Back in Ponyville

Rarity walked through the streets of Ponyville with an undeniable swagger, her hips swaying from side to side as she made sure to subtly push her chest forward with each graceful step. Her newly enhanced breasts bounced enticingly with every movement, straining her tight top in ways she found positively sinful. She couldn’t help but smirk at the luxurious heft of them the way they demanded attention, the way they made her feel.

But strangely enough, no one seemed particularly shocked.

Carrot Cake gave her a polite wave as he stacked boxes outside Sugarcube Corner. Lyra and Bon Bon walked past chatting animatedly without so much as a double take. Even Featherweight, who used to practically trip over himself when she bent down to adjust a shoe, merely smiled and tipped his hat.

Rarity pouted inwardly. Surely this was worthy of more fanfare?

Then she remembered with a flicker of amusement that to everypony else, she had always been like this.

Her breasts, her curves, her overwhelming beauty… it wasn’t new to them.

Reality itself had rewritten its memory. She was just Rarity fabulously busty as she had always been.

She chuckled to herself. I suppose I’ll have to get used to being magnificent.

As she sauntered further into the market, Rarity’s attention turned to the ponies around her.

It wasn’t just her. Everywhere she looked, the mares of Ponyville seemed… improved.

More curves. More cleavage. Shorter skirts. Tighter tops.

More daring cuts and sheer panels and glimmering stockings.

Even typically modest ponies like Fluttershy — whom she spotted across the square shyly buying lettuce — wore a cropped, skintight yellow sweater that clung to her generous chest like a second skin, its neckline plunging so deep it practically invited stares. Beneath it, she wore a pastel-colored micro-skirt barely longer than a belt, swishing gently with every nervous step. A little green butterfly clasp at her waistband only emphasized how absurdly cute and suggestive the ensemble was.

Rarity blinked. Fluttershy? In that? In public?

Rarity caught herself biting her lip.

Oh my stars…

If only I could have introduced such designs myself!

Secretly, she’d always dreamed of pushing fashion into more risqué territory body-hugging gowns, see-through lace, high-slit skirts. She had sketches hidden deep in her studio that she would never have dared to show a client. Too scandalous, she had thought. Too daring.

And yet… here it was. Out in public. Normalized.

Rarity fought the giddy smile threatening to break across her face. Perhaps… a new fashion line is in order.

Lost in her musings, Rarity almost didn’t notice the commotion by the fountain.

Her eyes widened.

Big Macintosh the paragon of stoic farm-pony masculinity stood pinned against the marble basin by Cheerilee, their mouths locked in a passionate, sloppy kiss.

And more than that Big Mac’s strong hands gripped Cheerilee’s plush rear, openly kneading it like dough.

Rarity gasped, scandalized.

He’s married! she thought, To Sugar Belle! How could he? How dare he!

Outraged, Rarity stormed across the square, **** for someone to confide in. She spotted a flash of pink and bee-lined toward it.

“Pinkie Pie!” she called out, waving.

The party mare bounced happily over, breasts bouncing right along with her in an absurdly tight halter top that left nothing to the imagination. Not that Pinkie seemed to mind — nor anypony else, for that matter.

“Heya Rarity!” Pinkie chirped, her voice as bubbly as ever.

Rarity leaned in, whispering urgently, “Pinkie, you’ll never believe it. I just saw Big Macintosh cheating on Sugar Belle with Cheerilee! Right in public!”

Pinkie blinked at her. Then blinked again. Then giggled uncontrollably.

“Oh silly Rarity, that’s not cheating! Cheerilee’s also his wife!”

Rarity’s mouth opened, then closed, then opened again like a fish gasping for air.

“What do you mean ‘also’ his wife?!” she sputtered.

Pinkie shrugged cheerfully. “They’re a thruple! You know, Big Mac, Sugar Belle, and Cheerilee. Super cute, right? They even had matching ceremonies and everything! Gosh, you really gotta keep up!”

With a wink and a bounce, Pinkie zipped off toward the bakery, leaving Rarity standing frozen in the square.

What… what in Celestia’s name is going on?

Her mind raced, heart pounding in her chest. How has all this happened? I don’t remember asking any questions for these?

Fighting the growing sense of panic and a strange, shameful thrill Rarity turned on her heel and hurried home, her high heels clicking rapidly against the cobblestone streets.

⸻

Home. Sanctuary. Familiarity.

She closed the boutique door behind her with a slam, pressing her back against it as she tried to catch her breath.

This is fine, she told herself. This is manageable. I just need to think—

“Rarity!” came a delighted voice from the kitchen.

Rarity looked up just in time to see Sweetie Belle bounding into the room — and stopped dead.

Her baby sister, so recently a gangly little thing, now sported luscious curves that filled out her tank top and short shorts scandalously. Her breasts were large not Rarity’s level of grandeur, of course, but ample enough to be shockingly inappropriate for the little sister Rarity still pictured in her mind.

Before Rarity could even think of what to say, Sweetie Belle closed the distance between them, threw her arms around her neck and kissed her.

Not a chaste kiss on the cheek. Not a sisterly peck. A deep, passionate kiss, full of tongue and need.

Rarity’s eyes went wide as she felt Sweetie’s hands wander one squeezing her breast, the other slipping around to cup her butt through her skirt.

Sweetie pulled back slightly, her cheeks flushed and her green eyes sparkling.

“Missed you, sis,” she purred. “You smell so good. Can we… cuddle?”

Rarity’s mind short-circuited completely.