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Pinkie Pie sat cross-legged on the loft floor, surrounded by a scatter of old photo albums and crumpled wrapping paper from yesterday’s Hearth’s Warming gifts. The bakery was quiet—Diane had gone to bed early, claiming her muscles still felt like overworked taffy—and Pinkie had stayed up “just to tidy a little.”
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She hadn’t tidied at all.
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Instead, she was flipping through an album from when she was a filly, pausing on a page where somepony (probably Limestone) had scrawled names under a family portrait in crayon: Igneous, Cloudy, Limestone, Maud, Marble, Pinkie… and then, in Pinkie’s own loopy writing, a careful middle name she’d insisted on at the time: **Pinkamena Diane Pie**.
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She traced the word *Diane* with one hoof, smiling softly.
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“It’s funny,” she whispered to the empty room. “I picked that name because it sounded fancy. Grown-up. Like somepony who knew exactly what she was doing, even when everything felt too big and too loud. I wanted to be Pinkamena Diane Pie when I threw my first party, because it felt… calmer. Steadier.”
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She closed the album and hugged it to her chest.
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“And then the Mirror Pool gave me you. Not another Pinkie Pie. Not a louder me or a bouncier me. It gave me *Diane*.”
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Pinkie’s mane drooped just a little, thoughtful rather than sad.
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“You’re everything that name promised. Quiet when I’m loud. Patient when I’m rushing. You see the cracks in things—in rocks, in ponies—and you don’t try to fill them with confetti. You just… hold space. Make them strong anyway.”
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She glanced up toward the attic door, voice dropping even softer.
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“I thought you using my middle name was just practical. Something to tell ponies apart. But now I think it was the pool—or fate, or whatever—being clever. Because you *are* Diane. Not Pinkamena Diane. Just Diane. The part of me that grew up slower, quieter, stronger. The part that doesn’t need to be everywhere at once to matter.”
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Pinkie set the album aside and leaned back against the couch, eyes on the ceiling as if she could see through it to the attic above.
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“I’m glad you took it. The name. The quiet. The steadiness. I’m glad you’re the one who gets to be Diane Pie… because you wear it better than I ever could.”
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She smiled—a small, genuine one, not the usual megawatt grin.
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“And I get to keep being Pinkie. Bouncy, loud, party-obsessed Pinkie. Knowing there’s a Diane upstairs who’s got my back—and the whole town’s—in her own perfect way.”
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Pinkie yawned, finally gathering the albums into a loose pile.
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“Best middle name ever,” she murmured, flicking off the light.
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Upstairs, Diane slept on, unaware that the name she’d chosen on a whim had always been waiting for her—like a quiet promise kept across magic and memory.
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And in the dark, Sugarcube Corner felt just a little more complete.
by YuriFanatic
by YuriFanatic
by YuriFanatic
by YuriFanatic
by YuriFanatic