[MOONDAY] Thread Shorts Volume 1


                                            An assortment of shorts and shitposts written for* (*inflicted on) /moon/. I wrote enough that I feel it's worth giving it it's own paste rather than slapping it on the end of one of the Flutterrape volumes.


                                            ---


                                            "Imagine untying all those bows with just your teeth."

                                            - Anonymous, in reference to an image of Luna lying on a bed done up in bows.


                                            >"...Anonymous--"

                                            "In a minute--"

                                            >"Sweetheart--"

                                            "I'm working on it, Luna."

                                            >"..."

                                            "Mph."

                                            >"Anonymous, we've been here for ten minutes, you're not getting past that knot with just your teeth, use your fingers, please."

                                            "That's not sexy though, it'll kill the mood."

                                            >"As much as I love you, the mood died thirty seconds into this. I'm amazed Celestia even talked me into it, given that this is typically a thing unicorns do."

                                            "Why should that matter-- come on, just-- god dammit--"

                                            >"Fingers, my heart, use your -fingers-. And yes, for a unicorn it's a simple affair of undoing each knot with magic. Takes ten seconds, tops. Like unwrapping a Hearth's Warming present."

                                            "I don't need magic to unwrap a present."

                                            >"No, you don't, what do you use instead?"

                                            "My han-- hm."

                                            >"Your -hands-. Now please, get me out of these ribbons and we might still be able to salvage the evening. Barring that, the champagne shouldn't have lost its fizz yet so we can down a few more of those if needs be."

                                            "This was a terrible idea."

                                            >"I... yes, it's not one of Celestia's best."

                                            "Can you not just use your own magic?"

                                            >"These aren't... they're 'trust' ribbons."

                                            "What?"

                                            >"Trust ribbons. The idea is that the unicorn is bound tight and her lover has to rescue her. They're resistant to spells that would undo them."

                                            "What about that alicorn super-strength you keep throwing about the place?"

                                            >Luna blinks, then wriggles about somewhat pathetically.

                                            "..."

                                            >"This is rather embarrassing, actually."

                                            "Sod this, I'm getting a knife."

                                            >"What?"

                                            "Back in five minutes, just going to the kitchen."

                                            >"In the lower levels?"

                                            "Unless we've got a kitchen somewhere else in this castle, yes."

                                            >You stride out the door, leaving Luna bound and helpless on her bed.

                                            >She waggles her hooves around ineffectually, still wrapped tight.

                                            >"...Hell's teeth, Celestia..." she grumbles to herself.

                                            >"Don't look at me, I'm not the one who's dating a non-magic user," Luna's wardrobe replies.

                                            >"GAH! Celestia! How long have you been in there!?"

                                            >"I like what I like, Lulu, don't kink-shame me," the wardrobe huffs.


                                            ---


                                            Anonymous posted an image of an adorable Luna wearing a "blame my sister" shirt.


                                            "Luna, what the hell is this."

                                            >"Tis a most shameful display of graffiti, Anonymous! And all across your bedroom wall, no less!"

                                            >By 'all across your bedroom wall', she means a reasonably-sized area by your mirror.

                                            >' Anonymous has low taste in delicatessens ' has been written in absolutely immaculate cursive; all the letters are on the same plane and are of a consistent size.

                                            >"Such a cruel game to play upon such a noble citizen as yourself!"

                                            "...Luna, did you write this?"

                                            >"Certainly not!"

                                            "There is only a single pony in Equestria capable of writing something that perfectly."

                                            >"Ah! We thank you for your complimeeee-- is what I would say if it was I that daubed it! Nay, this foul display must surely be our own Sister!"

                                            "Uh huh."

                                            >"Do you think me a liar? Behold! This article does prove my innocence!"

                                            >Only now do you realise she's wearing a t-shirt stating 'Blame my sis!'.

                                            >"With such apparel I am invincible."

                                            >She beams at you.

                                            "If you weren't so cute it physically hurts to look at you, I might be annoyed. Does this wash out?"

                                            >"Verily."

                                            "Alright, good. Then wash it off."

                                            >"But it was Sister! Celestia is the culprit!"

                                            "Uh huh. Get to it."

                                            >"Anonymous!"

                                            "Luna."

                                            >"I... Very well, but I shall not forget this breach of our trust!"

                                            >With a pout, she raises a squirty-bottle and a rag from nowhere and works away at the wall.

                                            >"AHA!"

                                            >Your bathroom door bursts open, and Celestia tumbles out wearing a manic grin.

                                            >"You fell for it! You thought it was Luna, but it was I! Celestia! The sun prevails again!"

                                            >"Curse you, sister!" Luna tearfully shouts, "This is why mother liked me more!"

                                            >The two descend into the sort of bickering that only two immortal beings that have lived together for far too long are capable of.

                                            >With a sigh, you pick up the bottle and rag and scrub away at your wall.

                                            >If you'd know accepting their offer to live in the castle with them would mean this, you never would have accepted in the first place.


                                            ---


                                            "Slit her throat and hang her corpse from the main gate as a warning what happens when you mess with the ponies"

                                            - Anonymous, being an nerd.


                                            >You frown up at the bloodied, hanging corpse of Princess Luna, suspended above the front gates of Canterlot.

                                            >Well. "Corpse" might be a bit of an overstatement.

                                            "How're you doing, Luna?" you call.

                                            >"...I'm alright, I suppose," Luna's 'corpse' calls back.

                                            >You step back a bit as a spurt of blood leaves her gaping neck and speckles your shoes.

                                            >"Oh, yes, don't stand so close, you might get splattered."

                                            "So how... how is it? Up there, I mean?"

                                            >"It's fine."

                                            "Just fine?"

                                            >"Well, I've never been assassinated before, and certainly never been displayed in public like this."

                                            "Yeah? How's the view?"

                                            >"Charming."

                                            "How's the throat?"

                                            >"Cold. I can feel the wind passing through it and if I tense my mouth properly I can turn my head into a windchime. It's very amusing, to tell you the truth."

                                            "Right, right," you nod along with her. "Luna..."

                                            >"Yes?"

                                            "If you don't mind my asking..."

                                            >"If it's about my lady-parts being on full display, don't worry, I'm not quite as prudish as Celestia."

                                            "Oh no, it's not that-- God no, it's not that. It's just that there's a lot of blood around here."

                                            >"I would imagine so, I've been here for five hours already."

                                            "Yes, but, uhh,"

                                            >"Speak up, Anonymous, I can't hear you too well up here."

                                            "Well if it's not a personal question, why aren't you dead?"

                                            >She's quiet for a while. You might have touched a nerve.

                                            >"I don't know, actually."

                                            "You don't--"

                                            >"I've honestly not given it much thought, I was just excited to finally be getting assassinated."

                                            "What do you mean -finally-?"

                                            >"Well, I've been alive for such a long time, you understand, and it was always either Celestia or some upstart noble getting whacked or suffering an attempted whacking. Meanwhile, I'd never once been targeted!"

                                            "And how did Celestia deal with getting shanked?"

                                            >"Oh, she didn't. No assassin ever came close. My sister's quite powerful, Anonymous, I'm not sure if you've noticed."

                                            "Might have slipped past me... so what, you were overpowered by the assassin?"

                                            >"Overpowered? Are you drunk? Anon as soon as I knew what was happening I threw myself on his blade."

                                            "Seriously?"

                                            >"Of course! First time in a thousand years someone's pulled a weapon on me, let alone someone who was actively trying to do me in for political or ideological reasons. Come to think of it, the pony -was- a bit off-put by my enthusiasm, but I thought I was doing him a favour."

                                            >As she speaks, you glance at the torrent of alicorn blood streaming from her gyrating neck wound, then back to the pony.

                                            "And he managed to string you up there by himself?"

                                            >"Of course not, I shackled myself up here."

                                            >You scratch your head.

                                            "He was okay with that?"

                                            >"Originally he was going to dump me in the foyer of the palace, but I told him that wasn't bold enough."

                                            "Did you tell him this -after- he carved-- sorry, after you carved -your own- throat?"

                                            >"Yes."

                                            "...Did he not find that disconcerting?"

                                            >Luna purses her lips and thinks for a spell.

                                            >"Yes, I suppose he -did- faint after a while."

                                            "Ah. Where is he now?"

                                            >"Just over there," she nods to one side.

                                            >You follow her gesture and see a stallion bedecked in form-fitting leather armour slumped on a public bench, his body dressed in knives and vials of what you can only assume is poison.

                                            "You're, uh, taking this whole thing a lot differently than people might expect. Does Celestia know?"

                                            >"She came by this morning to check up on me."

                                            "She wasn't concerned or anything?"

                                            >"Why would she be?"

                                            "Luna, your throat has been torn open. I'm not even sure how you're talking to me."

                                            >"Magic, Anonymous."

                                            "That's... not a reason--"

                                            >"Magic."

                                            "Luna please--"

                                            >"Magic. I need not explain a thing."

                                            "Does the same go for why you're not dead?"

                                            >"Certainly not. That would be a matter of theology and biology, not magic."

                                            "A-Alright," you say with a helpless shrug. "So how long are you gonna stay up there?"

                                            >"I'll give it until noon before I let myself down and drag this rascal to the guards. Oh, would you mind grabbing me a pastry from that shop over yonder? I tried shouting at them before but all they did was scream and start praying for deliverance from somesuch evil or whatever it is peasantry fears these days."

                                            >You look around at the deserted street.

                                            >The windows of most houses and shops are filled with the terrified faces of Canterlot citizens watching their "dead" Princess babble on.

                                            "I'll see what I can do."

                                            >"Thank you. Would you like to join me up here? Our friend has plenty of knives."

                                            "...I'll give that one a pass, Luna."

                                            >"Suit yourself, but you're missing out."


                                            ---


                                            Anonymous posted an image of Luna lying on her bed like a teenager waiting for a text message from that guy in her English class she's been dropping hints at. What, too specific? Shut up, you don't know me.


                                            >Harken well, my heart. Our dame and sire are to be preoccupied both at the Annual Gala on the morrow. Such a circumstance mustn't be ignored, and gifts you with a sterling opportunity to attend to my roiling furnace. I can promise merriment of a salacious sort, and I shan't make a peep, no matter how far into my depths you may delve. Sister shall not trouble us, unless the both of us together might tickle your fancy? We have conferred, and the two of us both are open to negotiations on that front. I pray this finds you well. Respond post haste before the next moon rises.


                                            >Celestia looks up from the note.

                                            "Yes? No? Needs corrections?"

                                            >"Luna, this is a very convoluted way of asking Anon to visit whilst mother and father are out."

                                            >She squints at it again.

                                            >"And what's this about 'delving into your depths'? Are you..." she looks over her shoulder and whispers to you. "Are you talking about... -sex-?"

                                            >The two of you blush fiercely at the very mention of such a sordid word.

                                            >You wet your lips and check as well to make sure there are no prying ears before intoning to your attentive sister.

                                            "...I am."

                                            >Celestia covers her mouth with an involuntary gasp.

                                            >"Scandalous!"

                                            "Shh! Not so loud!"

                                            >"When did you become so bold? If mother and father found out..."

                                            "Life is about adventure, is it not?"

                                            >"Adventure is one thing, but this is debauchery!"

                                            "Are you getting cold hooves?"

                                            >"You said before that it would be just... k-kissing, and that sort of thing."

                                            "We are young adults now, sister. The time has come for us to graduate from fillyhood fancies. Are you in?"

                                            >"I..."

                                            >She dabs her forehead with a handkerchief.

                                            >"I suppose I am."

                                            "Worry not, Celestia. This time tomorrow night, we will be mares."


                                            ---


                                            "When Luna and Celestia want to argue in private they start at old ponish, go onto Horse!Latin and end in some long dead desert hissing language."

                                            - Anonymous


                                            >Watching them is like watching an inferno circling a tsunami.

                                            >And like any natural disaster - supernatural in this case - every gala attendee gives them a wide berth.

                                            >Luna and Celestia occupy the centre of the ballroom, directly below the grand chandelier and above the conjoined sun and moon mosaic, drifting and darting at each other in a mesmerising display.

                                            >Luna will sway to and fro like a leaf on the wind, then dart ahead to feign a strike on Celestia.

                                            >As she does, Celestia will fall away, but she will sweep in a wide arc, hooves barely touching the ground, steps mere whispers as she rounds on her younger sister.

                                            >Their manes whip and strafe the air around them, mingling like the mares themselves only to recoil as it burnt by the faintest touch.

                                            >All are silent, including you.

                                            >The dance is unlike anything Equestria has ever seen.

                                            >Three stallions huddle beside you - theatre ponies from what you overheard before they too fell mute - in all their decades of studying the art of performance and expression, they had never seen such beauty.

                                            >The dance of the Princesses is of an sort unknown to ponies.

                                            >It is a language only they can speak.

                                            >The language of immortals and deities.

                                            >Of the lesser mares there are no dry eyes, and your own heart thrills in your chest at each riposte from the alicorns. Such is the power of their motion.

                                            >A passion so intense the air tingles the skin - there is magic at play but who could say of what sort?

                                            >Celestia draws close to her sister, draping her neck over the younger's.

                                            >Luna cows her head, her lips pulled back in a snarl of faux-outrage.

                                            >The two part but linger close, lips a hair from each other, horns grazing, sharing each measured breath.

                                            >For a blink, so brief it could have been a trick of the light, they make contact before pulling away.

                                            >They remain still, eyes locked for a solid minute, neither blinking, neither breathing.

                                            >They are as statues. Divine beauty locked in time.

                                            >In that lingering moment none dare move, some would later say that the hands on their watches ceased just to preserve this single, transcendent instance.

                                            >Finally, Luna steps away and walks into the crowd without a word, leaving her sister staring after in picturesque form.

                                            >The ponies part like an ocean to allow Luna's passage.

                                            >You stumble after her and into the hall as the doors close behind you.

                                            >You find her stood at a balcony, watching the moon.

                                            "Luna, that..."

                                            >She turns to you, eyes unwavering, imploring you to continue.

                                            "That was the most beautiful dance I've ever seen, I... what on Earth -was- it?"

                                            >Luna turns back to the moon, observing it in contemplation.

                                            >She speaks, and when she looks to you again there is mist in her eyes.

                                            >"That fat, good for nothing sack of camel assholes ate the last piece of my fucking birthday cake. Do you have any idea how hard it was to get my hooves on an actual, genuine, Hippogryph Scarlet Mintcake? All that effort and the gelatinous WHALE wobbling around in the fucking ballroom back there just goes and -eats- half of it, and when I ask her-- BEG her to show some restraint for once in her morbidly obese fucking life she goes and eats the -last- piece. MY piece. So I told her. I told her right in front of everyone. Did you see how angry she was? How embarrassed? Well I hope she chokes on it. Mother knows she'd probably find a way to eat humiliation as well if she could, the fucking hamgalaxy. I hope she trips over a maid and snaps her fucking horn, maybe then she wouldn't be able to cram so much god damn cake down her cavernous pie hole."

                                            "...I mean yeah, that's totally what I was thinking too."

                                            >"You understood it? Oh Anon, I knew -you'd- get it. Come on, let's go make out on her bed, that'll really piss her off."

                                            "Y-yeah, sure, after you."


                                            ---


                                            "How does Nightmare Moon handle stuff like the changlings and Sombra in her timeline?"

                                            - Anonymous.

                                            Word of warning, I went edgy for this one. Being edgy from time to time can be cathartic, but ironic edginess is still edginess. Consult your doctor before applying sharp edges to your brain.


                                            >The changelings were drawn to Equestria like moths to a distant lamp, rumours of a bountiful emotional harvest echoing across the hivemind.

                                            >But with the banishment of Celestia and the rise of the Lunar Queen, love had long become foreign to the once carefree realm.

                                            >That saccharine mushiness that had come to define Equestria for centuries was gone, and in its place was something harder.

                                            >Resolve.

                                            >Determination as rigid as steel.

                                            >Cold rationality fine-tuned with purpose.

                                            >A population where weakness was culled and only the strong survived had been cultivated by its new mistress, and by the time Chrysalis arrived in search of the promised feast, she found only the snarling disgust of a nation that reviled the very notion of her existence.

                                            >The Changelings were not fended off by simple love magic.

                                            >They were hunted to extinction.

                                            >Within Equestria's borders they were scoured with a brutality never before seen from the gentle ponyfolk, and once the final insect had been crushed, Nightmare Moon turned her harrowing gaze to the Badlands from whence they'd come.

                                            >And with that same disgust - pure and unmoved by anything as erosive as love - she marshalled her armies and set forth to rid her new world of yet another pest.


                                            >What few changelings escaped would never speak of what found them cowering in their hives.


                                            *


                                            >When Sombra re-emerged, he had long expected to find the embrace of the cold north again, and to his delight he did.

                                            >Alone and freezing, he travelled the wastes and came upon his most precious jewel - his Crystal Empire.

                                            >Subjugating them didn't take long; they had never possessed the strongest wills.

                                            >Once more upon his throne he raised his banners and looked to Equestria, his warpath and tactics a millennium in the making.

                                            >His ascension calling to him, he marched south.

                                            >But when the cold dark of the north fell away, he found only the cold dark of the lands beyond.

                                            >The sun never rose. The moon was ever-present.

                                            >Undeterred he pressed forward, finding only abandoned villages and no trace of life.

                                            >Deeper he pressed into Equestrian lands, his legions stalwart and unflinching at the uncanniness of it all, but Sombra began to wonder...

                                            >Within a week, the scouts stopped returning.

                                            >His fastest and most trusted messengers were sent ahead to assess the lands, but they were never seen again.

                                            >The guards that watched the camps at night - or whatever parallel there was for night in this cursed land - began speaking of things moving along the moors.

                                            >The forests watched them, the animals eerily silent as the columns marched on.

                                            >The first soldier died the following night.

                                            >It was a clean death. Precise, like the cut of a surgeon's knife.

                                            >In three days the twelve legions brought into Equestria had fallen to ten.

                                            >The soldiers were paranoid. They wouldn't sleep. They refused to.

                                            >Distrust ran through the camps like a plague, and no amount of public executions for cowardice could stop it.

                                            >Hardened warriors were dying in droves.

                                            >The lucky ones went with their throats slit in their sleep. The survivors spoke in tongues.

                                            >Their dreams were filled with the blackest horrors. Of gnashing fangs, a predator's eyes, and the mirthless laughter of a mad queen.

                                            >Suicides became commonplace.

                                            >Within two weeks, the ten legions had become seven.

                                            >The commanders brave enough to challenge their Lord begged him to turn them around, to return north to their homes, to safety.

                                            >To their relief, Sombra did not lash out. He simply assented, gave them leave to return home.

                                            >He knew it wouldn't matter.

                                            >All but two of his most loyal and dedicated legions took flight to the Crystal Empire.

                                            >Not a single pony made it home.

                                            >In the heart of Equestria, Sombra stood on the fields below Canterlot.

                                            >He gazed up at the Canterhorn peak, backlit by the haunting moon.

                                            >He thought of Celestia, his most hated enemy, and found that he missed her warmth. Her passion. Her commitment to good.

                                            >Sombra looked away from the moon. He could bear its mockery no longer.

                                            >Around him, the camp was silent. He knew it would be.

                                            >The soldiers had vanished. He knew they would have done.

                                            >Fifty-thousand ponies had followed him into Equestria. Only he remained.

                                            >He surveyed the perimeter of the camp, and the thousands of unblinking, bat-like eyes that watched him in the dark fog surrounding it.

                                            >He held his head high, and turned one final time to stare straight into the face of Nightmare Moon.

                                            >She grinned, baring the same teeth he had seen in a hundred dreams since stepping over the border.

                                            >A proud stallion, he remained where he was. His honour would allow nothing less.


                                            >He died standing.


                                            *


                                            >The Final Sunset heralded great changes to Equestrian life.

                                            >Changes to routine, to tradition, to law.

                                            >To punishment.

                                            >Apart from her now-deposed sister, there was only one name on Nightmare Moon's lips upon her return, and it was with a sneer that she all but spat it in the Canterlot sculpture gardens - a place she had been avoiding until now.

                                            >Discord.

                                            >The petrified form of that most loathsome spirit stood in perpetual triumph before her, crowing over a victory the sisters had stolen from under his warped nose so many moons ago.

                                            >But there would be no flying pigs or dancing trees today.

                                            >Only the wandering breeze over a garden vacant save for its new owner.

                                            >Supreme as Discord was, here he was at her mercy.

                                            >What it would take to break his seal she couldn't say. Given time, she might have even figured it out. Perhaps taken steps to strengthen it so that he could never escape his prison.

                                            >But she didn't.

                                            >When her horn ignited and she sheared off his outstretched arm, she allowed herself a modicum of satisfaction before her iron discipline crushed it.

                                            >A being like him obviously couldn't be killed through simple dismemberment, but that was hardly the point. She merely needed him ready for disposal.

                                            >She carved him like meat. Dispassionate even as chunks of statue fell away onto the grass until only a beaming head remained levitating in her grasp.

                                            >Ordinarily, this would have been an exercise in futility.

                                            >One errant spark of his magic and the entire body would reanimate in full without a scratch.

                                            >But as luck would have it, her recent conquests in the Badlands had bequeathed her with a fascinating artefact.

                                            >The throne of a changeling queen - too big to carry back to her castle in one piece - had been left intact and become an object of study.

                                            >Its nullifying effect on all forms of magic was of great interest to the monarch.

                                            >Of even greater interest were the enraged, disembodied roars that echoed for a mile in all directions when the fragments of Discord were tossed into its debilitating field.

                                            >She held the head aloft, gazing into its closed eyes.

                                            >She liked to think he could see her in there, that he was glaring back behind the veil.

                                            >With a final smile, she whispered the only thing she thought appropriate.

                                            >"I win."


                                            >The final scream was deafening.


                                            *


                                            >Nightmare Moon hated Tartarus more than anywhere else.

                                            >Even her own lunar prison had become a place of introspection and solace over the long centuries.

                                            >But Tartarus was different. Here was a bastion of Celestia's weakness. A hole in the ground that emblemised her refusal to mete out deserved punishment.

                                            >Always too light-hearted to simply dispatch her adversaries as she should, Celestia instead chose to lock her problems away and pretend they didn't exist.

                                            >Cages upon cages, housing all manner of threats both familiar and otherwise greeted the arrival of Her Highness.

                                            >Their reactions sickened Nightmare Moon even further.

                                            >Many lunged at their bars, clawing at her, howling until their throats were hoarse.

                                            >Had Celestia tolerated such insolence? Had she simply allowed them to show such disrespect on the few occasions she visited this wretched pit?

                                            >One such being, a snake of some sort, spoke in a vile tongue, a cracked smirk plastered across its disgusting face directed at the Queen.

                                            >The howling residents fell silent as the snake's lifeless corpse hit the floor of its cell.

                                            >Tolerance was weakness.

                                            >And Nightmare Moon was not weak.

                                            >A full audit was declared, and every record from the Canterlot archives was dredged up, some being thousands of years old.

                                            >A grand trial commenced, whereby every beast, traitor, cretin and monster was tried by a single mare.

                                            >All were found wanting.

                                            >Those that could be dispatched were done so with industrial efficiency.

                                            >A snap at the base of the neck. The body disintegrated.

                                            >For three nights the denizens of that hellish prison were tested.

                                            >Once it was done, one figure remained.

                                            >A wretch from the distant past; the years had not been kind.

                                            >Tirek stood before his Queen a shivering husk of the centaur she once knew.

                                            >He had once been up-right. Powerful. More-so than either single princess.

                                            >Nightmare Moon allowed him to plead his case.

                                            >He begged for forgiveness. Promised to return home, to make amends with his brother, to spread the word of Nightmare Moon's glory.

                                            >He promised to serve, to do her every bidding.

                                            >He promised everything he could give, and even more that he couldn't.

                                            >She stayed still and considered him. Her mind conjured images of the brute that once threatened to bring Equestria low not through guile or cunning, but through sheer unchallengeable force.

                                            >A boulder three ponies high drifted from a distant corner and was set down beside Tirek.

                                            >Nightmare Moon nodded at it.

                                            >"Simply lift the boulder, and you may serve by my side."

                                            >It was miserable.

                                            >He squealed. Grunted. First with his arms and then with what pitiful reserves of magic he had left in his dessicated body.

                                            >When he collapsed, the rock hadn't moved an inch.

                                            >He raised his head from the grime, mouthing apologies and pleads.

                                            >"I can still be of use!" his voice was shrill.

                                            >Nightmare Moon leant down, eyes locked to his.

                                            >"What possible use could I have for something as pathetic as you?"


                                            >He became dust, and Tartarus was silent.


                                            ---


                                            Anonymous posted an image showing that "Luna" was only supported in the US and not overseas.


                                            >Luna attempts to fly off the Eastern seaboard.

                                            >She's politely escorted back to the mainland by a pair of Raptors under threat of deadly force.

                                            >Tfw she just wants to go on a vacation to Ireland to see the Leprechauns and maybe abduct one to keep as a pet so she can use it to lead her to caches of gold at the end of rainbows.

                                            >Tfw yet another get-rich-quick scheme is foiled by the US military.


                                            To which Anonymous responded:


                                            ">deadly force

                                            >against an immortal lunar goddess

                                            haha funny joke. if it was an actual threat things would go majora's mask in a hurry"


                                            So I tried again:


                                            >Luna flies off the Eastern seaboard.

                                            >She's approached by two Raptors that threaten deadly force if she doesn't turn back.

                                            >She scoffs and refuses.

                                            >The two Raptors peel off, then engage with cannon fire and missiles.

                                            >Luna uses her anti-cannon and anti-missile shields to stop them, then uses her magic to crush one of the Raptors into a ball like a sheet of paper.

                                            >A bullet hits her, but it didn't count because she wasn't ready and it wasn't fair so the bullet un-hits her.

                                            >The other Raptor she teleports straight to the moon.

                                            >It is very cinematic and you can see an explosion from the surface of the moon even though that wouldn't physically be possible due to atmospheric lensing and the combined yield of the Raptor's armaments not being sufficient enough to generate a fireball large enough to be seen from the Earth, let alone that a complete lack of combustible material on the moon means that a fireball wouldn't be able to form.

                                            >Anyway it looks cool, and Luna puts on sunglasses to emphasise the cool-factor even though it's night-time and she looks like a prat.

                                            >Then the President calls her via magical crystal phone.

                                            >He says, geriatrically:

                                            >"Listen Jack, I don't... w-well I don't really know what's happening here..."

                                            >Then, there is a long pause. It is very dramatic. Or awkward, depending on how you're viewing things.

                                            >"Y'know, I got real hairy legs. Just the hairiest, a-and sometimes kids like to touch 'em, you know?"

                                            "Mister President," Luna forcefully shouts angrily, "I am leaving for Ireland to kidnap a leprechaun, and you cannot stop me."

                                            >"Kamala said I was only supposed to use the phone in emergencies."

                                            "All... alright?"

                                            >"Do you know where my wife is? I-I'm kinda cold. Man, that Trump guy is a real piece of work, he won't win this election, I can promise you that--"

                                            >Luna closes the line in disgust - how dare the President imply that she can't visit Ireland.

                                            >She teleports all the rest of the way because she's angry and can't be bothered flying.

                                            >Around her are a thousand leprechauns, as they are known to congregate in large numbers in Ireland, but only on weekdays - they go home for the weekend.

                                            >She picks one up, and sensing imperialist exploitation the rest all scream and charge at her as one.

                                            >She deflects them using her anti-screaming-and-charging-leprechaun shield.

                                            >Then she teleports back to the United States to her pent-house in Ohio.

                                            >She never wanted to settle in Ohio, but unfortunately once you're in Ohio you can never truly leave Ohio.

                                            >She sets the leprechaun down before her, looking at him with a critical eye.

                                            "Leprechaun. I have captured you for my own purposes. Lead me to the gold at the end of the rainbow."

                                            >"A Mhuire, níl aon smaoineamh agam cad atá á rá agat liom," says the leprechaun.

                                            "Damn. I wish I could speak Irish," she laments.


                                            ---


                                            "dont die moon"

                                            - Anonymous


                                            >Anon dies in his sleep.

                                            >Wakes up to see Luna waiting for him, wearing a permanent cringe.

                                            "Lulu? What's going on?"

                                            >"I didn't think it would happen so soon, but you've been summoned."

                                            "By whom?"

                                            >"By..."

                                            >Celestia poofs into existence beside Luna, staggering slightly before correcting herself.

                                            >"What in the--" she balks. "Oh no."

                                            >She spins in place, looking around at the misty grey landscape.

                                            >"Luna? We weren't set to visit until next year!"

                                            >"It seems she's caught wind of my, ah, new relationship."

                                            >Celestia glances at you and winces.

                                            >"Yes... I suppose she would want to see him, wouldn't she."

                                            "What's happening? Who wants to see me?"

                                            >"Anonymous," Luna puts on her best fake-sweet smile, "if you would come with me, it's time for you to meet our... parents."

                                            >Lady Death is Luna's mother, and Father Time her father.


                                            >They write letters to their wayward children constantly, but when they get lonely they have a habit of killing them in their sleep and bringing them to the Grey After for tea and crumpets before sending their souls back into their bodies.

                                            >They're absolutely besotted with you.

                                            >Father Time keeps calling you "slugger".

                                            >Lady Death keeps pinching your cheek and gushing about how much her "Loony" has grown and how she "finally found someone".

                                            >Celestia has to endure a barrage of questions about why she hasn't settled down with a "nice stallion like Luna has" yet.

                                            >She grits her teeth and insists she's focusing on her career.


                                            ---


                                            "Even as a joke, it should've been written"

                                            >"What doth thee want to doth tonight?"

                                            - Anonymous


                                            >"Doest thou mine harken list twine thou doth merry?"

                                            "Wh... what?"

                                            >"Pray hark! Doth doth mine whomst mustn't doth thou merry nay thou!"

                                            "Luna are you having a stroke?"

                                            >"Most whom thou doth doth doth doth doth--"

                                            >She cocks her head with each 'doth', repeating the word with the exact same inflection.

                                            >"Ah hells," a flustered thestral mare rushes into the room from seemingly nowhere and shoots you an apologetic look.

                                            >"Sorry," she says breathlessly, "she needs rebooting, will only take a min."

                                            >She whips out a screwdriver and quickly undoes and removes a panel from Luna's side, revealing a vastly complicated set of systems; gleaming metallic ribs festooned with hair-width wiring and hypnotic interior strobe lights.

                                            >The thestral pinches her tongue between her teeth and rummages around in the still twitching princess of the night.

                                            >You look around, trying to determine if you're not just having a really weird dream.

                                            "So, um..."

                                            >"Not long, promise."

                                            "Yeah, yeah, but uh..."

                                            >"What's up?" she's only giving you a faction of her attention, her arm is rooting around in Luna up to the shoulder, her eyes squinting. "Around here somewhere..."

                                            "Has... Princess Luna always been a robot?"

                                            >"Of course. Both of them are."

                                            "Celestia too?"

                                            >"That's what I meant by 'both', yeah."

                                            "Oh," you say finally.

                                            >"Yeah, it's not widely known these days, but eh, what can you do. Most people don't care. They do the job well enough, so who's gonna complain?"

                                            "The job being...?"

                                            >"Running the country. We tried politics ages ago, but it didn't work. Too much treachery. Can't trust meatbags, you know? So we created two immortal, perfect beings to just... do everything for us. No treachery, no politics, just benevolence and keen leadership guided by an artificial intelligence and a completely unexplainable predilection towards cake."

                                            "You know she tried to kill her own sister, right?"

                                            >"Well, yeah, there was that, but Luna's software has never worked properly. Honestly she's been begging for a firmware update for Faust knows how long. She's still on version 2.0, whilst Celestia is on like, version 5.0, for heaven's sake. But it's one of those things that every time you mention it to the IT guys they say they're working on it but it just never comes. Personally I think they're stuck and can't figure out the kinks. In the meantime..."

                                            >She finds whatever she was looking for and, with a loud click, Luna slumps over; still standing, but her head bowed.

                                            >After about ten seconds the mare clicks again.

                                            >She pulls her hoof out, reapplies the panel, and steps back, giving you a happy grin.

                                            >"There! She'll be fine in a few moments."

                                            >A few seconds pass and Luna raises her head again.

                                            >She blinks several times. A shy smile crosses her and she gives you a bashful look.

                                            >"Good evening, Anonymous. My apologies. Are you well?"

                                            "I'm... fine, Luna. Are you feeling alright?"

                                            >"I feel splendid! Like I've just woken up from a powernap. Would you like to join me for cake and ghost stories?"

                                            >You glance at the thestral.

                                            >She gives you an encouraging nod.

                                            "I would love to join you for cake and ghost stories."

                                            >"Huzzah! Well, let us be off then!"

                                            >The cake was delicious.

                                            >The stories were spooky.

                                            >The company was odd, but lovely.


                                            ---


                                            Greentext over. Longer shitposts below.


                                            ---


                                            "Alright /moon/ it's momma luna time! And I need some answers!

                                            >Do you think Luna would be a good mom?

                                            >would you be a good dad?

                                            >how would she deal with pregnancy incapacitating her?

                                            >how many kids do you want?

                                            >Foals, human children, satyrs, or a mix of the two/three?"

                                            - Anonymous


                                            >


                                            Luna would raise her children like a Spartan matriarch. By the time other kids are learning their times tables, hers will already know how to dictate a flanking manoeuvre and perform a breaching raid on the castle kitchens as a well-oiled unit. The first time this happens is the only time you've ever seen Luna cry. She spends the entire evening gushing about how proud she is of them, despite how traumatised the kitchen staff were when it happened.


                                            Luna will be utterly unfazed by pregnancy, instead choosing to intensify her already ridiculous training regimens to prove that she's not been made weaker by pregnancy, but actually stronger. Without you there to rein her in, she would likely start a war with a neighbouring country just to prove that she could win it whilst pregnant.


                                            Luna will insist that she has six children minimum, or precisely one more than however many Celestia has. Whichever is larger. This is so she always has the numerical advantage in any potential blood feuds that might break out. However many she has, each child will be groomed in a specific area of statecraft, diplomacy, or warfare. She also wants to get started as soon as possible, and there isn't going to be a 'cooling off' period after the first child is born, so you'd better be prepared for consecutive years of a swelling, hormonal Luna. You'd better be prepared for the years after all the children have been born as well, because she chose you to be her husband and her libido is insatiable.


                                            Whatever comes marching out of Luna when her water breaks is irrelevant. Any offspring of hers, whether foal or child or satyr, will be trained according to their strengths. The only thing she cares about is how well they can wield a poleaxe by the time they're five. If she has a 'mixed unit' of different children, all the better. It just means they'll have a broader range of skills to rely on.


                                            ---


                                            An Anon was wondering why he was so attracted to Luna, as if by a magnet. I in turn offered my scientific genius* (*half-remembered high-school physics).


                                            >


                                            To understand what's happening you must first understand what gravity is.


                                            All matter in the universe contains gravity. Or rather, gravity is an immutable characteristic of matter. A consequence of its existence. If you imagine the universe as a white sheet of linen, an object with mass is a marble placed upon it. The marble has a small depression around it. Objects that enter this depression are drawn towards its centre, towards the gravitational focal point. This represents its gravitational effect on the universal fabric. Now, gravity is by far the weakest of the four fundamental forces (electromagnetic, strong/weak nuclear, gravitation) by a laughable order of magnitude, so on the microscopic level it might as well not exist.


                                            However, as objects become more massive - that is, there is more matter condensed into close region of space - the consolidated gravitational effect on the universe around the object intensifies. A tennis ball has effectively no gravitational effect. Neither does a mountain. But a planet? A sun? These objects are dense enough, contain enough matter, that they are able to bend space around them such that they can pull distant objects towards their centre. This is why we are able to stand on the Earth. This is why objects fall towards it centre.


                                            So, as a general rule, the more massive an object is, the more gravitational force it exerts on the universe around it. This doesn't necessarily mean the object has to be -large-, just that there is enough matter in that general region. A black hole is simply a collection of matter that has been compressed beyond its Schwarzschild Radius - the point at which it becomes crushed under its own gravity into a feedback loop called a singularity. Black holes themselves are actually tiny. Some of them can literally be the size of a tennis ball, but contain more mass than the entirety of Earth.


                                            Now that we understand this, we must talk about Luna's ass-cheeks.


                                            Luna is a mare with mass. Dare I even say "heft". Her tiny butt is indeed very tiny and very exciting, but it is also very dense. There is sufficient matter packed into that blue bottom that it has a gravitational effect on things around her. She must constantly channel her magic to counteract her own gravity lest she pull spoons and forks off dining tables when she passes them.


                                            This is why you're attracted to her. She is literally pulling you in. The universe itself is compelling you to get to the centre of Luna's divine cheeks, and that you are even feeling the effects of it implies that Luna is letting you get close. She is suspending her magic when near you in order to get you closer. In her opinion, you haven't been paying enough attention to her, so she's taking steps to force you to make a move.


                                            You are being dragged towards the singularity that is Luna's butt. Do you turn and run like a coward? Or do you swan dive over the event horizon and into her Elysium depths?


                                            The choice is yours.


                                            ---


                                            A guy in the thread was saying that he never showered, and that's kind of greasy but I'm not gonna judge; worse things have happened on 4chan.

                                            What I am gonna judge is him going about saying that there's nothing wrong with not washing himself and that people who shower daily are obsessed.

                                            In response I wrote the following.


                                            >


                                            Princess Luna has never bathed.


                                            As an immortal demigoddess, and in contrast to her sister, she believes that her divine form is the purest essence of ponydom. As such, she believes that anything born of that essence is itself divine, and to wash it off, intentionally or otherwise, is a form of sacrilege. She does not even know how to swim, as to lunge into water would by extension cleanse her body of its most holy by-products, therefore she never allowed herself to be taught.


                                            It has been a thousand years since Luna last set hoof on the soil of Equestria, and in that time the world has forgotten her legendary scent. In ages past, to stand downwind from Luna was to invite ill tidings upon your house, and myth tells of an audience of ten thousand ponies, carefully oriented with the wind at their backs as Luna delivered a speech, were all at once beset when the wind shifted and blasted every stallion, mare, and foal with the wafting fragrance of a mare who once killed seventeen ponies who had tried to restrain and bathe her at Celestia's orders.


                                            Her musk is such that the eyes water upon the mere sight of the Princess. Small birds have been known to drop from the sky, and village dogs flee in short order the very moment they detect the incoming presence of the lunar regent. To stand in the presence of Luna is the ultimate test of loyalty to Equestria. No small number of stalwart, sure-hearted defenders of the realm have turned their coats upon being forced into a confined space with the Princess, and many are driven to suicidal madness after but a single sniff.


                                            The scent is indescribable. Sweat, grime, oil and food grease stick to her coat like honey to flesh. Her mouth is a petri-dish of the foulest bacteria, and her extremities are awash in past excretions left to fester. Froth, sweated forth on the hottest days, was left to soak into her coat, and a carapace of dead skin and shed hair has hardened to such an extent that one must peel it back with the edge of a knife to see the original hide beneath. Her genitals are mercifully hidden beneath her tail, which is kept lowered at all times thanks to Luna's views on how a mare should carry herself. Should the tail ever raise, or, Celestia forbid, be swept aside by the wind, then the world would behold a horror like no other.


                                            Generations of vaginal evacuations, urine, and fecal matter stain the royal posterior. Whether such passings were easy or strained, wet or dry, they have left crumbs - remnants of their existence that Luna wears with pride. Once, there was a suitor. A stallion noble cursed, or perhaps blessed, with no sense of smell. He alone was bold enough to court her Highness against the wishes of his confidants. He alone charmed her, and she found him agreeable to her standards. But even a stallion protected against the insidious first line of defence of Luna's eternal virginity could not overcome the rotting abomination between her thighs. It is said that he stared into the abyss for ten seconds before with a shriek he cast himself from the highest tower in Canterlot, begging for deliverance before he was finally granted the ambrosia of death by the carved stonework below.


                                            Should you catch Luna's eye, run. Hide yourself from the world and pray that she does not attempt to court you herself. She is the picture of regal authority and poise, and death follows her on the wind. But she shall never change. She shall never suffer the indignity of wasting her life away doing something as trivial as 'bathing'. Her Highness knows no insecurities, and to those that would dare imply that she wash she can only bark "Don't make me laugh."


                                            :)