Ponies can’t breathe fire. Twilight knows this--but that doesn't stop her from trying.

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For the Equestria Daily Friend-Off.

Ponies can be weird sometimes. And the weirdest, most stupidly obvious thing about them is they can't snap.

An exercise in vernacular.

What makes Derpy so Ditzy? Find out as she attempts to conquer her fears (and her own head) and put her own spin on another normal day in Ponyville.

Applejack wants to know what it's like to fly. The truth is heavier than she expected.

A story for Equestria Daily's WTG. Written in economy of style.

The old mare comes in every night to eat and stare out the window. She doesn't say much. Probably because she's deaf. The nights are long, but her silence is longer. So is the patience of the two ponies who serve her.

Inspired by Hemingway's "A Clean and Well Lighted Place." With apologies.

They kept up their facade. They bore that burden by choice, and they were none the less for it. And when they had a second to step back, to stare into the eyes of the world and see themselves reflected in it and realize the hopelessness of their journey, they took solace in each other; for it was all they had that was real.

A prompt for the Coltcuddlers' Royal Guard write-off.

Vinyl and Octavia's new apartment isn't exactly spacious--in some places, there's barely any room to breathe. The lack of space is driving Vinyl crazy, and she won't stand for it a second longer.

A story of compromise, based on a prompt by the Jazzy Fillyfoolers.

Marked Teen for language.

"Alright, Miss Sparkle. For your last manecut, you asked to take three inches off all around, except on the bangs. Would you like that same thing again? Or would you prefer to try something different this time?"

The question, of course, terrified Twilight Sparkle.

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Now featuring a Polish translation by the fabulous aTOM!

Infuriated by a seemingly unwritable essay, Twilight Sparkle turns to bashing her head against a table to ease the feeling of literary inadequacy. Luckily, Spike is there to offer some more practical advice on finishing her essay--and why she should write it in the first place.

She said she would be back at nine, but that time has long since come and passed. My only company now is the bottle, and the drunken silence that fills it.

Based off a prompt, courtesy of the Jazzy Fillyfoolers.