foal. I’ve blown up timberwolves with it, I’ve knocked over walls with it, and it ain’t never hurt nopony. It’s a part of my family history and my way of life, and I don’t see why I should have to give it up because some prissy unicorn got her tail in a twist.”

“I understand,” Twilight said, giving Applejack a firm nod to show she was listening. “Nopony wants to harm your family traditions, least of all me. Are there any other arguments you wish to make?”

“Yeah.” AJ buffed her hoof against her chest. “Because guns may be a proud tradition, but that ain’t all they are. They’re necessary for defending my land. From timberwolves and monsters yeah, but also from other ponies. We earth ponies ain’t got no fancy magic, so if a pegasus starts making trouble, we need tools to reach out and touch ‘em at range. If guns didn’t exist, every earth pony here would own a bow and arrow.”

“Well that seems reas—”

“Also for self-defense around town,” AJ added. “I ain’t never once been mugged while carrying this cannon, tell you that. Criminals respect it.”

After a faint pause, Twilight asked, “Anything else?”

“Yeah. Guns are the average pony’s only defense against a corrupt and oppressive government.” Applejack cleared her throat. “I mean, not that that would ever, you know. With you. But you know. Like if you died and were replaced by like, a totally different pony, or something.”

“Smooth save there.” Twilight sighed, turning back to the crowd. “Okay, I’d like somepony to argue for the side against guns. Show of hooves.” Hooves went up. “Rarity, go.”

Rarity stepped forward, cleared her throat, and drew in a breath. “I understand the importance of tradition,” she began. “I understand the threat posed by timberwolves. And I even agree that you, Applejack, are probably a very responsible gun owner who would never let somepony be hurt in an accident. It’s a compelling case you’ve made, truly. But you’ve lost me on a few of the details. Specifically, I’m wondering why that pony—” she pointed at Carrot Top “—is carrying a literal Howitzer.”

The earth ponies laughed. “Wow,” said one. “You do not know much about guns.” The crowd seemed to agree. Several ponies giggled and remarked that Rarity’s fancy unicorn education didn’t seem to teach her much.

Carrot Top though, found things less funny. “It is not,” she said, reaching back to rest a hoof over her 4.7 inch quick-firing smokeless high velocity direct fire field gun, complete with four-wheeled spring-suspension carriage. “Howitzer is brand, you doof. This is a QF rapid fire Vickers modified to support cordite propellant.”

Rarity rubbed her temples with a hoof. “And what possible difference does that make?”

“Uh,” Carrot Top curled her lip, assuming a condescending tone. “Howitzers don’t come in an anti-air variant, obviously. This gun can fire airburst fuze enabled shells with an effective ceiling of ten-thousand feet, and an effective burst radius of over three-hundred.”

Twilight cleared her throat to get the crowd’s attention. “Why would you need to shoot at targets ten-thousand feet in the air?”

“What if Cloudsdale parked over my farm, and I was all, ‘move’ and they were all like ‘no.’ Then they peed on my farm from the clouds.”

“Hey!” Rainbow shouted from the air. She was hovering over the densely packed crowd, carrying a saddlebag full of what Twilight hoped were rocks. “I’m a pegasus. It’s my right to pee on anything that happens to be below me.”

“See?” Applejack gestured up. “This is why we need guns. Why, I’m hankering to shoot Rainbow right now.”

“Not if I explode you first!”

“Stop it!” Rarity’s voice cracked, and she took a moment to recover her composure. “Applejack, I sympathize with the risk posed by Rainbow’s irresponsible behavior. But perhaps, instead of installing anti-aircraft weaponry on your farm, we could take away her grenades. Maybe even pass a law against pegasi urinating in mid-flight while over inhabited areas.”

“If you take grenades away from all the good pegasi, only bad pegasi will have grenades,” Applejack said firmly. “Besides, how would they stop peeing on stuff?”

“They could hold it in.”

Rainbow made a face. “Ew.”

Twilight sighed, rubbing her temples again as she felt the onset of a headache. But as her eyes wandered over the crowd, she saw Lyra trying to get her attention, waving and jumping up and down. She called upon the Royal Canterlot Voice and spoke firmly, “Lyra.”

The crowd quieted down, and when it was soft enough for her to speak, Lyra cleared her throat. “Um, hi,” she said, a tad bashful. “Sorry, this is just… it’s kind of turning into an earth ponies vs unicorns thing? And that’s super uncool. So, as a unicorn in favor of guns, I thought I should speak up.”

“Proceed,” Twilight said, and the crowd allowed it.

“So, um.” Lyra coughed. “Like most unicorns, I grew up in a house with no guns. And when I married Bon Bon, I asked her, do you have any? And she said she did. She had a 26-tube multiple-launch ‘Land Mattress’ rocket projector with high-explosive airburst flechette rounds. And I was like, that’s crazy.”

“Yes!” Rarity shouted out of turn, “That is actually crazy.”

“I know, right? It was nuts.” Lyra lifted a hoof to her head. “I was like, Bon Bon. Your most likely ground target is Timberwolves, which are nearly totally immune to flechettes. You need incendiary rounds, like napalm or something. So we went shopping as a couple at the Ponyville IKEA, and we found some really nice white phosphorus rounds we could assemble as a couple. It was sweet, and I sleep easy at night knowing if there’s ever an intruder in the house, we can incinerate any target within a two mile radius.”

A long silence hung in the air. Twilight coughed. “So, what’s your point?”

“Guns can be a fun couples bonding activity, and really they’re basically harmless unless you’re a Timberwolf.”

“Lyra, white phosphorus burns so hot it can boil a pony’s blood inside their body. It’s definitely harmful to creatures other than Timberwolves. And, actually, wait,” she spread her wings, narrowing her eyes down at the creature before her, “isn’t using white phosphorus on living creatures a war crime?”

She realized her mistake at once. It was too late. Applejack was already shouting. “Well it wouldn’t be if it weren't for the government getting all up in our business!”

Then the bellowing shouted again. Rarity yelled at Applejack yelled at Rainbow, and all the other three-hundred odd ponies yelled at each other. The headache that Twilight had felt approaching finally appeared, and she settled back on her haunches with a groan.

“It doesn’t matter what I say, does it?” she asked the sky. “Gun owners aren’t going to give up their guns. There’s enough of them I can’t make them. Rarity’s crew isn’t going to give up either because they think guns are a threat to their safety. And so both sides are just going to keep shouting at each other. Forever.”

“Oh yeah?” Applejack screamed. “When was the last time a gun ever hurt anypony, huh?”

Rarity snorted like a charging bull. “Seventy-two ponies were killed by guns last week.”

“Wrong! They were killed by the ponies holding the guns. Checkmate!”

Twilight’s face twisted into a grimace, and through her teeth, she laughed. “I would give anything,” she said, “if it would end this stupid debate.”

As she spoke, the sun moved behind a cloud, and all the world passed into shadow. The birds ceased to chirp, dogs ceased to bark, and cats fled from the surface and vanished into their nooks and crannies. Even the air itself became sharp, and a sudden chill wind blew through the crowd.

“Oh.” Starlight Glimmer whispered into Twilight’s ear. “Are we talking about politics?”

Twilight shrieked, leaping away from the source of the noise. She scrambled a few steps across the castle lawn, hooves jumping over each other, before she finally recovered enough of her wits to stand tall. There was Starlight beside her, the softest of smiles upon her face.

“Where did you come from?” Twilight asked, turning to look over the crowd. They weren’t shouting anymore, nor moving. They seemed frozen in time, trapped in that moment when she had spoken so unwisely.

“Perhaps I walked out of the castle,” Starlight said. “Or perhaps I teleported next to you.”

“You definitely didn’t. I would have heard that.”

“Perhaps you didn’t hear me.” She giggled, sliding up to Twilight and nuzzling against her side. “But I heard you. And I couldn’t agree more. This debate is so tiresome. Let’s fix it.”

“You can’t fix debates.” Twilight swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. “They’re a healthy part of the political process.”

“Really? You think this is healthy?” Starlight gestured at the mob, and Twilight saw them. How sharp their glares were, how low their wit, how hard their hooves, and how quick their limbs to action. “You could be inside right now. You could be reading.”

“There’s no alternative.”

“Oh,” Starlight’s grin widened, and she squeezed Twilight tight against her. “But there is. With the power of political theory, you can win every debate. You can always be right. You’ll discover that complex social problems actually have simple, decisive answers. You’ll have this nonsense wrapped up before lunch.”

Starlight’s skin felt like oil, her mane like a cloud of smoke. Twilight coughed and spluttered, barely managing, “Let go of me.”

Starlight didn’t let go. Rather, she simply was. Specifically, she was three feet away, her hooves folded like she was the most innocent thing in the world. “Oh, you don’t consent to being touched. Well I have to respect that. But how do we handle the edge cases?” A thought occurred to her, and she drew in a gleeful breath and grinned. “Do you want to talk about formal legal definitions of informed consent? I bookmarked over three-hundred HayTube videos on the subject. Don’t worry I’ll send you all of them.”

“No. No, I…”

“Oh, of course. Silly me.” Starlight gently smacked her forehead, her giggle as light as a sparrow. “We can’t reach a consensus on enforceable definitions of informed consent until we’ve reached a consensus on the definition of political consensus and recognition. I have some authors you’ll love.”

“I don’t want this leave me alone.”

“You’re presiding over a public debate, Twilight. If you want me to leave, all you have to do is tell them, ‘I want to talk more about gun control.’ And they will. You’ll get to hear their arguments over and over again. So say it.”

Twilight said nothing. The shadows around Starlight deepened. Her smile though, grew wider, shiny white teeth contrasting with the dark pits around her eyes. “Say it.”

“I…” Twilight gritted her teeth. She looked at the crowd, and at her library, and thought about that second cup of tea. “I…”

Then she squeezed her eyes shut and snapped: “Sweet Celestia, I just want it to end!”

“Then by my power,” Starlight said, resting a hoof on Twilight’s shoulder, “and your will, I become your political advisor.”

Then the mob was shouting again. Twilight opened her eyes to discover she was sitting before them again, Starlight by her side. “As Twilight’s advisor,” Starlight said, “I think we should consider what’s best for Equestria.”

Her voice chilled the crowd into silence. Rarity and Applejack each looked up, and all their followers as well. “It’s…” Applejack paused. “Don’t you think about taking my rights away for any of that equalist nonsense.”

“Creating a better world doesn’t mean less guns,” Starlight said, her voice sweet like flowing syrup. “After all, for many ponies, firearms are the only way to achieve equality with the pegasi. You said that yourself, didn’t you? So don’t guns makes us more equal?”

“That’s uh…” Applejack coughed. “That’s right.”

“And the threat of violence is a subtext to so many interactions,” Starlight went on. “For instance, Twilight would never threaten a pony, but surely when you speak to her, it has occured to you she could crush your head like a melon with a thought.”

“I didn’t think about that before,” Applejack mumbled. It seemed quite a few earth ponies agreed, an uncomfortable rumble passing through the crowd.

Starlight made a beneficent gesture, sweeping her hoof over the scene. “See? Guns even the power balance between earth ponies and pegasi, pegasi and unicorns, unicorns and earth ponies, and even alicorns and the rest of us. They’re not tools of violence, they’re tools of reassurance, that help us live in a more civil and just society.”

“Well… yeah!” Applejack nodded firmly, and most of her followers did as well. “Wasn’t expecting us to be on the same side of this. But yeah. Yeah, you’re right.”

“So, if we’re all agreed,” Starlight beamed, ignoring Rarity’s worried look, “I move that firearm ownership should be the inalienable right of every creature in Ponyville.”

“Yeah!” shouted AJ and her crew.

“And further, I move that to protect this right, we should labor as a community to teach responsible gun ownership to those creatures whose traditions are most threatened by unjust laws.”

That got the earth ponies going. They were shouting, hollering, applauding, stamping their hooves. “Yeah!” Then Starlight finished her thought.

“Starting with the zebra!”

The applause stopped at once. Silence hung over the crowd. Rarity sat there with an expression of silent panic, while AJ could only whisper, “What have I done?”

“N-no,” said Carrot Top said. “I mean, what? No. How can they be oppressed? There’s so few of them..”

“That’s exactly why they’re so threatened.” Starlight’s smile slowly faded, drawn out into something flatter, something sharper. She showed her teeth. “They’re a minority group, surrounded by a system that doesn’t respect their traditions and norms. They need the ability to contest the government’s monopoly on violence. That’s why every week, I pull a cart down to zebratown and hand out AK-47s to any zebra who wants one.”

She pointed into the distance. “Here they come now.”

Twilight lurched to her hooves, spurred into action by the sudden appearance of another crowd up the street. Fifty zebra, all of them armed to the teeth, came around the bend from sugarcube corner. A few of them held protest signs too. The crowd staggered backwards, ponies shouting and tripping over each other to get away.

“How!?” Rarity hissed. “Ponyville doesn’t even have that many zebra.”

“It’s the stripes,” Applejack hissed back, her entire body tense. “They all look the same, so you can never tell how many of them there are. We have no idea how many zebra really live in Zecora’s hut. It could have been a different one every time.”

“There is no need to tremble,” said the zebra at the front of the crowd, “we are here to peacefully assemble. And if our weapons make a sight, it is to assert our right. This is all we wish to do: say we we are Ponyvillians too.”

The ponies of Ponyville looked at the zebra’s protest signs. They were mostly pink and blue, and covered in messages about equal rights and rhyming education in schools.

“Well,” Applejack said, “I think this is a downright threatening display, and unhealthy in any society, and I move that Ponyville should have a law against carrying guns in public!”

“Seconded!” Rarity cried.

The vote carried by an overwhelming majority.







Twilight decided she’d have that second cup of tea after all. She finished reading the paper. Then she wrote a letter.

Dear Princess Celestia,

Today I learned that laws can be racist even if they don’t explicitly mention

Today I learned that politics is the legal organization of hatred, which

Today I invoked a pact with an eldritch being to get out of a boring discussion

Today I learned never to take Starlight’s advice on anything.

Your faithful student,

Twilight Sparkle
> (International Markets Only) DVD Special: Ponytariot (GaPJaxie)
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Great new, girls!” Twilight said, her wings buzzing like she was a little pegasus filly. “Remember last month, when we solved that stuffy businesspony's friendship problem and helped him reunite with his daughter?”

“Which one?” Rainbow asked. “That happened, like, twice. Plus three times last year.”

“The first one. Iron Rail.” Twilight paused. “And, we go on a lot of friendship adventures. There will be some repeats. I mean, there are only so many unique kinds of friendship problem. But, the point is, turns out he’s a railroad executive, and he was so grateful he offered us some tickets. We get a free vacation anywhere we want! First class travel, luxury hotels, everything.”

All the girls liked that. Pinkie sat up, Rarity cooed, Fluttershy smiled, and even Applejack took off her hat.

Starlight had a grin on her face. “So,” she asked, “where are we going?”

“Well, I know we all have places we want to go,” Twilight gestured around the room. “So there will probably be some differing opinions. So I thought, we should each write down our idea on a slip of paper, and put it in a hat, and we’ll draw one at random. The only rule is it has to be somewhere far away. We should take advantage of the opportunity while it’s here.”

Everypony agreed, and soon they were all writing destinations on little slips of paper. “I want to go to Constantineighple,” Twilight said, tossing her slip of paper in the hat. “The whole city is a work of art. It has libraries, museums, observatories.”

“And I’ve heard the food is divine,” Rarity agreed. “Oh, I shall be quite happy if yours is drawn, Twilight. But I must favor a slightly different destination. Neighjing! A chance to absorb the culture, the fashion, the elegance of one of the great civilizations of the world. It’s too much to pass up.”

Pinkie wanted to go to Saddle Arabia. Fluttershy wanted to go Yacoltsk. Rainbow Dash wanted to see San Ferneighdo. Applejack wanted to chase fillyhood tales of Timbucktu. And Starlight also put a slip of paper in.

Finally, when all the writing was done, Twilight shoot up the hat and drew out a single slip of paper. “Alright girls! We are going to see…”

She unfolded the slip. “Pony Lenin’s body.”

Silence hung in the room. Starlight was smiling ear to ear, beaming like a filly who just got a gold star.

“Uh, you know,” Applejack broke the stillness. “The gift was really for like, the girls? And I think that just means the six of us. So maybe…”

“Uh,” Starlight laughed a stiff laugh. “The seven of us, you mean. I’m part of the group.”

“Not the original group,” Fluttershy mumbled.

“I mean I’m part of the group now.”

Rarity cleared her throat. “Possibly, possibly, though, really, isn’t the group somewhat defined by, oh, you know. The elements of harmony? One star surrounded by five others. Like Twilight’s cutie mark.”

“You don’t have those anymore.”

“Yes, but in spirit—”

“Look,” Starlight planted a firm hoof on the table. “We’ve been over this. I’m the new Twilight. Twilight is the new Celestia. And Celestia is going to going back to Asgard or whatever. Which means that the next time there’s a friendship problem, and Twilight has to send the girls to deal with it, who is she sending?”

Starlight used a wide sweep of a hoof to encompass the room. “Mmm? Who?”

“You and the five of them,” Twilight mumbled, looking down at the table.

“Dang right.” She clapped a hoof on the floor. “And that means I am part of the group, that I won fair and square, and that we’re going to go see Pony Lenin’s body.”

After a long pause, Pinkie Pie asked, “Was he actually named ‘Pony Lenin’?”







Of course, he wasn’t. His name was Pony Ulyanov, but everypony knew him by his alias.

The trip across the sea was superb. The girls rode in luxurious train cars, had first class cabins on the fastest steam ships, and stayed in hotels so elegant and grand that Twilight slept on the floor because she was afraid to disturb any part of the decorations. At the Grand Lipizzian Hotel by the Masurian Lakes, Rarity had an affair with a stallion she met in the lobby, and later explained it didn’t count because he was a duke.

She also said that his wife was a pegasus so she was probably into it anyway, which did make breakfast with Fluttershy and Rainbow Dash a bit awkward.

Eventually though, the journey was over. They arrived in Marescow, checked into the Grand Hotel off the main square, and after an early breakfast the next morning, set out to the mausoleum.

Starlight cried. Her eyes began to mist during the walk across the square, and her voice became thick and emotional. But it wasn’t until they actually saw the body that the waterworks started in earnest.

He didn’t look like much—a thin, frail little earth pony, with a wispy beard and a receding hairline. And yet, at the sight of him, Starlight sobbed into Twilight’s shoulder.

“Sorry, sorry,” she sniffled, blowing her nose into a tissue. “Oh, gosh, I’m making a scene.”

“It’s, um… alright,” Fluttershy said gently. “I mean, you really wanted to come here, right? We can all see this matters a lot to you.”

“It does.” Still sniffling, she gestured at the room around them. The interior of the mausoleum was a somber place. Made from dark stone, its walls were carved with subtle relief images and lines of text, while in its center rested a glass box containing the body itself. “There’s just so much… so much history here. So many things that mattered. So many things that still matter. Ponies lives changed forever.”

“I…” Applejack sighed. “I guess I can see that. And honestly, if it meant this much to you to come here, well. I’m sorry I gave you a hard time about it. You know, it was a fun trip, and you really are a part of—”

“Wait wait wait,” Twilight said, pushing Starlight off her shoulder. “Hold on. What’s this? What’s this right here?” She pointed at a section of carving on the wall.

“Oh.” Starlight squinted. “That says, ‘By his hoof, the monarchy was destroyed. May his spirit forever defend the people against those who would call themselves kings and princesses.’ It’s just, like, an epitaph.”

“I can read it, Starlight,” Twilight snapped. “But what’s this bit below it?”

Starlight looked closer, needing a moment to scan the stone. “I think that’s a carving of him ripping an alicorn’s wings off.”

They all peered. Twilight bit her lip. “I notice the alicorn has stars for a cutie mark.”

“Oh, yeah, no,” Applejack said. “Yeah, no, that’s definitely you, Twilight. See, that’s your crown on the ground right there, next to your um… wing stump?”

Starlight rolled her eyes. “It’s metaphorical.”

“It doesn’t feel like a metaphor.” Twilight pointed at another illustration. “Because that’s him sawing off my horn, and metaphors don’t usually have so much blood. Like, that is a graphic illustration.”

“Well, he’s dead, Twilight, so I don’t think you have much to worry about.”

“And what’s this bit here?” Twilight pointed at another section of text. “‘His influence extends beyond his death. Over untold generations he will watch, defender of the revolution, and eternal foe of tyrants.’”

“That’s a lovely sentiment.”

“It’s carved over some kind of sigil? Is that the elder sign?”

“Wow, okay, you’re being very unreasonable right now.” Starlight let out a snort. “I make a point of sharing something with you that’s very important to me, and even open up to you emotionally, and all you can do is make crazy accusations like that Pony Lenin is a lich who will one day rise from the grave to finally fulfill the prophecy and destroy alicorn rule forever.”

She looked at the body inside the glass case. For a long moment, so did everypony else.

“What’s taking so long?” she snapped at the corpse.

“Okay.” Rainbow Dash rolled her eyes. “I’m going back to the hotel.”







It was a long and awkward trip back. They stayed in the same hotels. Applejack had an affair with a pony she met in the lobby, but it was one of her cousins so it didn’t count.

On the last leg of the trip back to Ponyville, Twilight sat next to Starlight in their luxury car. “We should talk.”

“Yeah. I uh… I got you a card at our last stop.”

Starlight handed the card over. It was a bright little thing made of pink and blue cardboard, the front adorned with the words, “I’m sorry my zombies tried to eat you. But hey...” When she turned it over, she found there was writing on the back, “At least they love you for your brains!”

It had a cute little illustration of a pony getting devoured by a horde of the shambling dead.

“They didn’t have any ‘lich’ cards,” Starlight explained. “I thought, that’s pretty close.”

“It’s, um. It’s in the right ballpark, at least.” Twilight sighed, lowering the card to look at Starlight. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Shoot.”

“What’s going on…?” Twilight gestured at Starlight. “Over here? In this whole area? Like, do you want to be a part of the group? Do you really want to?”

“Yes, of course.” Starlight spread her hooves. “You all are significantly above-average friends.”

“That was so close to the right answer.”

“Come on.” Starlight put her head back against her chair. “I didn’t think he was actually going to kill you. You’re Twilight Sparkle. If he did rise from the grave to do battle with you, you’d sing a song about friendship and blast him with rainbows. That’s how you work.”

“I…” Twilight bit her lip. “I believe you, I suppose. You live in my house and I’m a heavy sleeper. If you wanted to hurt me, you didn’t have to go to this much trouble.”

“There, you see?” Starlight shrugged. “No worries.”

“But why?”

“Because that’s how I work, Twilight.” She leaned back and put up her hooves. “Because these things matter to me. Because I like messing with you. And because it was fun. I know I express it in strange ways, but really, I like you.”

“Well, I didn’t like this.” Twilight drew in a breath. “And I’m going to punish you.”

“Bring it.”

“I could imprison you in Tartarus.”

“I guess that’ll be nice. I’ll teach Cozy Glow about dialectical materialism.”

Twilight flinched and bit her lip. “I could blast you with rainbow power.”

“Oooh. That sounds like fun. Then I’ll be all syrupy and sweet and friendly and all, ‘hey Twilight, wanna go hang out at the park and work on my organic kale garden? I’m petitioning my co-op to do more to save the ozone layer from processed foods.’” She somehow managed to pronounce the words with little pink hearts scattered throughout them. Her voice was so saccharine it could induce tooth decay.

“Fine.” Twilight drew a shaking breath. “Then you leave me with no choice. I am an alicorn. I have powers beyond mortal ken. I can see into your very soul and uncover the true source of your pain. With the same power that lets me heal ponies, I can destroy them.”

“Hah.” Starlight snorted, folding one leg over the other. “Waddaya gonna do? Make me c—”

“Pony Lenin wouldn’t rise from the grave because he only rises to protect true Marxists,” Twilight snapped. “And you?” Her voice cracked like a whip. “You’re a revisionist.”

Starlight’s jaw fell open. Her eyes went wide. Twilight continued, “Our Town was all about equality, but it was one town. One community. You focused on building a perfect little utopia, but turned a blind eye to class struggle beyond your borders. And you know what we call that?”

“No.” Starlight’s voice was soft.

“‘Socialism In One Country,’” Twilight pulled a little red book out of her saddlebags, slapping it with a hoof. “I don’t remember reading about that anywhere in the manifesto, comrade. What happened to one world government? What happened to the dialectical struggle? Oh, you’re a Pony Lenin fangirl, but you’re not real Leninist. Not even close.”

Twilight leaned in, until she was muzzle to muzzle with Starlight. “And if the proletariat does ever rise against the bourgeois class, they won’t be led by a unicorn from a rich family who lives in a palace, class traitor.”

Starlight gaped. She stared. Her eyes had shrunk to pinpricks. “Boom!” Twilight shouted, spinning back in her chair. “I got you. All these years of you making trouble, and I totally got you. What do you say to that?”

Starlight let out a weak breath, turned away from Twilight, and stared down at the floor of the train car. “You’re right,” she finally said. “You’re right.”

“You better believe I’m right, poser.”

“I’ve talked about the revolution, but I haven’t lived up to my ideals,” her voice was soft. “I’ve just been using it as an excuse to act out, to engage in bad behavior, to mess with you for fun.”

“Mmhmm.” Twilight smacked her with a wing. “Glad to see you finally noticed.”

“I’m sorry.”

Twilight paused. A frown came over her face. “What?”

“I said, I’m sorry. I’ve been difficult. You’ve been very kind to me for a long time, and I’ve repaid you by making your life hard.” Starlight swallowed. “And I’m sorry.”

“I… um.” Twilight fluffed her wings, her eyes hesitantly hovering somewhere around Starlight’s shoulders. “Look, you… you didn’t mean any harm.”

“I kind of did.” She blew out a breath. “Wasn’t that your point?”

“You just… you need a good example.” She scooted over Starlight’s way. “I turned you from the path of evil, but that’s not enough.  You need somepony in your life you look up to. Somepony you respect, who can teach you how to lead a better life.”

“Like a mentor?”

“Sure!” Twilight smiled. “Like Maud, or Starswirl, or maybe even…” With the tip of a hoof, she touched her own chest.

Then, the door at the back of the train car burst inwards. On the other side was an old, decaying pony in a turn of the century suit. His wizened body lurched forward, skin cracked, eyes lit from behind by unnatural blue fire.

“It’s Pony Lenin!” Twilight gasped.

“Senpai noticed me!” Starlight squealed.

“RAAAGH! DESTROY THEOCRATIC MONARCHY!”
> S4E3: The Thanksgiving Episode
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

“I do declare… Dinner is served!” Granny Smith knocked her hoof on the table, ringing in the Apple Family Thanksgiving Meal. A rousing cheer erupted from herd of ponies gathered around the barn. They shook the rafters with their stomps and scared the pigeons from their roosts high above. Bits of hay swirled in the lantern light, for a moment causing the wide, warm expanse of the lofts to resemble the blustery snows outside.

“Yay!” Apple Bloom shouted. “Dibs on the apple fritters!” 

“Save the deserts for last, young filly,” Applejack said. She pulled Apple Bloom back to her seat and set a heaping helping of turkey smothered in gravy on her plate. “Now, eat up, ya’ll! Yee haw!”

“A-yup,” Big Macintosh said. He piled up a plate with a healthy portion of stuffing, green beans and sweet potatoes, and gave it to the visibly pregnant Sugar Belle sitting beside him, who cooed and gazed at him with eyes visibly pregnant with tears of love. 

“Oh, Big Mac.” Sugar Belle’s voice was thick with emotion, ready to break at the slightest sign of more love. “I’m so glad you married me! And I get to share our first Thanksgiving together with your family!”

All around them, at the long tables set out across the barn, dozens of ponies filled their plates with the bounty of the season. Most were Apples or their kin – others friends from Ponyville and even further afield. There were earth ponies aplenty, but unicorns and pegasi, and even a zebra or two, for the Apple Family had sent their shoots wide across the lands and found friendly soil in the remotest parts of the world. The walls shook with their laughter. The fires of their love filled the hall with warmth and light, staving off the chill of the dawning winter outside.

Granny Smith had a small plate. Her appetite wasn’t what it used to be, and in any case there would be plenty of leftovers if she got hungry later. She nibbled at the turkey, had a sip of the apple brandy Apple Brandy discreetly slipped her, and leaned back in her chair to observe the controlled chaos playing out before her. Her hearing wasn’t what it used to be either, but she could make out the gist of what was going on – the laughter, the shouting foals, the cheers when Braeburn stuffed an entire stuffed bell pepper in his mouth. She smiled, and a warm, contented glow spread up from her stomach to her heart. To see her family flourish like this, so many of them, sprouting like weeds in a springtime field. This, this was the joy that accompanied a life well-lived. It was heady and delightful. For the first time in years, a true grin spread across her face.

Or maybe it was the brandy. She took another sip to make sure.

“Everything alright, Granny?” Applejack asked. She plopped down beside Granny Smith and kicked her hooves up on the table. “Yer not crying’, is ya?”

“What? Shoot, no, you darn filly.” Granny wiped her eyes with her fetlock. “Just dusty in here is all.”

“Granny Smith?” A tiny voice came from the side. It was Pear Blossom, a filly so young she was barely out of diapers. “Why are those two seats empty? Are they for ponies who haven’t arrived yet?”

“Those seats?” Granny turned, and her voice caught in her throat. At the side of the table were indeed two empty chairs, set with empty plates and upturned glasses. She swallowed, then leaned down to pick Pear Blossom up and set the little filly in her lap.

“Let me tell you a story about those seats,” she continued. “Once upon a time, there were two beautiful ponies who loved each other very much. The stallion was big and strong, with a heart bigger than a breadbox. His wife was more beautiful than the prettiest flower and as strong as any yak. Together they built this barn and this farm, and their love for each other was deeper than the ocean.”

She paused, and noticed the barn had grown quiet. Ponies all down the tables had stopped stuffing their faces and turned to listen. Beside her, Applejack’s stoic mein was broken by twin trails of tears running down her cheeks. 

Applejack sniffed. “Go on, Granny.”

Granny nodded. She licked her lips before continuing – the damn brandy dried them out. Yeah, the brandy. “Those two ponies, your aunt and uncle, they were so good that… well, the angels just had to take them back to heaven, I guess. I don’t understand why they had to leave, but they did. And so, to remember them, we leave two empty chairs at every family gathering.”

Pear Blossom looked at the empty seats, then at the tears streaming down Applejack’s face. She sniffed, then began to cry herself.

“Hush, hush,” Granny said. “It’s alright. What matters is that we still love them, and we love each other.”

“I love you, Granny Smith!” Pear Blossom wailed. She tossed her tiny hooves around Granny’s shoulders and squeezed her tight.

“And ah love you both! Yee haw!” Applejack said, joining the hug.

“Sugar Belle, uh…” Big Mac blushed and rubbed the back of his neck with his hoof.

“I know, Big Macintosh,” Sugar Belle said. She leaned against his enormous, muscled form and placed a gentle kiss on the tip of his nose.

“A-yup.”

All around the barn, ponies hugged each other. More than a few cried. Braeburn kept eating because he was Braeburn and that was fine too. Never before in the history of Ponyville had so much love been concentrated in such a small place. It was heartwarming. It was beautiful.

“Hey everypony, I have an idea!” Apple Bloom said. She jumped up on the table. “Instead of having Thanksgiving every year, we should do it every month! Or every week!”

“Yeah!” somepony shouted.

“That’s an awesome idea!” somepony else echoed.

“Could… could we really do that?” Applejack asked. She turned to Granny Smith.

“Well, I reckon, if it helps our family love each other so much, then why not?” Granny Smith said. “Let’s make Thanksgiving Day every day!”

A rousing cheer went up from the assembled ponies. It shook the clapboard walls and timber roof tiles. The iron tools on their pegboards chimed in sympathy. It was, truly, a Thanksgiving miracle.

At about that point the massive barn doors burst open and the first round of stun grenades came flying in. They burst like cannons, sending bits of food flying like shrapnel and deafening everypony inside. The cheers instantly turned to screams as ponies scrambled away, pawing at their flash-blind eyes.

Then tear gas followed. It filled the hall with smoke, and the screams became choking coughs. A bright magenta field of magic swept through, clearing a path through the haze, and into the chaos strode Starlight Glimmer. 

“Everybug get down!” she shouted. Her trench coat fluttered around her legs, wide-spread for balance. “You’re all under arrest!”

The changelings who could escape tried. Flashes of green flame light the dark barn as they returned to their real forms. They scrambled up the walls and out the windows, only to be caught by more ponies outside wielding butterfly nets. A few smarter changelings tried to impersonate the pony cops who poured into the barn, but being blind and deaf and barely able to breathe, they weren’t so successful. 

“Excellent work, Detective Glimmer,” said Twilight Sparkle. She walked in behind Starlight Glimmer and tipped her fedora to the mare. “Looks like an entire theater troupe this time. What tipped you off?”

“Thank you, Detective Sparkle,” Starlight said. She walked over to one of the demolished tables, nibbled at a smear of blasted apple pie, and let out a quiet Mmm of satisfaction. “Oh, that’s good. And they do it every year. You see the television crew?”

Along the wall, another set of incapacitated changelings slumped beside a set of high-definition television cameras and studio lights. One bug had a boom microphone strapped to his saddle, and struggled to crawl away with it still attached. As they watched, a guardspony slapped him in manacles and dragged him outside.

“I do,” Twilight said. “Let me guess. They were filming a holiday episode loaded with so much schmaltz and shmarm that anypony who watched it would be struck with an overdose of sappy emotions so thick they’d contract diabetes. It would feed the hive for weeks.”

“They were probably going to sell it to the Hallmark Channel,” Starlight said. She shook her head and spat. “Monsters.”

“Well, not this year!” Twilight said. “The only thing on television for Thanksgiving will be hoofball, if I have anything to say about it!”

“You like hoofball?”

“Eh, not really.” Twilight shrugged. “But it’s a tradition, you know? My father and brother spent all day shouting at the television.”

“Yeah, traditions are important.” Starlight said. “Hey, you wanna help me find the real Apple family? They’re probably stuck in pods in the basement again.”
> S2E6: Horse Fly (GaPJaxie)
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Once upon a time, in the magical land of Equestria, Her Royal Highness, the Princess Twilight Sparkle, sat on her balcony savoring her morning tea. She had just finished raising the sun, and, from her high perch, she could watch the golden light spill over the landscape. Her tea, still too hot to drink, levitated just under her nose to allow her to inhale its heavenly scent.

As the ruler of all Equestria, Twilight was often very busy, and so she had learned to savor such fleeting moments of calm. They were a time to appreciate the little things, oft overlooked but virtually important; things that might otherwise escape the notice of royalty.

For instance, the flock of songbirds that landed on her balcony. “Hello, little ones,” Twilight said. “Well aren’t you beautiful? I haven’t seen birds on my balcony in a long time. I think the security fans Celestia installed scared you away.” They warbled and cheeped back at her.

Twilight had a little bag of birdseed sitting on her balcony table for just such an occasion, and she scattered the seed on the ground for them to enjoy. “But don’t worry. I had the fans removed. Now you can come to the palace whenever you want, and the city should be much safer for ponies with wings.”

One of the birds, a little blue one, pecked at the seed Twilight had left on the ground. Then it lifted her head to her, and spoke.





“Um…” Princess Twilight frowned. “Yes, that’s… that’s what I said. But how did you make those words, appear? And, how do I know that ninety-eight ponies liked it? Did you do something? Are you magic?”

The bird warbled, ruffled its feathers, then said:





“Is that… Daring Do?” Twilight pulled her head back as she stared at the little blue bird. “Well that’s just rude! Not to mention wrong. Lots of pegasi were born without wings. Maybe they got them added with magic later in life, or had a birth defect and needed surgery. Plus, I’m a pegasus as much as I am a unicorn and an earth pony, and I wasn’t born with wings.”




“I mean…” Twilight ruffled her feathers. “That’s all true, but it’s not exactly what I said. I have been taking up traditional crafts, but I didn’t mention it to you before you-”





“Okay, you know what?” Twilight conjured a bird cage from the thin air, and forcefully stuffed the little blue bird into it. “I don’t know what you are, if you were created by Discord, or a very irresponsible wizard, but you’re clearly magic and I don’t think you should be running around Canterlot on your own. So we’re just going to put you in the secure storage room until I can figure out…”

Four more identical blue birds landed on Twilight’s balcony. Together, they all spoke:





Twilight looked over her balcony railing. There were a lot of little blue birds in her garden, and more settling on the distant roofs of Canterlot.

“Raven!” she called to her assistant. “Cancel my meetings for the day. I’m flying to Ponyville. There’s an impending friendship problem. And uh… see if anypony knows where these birds came from.”

Raven looked up from her notes. “From eggs, your highness."







When Twilight arrived in Ponyville, she discovered the other Elements of Harmony already assembled in the castle’s map room.

“Oh, girls.” She slammed the door shut with a hindleg and sat in her chair. “Thank goodness you’re here. I think we might have a big problem.”

“You have a gift for understatement, Twilight,” Rarity agreed. “AK Yearling is an inspiration for millions of ponies who love her books. What will they think, seeing her tweet such hateful garbage?”

“...wait, what?” Twilight asked.

“Uh.” Rainbow Dash’s narrowed her eyes. “Excuse me? AK Yearling is just saying what everypony is thinking.”

“Girls, I wasn’t talking about…” Twilight gestured up at the cage she still carried, with the little blue bird inside. “I was talking about these magical birds that repeat what everypony says to them.”

“Right. Her tweets.” Applejack nodded. “Came right outta left field for me. I had no idea AK Yearling was a TERP.”

“What?” Twilight furrowed her brow. “What’s a TERP? Do you girls know where all these birds came from?”

“They came from eggs, Twilight.”” Fluttershy rolled her eyes. “And, Trans-Exclusionary Radical Pegasus. They’re a hate-group who believe that if you weren’t born with wings, you aren’t a ‘real’ pegasus.”

“Oh, I see.” Rainbow Dash spread her hooves. “So now I’m in a ‘hate group’ just because I believe it matters that I grew up with wings?”

“You say that stuff around me again-” Fluttershy snapped and slammed her hooves on the table “-and you’ll spend the rest of your life without wings.”

“Woah woah.” Pinkie Pie leapt between Rainbow Dash and Fluttershy before anypony could escalate the situation further. “Okay, I think, that the room has gotten a little tense, and what we all need right now is to calmly talk things out over cupcakes. How does that sound?”

Most ponies grumbled something to the effect of “Fine.” Twilight glanced at the bird in her cage.

“Okay,” Pinkie went on. “Rainbow Dash, why don’t you go first? Tell us how you feel.”

“I feel like growing up with wings was a big deal, and really important to who I am, and somepony can’t just go magically grow some primary feathers and say that oh look I’m a pegasus now.” She glanced at Twilight. “Sorry.”

“Well,” Twilight said. “That seems fair. I don’t agree, since, you know, alicorns are pegasi too. But growing up a pegasus and becoming a pegasus later in life are different. So I get why a pony might feel that way.”

“See?” Rainbow Dash jerked a hoof in Twilight’s direction. “I have trans-pegasus friends and they say I’m right.”

“‘Alicorn,’” Twilight said. “The term is ‘Alicorn.’ And you have exactly one.”

Fluttershy lifted her nose, her tone sharp and judgemental. “Okay, so explain this to me.” She pointed at Twilight’s bird. “Reweet.”





“Okay,” Twilight said, “so you all know the birds exist and think it’s normal that they exist. So something happened to reality and I’m the only one who remembers-”

“Duh,” Rainbow Dash spread her arms. “If anypony can become a pegasus at will, then race doesn’t mean anything. If race doesn’t mean anything, then there’s no such thing as interracial relationships, and saying there’s no such thing as interracial relationships is super racist.”

With an air of finality, Rainbow Dash sat back and folded her legs. “So basically, if you think ponies can just go around growing wings all the time, you’re a secret unicorn supremacist.”

“Uh…” AJ lifted a hoof. “I don’t see how unicorn supremacy came into this. Wasn’t the whole point that there would be no more races?”

“Exactly! Alicorns want to destroy everypony’s racial identity. Imagine what that would be like?” Rainbow pointed at AJ with a hoof. “A world where anypony can be a unicorn or a pegasus or an earth pony any time they want.”

“Actually, that sounds lovely.” AJ shrugged. “I enjoy my traditions, sure as sure, but getting rid of the last vestiges of old tribalist discrimination would be-”

“Stop enjoying my dystopia!” Rainbow shouted, throwing her hooves to the air.

“What about me?” Fluttershy demanded. “Growing up flying isn’t at all important to my self-identity. Does that make me less of a pegasus?”

“No, of course not.”

“And what about Scootaloo? I’d like to see you tell her that flying is an intrinsic part of being a pegasus.” Her tone, already sharp, turned nakedly contemptuous. “Walk right up to her face and call her a dirty earth pony.”

Rainbow shot out of her chair, her voice rising to a shout. “I would never do that!”

“Then why do you care?” Fluttershy shouted right back. “Why is it so important to you that you can sort the world into ‘pegasus’ and ‘not-pegasus’ and everypony has to go along with your definition?”

“You don’t get it,” Rainbow Dash pointed at the little blue bird in the cage. “Retweet.”




After a long pause, Rarity cleared her throat. “And?”

“And-” Rainbow Dash spread her hooves- “-everypony knows that if you’ve been attacked for being in a group, that means you own that group forever and get to say who is and isn’t a part of it. That’s just logic.”

“But, wait.” Pinkie frowned. “That’s why AK Yearling cares, but why do you care?”

“Because…” Rainbow Dash spluttered. “It’s important. And stuff.”

Pinkie sighed, reached out, and put a hoof on Rainbow’s shoulder. “Rainbow…” she spoke, her words so gentle. “Did you see Trans-Exclusionary Radical Pegasus and jump on board because you wanted to be a ‘radical pegasus’ and you didn’t know what the first two words meant?”

“No!” Rainbow fumed, but her eyes went down to the floor. “And it’s not two words. It’s one really big word.”

“A very big word,” Pinkie agreed. “And you can’t even look it up in the dictionary because it has a dash in the middle.”

“Yeah.” Rainbow kicked the underside of the table with a hoof. “And AK Yearling is one and she’s cool.”

“She uh…” Applejack coughed. “She writes some good books, yeah. But, and I gotta be honest Rainbow, TERPism might be the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“And trans-pegasi face discrimination all their own,” Rarity said. “Ponies threw clods of dirt at Princess Luna and called her a unicorn poser. You know, until she had them arrested.”

“But I really like her books,” Rainbow mumbled. “You know me. I’m a huge Daring Do fan.”

“You are,” Pinkie agreed. “Life would be easier if Daring Do was a fictional character, and we could just say we love AK Yearling’s books even if she has some crazy, whackjob political views. But since we all know Daring Do is real and also the same person as AK Yearling, somehow, I can see how this really hurt you emotionally. She was your hero.”

“Yeah,” Applejack agreed. “I’m sorry, Rainbow.”

“I’m sorry too,” Fluttershy said. “I wouldn’t actually rip your wings off. Unless you made me really angry.”

“I know. I’m sorry I said…” Rainbow tapped her hooves together. “All that stuff I said. I just don’t want this to be the end of AK Yearling’s career.”

“Maybe she can write another book,” Rarity suggested. “Daring Do and the Public Relations Disaster.”

“Okay, this is all great,” Twilight said, “but can we please get back to-”

From up the hall, Twilight heard the sound of galloping hooves. Then the door to the map room burst open and in charged Starlight, surrounded by a massive flock of the little blue birds. Wide-eyed, panicked, and sweating, she locked eyes on Twilight like a drowning mare spotting driftwood.

“Oh thank goodness you’re here,” she called. “I used magic to make it so that everypony in the world knew my opinions all the time, but something happened, and now other ponies are using it to express their opinions, and they’re wrong!”

Twilight looked at her friends, the cage, Starlight, and the birds, and then nodded firmly. “Starlight,” she said, “if I keep bailing you out of these situations, you’ll never learn. You got yourself into this, and now you’re going to have to suffer a bit to get yourself out of it. I want you to think about what you did.”

She picked up her bird cage and flew away, headed back to Canterlot. Behind her, she heard Starlight cry: “Twilight, you can’t leave me here!”





Starlight’s shriek of agony echoed across all of Ponyville.

As Twilight flew away, she turned her head to regard to the little bird in her cage, and smiled. “Hey, before Equestria goes back to normal, I have a message I’d like to ‘Tweet’ to Princess Celestia. Can you do that?” The bird warbled, which Twilight took as a yes.











Princess Celestia lifted her head from her beach towel, looking at the little blue bird that had landed next to her head.

“What the hell is this?”
> S5E3: Thanksgiving Reprise
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Applejack hefted the basket onto the cart with a grunt. The squash inside – not apples, for the Apple clan was diverse in their habits and grew many things on their land – bounced with hollow thumps that rattled the hitch and traces, windchimes to their drums. She spent a moment panting, staring at the half-filled cart, calculating how much more of the morning it would take to load it with produce. Harvest season was the best time of year, but also the busiest, and hardest, and hurting-est, and every other tired adjective she never bothered to use because she was an Apple, and Apples never felt any of those things. Or, at least, they never let on that they did.

Rarity would have called it their ‘brand.’ And she wouldn’t have been wrong.

Applejack let herself dilly dally for another few breaths, fogging the crisp autumn air like a dragon, until her heart returned to its nice, slow measure, and then she turned to deal with the changeling.

“Okay, now you can talk,” she said.

“Oh, merciful pony!” the little bug wailed. It fell to its knees and grasped at her fetlocks with its sharp obsidian hooves. “My starving sisters and I were wandering, lost and abandoned, through the fearsome woods over yon, when we felt a well of bounteous love pouring out from this noble farm. We stumbled toward it, desperate for nourishment but knowing how fearful ponies are of our kind, and so my starving sisters – did I mention we were starving? So very, very starving – sent me here to beg for your indulgence—”

“And stop.” Applejack gently pried the changeling’s hooves off her legs and walked around the wagon to strap herself in. The changeling hovered along beside her as she pulled the harvest load toward the barn.

“Are you reading a script?” she said. “Because ponies don’t talk like that. Except maybe those fancy ponies Rarity hangs out with, but you ain’t never gonna see one of them in a field like this.”

“What? No. Script?” The changeling rubbed her front legs together, producing a sound like a cricket’s chirp. “We, uh, we came to beg your indulgence, and, um, ask for for a mere scrap of love to satiate—”

“See? That’s not even a real word. How do you expect a pony to trust you when you’re lyin’ like that?”

“What? Satiate?” The changeling’s wings flapped unevenly, and she bobbled in the air before finally dropping down into the dirt. She tromped around the front of the wagon and scowled up at Applejack. “It is so a real word! It means to be satisfied or full!”

“Uh huh. Sure.” Applejack brushed the changeling aside and pressed on toward the barn. For a moment she thought it might have left, but then the loud buzz of stained-glass wings returned, and the wagon’s springs let out a little sigh. She turned to see the changeling perched on the boxboard, glaring down at her as best it could with lidless eyes.

“Are you going to let me finish?” the changeling asked.

Applejack tried to shrug. She couldn’t really, with the yoke around her shoulders, but if changelings could taste emotions it could probably sense her indifference. “Go for it.”

“Great. Thank you.” The changeling cleared her throat. “So, as I was saying, we were very hungry and starving and we found your farm and we were wondering if maybe we could have a little bit of that sweet sweet love you’ve got for your family, you know, just to tide us over? There. Were those words small enough for you?”

“S’better.” Applejack let herself smile. The wagon was back on the path, out of the field, and the pulling was easier now. She could make it back to the barn without breaking a sweat. They rode together in silence for the rest of the way, until they pulled into the barn and Applejack undid all the hitchings and lowered the tailgate. She was about to grab the first basket when the changeling spoke.

“Okay, that was, uh, a little harsh of me,” she said. She hopped down into the wagon and pushed at the basket of squash with all her little bug might, helping scoot it toward the wagon’s rear. “I didn’t mean to insult you, but I worked really hard on that script, and my sisters really are hungry. That’s all true!”

“Right. One sec.” Applejack pulled the basket onto her back and trotted over to the big bin by the back door, where they were storing all the pumpkins and acorn and kobacha squash the farm had yielded in time for winter. She emptied the basket into the pile, set it down, and trotted out the barn, down the path to the farmhouse, up the patio and into the kitchen. The little changeling followed the whole way, her eyes darting to and fro with nervous energy.

Applejack stopped at the wall by the wide picture window. Beside it hung a calendar, open to the month of November, with the grid of weeks below and a full-page, glossy image of a muscular creme stallion with an ochre mane reclining provocatively on a bed of pillows above. She pointed her hoof at one of the latter Thursdays. “Okay, so, Thanksgiving is in just a few weeks, and—”

“Why do you have a pin-up calendar of hunky stallions hanging in your kitchen?”

“Never you mind that. Now, Thanksgiving is in just a few weeks, right? All the family get together, lots of cryin’ and hugs and stuff. So much love in the air you can cut it with a knife. And you know what happened two years ago at literally this exact same date?”

“Uh, no. No.” The changeling tried to laugh, but it came out forced. “Why… why would I know that?”

“Because exactly two years ago I was out in my field, loading up the harvest, when a little changeling much like yourself showed up, and she gave me a sob story much like yours about how she and her sisters were starving and they just needed a little bit of love to tide them over and surely we had enough to spare. And you know what happened next?”

“I mean, uh, I couldn’t possibly guess.” The changeling peered back at the door leading out into the yard. “But you’re so kind, friendly… merciful! So merciful, I assume you helped them like they asked?”

“A-yup. We did. And you know how it went?”

“A good Thanksgiving was had by all?”

“Sort of. A horde of changelings showed up, spat up that icky goo all over us, used it to seal us into pods, and shoved us all down the cellar. We were down there for weeks before my friends got us out.”

“That’s terrible.” The changeling managed to sound somber and grave. “But you can be assured that my sisters and I would never do such a thing to gracious ponies willing to share with us—”

“You know, it’s funny you say that,” Applejack said. “Because exactly one year ago I was out in the field, loading up my harvest, when another changeling much like yourself showed up, and she gave us that same sad story, and I told her ‘Nope, not gonna fall for it again, not after last year,’ and then she said what you just said about how terrible that was and how she would never do such a thing, and I figured ‘Well, this changeling seems sincere!’ So I said I’d help her too, and could you possibly guess what happened next?”

Silence. The little bug squirmed and stared down at her hooves. Finally: “Did they—”

“Yup. Goo all over. And two more weeks in the cellar.”

“Right. So, I know how this looks,” the changeling said. “You’ve had some bad previous experiences helping ponies, and you don’t want to get hurt again. It’s normal to be reluctant to offer a hoof to those in need when you’ve been burned before. But let me tell you, the true measure of a pony’s heart, of her essential goodness, isn’t in the charity she shows when times are good and giving is easy. Rather, their true virtue is revealed only when circumstances are tough, and the gift is not an indulgence but rather an act of sacrifice. Imagine, Applejack, if we lived in a world where all ponies were as open with their homes and their hearts as your family, what a wonderful world that would be! And that world is within our grasp; it only waits for us to take that small step of faith, and extend our trust even to those who have wronged us before.”

“Well, that sounds nice and all,” Applejack said. She trotted over to the counter, opened one of the drawers, and pulled out a letter. “Reminds me of something my friend Twilight Sparkle wrote me after last year’s Thanksgiving. She said very much the same things.”

“This Twilight Sparkle sounds like a very wise and noble friend,” the changeling agreed.

“Let me read some of it for you.” Applejack opened the letter. “Dear Applejack, hope you are well, blah blah blah… Okay, here we are. Applejack, this is two years in a row now that your whole family has been tricked by changelings and stuffed into pods in your cellar. And I want you to know that next year they’re going to try the exact same thing, because they’ve somehow concluded that you’re a bunch of gullible rubes. They’ll probably give you a speech about charity and how the true virtue of a pony is only revealed when circumstances are tough, and ask you to trust them one more time. Please do not do this because I do not want to have to pry you out of a changeling pod again. Your friend forever, Twilight Sparkle.”

“This Twilight Sparkle sounds like a very cynical and mean-spirited pony,” the changeling said. “I hope we can prove how wrong her understanding of ponykind is by—”

“Nope.” Applejack put her hoof down. “Not this time. Not three years in a row. I know you think we’re just a buncha country bumpkins who’ll believe any sob story and make an easy meal for you city slicker changelings, but we ain’t! The Apple Family is a proud, smart, savvy line of businessponies, and we are not gonna fall for your tricks again! So you just take your lies and fly back to your hive before ah git mah wallopin’ stick out and—”

What exactly Applejack intended to do with her walloping stick the changeling never learned, for at that moment the kitchen door burst open, and in charged Big Macintosh. He panted for breath, but an enormous grin stretched out across his face. Applejack and the changeling gawked at him in stunned silence.

“Applejack, look!” he cried. He turned to reveal a jet black changeling perched on his back, her little hooves wound through his cornsilk mane, hanging on for dear life. “Ah found a new friend! She and all her hungry friends are gonna join us for Thanksgiving dinner!”

“No, Big Mac!” Applejack cried. “It’s just like last year! And the year before! They’re gonna stick us in pods in the cellar and—”

Another crash announced the arrival of Apple Bloom. She caroomed into the kitchen, bouncing off the door frame with a heavy thud that shook the house. She held in her grasp a squirming, obsidian shape that buzzed with a sound like panic.

“Sis, look!” Apple Bloom shouted. “Ah found a new friend and she’s gonna join us for Thanksgiving this year and also a bunch of her friends is that okay because I already told them it was okay great thanks!”

“Apple Bloom, no!” Applejack tried without success to pry the changeling out of her little sister’s grasp. “It’s just like last year! How am I the smart one all of a sudden?!”

A creaking, age-rusted voice answered, the family matriarch speaking at last. “Well ah’ll be, it’s a Thanksgiving Miracle!” Granny Smith announced. She stepped down the stairs, a tiny changeling lending her its glossy shoulder for support.

“To the barn, everypony!” Granny Smith said. “Let’s start settin’ up for the best Thanksgiving ever, with our new friends!” She teetered out the door, assisted by her changeling. Apple Bloom and Big Macintosh followed.

Silence, again. Applejack stared out the door. The little changeling spun around in confusion and finally settled down, looking up at Applejack.

Applejack sighed. “I’m gonna go wait in the cellar.”
> S4E10: Romance Novels
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

“What if,” Spike said, “Ginger Gypsy hadn’t been afraid to confess her love? Would you still hate her so much?”

I frowned. “Hate is a strong word. I never said I hated her.”

He didn’t answer for a bit, focusing instead on the greenhouse workbench and the potted bonsai undergoing plant surgery. The bench groaned under the weight of the solid stone pot, roughly hewn from a locally sourced gneiss boulder by Spike’s teeth and claws. The tiny tree nested inside seemed delicate as a snowflake in comparison.

“Maybe. But you definitely said you couldn’t stand ponies who were shallow, deceitful, and what else? Callous?” Spike exhaled on the tip of his tiny scalpel until the steel tip glowed yellow, then swiftly sliced away a tiny scale of bark from the dwarf Everfree pine. A curl of smoke rose from the blackened scar his cut left on the slender trunk. “Give me about five inches of wire?”

I measured out a hoof’s worth of iron wire and snapped it free from the spool. The cold metal managed to resist my magic for a second before surrendering with a quiet, musical ping. “Cowardly, and I stand by that. She wanted all the benefits of a loving relationship but was afraid to take any risks with her heart, so she ended up leading Buttercup on and causing them both greater pain in the end. The fact that she lied throughout the whole book just to avoid having uncomfortable conversations made it even worse. It’s easy to sympathize with her, because everypony has to juggle their own feelings with somepony else’s at some point in their lives, but her failures all stem from who she is. Until she changes, she deserves to be unhappy.”

“Huh.” Spike twisted the wire into a loop with his claws and carefully wrapped it around the bonsai’s trunk. He tucked the free end into the soil between its gnarled roots. A few quartz pebbles concealed the support, and he stepped back to consider his work. “And this is your favorite romance novel?”

I grinned. “Yup. First one I ever read, too. Mom had a copy.”

“That’s a little weird.”

“What? That mom had romance novels?”

“That she let you borrow it,” he said. He picked the pot up off the workbench and set it back on the windowsill where it normally lived. “And also that your favorite romance novel features a mare you hate and who doesn’t end up finding love. It’s, like, an anti-romance novel.”

“But that’s what makes it great!” I helped Spike sweep up the loose soil from the workbench and pitch it into the sod. “Most romance novels are, to be honest, complete trash. The characters are insipid, the plot is as predictable as the train schedule, and nothing the characters do has any impact on how the story ends. The protagonist finds themselves in an unfamiliar environment, meets the mare or stallion of their dreams, becomes infatuated with them, makes some silly mistake that seemingly ruins the relationship, has an epiphany at their lowest point about the magic of love, and tearfully reunites at the climax. Or right before the climax.”

“Uh, ew.”

“Ew whatever.” I swatted his shoulder with the edge of my wing. It was like hitting a boulder. “I’ve seen your bookshelf. Anyway, Ginger Gypsy had the same shot at a happy ending with her lover as every other romance novel heroine, but the author ended up not giving it to her. Why? Because she didn’t earn it. She was too flawed, too hesitant and too afraid of being hurt to open up her heart. It was like the author wanted us all to know how he felt about the genre and provide a lesson for every romance-novel reading mare or stallion out there about how difficult finding love really is.”

“I’m not sure that’s why most ponies read romance novels.”

“Yeah, well, it wasn’t his best seller. There might be some cause-and-effect there.” We made our way out the crystal greenhouse and down the garden path on the south side of my castle. The humdrum buzz of a Ponyville afternoon filled the air, and a few passers-by waved to us as they crossed the town’s streets. I jumped up on a sun-soaked crystal bench and stretched out, letting the blissful heat from the mineral surface leech into my belly.

“Look,” I continued. “I don’t know much about love yet. Hopefully I will someday, but for now I’m just as clueless as anypony. And maybe it’s just a romantic delusion, but I want finding love to be hard. I want it to hurt. I want to fall and skin my knees and get my heart broken before I find the right mare to help me put it back together. Because if love isn’t hard, will I really value it? Or will I treat it like some cheap bauble and toss it away, never realizing what I had?”

Spike sat beside me on the bench. The crystal sang with creaks and groans beneath his weight. “If you’re worried you’ll make the same mistakes as Ginger Gypsy, I don’t think so. Most ponies have consistent characters – a mare who is honest with her friends and kind with strangers will probably be the same way when it comes to romance. Ginger Gypsy was consistently shallow, self-absorbed and shameless. So whether you find the right pony the hard way or the easy way, I think you’ll respect them and the relationship you create.”

“Aw, thank you.” I blushed. “You’re a pretty smart drake sometimes, Spike.”

“Eh, I try.” He burnished his claws on his scaled chest. “Anyway, how old were you when you read that book?”

“Uh…” What homework assignments did I hide that book in? Basic geometry, so… “Maybe nine?”

“Nine? Wow.” He was silent for a moment. “What about the, uh, picnic scene?”

The picnic scene. I feigned ignorance, tilting my head as though I had to search my memories for it, and that I hadn’t read those pages a dozen times as a teenage filly. “Oh, that one? I just thought they were kissing. And also that she had to pee really badly.”

He snorted. Jets of dark smoke wafted from his nostrils. “Sure, kissing. I can’t believe mom let you borrow that.”

“Oh, she didn’t. I stole it from her bookshelf.” I sighed. “She found it in my room a few years later. That’s how I got The Talk.”

“Oof. Well, at least your crime was suitably punished.”

“Eh, worth it.” I stretched my wings out, letting them catch the sun’s rays. ”It’s just, you know, a good book, even if I don’t like the main character. Ginger Gypsy has motives and hidden desires and contradictory impulses and a mix of good and bad traits. The things she says are contradicted by the things she does, because her actions are driven by her true character. That’s a real pony, Spike, not some shallow fictional character a lazy author strung together with catchphrases, stereotypes and a bingo card of popular tropes. We may hate Ginger Gypsy, but I love her too, because she shows that the author respects us as readers.”

“Do you wish more authors wrote unpleasant characters?”

“Well, maybe in moderation. But the alternative is—”

“Howdy, ya’ll!” Applejack suddenly shouted at us from the street running alongside the garden. She was hitched to her wagon, which was piled high with barrels of apples. “You want some apples?”

“Hey, Twilight! Twilight! Check this out!” Rainbow Dash called out overhead. She zipped across the sky, blasting apart the few clouds that interrupted the clear blue sky. “Ten seconds flat!”

“Um, excuse me?” A timid voice sounded beneath the bench. I craned my head down to find Fluttershy hiding beneath it, her wings wrapped around her like a security blanket. “Um, could you maybe tell Rainbow Dash to stop shouting so much? She’s scaring all my animal friends.”

“Animal friends?” Pinkie Pie’s head popped out of a nearby urn that was nowhere near large enough to contain the rest of her body. “Did someone say animal friends?! That means it’s time for a party!”

“Uh, the alternative is characters who are fun to read about, but don’t really challenge you,” I said. Rainbow Dash was still shouting something, and I had to raise my voice. “Like, they’re just pure sugar. To really appreciate a character, they need to taste a little bitter—”

“Apples, apples, apples!”

“Why, darling, must you be so uncouth? Oh, Rainbow Dash, you’ve ruined my mane again!”

“—a little bitter in order for us to really appreciate them,” I said. I realized, as I finished, that I was no longer sitting on the bench beside Spike. Rather, somehow, Pinkie had managed to drag me halfway across the street, and it seemed like we were just getting started. Rainbow Dash whooped and cheered, rolling in great loops through the sky above us. Sugar Cube Corner loomed ahead, already decked out with streamers and balloons for whatever party Pinkie had planned. Applejack hitched her wagon to the post outside the door and held it open for all my friends as we piled inside. I looked back toward my castle, and saw Spike sitting on the bench. He raised a clawed hand to wave, and I think he smiled.

“Why, what’s wrong, darling?” Rarity said. She helped pry me out of Pinkie’s iron grasp, and we caught our breath at a table by the door. “You looked a bit wistful there for a moment.”

Wistful? Me? I shook my head. "Sorry, just thinking about books."

Rarity smiled a wry smile, one half of her mouth lifting a hair higher than the other. “Books, of course. That’s our Twilight.”

Yeah, that was their Twilight. I wondered if the thought should hurt, and decided after a moment I didn’t care.

Sometimes sugar just tasted sweet.
> S4E11: Against Literalism
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

“I think I see it,” Rainbow Dash whispered. She squeezed as low to the rocks as she could and crawled forward over the tumbled-down ruins of the jungle temple. “It’s just up ahead, in the nave.”

“Okay, move slowly. There may be traps.” Twilight Sparkle’s voice sounded in her ear, emanating from an ingenious crystal device no larger than one of Dash’s earrings, which she didn’t own and wouldn’t be caught dead wearing. “The legends say it was kept beneath the high altar. Look for, like, a cubby hole. Something a foal could fit inside.”

“Got it.” She let out a long, slow breath. “Moving forward. Have the extraction team ready.”

Rainbow crept forward an inch at a time, her ears straining for any hint of Don Coyote’s thugs. She’d barely eluded them in the jungle, ducking into that muddy stream to hide her tracks, but she knew it wouldn’t be long before they found her. She was in no condition to fight them again, not with her wing sprained so badly. 

And, of course, each step could trigger a rockfall or shower of darts or open into a pit of alligators. She swallowed, wiped the sweat from her forehead, and edged toward the altar.

“There’s a hole here.” She fumbled for her flashlight and shined it into the recess in the stone altar. There, beneath a sediment of rotting leaves and spiderwebs and dusty memories, the Wondrous Lanthorn of Lith lay waiting. She sucked in a breath as the light reflected off its glorious nacre shell.

Something stirred in the darkness. A dry rasp like the caress of ancient paper. Coiled around the lanthorn was a small snake, onyx all over, dappled in ruby scales that formed oddly geometric patterns. It stared at her with crimson eyes and hissed.

She froze. The snake froze. Off in the distance, in the courtyard of the temple, she thought she heard hoofsteps on stone.

“Hey, uh…” She swallowed. “Small black snake, about the length of my leg. Red triangles all over. Apparently likes secluded alcoves.”

There was a pause before Twilight responded. “Does it have little pits between its eyes and its nostrils?”

Dash squinted. She didn’t really know what a snake’s nostrils looked like, but assuming they were like a pony’s… “Yeah, I think so.”

“Sounds like a Pythagorean Autumn Adder,” Twilight said.

“Is it poisonous?”

“Oh, no, of course not.”

Great. Dash squeezed herself into the alcove, scraping away the rotting leaves around the Lanthorn. The adder hissed at her again, and she gently reached toward it with her hoof. The snake’s tongue flicked out, and it slowly coiled its way up her leg.

“That’s it, nice and easy,” she said to the snake. “Just gonna move this little treasure out of your way and then I’ll be gone—”

“It is, however, incredibly venomous,” Twilight said. “Like, each one of its bites has enough toxin to kill ten ponies. Be very careful around them. In fact, if you see one, you should probably just stay as far away as possible so that you don’t intrude on its nest.”


* * *


“How much time is left?!” Starlight Glimmer shouted. She panted for breath and tossed her head to sweep her sweat-drenched mane out of her eyes.

“Fifteen seconds!” Twilight shouted back. Several books floated in the air before her, all trembling in time with the cataclysmic shocks wracking the volcano around them. A roiling wave of superheated air blasted through the thin stone chimney where they sheltered, scorching the tips of her coat black.

Starlight coughed. She squeezed her eyes as tightly shut as she could until the heat passed, and then she turned to the twisting stone cube held in her hooves. An evil blue light radiated out of the thin lines inscribed all around Rexacion’s Reticulated Rebus, as though the malevolent force inside was beginning to make its escape. She clenched it tight with her hooves and whispered a quick, desperate prayer to Celestia.

Fifteen seconds. Plenty of time. She coughed as a stray ember got in her throat. “The cladding plate is secure. Next move?”

Twilight flipped a page. “Top third, rotate counterclockwise one-hundred and eighty degrees!”

Starlight twisted the Rebus as directed. A hideous, inequine voice screamed in her mind as the monster’s prison grew tighter. “It’s working!”

And not a moment too soon. Baleful orange light spilled into their little tunnel as the magma began to rise up the volcano’s throat. They stumbled away from the searing heat toward a tiny obsidian cubby, barely large enough for the two of them to fit.

“Okay, last move.” Starlight turned the Rebus, revealing a tiny keyhole on the bottom. She reached in with her magic, feeling for the little emerald inside. “The lexicon says to pull the gem out, right?”

“Right!”

Perfect. Starlight grit her teeth, wrapped her magical field around the keystone emerald, and yanked with all her might. The Rebus shrieked in protest as the lock plate tore free and the gem emerged in a shower of actinic sparks. 

For a moment, all was still. The monstrous voice screaming in Starlight’s mind went silent. The earth stopped shaking. The volcano held its breath…

…and just as quickly, it all resumed. A terrible roar filled the volcano as the magma shot upward. Starlight stumbled, nearly dropping the Rebus, which began to glow like a star, its light doubling and redoubling every second. A howl of triumph sounded in her mind, and the world seemed to twist around the tiny stone cube, reality itself contracting to an infinitely small point that broke apart with a quiet pop, leaving nothing behind.

“It is true that the lexicon says that,” Twilight continued. The books fell in a shower beside her as she lost her magical grip amid the roar of the wakening volcano. “But most scholars agree it was a mistranslation by Aristrottle, and that he meant to say you should toss the Rebus, with the gem inside, into the lava.”


* * *


“Now, I think we can all agree that the law has both a spirit and a letter, and wise ponies must be attendant to both,” Mayor Mare said. “And the spirit, in this case, is the spirit of Democracy, which is that each pony has their voice and their vote, and nothing should be done which prejudices the power of that franchise.”

The crowd murmured its approval. A few ponies clapped. The mayor waited for the town hall to settle before continuing.

“Now, I have nothing against my opponent personally—” here she gestured across the stage, where a cowled and robed stallion crowned in a wreath of indigo flames stood at the opposite podium, “—but elections must be for the living, by the living! So I respectfully ask in the interest of fairness that the princess consider invalidating the votes of deceased ponies, regardless of which candidate they voted for. After that we will let the cards fall where they may.”

The crowd clapped politely again. Twilight Sparkle turned to the stallion. “Silent Sign, your response?”

“Thank you, princess,” the stallion’s voice emanated from the darkness beneath his hood. It was the sound of glaciers grinding mountains into gravel. “And my thanks to the honorable mayor for articulating her position so clearly. My rebuttal rests on incontrovertible facts: the many ponies who voted for me are citizens of this town, and entitled to their votes; that I am a citizen in good standing of Ponyville, and entitled to run for the office of mayor; and that I have scrupulously obeyed all the rules and regulations regarding elections in Ponyville. I am confident that when a full counting of the votes is complete, I will be judged the winner.”

“The ponies who voted for you were dead,” Mayor Mare said. “You raised the entire Ponyville cemetery and marched them into the voting booth!”

The crowd mumbled angrily. A few ponies shouted up at the stage, and Twilight Sparkle banged her gavel until silence returned.

“All of those citizens were still entitled to vote, having not been removed from the voter rolls,” Silent Sign said. “Preventing them from voting simply because they are dead is discriminatory.”

Applejack stood from the front row. “You raised my maw and paw from the dead, and then used yer evil magic to make 'em vote for you! Mah parents would never willingly vote for a unicorn!”

“I did not compel anypony to vote one way or another, and everypony voted inside a booth in complete confidentiality,” Silent Sign said. “There was no quid pro quo involved. The dead who voted for me were simply grateful for my services in resurrecting them, and they felt that, as a necromancer, I would best represent them as Ponyville’s next mayor.”

The other half of the crowd clapped politely. Dozens of zombies, ghouls and skeletons crowded into the Town Hall alongside their living neighbors. Many wore hats or shirts embroidered with Silent Sign’s campaign logo. Applejack’s parents looked away from their daughter and shook their heads.

Twilight Sparkle flipped through a book of town ordinances open on the table before her. The crowd held its breath – well, some of them did. The rest had no breath to hold.

“According to Ponyville Town Code 14.2, section B, dead ponies may not vote in local elections,” Twilight said. “However, the law is silent on the matter of undead ponies voting. While I believe this omission allows for my discretion, I would prefer to err on the side of allowing as many ponies to vote as possible, rather than risk disenfranchising even one pony. Therefore, the vote counting will go forward.” She rapped the gavel on the table, bringing the proceedings to a close.

"Oh, and I should add, it's really good to see the two of you again," she said, turning to the ghosts of Rainbow Dash and Starlight Glimmer, who were seated in the front row and glowering at her. "Will you be staying in Ponyville, or did you just come back to vote?"*
> S3E2: Champing at the Bitcoins (GaPJaxie)
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

One day, Twilight had an idea. It was a wonderful idea, magnificent, delightful, pleasant, and after she consulted her thesaurus, it was also stupendous, phenomenal, peachy, and “something else.” It put a spring in her step all morning, and made her sing for sheer joy as she went about her routine.

(As a princess, Twilight normally avoided singing while brushing her hair, as it inevitably resulted in woodland creatures flying in from the Everfree to attempt to assist her, and they always did something fancy with her mane that felt too formal. But on that day, she was so happy she didn’t even mind how many braids that manticore made.)

“Hey, Twilight,” Starlight called as she trotted down the palace’s main stairwell towards the dining room. “Forest animals did your mane again?” Spike had made a heaping pile of pancakes for breakfast, flavored with little bowls of syrup, butter, fruit, and quartz. Trixie had even taken some quartz to be polite, though she mostly pushed it around her plate.

“It looks nice,” Trixie agreed, as Twilight pulled out a chair to sit down. “Like a princess from… what’s that movie? Princess Bride.”

“You mean Star Wars,” Spike corrected her, indicating the elaborate loops around Twilight’s ears. “It’s the buns.”

“Starlight says that I can’t comment on how nice Twilight’s buns are,” Trixie said, eliciting a flinch from Twilight. “You know, now that we’re ‘serious.’ She won’t even—”

“No,” Twilight lifted a hoof, silencing conversation around the table. “No, we’re not doing that bit this morning. Everypony, I have an announcement. A household announcement, you might say. Or a royal decree, since I’m a princess.”

“A space princess,” Trixie observed, and somecreature kicked her under the table. “Fine, what is it?”

“I think,” Twilight locked eyes on Starlight and Trixie, “since you two both have jobs and can support yourselves, that if you’re going to keep living in my palace, you should have to pay rent.”

She looked so pleased to say it. Her ears perked up, her tail lifted, she even smiled and shifted in her chair to sit up that much straighter. Every element of her posture was tinged with anticipation, intently focused on Starlight’s reaction.

“Sure,” Starlight said, with a shrug. “That seems fair. Do you accept Bitcoin?”

Twilight’s shoulders sagged, and her ears drooped. “Well I… wait. What do you mean, ‘Bitcoin’? Like, you want to pay your rent entirely in one-bit coins?”

“No. Like, Bitcoin. You know. Bitcoin?” When Twilight showed no signs of comprehension, Starlight got up from the table. “Sorry, one moment.”

She wandered into the next room. Twilight could hear grunting, heaving, straining, the chime of unicorn magic.

Then, Starlight came back into the dining room, carrying a single enormous coin. It must have been a foot and a half across, and on a brief estimate, might have weighed seventy pounds. One side of the coin was stamped with Starlight’s face and the motto “A Sucker is Born Every Minute,” the other side had a mandatory legal disclaimer, etched into the metal in a tiny font.

Starlight dropped it onto Twilight’s table. The edge bit into the wood, permanently scarring the oak.

“No.” Twilight said. “No, I refuse. You have to pay your rent in money, real money. Not whatever extended practical joke this is.”

“That’s fine,” Starlight said. “Give me a few hours to go sell this. They’re worth like, forty-thousand bits each at this point.”

“Fifty thousand,” Trixie corrected, her horn faintly aglow. “No, wait, ten thousand. No, twenty, thirty, five, sixty. Okay, it’s back to around forty.”

“Goodness, busy trading day,” Starlight replied. Trixie shrugged and went back to her pancakes, crushing the quartz into a powder with her unicorn magic in an ill-advised attempt to actually try it.

Silence hung over the table.

“Spike,” Twilight said. “Take a note. I don’t know what this is yet, but I need to review the Equestrian legal code to find out how I can arrest them both for it.”

“Better judges than you have tried, Twilight.” Trixie said, before taking a big bite of her pancakes. A loud crunch echoed through the dining room.

As politely as one could, Trixie spat out blood and bits of her teeth. “I think I need to go to the dentist.”





Twilight assembled all her friends and the Elements of Harmony, in the hope that Starlight would for the first time in her life have the honor of being blasted with rainbow lasers. Starlight felt that it was a little mean-spirited for Twilight to point out that sometimes the elements disintegrated evildoers outright.

“But it’s not money,” Fluttershy said, for the third time.

“Right,” Starlight said, turning the giant coin around. “That’s what it says on the back. ‘Mandatory disclaimer: the monarchy won’t let me tell you this is money, even though you can save it, spend it, and what is money anyway? But the government doesn’t want you thinking you could get super-rich investing in Bitcoins, so, legally, this isn’t money, wink.’”

“It actually says, ‘wink,’” Twilight pointed out, lifting a hoof to indicate the offending word.

“Yeah, Trixie wrote the copy. I mean, it’s fine.” Starlight shrugged. “Besides, you don’t want ponies thinking they could get super rich investing in this, right?”

“Because they won’t!”

“Come on,” Rainbow Dash interjected. “Just because you’re not going to YOLO the entire treasury on memecoins doesn’t mean other horses can’t hodl.”

Twilight shut her eyes and lifted her hooves to her temples, attempting to rub away her rapidly developing headache. “Rainbow, say that again using only real words.”

“I’m not sure I can.”

“What about the motto?” Pinkie demanded, pointing at the coin. “That does seem super scammy.”

“Yeah,” Starlight nodded. “Also Trixie, but don’t worry, we’re fixing that in the next update. From now on, it’ll be in pony latin. Illic 'potator natus omni momento.”

“That does somehow seem more respectable.”

“Wait.” Twilight’s head jerked up from the table, eyes flashing open. “What do you mean, the next update?”

Starlight sighed, and prepared to once again run through the same explanation over again. “Look,” she said, reaching up to the enormous coin. She twisted the metal rendition of her own face, revealing the hollow compartment inside the coin. Within that compartment was a ledger, a quill, and a bottle of ink, all of which she produced for the room.

“Bitcoins,” she explained, “aren’t actual coins, they’re a distributed ledger of value. Whenever you want to spend one, you update the ledger to reflect the transaction.” She mimed writing with a quill. “Then send copies of that transaction by mail to every other Bitcoin holder, wait two to four weeks for processing, and once they update their ledgers, the coin is spent.”

“So it’s currency—”

“Legally, not money,” Starlight pointed out, sing-song.

Twilight ground her teeth. “So it’s like currency, except it takes two to four weeks to spend, you have to pay postage every time you use it so there’s huge transaction fees, most places don’t accept it, and you have to lug around a seventy pound ‘coin’ everywhere you go.”

“And the ledger itself is made from the skins of endangered species, yes.”

Fluttershy lifted a hoof, but before she could ask her question, Starlight cut in: “And explaining why the ledger has to be made from endangered species skins would require math.” The hoof went down.

“Starlight, why in Celestia’s name would anypony want this? It seems inferior to regular currency in every way.”

“Some ponies think you can use it to buy drugs or other illegal compounds without the government finding out about it,” Starlight said. “Since no physical coins change hooves, it’s just a ledger, there’s no DNA evidence to follow.”

“But…” Applejack raised a hoof. “Doesn’t the ledger… you know. Record who spent what on what? Like, if Trixie used it to buy drugs, wouldn’t the ledger say, ‘Trixie bought some drugs from Shady Joe?’”

“Yeah. Trixie didn’t really think that part through,” Starlight let out a long sigh and lowered her head. “And I’m trying to get her some help, okay?”

“Wait, I jus’ made that up.” Applejack’s ears perked up. “Is there a real ‘Shady Joe’? And how much does he charge? Because my usual uh…” She glanced at Twilight. “Nevermind.”

“So, other than doing crime badly,” Twilight hissed. “It has no value at all. Is that right?”

“It’s an investment!” Starlight replied, lifting her head and adding an upbeat kick to her voice. “This coin has appreciated in value 10,000% in the last week alone. If you invested in Bitcoins, you too could be rich.”

“And where would that money come from?”

“From other ponies who think it’s a great investment.”

“Starlight,” Twilight’s hoof ground back into her temples. “That’s a ponzi scheme. If the payout from an investment comes from other ponies who think it’s a good investment, it’s a ponzi scheme.”

“Pone-zi scheme,” Pinkie corrected.

“No, it’s artificial scarcity.” Starlight ran her hoof down over the coin. “If everypony could make diamonds whenever they wanted, they’d be worthless. Just shiny rocks. Diamonds are special because they’re rare. Well, Bitcoins are rare. Ponies want them, and there’s only so many to go around, so they appreciate in value. Simple as that.”

“And, why are they rare?”

“I made them rare because I wanted to be super-rich without going to jail for running a ponzi scheme.”

A long silence came over the room. Several of Twilight’s friends coughed.

“What?” Starlight raised an eyebrow. “You told me to stay out of jail.”

“I did, didn’t I?”

“Besides,” Starlight continued. “The concept of artificial scarcity has so many other applications. For instance, last month, I bought Rarity’s entire stock of tophats. Then I created unique Bitcoin like icons, each of which was emblazoned with the image of one of those tophats. Since only so many of these tokens will ever exist, they’re real collectors items! Then I sold them for a million bits and burned the actual tophats to generate buzz.”

“Wait,” Applejack lifted a hoof. “And Rarity went along with this?”

Rarity looked up from her gold-plated smartphone, her latest dress being made entirely out of lustrous pearls and fabric pressed from rare stamps. “Sorry, what was that?”

“Nevermind.”

“But nopony actually ever wore the hats?” Pinkie Pie checked.

“I mean, they had a unique claims ticket to the top-hat. It’s like having the top hat in every way except wearing it. I was thinking of calling them Non-Fabric Tophats, or NF-”

“Stop,” Twilight sat up straight, lifting a hoof. “No. Enough. Enough. You’ve created a ponzi-scheme, which narrowly avoids the legal definition of being a ponzi scheme only by creating artificial scarcity, specifically for your awful pseudo-currency that’s made from endangered species and whose only purpose is to buy drugs and extract wealth from the ponies who trusted you. Give me one good reason why we shouldn’t blast you with the elements of harmony.”

Starlight looked at Rarity. After a moment, she cleared her throat, and Rarity looked up from her phone -- which she had been using to purchase another rental property. “Oh, right. Veto. Elements not assembled… etcetera.”

“Fine,” Twilight growled. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t throw you in the dungeon.”

“Well, you wanted me to be able to pay rent, right?”

“Are you offering to bribe me?” Twilight was aghast. “You think you can just throw some gold at me and I’ll forget about the whole--” A bag clinked. “Wow, that is a lot of money. And you’d pay this every month?”





One day, Twilight had an idea, though Spike had recently misplaced her thesaurus, so it didn’t even occur to her to describe her idea as “gnarly” or “recherché.” It was a good idea though, and it put a lightness in her hooves as she went about her morning routine, chatting with the manticore and his bird friends about life in the Everfree.

“Good morning, Starlight,” Twilight called as she made her way down the palace steps towards the breakfast table. Trixie’s new teeth were made from diamonds, which enabled her to chew the quartz without harm, though Spike still wasn’t sure why she wanted to. “I had an idea today.”

“Another one! And in the same year,” Starlight grinned as she applied syrup to her own pancakes. “You’re on a roll.”

“I am going to tax Bitcoins,” Twilight said, turning up her nose. “It’s high time the holders of these alternate pseudo-currencies paid their fair share.”

Again, she waited for Starlight’s reaction, and again, Starlight said only: “Sure, that seems fair.”

A silence hung over the table.

“Oh.” Starlight dabbed at her face with a napkin. “I don’t hold any of the coins myself, Twilight. I sold my entire reserve ages ago. These days I make most of my money off of transaction fees. You know, managing coins.”

“So…” Twilight hesitated. “Ponies don’t trust the government, but they do trust a mare who lives in the government’s spare room?”

“It’s a funny old world, isn’t it?” Trixie asked.

“Oh. Well.” Twilight poked at her plate, which was as yet bare. “What’s your new… thing, then? What’s the next big thing from Starlight?”

“Well,” she replied, “the concept of artificial scarcity did well with coins, and with hats, so I was thinking about how to make money off of other things being scarce.”

“Like what?”

“Food,” Starlight replied. “Turns out, killing all those endangered species had some pretty serious long-term environmental consequences. So you know. I’m dealing with that now.”

Twilight put her fork down. She stared.

“The hair loops really work for you,” Trixie observed. “You know, Twilight… if you were interested, Starlight and I were going on a date up in the mountains this weekend. You could tag along if you-”

“Trixie, we talked about this.”