>>42643103
now

>You palmed the edge of the counter with both hands and leaned forward, taking a considerable whiff of the meal sizzling away on your storied cast-iron skillet.
>The ratio of marbling to lean meat on nearly all six strips of bacon was a clean fifty-fifty, a stipulation that had taken the local Gryphonian meat vendor ages to bring to fruition.
>Umami fumes dominated your nostrils, every inhale just shy of placebo for your incoming feast.
>Buffeting your face alongside the heavenly miasma was a far subtler scent; that of a free-range egg, bubbling atop a generous layer of bacon grease.
>The golden yolk glared almost lasciviously back up at you, the surrounding whites circularly structured just so.
>Swathes of wondrous heat lapped at your face in uneven brushstrokes, the beginnings of moisture collecting on your bare skin.
>Oh, God.
>If it were any more perfect, you might have cried.
>You inwardly celebrated the fact that Pinkie was out with Twilight and Rarity that day, as it meant you wouldn’t have to air out the house until later on in the evening.
>The sweet mare swore up and down that she’d gotten used to it, of course, but you knew her better than that; the last time she’d been around for you cooking meat, she shoved her snout firmly into the crook of your neck and inhaled deeply whenever she had the chance.
>Impatient, you checked the timer of the adjacent counter, which read less than forty seconds left in the agonizing cook time.
>You reached over and twisted the knob counter-clockwise to zero, snuffing out the impending alarm before it had the chance to rip you from your nirvana.
>Briskly, you switched off the cooktop’s open flame and moved the skillet to a dormant burner to cool for a moment.
>You fetched silverware for the egg, but left the plates undisturbed; the skillet would more than suffice.
>…And what good would sitting at the table do, other than prolong your voraciousness even further?
>There was no need to be prim, or even proper! No, you’d dig in right there and-
>“Anon? Anon, are you there? Oh, /please/ let him be home…”
>Twilight’s voice, muffled by insulation and urgent in its timbre, dragged you from your stupor.
>Perplexed, you set your silverware down and plodded gingerly over to the back door.
>You opened it without delay, the hinges creaking as it’s thrown wide to zenith.
>A brisk fall breeze washed over you, the scent of maple and cloves high in the air.
>Fallen leaves danced about your backyard in the wind, glittering gold and warm tones accentuating the unending blue above.
>Three ponies dotted the yard, only two of which you were familiar with. Twilight and Rarity had gathered before you in some nervous capacity, huddled around a mysteriously cloaked figure.
>Normally, you would have assumed it to be Pinkie, but something wasn’t quite right; this pony was a fair bit stockier, taller than the rest of them.
>A stallion, maybe?

>>42283423
Already my favourite, ponk being a gril is the only thing holding me back.