Titles include the date and prompt for the contest, and content will vary between contests but will not include any M-rated matter-- those will be posted to their own individual stories, if I post them at all.
I'm taking part in these contests to improve my writing skill; I welcome and invite any and all critique of the content here. Thank you!
Sprout (Nov 10 2020 - "Just breathe, we'll be okay!")
Caramel found that as his tongue dried, his coat suffused with dampness. He was having difficulty talking with his mouth suddenly turning to sandpaper.
Next to him, Applejack giggled, her boyish ‘gahyuk’s which normally melted Caramel doing nothing to him now.
“Are… Are you sure?” Caramel asked, tilting his head as he looked his love in her eyes. The greenness of them distracted him, and he thought of that old saying about grass and the other side. Well, whoever had first said that didn’t know Applejack. No grass was as lustrously green as her eyes.
Applejack gave a small nod, not speaking in an effort to contain the overflowing excitement she held. “Mhm,” was all she could get out, and she looked into Caramel’s eyes.
In the past, when Caramel had looked into his wife’s eyes and compared them to a summer day, he had always wondered what Applejack had thought of his cobalt irises. Right now, though, he was too busy hyperventilating.
“But I thought… you couldn’t… from the working, and, and we had tried for so long, and, we had that huge talk about it, and, well… Really?”
“Yes, Caramel,” Applejack said, her exuberance marred by a small frown. “You ain’t upset, are you? I thought you’d be happy.”
Caramel brought his hooves to Applejack’s cheeks and squeezed them, and brought his nose to hers. “I am beyond happy. This is wonderful news! You’re pregnant! We’re pregnant! Why do they say ‘we’ are? I don’t know but it feels so good to say! I just didn’t think this day would come!”
Applejack’s laughter was distorted by her squished face, and Caramel let her go and pranced around the room. “You’re one silly feller, you know that,” she said.
“Of course I’m silly! That’s why you married me! You’re pregnant! We’re going to have a foal! We’re going to be-” He stopped mid-prance and cartwheeled onto his face. Applejack jumped to him and looked down at him. Her husband was catatonic, on his back, forelegs limp.
“You alright there darlin’?”
“...We’re gonna be parents, AJ.” He was staring a thousand miles off, and did not catch the verdant sheen of her eyes this time. “AJ, we’re gonna be parents. Parents, AJ, parents. Like of a foal, parents, we have to parent, we’ll be parents parenting and-”
His yellow chest began to rise and fall rapidly, the shallow fluttering synced to his flaring nostrils. He felt like he was being choked, but from inside. His lungs were full of molasses and somepony had clearly come along and dropped a bag of rocks onto his ribs.
“Pah, parents… Puh… Guh…” The gleam from his eyes started to dim and Applejack curled up onto the farmhouse floor next to him, wrapping one hoof over his breast and using the other to caress his brown mane.
“Hey, hey, it’s okay. Just breathe, darlin’. With me now, in… and then out… there we go, again…”
Her soft cooing seemed to reach Caramel’s mind from a million miles away and he put all his focus into listening to the apple-scented breath blowing into his ear. After a moment, the panic subsided, and he moved to get back onto his hooves. Applejack flexed and stopped his rise. He squirmed--not with much effort--and found the farmer’s strong leg had clearly affixed him to the floorboards. This gave him comfort.
“Nuh-uh, my caramel sweet,” she giggled, “Lay here with me a moment longer, wouldya?”
Caramel closed his eyes and nodded. His throat was still dry, and he felt that to speak would somehow take away the magic in the country-filly voice that brought him so much comfort and joy. He breathed deep with her again.
“Now, what’n tarnation got into you?” She did not chastise him. She kept her sing-song speech, but could not hold back the tinge of worry she had. “I ain’t seen you act up like that before. Talk to me, hun.”
Caramel swallowed hard. He kept his eyes closed, letting the aroma of dirt and apples replace his vision for now. He was an earth pony, and always had an affinity for earth. Applejack, he found, somehow embodied the earth itself. He supposed that was why he fell in love with her.
That, and her giggle.
“We’re…” He took his time to get it out, feeling the anxiety rise from his stomach, but carried on as it stopped where the warmth of Applejack’s leg touched his heart. “Applejack, we’re going to be parents. Of a foal.”
“That is the usual plan with pregnancies, yup.”
“Are we… Are we ready? I mean, you could probably raise a school of children like a field of hay, all perfect in their own way… Am I ready? I know we had been trying for so long, and I really wanted a foal of our own, but now that it’s actually happening…”
He opened his eyes, and found himself lost in a lush, rolling meadow, but then Applejack blinked and he was back.
“Eventually you won’t be able to do all the farm work, and I try to help out but I know I can’t run the Acres nearly as well as you can, and then what will we do? And what about actually raising them? What if the other colts and fillies won’t talk to them? And what if they won’t talk to the other colts and fillies? What if we parent them too hard? Not hard enough?” Caramel rested his head on the floor, staring at the ceiling now. “What if…”
“Well now,” Applejack huffed with exaggerated indignation. “There’s a lot in that there little rant o’ yours to unpack. First of all, raisin’ children ain’t nothing like running a farm. I pretty much raised Apple Bloom, and it took Granny and Big Mac’s full time help with both the farm and her, and lemme tell you, it still weren’t easy.”
Caramel shirked at her words. The tone was caring and compassionate, but the content of them scared him.
“However,” she said, turning his head back to her. He tripped and fell into her eyes again. “It was tough, yes, but it weren’t impossible. And now I have practice and we are both adults and we both have a group of friends that would travel to the end of the world and back in time and through Tartarus itself to help us if we get stuck.”
Caramel smiled meekly, and the urge to breathe faster than a rabbit subsided. “Of course, you’re right.”
“O’course I am,” she laughed, and stood up, releasing her iron grip on her husband. “We’ll be okay. You hear me? We’ll be okay. Say it back to me now.” She glared at him playfully.
“We’ll be okay.”
“Darn tootin’ we will. Now get up. I need your help.”
“What do you need, dear?” Caramel asked as he got to his hooves. They wobbled slightly, but he stayed on all four.
“I need you to help me figure out where we’ll put the crib.”
There was a thump, and Applejack turned around to find her Caramel sweet, out cold on the floor. She sighed, and lay back down with him.
“I suppose we can wait one more day for that,” she laughed, and laid her head on his chest.
She had been warned of it, extensively trained against it, prepared and armoured against it by a team of psychologists and psychiatrists, and had mastered dealing with it.
But, even before all that, Solstice did not fear loneliness.
It was why she had volunteered for this mission; why she had undergone the intensive and invasive training regimen for it, why she had studied for weeks at a time with no outside contact for it. If anything, she feared being the center of attention, having all eyes on her, the topic of all the gossip.
The irony of her having become the most well-known pony in Equestria specifically for going on the mission was not lost on her. But it was okay. There, all might be speaking of her, discussing how she feels and what she’s doing, critiquing and analyzing every movement and moment of the mare’s trip. But here, she could not hear them, and could not feel their stares.
Solstice was alone, but she was not lonely.
She wondered often what it actually meant to be lonely. Perhaps that was the real reason she had volunteered, she had thought. To learn what it meant to feel disconnected, isolated, out of the reach of any help or love. She pressed a few buttons on a panel and the opposite wall in the tubular room she was in sputtered static before changing as if to glass. She pushed off from where she was and gently floated to the screen, staring out at space in awe, just as she used to do when her father took her outside on full moons and told her Princess Luna’s tale.
Solstice thought back on the lesson her father had tried to teach her; that we must appreciate others lest they, or ourselves, become as lonely as the Nightmare on the distant lunar surface. Her muzzle turned to a small smile, and she glanced back at her supernova cutie mark. She probably would have enjoyed a thousand years by herself.
She would have been alone, but not lonely.
Her thoughts turned outwards as she looked to the galactic arm, framed by her aluminum and plastic home, considering just how truly far she was from anything and everything.
And every one.
Each speck of light a star, each star with its family of gaseous or rocky planets, each planet holding a chance to have a creature, much like her so many years ago, looking up at the solar-freckled sky with a dream of their own.
In public, and in interviews, while she tried her best not to shy away from the cameras and microphones, she had said she volunteered because she wanted to help Equinity reach out and colonize the heavens--a sperm cell, of sorts, on its way to fertilize an egg and birth a new member of the Equestrian family. She said it was about all of them, and for the future of the next thousand generations. She said it was to give the world an opportunity to try again, without the anchors of history and society, to form a world where friendship and happiness were the foundation and status quo, and not an unstable state subject to the whims of ponies and monsters.
But really, she had volunteered for herself. She wanted to be away from everyone. It was not so much that she didn’t like anyone, or society, or anything like that. Solstice just preferred solitude. It was tough to get that, even in a small town like where she grew up, back in Equestria. She could go a day or two without bother but eventually some well-intentioned neighbour would show up with a pie, making sure she was okay.
And so, when the united space agencies of her world put the call out for a pony to die in space, she had volunteered.
She had volunteered to spend the rest of her life in this capsule, waiting a decade before she would even begin the artificial gestation process of one of the hundreds of embryos that had been selected to colonize her ship’s final destination. That embryo would grow into a foal, which she would raise, and teach, and train, and then pass the same responsibility on to. And once that foal became a yearling, ready to run the mission themselves, she would slip into the airlock, let out her last breath, and jettison herself.
Solstice was not afraid of loneliness.
She was wary of the years to be spent with her protégé, but she figured she had done pretty well for herself when surrounded by ponies for most of her life, and that she would fare well with a single guest. It was only five or so years before the education phase would be complete, and then she could pass the rest of eternity in the comfortable emptiness of space.
She turned off the view screen, and the billion lights recorded on the interstellar hard drive were hidden from view by a cold and unloving wall. She pushed off from the wall and floated gently down the length of her capsule towards the cockpit, twirling gracefully in place, laughing as her mane wrapped around her head like spaghetti around a fork. Solstice had never been jealous of pegasi, but as an earth pony now able to fly, she admitted it was definitely a trait her race was missing out on.
She made it to her cockpit and strapped herself into the chair. She did a routine check of all the instruments and lights and, satisfied nothing had changed, just like nothing had over the last year, picked up her comm-unit and gave a report. She listed direction, velocity, readings, oxygen levels, fuel levels, and her vitals, and then switched the speaker off. Her message would take several minutes to reach the control, and several minutes more for the reply, but she didn’t want to hear it. She would read the print out when it came.
For now, she rested her eyes and tapped some keys on a console next to her. She executed her favorite command, and meditated as the computer translated radio signals from the nearest planet and stars into an audio output, breathing deeply to the hum of a gas giant some two lightyears away beneath her.
Solstice was not afraid of loneliness, and she didn’t need to be.
Rogue Retribution (Nov 25 2020 - "Retribution" and music)
Tracker lay in the dark tunnels, giving no heed to either the filth staining his fur, or the blood leaking from it. He had been covered in sewage before, and he had bled before. Such were the lives of members of the Moon Chapter of the Royal Guard. Elite forces, trained to be untraceable in night and invisible in daylight, the silent shadow beneath the kingdom of Equestria that kept the borders safe. Sure, the Elements would be dispatched for world-ending issues; gods and monsters alike that threatened to wipe all life off the planet. But the Moon Chapter was for the civilized races that might threaten the stability of the country.
He pulled out a roll of parchment from his saddle bag, swearing as the movement sent a burning wave through his foreleg. He paid no attention to the words on it--official orders demanding he retire from his post for debriefing--and tore it into strips, before wrapping it tightly around the laceration above his hoof. He watched the paper seep red, and watched the blotch grow slowly until it stopped. Satisfied, he stood up from the biological pool he was sitting in and tested his weight on the hoof.
It hurt like Tartarus, but it didn’t bleed, and Tracker could work with that.
He was used to pain, pain of all kinds. He had suffered frostbite in his ears stopping an abolitionist group from dropping the top of Mount Canterlot onto the castle. He had been gouged in his ribcage by the jagged horn of a changeling. He had even once lost an eye to a stray magic bolt in a fight, though luckily the royal healers were literal miracle workers. Yes, Tracker had suffered a great deal of pain and walked away--or crawled, depending--to eventually fight again.
But Tracker had never felt pain like the week before, when the Lucky Family captured and tortured him and his husband for their role in taking down a filly-trafficking ring. The rest of the Moon Chapter had managed to extract him in time; unfortunately, Clandestine’s habit of pushing his luck and testing other’s patience had led to his unscripted end minutes before the other guards had arrived.
They always knew it was a possibility that one of them would die without the other. Honestly, before the Chapter blasted through that wall, he was content to know that he and Clandestine had spent their last moments--horrible they may have been--together. When love had filled his spare time for so long, now he found only hatred in that void. Hatred at the Chapter, for coming too late for Clandestine. Hatred at them for coming too soon, before he had passed with his love. Hatred at his superiors for refusing to let him serve until he had dealt with his trauma.
None of that compared to the intense and acrid malice he felt towards the Lucky Family, though. He could forgive the Chapter; he knew how they worked and how they made their calls. He could forgive his superiors; he knew that they were absolutely correct. He could not forgive the Family for taking Clandestine away from him.
And so he had left his infirmary. Still bruised from his recent beating, he grabbed any supplies he could take without setting alarms off, and set out into the darkness to do what he did best; tracking vermin.
He knew where the Family’s bunker was, and he knew they would be there, what with their mansion in Canterlot compromised. He knew there was an old sewer that dumped off the back face of the mountain that led to it. He knew there would be guards. He looked down at his bandaged hoof, and through his anger came a sob.
Clandestine was so much better on insertion jobs than he. Tracker would find the place, or the perps, and Clandestine would get in and sabotage and distract until the rest of the Chapter could get in with the least casualties. He didn’t have that now, and though he had managed to sneak on top of the sewer entrance and drop down on the two unsuspecting unicorns, he was still a lone earth pony.
Well, a little bit of magical burns weren’t going to stop him though. Those two cousins of the Family were now resting somewhere at the base of the mountain. He didn’t know when their shift change would be, if there was one, but he suspected eventually somepony would notice they were missing, and so he carried on.
He glanced around a corner and then trotted purposefully around it, heading towards the large metal door at the end of the tunnel. Beyond it was a mystery. He didn’t know the layout of the bunker, nor where any of the Family would be. He did know that Whinnie and Buttercup, along with their father Haddock, would be inside.
Haddock had ordered the hit. Whinnie and Buttercup had killed Clandestine.
Tracker closed his eyes, breathing deeply in spite of the rank stench around him. It didn’t matter how careless he was here. He was focused on those three. Anyone else who got in his way was a bonus, but he wouldn’t go out of his way to put them there. He didn’t expect to get out of this alive but, he didn’t expect to be alive without Clandestine either.
Would Desty do the same for me?
The thought forced him to pause with his hoof right before the door.
He smiled. Without a doubt.
Tracker wrenched the door open and then bucked, launching himself into the room. At the back end of the room, two unicorns were playing poker at a table, and they didn’t even look up at the commotion.
“Ehh, Bucksy, you can piss off the cliff. No more breaks until shif-” the first pony got out before Tracker’s damaged hoof collided with his horn, bringing the unicorn’s head down to the wall and chipping the tip on the stone. Before his scream got out, Tracker was already spinning around, pivoting his body on the horn to swing his rear hooves into the head of the other. The first pony’s cry was cut short as Tracker jumped off, slamming his head into the table and knocking him out.
A cacophony came from the next room over, as muffled shouts and the scrapes of moving furniture issued from the closed wooden door. Tracker wasted no time, grabbing the second unicorn right as a neon-red glow from his horn reached its apex, and deftly twisting his neck to aim the magic bolt.
The door exploded as the unicorn dropped limp, and with it came old concrete and stone from the roof around the frame. Dirt and dust filled the room, and Tracker allowed himself a smile. This was his element. He moved through the cloud and pressed himself against the wall next to the door, waiting.
There were more shouts, ones that Tracker could almost make out past the ringing in his ears from the magical blast, but he didn’t care about what they were saying. He had heard Whinnie’s telltale nasally voice right next to the door, and he simply squinted his eyes from the dust and waited.
“Alright, you muthabukin’ narc. Come out and fight like a stal-”
You all talk too much, Tracker thought, reaching out as the shadow of a gangly unicorn moved into his field of vision. He wrapped his forelegs around Whinnie’s head and shot his hindlegs out, right into his foe’s own. Tracker dropped to his back and heard a number of sickening pops as Whinnie’s knees gave under the torsion.
“Auugh, you sick buck!” Whinnie screamed, and Tracker rolled forward back on to his hooves, placed them on the fallen unicorn’s head, and jumped.
The dirt had settled enough that Haddock, dressed to the nines in a suit and tie and standing at the back of the second room, could witness the end of his son. Tracker turned to him with bloodlust in his eyes, but he blinked in confusion. Haddock was smiling.
Around him were twelve other unicorns, all charging those bright red bolts around their horns, but though Tracker was paused in front of them, they did not shoot.
“Go on then, Haddock! I’d say we’re even now, though I was planning on saying hello to Buttercup before I left.”
“Normally, Tracker, I would disagree with you. Today is different. Come here and sit down.”
“Just kill me, you old ass.”
“Not until you sit down. I’d like to talk.”
Tracker looked down at the bleeding stallion underneath him, musing at the complete lack of empathy Haddock had displayed. He supposed that was why he ran a criminal empire. He looked back up at the fancy pony and his entourage.
“...Fine.”
He got up and moved slowly, wary of the sparking bullets ready to cut into him at any moment, and sat down on the side of a chair that had been knocked sideways.
“Alright, Haddock, you want your final villainous monologue. Get it over with. I’m tired.”
“I didn’t order the hit.”
“Bullshit.” Tracker spat, glaring at the Don before him. All the Chapter’s recon they got showed that it came from him.
“I always told Buttercup and Whinnie to stay out of moving ponies. Gambling, racketeering, bootlegging, that’s the safe money. But they wanted to get bits quick, and so they did it anyways. So when the Chapter took down that portion of my business, suffice to say I was happy.”
Tracker said nothing, simply giving Haddock his evil eye. They were not, and had never been, friends, and so he wasn’t taking anything Haddock said at face value.
“Buttercup wanted me to strike back, and I refused. He sent the hit out, forging my hoofprint. He’s not here, Tracker. Look around; this is it for us right now.”
“So you get in a little spat and your two in line for succession are suddenly expendable?”
“Any business of quality doesn’t allow vice-presidents to do whatever the Tartarus they want. I have tried my whole life to teach my colts about consequences. I think you’ll be a good tutor in this regard.”
“So the reason you haven’t killed me yet…”
“Is because I want you to hunt down and kill Buttercup, yes.”
“What do I get out of it? You can’t give me anything that I want,” Tracker said, his deep voice cracking as he thought of Clandestine.
“Find and take out Buttercup, and I’ll fight you one-on-one, no magic, no backups. You either take down the Lucky Family, or join your beloved.”
Tracker closed his eyes, sighing. After his whole life of fighting crime, here he was, negotiating with a mafia. Well, finding Buttercup was likely to be just as deadly as fighting Haddock. He knew that Haddock had gotten his position as head of the empire via blood, but it wasn’t his blood. That just made it all the more likely he’d soon be with Clandestine again. He spit onto the fancy rug again and opened his eyes.
It was one of the nicest nights that Applejack could remember having all summer. There were no clouds in the sky, and the absence of those fluffy blankets had allowed not only a gorgeous view of the moon and all the stars around her, but for the rolling meadows to cool somewhat from the ridiculously hot day.
There was still some residual heat in the hills, though, and despite the slight chill in the even slighter breeze, she found herself perfectly comfortable. She breathed in deeply, relishing the scent of warm grass mixed with the cool night air. She exhaled slowly and then took another deep breath, and smiled even further when she caught the scent of apple pie coming out from the basket Conforme had brought.
She felt it was unusual to have a picnic at midnight, though Conforme was not a usual pony. He wasn’t even a pony, even; he was a Changeling, one who had approached Applejack three years ago and asked her to teach him to be honest. She chuckled at the thought; she was furious back then, but now… Well, they had spent a lot of time together with their lessons. How to love himself, he had asked. How to be okay with who he was, to stop lying, to stop hiding.
Well, she had taught him how to love himself and be honest about who he was, no matter the consequences. If she had to be honest with herself--as she usually was--she would have to say that she had learned to love this strange little creature just as much. And so, even though it was not something she would have considered or suggested, when Conforme asked if she’d like to picnic under the moon, she had accepted immediately.
And what a good idea it had been, she thought, spreading out the stereotypically plaid picnic blanket on the top of the hill. It was nice to be away from the farm and the claustrophobic oaks that she loved so much. A change of pace, she realized, was what Conforme had brought to her life. Something different than the rut of waking up, bucking trees, going to market, cooking supper, and going to bed she had found herself in. Sure, saving the world every six months had brought variety into her routine, but to be frank she was tired of having to risk her life all the time for it. Conforme had brought change, as a Changeling is apt to do, and even though she was cold and unforgiving with him at first she had still been grateful for something different to do.
What had changed her perspective on her bug-eyed companion was his effort. She told him he couldn’t stay on the farm; and so he slept in Everfree Forest. She told him to stop imitating her friends, and her neighbours, and though it had terrified him he dropped his disguises. She watched as he was abused by the ponies of the town when he walked to her farm every Saturday morning for his next lesson, and though the nightmares he had shared with Applejack were being lived right in front of her, he did not hide, just as she instructed.
Eventually she had felt bad, and let him stay in the barn. And then eventually she let him stay in the house. And then, eventually, she let him stay in her room.
She looked him over as he pulled various dishes out of the basket and arranged them on the blanket, and she considered how ponies change over time. When she was a foal, she hated tea, yet now she made it frequently on colder days. Three years ago she had hated insects, and despised Changelings especially. Now, watching Conforme’s wings buzz in excitement as he pulled the apple pie out, she found his chitinous features endearing. His long, forked tongue sniffed at the air, and while a younger Applejack would have retched, she only giggled.
He looked up at her laugh and blushed, a strange red shine through his black cheeks.
“Do ya need a hoof with the food, Con?” she asked him, noting that he had moved nervously when he looked at her. It was the type of jittery movement she had seen when they visited friends he had not been introduced to yet, one she had seen for the first few months of their lessons, and she wondered what had caused him anxiety here on this quiet hilltop.
“No! No, thank you, it’s fine, all fine, I have it, please relax!” He forced a smile to stop himself from continuing to blather.
Applejack squinted at him. “Are ya sure you’re alright, sugarcube?”
He dipped his head, knowing he could not lie to her. “Y-yeah. I just really want this to be a lovely stress-free night for you… That’s why I didn’t let you help me bake the pie this time. It won’t be as good as you make them but I think it’s edible…”
Her heart warmed, alleviating her suspicions. “I’m sure it’ll be just fine, Con. Granny Smith helped you, right?”
He laughed, nodding. “She’s a good teacher, like you, Applejack. Maybe a bit less forgiving.” He stuck his tongue out, not to sniff the air, but to tease her.
“She’s got character.”
“She threatened to squash me with a rolling pin if I overworked the dough.”
“And did you ya overwork the dough?”
He smiled, sitting down next to the plates of snacks and tapping the blanket for Applejack to join him. “I sure didn’t.”
She dropped down, kicking her legs out to the side and resting against Conforme. Something that had taken a lot of getting used to was the fact he didn’t control his own body temperature, but she knew now that his room-temperature shell would quickly come to match hers. His wings buzzed involuntarily at her touch.
She grabbed the bowl of salted flower petals and snacked on them. She lifted the bowl up to Conforme, who grabbed one, and chewed it slowly. Together, in the darkness, they laid silently. Applejack munched on the food that had been brought up, and after half an hour of watching the stars rotate across the sky she craned her neck towards her tired companion and spoke.
“Now I know y’all don’t need to eat, but I’ve seen you eat plenty to be polite at our gatherings before. Ya still nervous about this night going alright?” She studied his unblinking eyes, noticing again that he was avoiding looking at her. “Ya can relax, Con. This was a wonderful idea. But ya should eat! I can’t eat all of this food myself.”
“...Applejack.”
She turned over, looking at him in concern. His tone was not playful, nor anxious, but serious. He shuffled over to face her, and grabbed her hooves in his.
“...Conforme?”
“I’ve been trying to figure out how to say this for the longest time, and finally came up with the words and practiced them over and over but I just now realized that I don’t need any of that because I can put it so much simpler now, thanks to you, as always.” He spoke fast, but his tone started to warm up again when he finished.
Applejack didn’t reply, and instead simply stared at the changeling curiously.
“Applejack… I always feel full whenever I’m with you.”
“Oh?” she said, before it hit her. “Oh. Oh.”
His right hoof let go of hers and dug blindly through the picnic basket beside him, though he kept his multifaceted eyes locked on hers. A moment later, he smiled, and pulled a necklace out with a diamond ring on it.
“Will you marry me, Applejack?”
Her eyes filled with tears as her cheeks puffed up in the greatest smile she had ever worn, and she jumped forward and hugged Conforme hard enough he felt she might squish him.
“Yes, yes, of course! Oh, Conforme,” she said, unrelenting in her embrace.
She felt him kiss her shoulder and a new wave of tears came. Finally, she released him, and then pulled him forward and kissed him hard, giggling at his shock at the sudden smooch. She hugged him again, gentler now, resting her head on his shoulder, and whispering.
“About time, you silly beetle,” she said, and he laughed. They dropped down to their sides, still holding each other, and whispered and tittered at each other.
The apple pie cooled as the moon crept towards the horizon, but the couple continued to hold each other, falling asleep, content with love alone.
A Failure is Only a Setback (Jan 26 2021, "Rejection")
Sweet Pepper sniffed into her cocoa, oblivious to the world around her. A single teardrop rolled down her burgundy nose and dropped down into the rapidly cooling beverage, denting the huge stack of whipped cream that made drinking with a clean muzzle impossible. She looked down with bleary eyes, watching as the multicoloured sprinkles smeared and blotched with every blink, and then sniffed again.
Clean Rag, the owner of the little diner in Canterlot that Sweet Pepper found herself in, walked up to the pegasus and placed a plate down in front of her, before sitting down herself across the table.
Sweet Pepper ran a hoof over her eyes, mopping up the ick as best she could to see what it was Clean Rag had given her. Before her was a chocolate cream pie, with yet another stack of whipped cream that threatened to collapse like an ancient tower built on unstable foundation. Sweet Pepper sobbed once, letting the hint of a pained smile crack through her trembling muzzle.
“No charge, Sweetie. I ain’t ever seen no one cry into a cocoa before, so it’s gotta be rough. Eat first, then let’s talk.”
Sweet Pepper muttered a raspy “uh-huh” before swiping her long and messy orange mane out of her eyes. She tried to smile harder at Clean Rag, though her sky-blue eyes were strained red and complained at the movement. Picking up a fork, she took a piece of the pie with as much of the cream as she could manage and shakily brought it to her mouth.
She chewed, an act entirely unnecessary seeing as it was a cream pie, but took a long minute to savor the bitter milky chocolate and sweetly complementing pastry. It was good, and after she swallowed, she leaned back and met Clean Rag’s worried gaze.
“Helps, don’t it?” Clean Rag said consolingly. “I’ve never seen you like this. What happened?”
“They uh… they rejected it,” Sweet Pepper said, dropping her gaze back to her cup of cocoa. She picked up a spoon and started stirring it, mixing the cream in absentmindedly. “After… after all of last year and this winter, all the… the research and writing… They sent it back. Flat no.” A sob came out of her like a hiccup, and she finally picked up the warm mug and drank deeply from it, leaving a white cream mustache to dry on her nose. “No mentions of rewrites, or minor changes, or uh... I uh… I can’t reapply.”
Clean Rag reached across the table and held Sweet Pepper’s hooves in her own, pressing them together on the mug. “Oh, Sweetie, your fan club? That was what you were writing for in here every Sunday, right?”
“Mmhmm,” Sweet Pepper replied, gently tugging one foreleg before leaving it in the embrace and wiping her eyes again with a wingtip. “It was actually, uh, it was for the publisher. Looking for ghostwriters for the Daring Do series.”
A frown creased the unicorn’s brow. “Now I know you’re a fantastic writer, Sweetie! The bits you’ve shared with me, the effort you went into writing and rewriting just to get each paragraph right, the nights you’ve spent here, writing furiously until we closed…”
“And none of it mattered,” Sweet Pepper cried, before breaking out into a new fit of sobs and sniffs. Clean Rag waited a moment for the pegasus to catch her breath, and then gently lifted her hooves with the mug still held. Sweet Pepper took her cue, and drank again from the cup, draining it. “Not one bit,” she continued hoarsely. “I love that series so much, Ms. Rag, I do, I live it and breathe it and dress it. I’ve taken so much of them and put that into myself. Those books are part of me, but…”
She trailed off, bringing her head up to look out the window at the drifting flakes. A dirty slush had started to build up on the sidewalks, a symptom of a city winter that had overstayed its welcome. The world outside was grey, muffled, cold. Sweet Pepper felt much the same.
“But I can never be part of them, Ms. Rag.”
“Well, Sweetie, I reckon that’d be a mighty large waste of your talent.”
“...Excuse me?”
“You’re a good writer. A darn good one, Sweetie. And I’ll tell you, those publisher executives couldn’t tell a good story from an Earth pony’s fart. I think you went and wrote a book that was too well written.”
Sweet Pepper managed a more believable laugh, but her grief had only been replaced with confusion. “Ms. Rag, I don’t understand. They rejected me.”
“Because they knew if they published your book, all their other ones would look bad by comparison, and their other ghost writers would be out of a job. You don’t need them, Sweetie. You’ve got yourself, and your passion. In fact, I’m so sure’a it, I’m gonna make you a bet right here and now.”
Sweet Pepper shook her head, taken aback. “Oh, no, I really couldn-”
“I bet you, Sweet Pepper, that you’re gonna write a best seller of your own, under your own name, by this time next year. And if I win that bet, you owe me for that pie there. If I lose, well, I suppose you’ll have to live with the fact that you conned a pie outta me.” She held a hoof out, beaming wildly at the bewildered pegasus.
Sweet Pepper looked at the offered hoof and, after cleaning her face one final time with a napkin, nodded with determination and shook.
“On one condition though, Ms. Rag,” she said while shaking.
“Oh?”
“You let me order one more cocoa before you close.”
“I think,” the unicorn said, returning Sweet Pepper’s weak smile with her own signature grin, “that can be arranged.”
Luna breathed in deeply, relishing in the light saline scent that touched her nose with every crash of waves upon the shore before her. She stretched out on her beach chair, extending her forehooves up until a light trill of cracks emitted from between her wings, and she relaxed with a hearty sigh.
This was a wonderful idea, she decided, magicking a wonky looking glass over to her face without looking. Her eyes were closed, shielded behind sunglasses, and she clumsily smacked her lips about until she found the elusive curly straw, then slurped up a cool mouthful of the icy coconut drink.
She took a moment to savor the pineapple aftertaste of her beverage, and while doing so she cleared her mind and listened. Wind gently teased palm leaves behind her, their thick foliage hissing quietly as if a symphonic band of snakes had gathered just to play their song for her. Accompanying the soothing shatter of the lapping waves, there would be another hint of misty salt water to coat her freckles and tickle her nose.
Her indigo coat baked in the noon sun, and in the blanket of warmth Luna suspected she might be hot enough to fry daisies on. She opened an eye and glanced off to her right, where a pegasus stallion was also laying back on a beach chair, sipping silently from a wide-brimmed glass filled with a mint green slush. The royal guard had shed his galea in favor of a tacky straw hat--picked up from a beach vendor for far too many bits--that covered his two-toned blue mane. A smile touched Luna’s face as she looked, thinking about her circumstances. She definitely felt hot, and while her companion might use a more sensitive or elaborate phrasing, she knew he would agree. Not about the ambient temperature, of course.
She laughed, very quietly. It was hardly more than a giggle, comically close to a ‘teehee’ even, but the guard’s head turned at the sound, and he beamed at her.
“Something you find humorous, your Highness?”
Luna took a large gulp from her drink while she laid her head back down. “I was just thinking about how upset Sister would be with this whole scenario.”
The guard’s face creased with embarrassment before changing to one of stoicism. “Well, Princess, a vacation is not unheard of. Princess Celestia herself had taken a couple vacations even whilst you were gone, I’m told. Equestria is well protected and well organized to survive a week or two without the entirety of its leadership.” He nodded stoutly, the emphasis diminished by his straw hat sliding forward to cover his teal eyes.
“Certainly, Vigilant, this is all very well and good, but as I understand it Sister usually gave the staff and government adequate notice. We just, rather abruptly I might add, left.”
Vigilant reset his hat, sipped from his margarita, and then set it down on the blindingly white sand. “This is true, your Highness. But seeing as I have not seen any bands of roaming guards, or sudden appearances of Princess Celestia’s protege with her friends, I suspect she isn’t too upset.”
“Well,” Luna scoffed playfully, “she would only have herself to blame if she was. She was always telling me that I needed to get out more often.”
“Not to be pedantic with you, your Highness, but I believe she meant taking care of public appearances more often.”
“Nonsense. She would have said as such. But you are correct, Vigilant. If she were indeed upset or worried, we would have been swarmed already. There isn’t anything for her to worry about, anyways. I do have a guard with me, of course.”
“Also true!” Vigilant perked up, his hat dropping down again. He laughed and lifted it back up. “Although she might be upset about the fact that you stole me from her personal guard.”
Luna smiled deviantly at the sky, but did not reply. She did indeed take one of Celestia’s guards. She sucked at the curly straw one more time, absentmindedly drinking until the telltale slurps and pops of an empty glass told her she had finished it. She blinked slowly, and while her eyes were closed she felt a wave of looseness and freedom drape over her. It was a gentle thing, more a hint than anything, as if she was on the shore and being lapped at by the ocean itself.
“Princess Luna?”
“Mmm?”
“I was actually wondering about that,” he said, turning from his back onto his side. He propped his head up with a hoof, looking quizzically at the midnight mare. “Please don’t mistake this for me questioning anything, o-of course! I am a member of the Royal Guard and respond obediently to any order from the Crown, you have as much authority over me as Princess Celestia, no, definitely not anyth-”
Luna held up a hoof, and Vigilant stopped speaking. He cringed just a little, and gave an awkward smile, which Luna replied to with a warm grin of her own.
“...Sorry,” Vigilant continued. “I just meant, why myself, Princess? You have your own personal guard, and having trained alongside them, those ponies are just as dedicated and talented as myself. It could have been any of them. I hope it’s not something personal between you and your sister…?”
He left the question hanging, taking the time Luna took to reply to grab his drink and swirl it, breaking up the frozen chunks into the rest of the melted slush. When he looked back up at her, she was grinning with a squint that told much of a playful nature very few knew she possessed.
“Vigilant, you know I see dreams. It is one of my major responsibilities.”
He gulped hard and rolled onto his back quickly, staring up. His coat was already lightly damp from the sweltering heat, but he felt a new wave of moisture roll over him. He could feel the fabric of his beach chair starting to pool with sweat.
“W-well, your Highness, I uh, I had hoped, that is to say I didn’t expect rather, that--” he stopped stammering, and then looked at her helplessly. “Do you see everypony’s dreams?”
Luna stood up from her chair and approached the white stallion, who looked away nervously as she approached.
“Fear not, Vigilant. First I must make clear. I do see all dreams, but not all at once. I have access to any one currently happening, and it is up to me to identify and respond to damaging nightmares. It was quite by chance I came across yours on a slow night.
“Secondly,” she said, reaching his chair and turning his head back to meet her eyes with a caressing hoof, “I take no offense for the contents of any pony’s dreams. Nopony produces them at their own will. They are a byproduct of our lives and goals, our most fantastic hopes and paralyzing fears, facets of our subconscious that we must confront and understand. We dream to fight the ‘us’ we wish not to be, and to learn from the ‘us’ we desire to embody.”
She leaned down, paused, smacked the stupid hat off his head with a flash of magic, and then kissed Vigilant lightly. His eyes snapped open wide when her muzzle touched his, but a second later he closed them, and pressed back with his own kiss. They stayed connected for a moment, the tropical beach around them seeming to take advantage of this break in conversation to assert its presence with a gust of wind that shook the palm trees like tambourines and pushed the waves onto the sand together like cymbals. When Luna finally broke the kiss and swayed back to her chair, Vigilant looked on after her, looking pleasantly dizzy.
“...Princess,” he whispered.
“Hmm?” Luna replied with a giggle.
“Is this one of my dreams?”
Her reply came in the form of a mirthful chuckle, and then a sigh. “No, Vigilant. I apologize, of course,” she said while rolling onto her side to face him. “I did not pry on your dreams any longer than was required to make sure they were safe. Suffice to say I learned much from but a glance.”
He blushed hard, but she continued speaking.
“I did not wish to be forward about the reason for this impromptu vacation before we left, either. I did need to get out; as you said, Sister and I both are due time off on occasion. But nights can be lonely, Vigilant, and I found myself needing companionship. Even in dreams I could see the respect you held, respect contained in the most core of your being. Having spent this time with you, I feel confident now to say that the care you put into your training and responsibilities is the same you put into sharing time with others who matter to you.”
She shuffled back up her chair, teleporting a brand new frozen drink from the distant beach bar to in front of her, and took a light sip.
“And you’re adorable,” she concluded.
Vigilant didn’t respond. He didn’t need to. The phantom touch of Luna’s lips were still on his mouth, and rather than risk losing the feeling he had long since hoped for since he first signed up to the Guard, he simply closed his eyes and smiled.
The sun had moved from right above them and was starting to trend towards the ocean, though it’s intense rays still cooked the beach they lay on. Somehow, Vigilant found--amongst the crashes of waves and hissing of leaves--the world had become more crisp and vibrant, a louder and more beautiful place.
“You aren’t upset, are you?” Luna asked, with a hair of apprehension breaking through her youthful voice.
“Princess, as I’m sure you’re aware,” Vigilant finally replied, opening his eyes to give a deviant look much like ones he had seen from her, “this is quite literally something I have always dreamed about.”
Princess Celestia and Princess Luna Are Caught Attempting to Steal From a Bakery (Feb 9 2021, "Failed Heist")
Celestia looked over at Luna, her face incredulous. Her sister was next to her, tucked down as far as she could get behind the dumpster that separated the two of them from the alley exit.
“Luna.”
“Well? Do you?” She looked up at Celestia and offered a cringing smile.
“Luna we’re six hooves taller than most of these ponies.”
“Some ponies say you blend in the most if you don’t pretend to be the same as everypony else.”
“Luna we are Princesses of course they saw us.”
“Shoot,” she sighed, before snapping her back to the wall quickly as a dozen pounding hooves echoed from the street beyond. “Well, you don’t have to be so snippy about this. This was your idea, anyways, Sister. I hardly even like those cakes.”
Celestia recoiled as if Luna had struck her. “How can anypony not like Cakerlot Cakes’ brand cakes? I cake bel— sorry, I can’t believe it. They’re practically addicting.”
“Only to you,” Luna grumbled. “We should maybe get out of here before they come back. Although I do wonder how you plan to explain this.”
“I was thinking we wouldn’t get caught, and I wouldn’t have to explain it. Would you be willing to take the fall for me?”
“What.”
“Just like, say you were upset about the whole moon thing. Wanted to frame me.”
“I am not taking the blame for you destroying those cakes. If you loved them so much, why did you knock the shelves over and smash them?” She sniffed, craning her neck to check the street behind Celestia. “We’re really exposed on that side. You should leave.”
“I didn’t mean to! There was a particular espresso creme-filled caramel-coated three-tier on the fourth shelf, and I didn’t think the shelves wouldn’t be bolted down, and—Wait, I should? You mean we?”
“No, I mean you. Either they’ll spot and follow you, and I’ll be free to go home and pretend I was sleeping; or they’ll notice me and you can get away while they chase me.”
“That’s awful kind of you.”
“I’m going to tell them that you forced me to help you at hornpoint.”
“That’s awful of you.”
“What possessed you to rob a bakery, anyways? It’s not like the royal stipend couldn’t afford it.”
“They increased the prices on me.”
Luna was quiet for a long moment while she stared blankly into Celestia’s eyes. Celestia tried a coy smile, but Luna’s judging, stoic glare remained. Celestia added a head tilt to the smile and fluttered her eyelashes.
“I am not one of your harem ponies. Stop this ridiculousness.” Luna rolled her eyes. “They increased the price and your first instinct was to rob them,” she said, sighing.
“It was robbery on their end first! They doubled the price after an article came out that I liked them! And they wouldn’t give me a discount for giving them all the free advertisement, either,” Celestia said, splaying her lower legs out and pouting.
“I… see,” Luna said, still judging her sister as harshly as she could.
“Hey! They’re over here!”
The two alicorns leapt up from their collapsed positions into the air in fright, each staring at the exit to their side of the alley. Both of them were suddenly packed with a dozen ponies and even a couple guards.
“Halt! You’re under arrest for breaking and entry, and impersonating the Crown!”
Luna and Celestia blinked, and then looked at each other with devious grins.
“Changelings rule, ponies drool!” they both shouted, flapping their wings hard and rocketing off in different directions. They cackled together as they flipped and rolled around the cracks of magic that shot past them, some missing them by a feather’s width.
“I’ll see you at the Cast— er, the Hiiiiiveeee!” Luna shouted before diving and following up with a gleeful yell as she skimmed one of the groups of officers, diverting their fire from Celestia.
“Buzz buzz, Sister dear,” Celestia replied, zig-zagging her way wildly off into the night, heading towards the edge of Canterlot Mountain. As she left the guard’s range of fire, she let out a deep sigh. They had their fun, and they had their excuse.
It certainly wasn’t the type of event that Fiddlesticks had ever expected to find herself playing at, but she was glad for the chance regardless. She had nothing against her usual fare of damp fields or musty barns—if anything she loved the comfortable sense of home their familiarity brought her—but she couldn’t deny that here was a step above.
She breathed in deeply, relishing the scent of the lotus flowers dotted about the garden. Behind her, the cool stonework of Canterlot Castle kept her back warm as it radiated away the last of the day’s heat. The garden she sat at the entrance to was bustling with socialites and court attendees, all dressed regally in either traditional suits or fancy silken dresses that shone with exotic and foreign elegance. She smiled, drawing the bow back on her instrument, relishing in the irony that must have persisted about her. Here she was, surrounded by the highest Equestrian royalty at the most prestigious of stages she had ever known, wearing her green jerkin and white stetson.
If any of the others felt offended by her outfit, none felt strongly enough to mention anything. She suppressed a string as she sawed slowly, and looked up at the night sky as she did so. How accepting the ponies of this kingdom could be! It might have only been because she was the only pony they could find that knew how to play an erhu, but she appreciated the respect afforded her all the same. Jamming on a fiddle for bits might be thrilling, but at the end of the day, covering fancy events made much of her low-income lifestyle unburdensome.
And what an end of the day it was! Above the tall hedges that partitioned the paper lantern-lit patio was a brilliant moonrise, illuminating the terrace with delicate shades of blues that seemed to marry the green bushes and trees as if they had been in love for a lifetime. Behind Luna’s glory were millions of stars, twinkling as strong as she had ever seen. She breathed in again, this time taking in not the scent of lotuses but the cooling air itself.
She could get used to night time playing, she decided, closing her eyes and leaning in to her movements as her hooves glided across the erhu. The notes echoed around the garden, calling a haunted tune Fiddlesticks recalled from her youth and adapted on the fly from her experience. She stayed like that for a while—for how long she couldn’t tell—rocking gently with her movements and simply living in the music and the expression and the comforting blanket of shadow that had descended upon the land.
When she finally finished her song and opened her eyes, she was surprised to find a single pony laying in the grass before her. Her jaw dropped in awe and adoration, shocked as she realized that the dark mare before her was none other than Princess Luna herself.
She was laying silent, her hooves tucked underneath her and her own eyes closed, lighting the alcove Fiddlesticks played in with a dim glow of her horn. As the silence persisted, a single eyelid slipped open, and as Fiddlestick’s grey eyes locked with Luna’s, she felt her heart skip a single beat.
“That was lovely, child,” Luna said, closing her eye again. “I felt drawn by a strong sense of compassion to this corner, and was compelled to stay by the beautiful melody that filled it.”
“I-I’m honoured, Princess,” Fiddlesticks gasped, struggling to bow around her instrument. “I uh, that song was, well,”
“Would you play me another?” Luna interrupted, ending her question with a sly smile.
Fiddlesticks cut off her rambling and tucked her head down, pretending to adjust the tuning to keep her welling eyes from being visible. “Of course, your Highness,” she said, blushing.
She took a deep breath, raised her head, and readied her bow. She looked once to the moon above, and then to the pony below, and then shut her eyes again and began to play.
Rainbow Dash hovered in the air, legs set and breathing steady. A dark bandage covered her eyes, blocking all light. She was surrounded by enemies, by targets, a hundred threats that could come at her from any direction at any time. Her jaw was set, the pegasus resolute in her abilities. She inhaled deeply, and held the pressure in her lungs.
She felt a cool breeze of wind tickle her underside, and with it came the carried sound of rustling leaves, and nothing else.
They were close. She could feel it. As the captured breath escaped her mouth slowly she emptied all her thoughts along with it, clearing her mind entirely, leaving nothing but detached observation.
Another breeze. Another rustle. Different this time, though. She didn’t think about it, only accepted it.
Rainbow Dash smirked.
“HYAAAAH!”
Wings slammed shut to her side. Gravity instantly clutched at her and wrenched her down, and she rotated with the force before flaring her wings out and catching the next breeze, which carried her forward faster than she could have on her own.
A twisting of her body reverted her positioning, and she bucked with the smooth movement. Hoof met solid surface and there was a loud and ungodly crack that echoed in her brain. With the tension against her target lost, she flipped, spiralling a vertical three-sixty to swing her hoof down onto the next enemy. It was not so hard this time—her hoof connected, continued, completed; she knew from the spray of chunky and wet material that shot up the inside of her leg.
The act had been forgotten before she even finished it. Two were down, but hundreds remained. Blind flight was difficult but each other sense was given extra care, extra attention, the entirety of her consciousness given way to let her subconsciousness process and order.
Legs spun, targeted, connected.
Limbs cracked, splintered, snapped.
Wings beat, stalled, contorted.
Targets collided, dropped, and burst.
Ears listened, twitched, surveyed.
Each breath controlled and focused, in, out, again, over and over.
She would flit and twirl and race and dive and stop, exposing her body to intense bouts of torsion as she converted all her forward momentum into a single spinning leg that never missed its mark.
Another smirk touched her muzzle. She was winning. Despite the deafening silence of her foes, their dwindling numbers were reported with the breeze, the change in shuffling leaves betraying every one of them their location to Rainbow Dash. Soon she would be done with this inglorious deed, and there would be nothing left to do but land and catch her breath.
She rose high in the sky, following the warmth on her face from the afternoon sun, and froze high above the battlefield.
With bent knee one hindleg rose and crossed over the other.
Wings flapped hard once, keeping her afloat.
Forelegs extended out against her spread feathers, and then returned in, hugging her heart.
Wings closed.
She started spinning, falling, a cyan pegasus drilling through the sky with the aid of the entire earth’s pull, accelerating in both descent and rotation, close now, almost time—
“Rainbow Dash!”
“Whuagh!” Dash yelled, flaring her wings out. Her momentum had nowhere to go, though, and instead she felt nauseous as the fluids in her body continued while she did not. After a moment, when the blood had settled and she was breathing again, she pulled the blindfold off and looked down.
“What,” Applejack started, staring directly up at her wife with fury, “have you done to my orchard?”
“Our orchard,” Dash replied, trying to see if any of the incredulous passion in the earth pony’s eyes was of romantic origins. When Applejack’s eye twitched, Dash knew there was none.
“Wh… Jus’ w… our… I…” Applejack blustered, staring up at Rainbow, who was hovering with her legs still crossed. “You destroy a quarter acre of trees and have the nerve to suggest it’s yours—”
“Uh, yes.”
She stopped mid sentence, so lost for words a forehoof pounded into the dirt in their stead. The twitching eyes stayed locked on Rainbow Dash’s, and for a long moment, there was silence.
A cool breeze wafted by.
“Why.”
“Well,” Dash started, rubbing her neck, “You said this field was all messed up with worms and rot, and they needed to be cleared. And, well, I wanted practice fighting. In case you or our friends needed help.” She looked down, noticing the chaos of broken tree branches and exploded apples. It occurred to her that one could easily be convinced a tornado had passed by the area. “I guess I got a little carried away, though.”
Applejack dropped to her haunches and huffed. She jabbed a hoof towards the ground next to her. “Down. Now.”
A fluttering of feathers later, and Dash was sitting next to her wife feeling very much like a foal called to the principal's office. Her hundred of imaginary threats had been nothing to her, but the angry silence from Applejack was terrifying.
They sat together quietly, the only noises their breathing, the rustling of leaves, and Dash’s pounding anxious heart.
With a final heavy sigh, Applejack leaned over slightly onto Rainbow Dash.
“I’m sorry I got mad,” she said, her eyes smiling as Dash leaned back into her. “I forgot we still had to deal with that when I saw all the flying branches and apples. But one’a them hit me, Rainbow.”
Dash’s eyes shot open wide, and she quickly enveloped Applejack in a full body and wing embrace.
“Ohmigosh I’m so sorry!! I thought you were on the other side of the farm today, and nopony was going to be around, and gosh Applejack I didn’t mean for anypony to get hurt, especially you, I was just trying to have fun, I’m so sorry, I—”
An orange hoof pressed into Dash’s mouth. Taking the cue, the pegasus stopped speaking and gave it a small kiss before nuzzling her wife’s neck.
“I know ya didn’t mean it. I’ve had plenty’a apples fall on me before. Just warn a mare next time, wouldja?”
Dash nodded, still feeling guilt scratch at her heart.
“Dash?”
“Uh, yes Applejack?”
“Were you wearing a blindfold?”
She chuckled nervously. “Eh, heh, uh, yeah…?”
“That was so cool,” Applejack said, pulling back from the embrace.
And then they kissed.
When All Else Fails, Use Recursion (Feb 24 2021 - "First")
Sweet Pepper scribbled furiously on the parchment, sweat dripping down the sides of her burgundy cheeks and onto the crumpled parchment that filled the table.
She had to be first.
She paused, wondering what to do next; she had already written the character assuring themselves of how pretty they were, established the sort of feisty and confident attitude she expected them to have, and had sent them out through the door to the world beyond. But what next?
She furrowed her brow. Well, she didn’t know anything else about the world her character was in. She could make it up, but if she was really wrong about it, she’d look bad later on. What could she write that she could go off of?
The ticks of the clock seemed to echo in her mind, growing louder and louder. She twitched involuntarily once, and then gave her head a quick shake. This was no time to be paralyzed with potential terrible horrible outcomes that oh Luna everything’s going to go wrong she won’t get it in on time and—
Pause. Breath. Sip of water, sip of tea. Nopony else could possibly care this much about the latest generation of Daring Do movie, the newest character in the series, and the hint of a plot that had been leaked. She knew some super fans in the club like her, but none of them wrote. Not as fast as she did, anyways.
It was the same Equestria, right? Well, no. It was still set in Equestria, but the teaser said the world was changed, darker, everything that made it peaceful and safe had been lost.
Oh, well now she was in a hole. Why would this new character be spry and spunky in a world like that? Unless… unless they were one of the few who benefitted from the darkness!
Hold on. That sounded a lot like a series one of her fandom friends had written.
She crumpled up the page and tossed it to the side, letting out a whimper of frustration. She had to get something down. This was her one chance to be the first to write about the new generation! It couldn’t be dumb, nor could it be viable to be laughably wrong, but it also couldn’t be a ripoff of her friend’s work.
An idea came to her and she stopped her absentminded pencil tapping, spitting it out when the rapid ticks finally became apparent to her. There was that one pony in the Daring Do fanon who wrote lots, journaling Do’s various hijinks. What was her name? Stiddlefics!
Sweet Pepper jumped up and pumped her hoof, hissing a quiet yesss before she froze and looked around, making sure there was no random pegasus passing by her second story window who she had disturbed with her noise.
She would write about Stiddlefics writing about the new character! Oh, yes, this was perfect. Now she didn’t need to worry about getting the canon entirely wrong, because she would be writing about the next generation in the current generation.
There was a rush of feathers and parchment while Sweet Pepper shot around her room, looking for a fresh pencil and clean sheet to write on. Supplies in hoof, she swiped all the crumpled pages onto the floor with the rest of the trash and slapped the new page down.
Already the idea was flowing in her head, and her blue eyes focused sharply on the pencil tip, watching as the words streamed from brain to jaw to paper. Yes, this was it. She knew it was the right story to write, because her coat was starting to dry and a blanket of calm was starting to wash over her. It was here, in a quiet room with nothing but the lazy breeze and the scratch of graphite, where she was truly and entirely at peace. If the idea was wrong, she would be fretting, muttering, crying, sobbing, but here! It was perfect.
Stiddlefics happened to be a character that she related to a lot, even though they were not well developed outside of fanon. It was relieving to have her doing the work, and the perspective of the character writing the story and not Sweet Pepper herself somehow made it even easier to write.
The pencil snapped, and Sweet Pepper’s wings shot out in fright, but even this was not enough to slow her down. She gave up on that and grabbed another one quickly, reluctant to lose stride. Normally she would have had to get up and sharpen her old one, but today, today she needed to write!
