Going for Seconds
A crisp breath fills your lungs, the aroma of clean sheets and moist air mingling in your nose as you lift your head from your patchwork pillow. Cherry-red locks spill down the side of your neck as you rub your eyes and take measure of your small room. Outside your window a blanket of thin morning mist decorates the apple orchard, shielding much of the breaking dawn.
It was still early, but it was today – and today is the day!
You reel your rear hooves back and kick down your comforter, pointing your limbs and stretching them toward the sky in the process.
Yesterday was the last day of summer, which meant today was the first day of autumn. Folks from all over Ponyville were due to come to the farm in droves to celebrate the beginning of the fall season. The Apple Family had been preparing for the event the entire week, and only yesterday had you finished.
The weather squad officially wrapped up seasons on the weekend for just these sorts of get-togethers, and you couldn’t wait for the culmination of all of your hard work to pay off. All sorts of pony-folk and non-pony-folk were going to flock to Sweet Apple Acres to enjoy the music and the farm-grown food, not to mention the extra catering you’d lined up as filler.
And, of course, who could forget the apple cider?
You certainly couldn’t. After all, you’d been prying at Applejack for years, silently hoping that this time, this hoe-down or this hoot n’ anny, would finally be the one where she let you try your lineage’s famous brew. None of them had been.
That is, not until today. The day that you made her SWEAR on her hat that she would let you sit up at the barrel with the other mares and have your very own glass. You made her Pinkie promise and everything.
You’d like to think it was because she and Granny were noticing how confident and marely you were becoming. You’d like to think that all the little jobs you you’d been completing for the celebration all on your own had shown your guardians how much of an independent and responsible young adult you were. That is to say, you HOPED it was for one of those dignified, thoughtful reasons…
Not because of, say, that time last week, when AJ came up to your room to check on you because she thought you were ‘choking’, only to find you hunched over your bed with a carrot from the farm – lodged half way into your throat.
She hasn’t mentioned it since, but you KNOW she told Granny and Big Mac, maybe even joked about it when you weren’t around. Nopony could trust your sister with discretion. You knew that better than most.
Granny had recently stopped calling you filly and instead resorted to ‘little lady’.
This small change in title, for what is was worth, actually made you much happier than you let on – until you started to notice it. That smile. That little smirk she put on whenever the words came out of her mouth. It was the same with Big Mac and AJ, but somehow worse. Like every time they saw you, they were thinking not of a proud pony growing into marehood, but a tiny, awkward filly clumsily slathering her mouth over colt-shaped vegetables.
That happened ONE DARN TIME and they were going to lord it over you the rest of your life.
You groan and throw your forelegs across your eyes in embarrassment of the memory, sprawling your body out flat along your comfy bed as you try to forget. You can’t, and if that wasn’t bad enough, the sudden hooffalls outside your door serve as a grim opposition. A reminder that there was always more to come; always.
”Uhh, hey Applebloom?” the unmistakable voice of your sister inquires through your door. Three slow but hard knocks resonate through your doorframe. ”Wake up cawll! Ahaha… hah. Ah’m, uhh… ah’m comin’ in…”
There’s a pregnant pause. A frown etches its way onto your face and deepens the longer it persists.
”… Ah’m ‘bout ta’ open up the door, now,” Applejack goes on cautiously, still not making a move to enter. You can hear the smile on her lips. “So if yer doin’ anything in there… best wrap it up.”
Your face scrunches up and you groan, forelegs shooting up to wrap your pillow tightly around your face and ears.
“Sis c’maaaaawn!” You whine indignantly, stifling your voice into your pillow. You kick your rear hooves in frustration at the muffled sound of her sniggering.
”Alright, alight! Ah’ll come back in a minute…“
________________
Once your morning routine is finally finished, you and Applejack take your first steps outside, reveling in the fresh morning landscape. The sun is just starting to win out over the morning fog around the trees, and multiple innocuous clouds were beginning to form high in the sky. A good start to a great day.
You and your sister trot up to the barn to find Big Mac tugging open one of its large red doors with meager difficulty. He releases the rope handle with a huff after he succeeds and turns to regard the two of you as you approach.
”Aw Mac, why’re ya’ up to that again?” Applejack says, frowning. “Ah thought ah said ta’ let me handle it? One’a these days yer gonna’ hurt yerself – and ah won’t pity ya’ none.” Her concerned look is rebuffed with a puff of the nostrils and a shake of the head from your brother.
You yourself couldn’t find much reason to fret over it – and it wasn’t on account of any sibling teasing, either. Mac had been working the farm for so long that it was almost stranger to treat him like the stallion he was than the mare he tended to act all the time. Not only that, but he was very fit, and not in the usual way that stallions tried to be.
Slim and flexible was the preferred norm, especially with city ponies and the like. Mac had never been much of either of those. For as long as you had known him, and no matter what he did, your brother’s frame had always been especially bulky and sinuous. It wasn’t terribly strange for ponies that didn’t know him to mistake him for a mare at long distances.
Though he would never say it – and would likely feel pride at being distinguished from trophy-shelf, dainty city colts – you always got the feeling he wished others besides his family would acknowledge his masculine side every once and a while. Sit down and get to know the real him.
Maybe that was why he and Anon hit it off so quickly.
A familiar tingle runs down your bright tail at the thought of that name. AJ, filling the basket on your back with supplies, pauses when she notices your shiver. She asks if the loan is too much, and all you can do is prickle pink and shake your head, hoping she can’t read minds as well as usual.
It’s been a little over a month since Anon started working on the farm.
The two of you are quite close in the rich fantasy world inside your head.
It is there he respects you, there that he observes you with subdued intensity as you confidently pamper and flirt with him. He laughs at all your jokes, face flush and eyes seductive as he confesses that he thinks about you as much as you think about him. Goes on at length about how he always fantasizes about holding you, and kissing you, and letting you touch him in all the places you’d always wanted to touch a colt.
Reality, unfortunately, was a little different.
In reality you had to put all your being into not lisping your words or bumbling over your own hooves whenever he interacted with you. In reality, when you aren’t avoiding him out of anxiety, you’re watching him from where he can’t see like a stalker. In reality he barely notices you, even when you’re focusing all of your strange, needy, throbbing emotion on him – completely out of your own control – and whenever he’s around.
—Apparently when he’s not around, too.
You sigh bitterly and turn your basket over into the grass. You were now standing out in the rear field, in the middle of a wide stretch of grass where the majority of the p̣̱̩̳̟̟a͕͎̪͉̣̳̍̐̅r͙̜̞̲͇̎ͯͦt̥̩̲̥̳̲̐ͣͩ̐̿ͤ̆ÿ̟̩͇̺́̽͒͘ would be taking place.
There’s no use in fretting over this stuff now. He’d probably be here any minute to help set things up and enjoy the celebration. You’ll have plenty of time for hoof sweat later. For now, you need to just relax and let your guard down while you can. You wouldn’t have the opportunity once he arrived.
Applejack takes a sharp exhale as she unhooks herself from the pallet, setting down the myriad of supplies she and Mac had just drug from the barn to join your own pile.
”Hey uh, Applebloom?” she says. ”We’re headin’ back to grab s’more stuff. I needja’ ta’ open up that crate there,” she motions, “spread everything out on the grass right there,” again, “then sort out the streamers’n wire’n tools’n so forth. You can handle that, can’t ya’?” Her confident smile is infectious.
“O’course! You can count on me!” you reply easily.
”That’a girl!” she returns, equally energized. “C’mawn Mac, I bet we can carry them plates’n such with the both of us.” The Stallion hums in affirmative, and the two of them set off.
Enthused, you turn and immediately place your hooves on the lid to the crate, heaving it upwards with your small hooves. Despite your best efforts, it doesn’t budge. Not only that, but now that you were up against it, you were noticing how heavy it was. Flipping this thing over on its side was probably going to be a lot harder tha–AAH CELESTIA PLEASE MAH HEART!
Your body flies backwards as the lid literally explodes off the top of the crate. The splintered wood soars high into the air and is quickly joined by something else; a ball of pink and glitter and raw, untapped energy.
”WEE-HEEE!” the flying pony cries, summersaulting in the air and scattering rainbow-colored glitter in all directions before landing smoothly in front of you on her rear hooves. Your small chest pounds furiously as you clutch at it with your hoof, eyes still sharp from the sudden and violent increase in sound and movement.
“W-What in–who’s—!? Pinkie Pah!?” You sputter breathlessly, a thin blanket of steely confetti still raining down all around.
”Hee hee! That’s me! And you’re n-… not… Applejack…?” Plinkie scrunches up her face and whips her head around, her sparkle-flecked mane flopping this way and that.
“You scared me half’ta death!” you detract weakly, taking a deep breath as you climb back onto your hooves – which DEFINITELY aren’t still shaking like a little colt’s.
The pink pony regards you for a moment before laughing raucously, quickly recovering from her disappointment.
”Hahah! Well then, at least all that effort wasn’t wasted! But don’t you worry, I’ll get’er before the day is through! You watch!” the cotton-candy menace declares as she gets on all fours and shakes the loose glitter from her fur. You shield your eyes with a hoof, peering at the party pony from around your foreleg with squinted eyes.
“Ah reckon ya’ll heard about our ‘lil event?” you say, a weary grin growing on your face. The expressive mare’s antics were always entertaining, if not a little fraying on the nerves at times.
Your face quickly falters to confusion as a thought crosses your mind. You look around Pinkie to the box she’d just come out of, small rivers of multi-colored snow still spilling out around the edges.
“It’s six in the mornin’… it was still light out when we shut up the barn yesterday. How long ya’ll... bin in that-there crate for?” you question nervously, turning back to the strange pony. “And what happened ta’ all the stuff that used to be in there?”
The pink pony grins manically. In a flash she reaches down and lifts you off the ground from around the barrel in one of her forelegs, collecting you against her side. Ignoring your squirming, she begins trotting on two legs towards the entrance to the field.
”No time, kid!” she cries. “The Cakes’ll be here any second with that wagon, and we’ll need lotsa’ tables for all the grub! Lets go! Double time!”
________________
The only predictable thing about the next few hours were the break-neck speed in which they passed you by. Just like Pinkie predicted, the Cakes arrived next. Also true to her word, their wagon overflowed with sweets and goodies of every kind imaginable, all of which were created with a care and quality that demanded to be shown off.
Applejack’s friends arrive soon afterwards.
With the added help of the other elements of harmony, stands and tents populated with the Cake’s sweets, bags of popcorn, sweetened carrot juice, and apple confections of all manner began to appear and multiply rapidly out from the place where you and your family began. Sweetie Belle had arrived with Rarity, and in the commotion of the preparations Scootaloo eventually appeared as well.
Beyond that, you started to lose track of specific faces. By the time noon started to roll around you could already feel your legs aching from all the hard work. The next time you see your sister, it’s from the ground. You and the other crusaders have collapsed dramatically and now lie panting on the grass, trying In vain to keep the sweat collecting on your brows under control.
”Alright girls!” she says, drawing your attention. ”Ah reckon ya’ll done yer parts. Go on ahead and get yourselves somethin’ ta’ drink, take a sit-down; ya’ll earned it. Everypony’s startin’ to show up and the grub’s pretty much all set up anyhow. If’n I need ya’, I’ll be sure to holler.”
“Sweet release!” Scootaloo cries with a flap of her wings.
At your sister’s recommendation, your group promptly rises from the dead and crosses the field, each collecting a cup of cold carrot juice via a nearby tent from your uncle Orange. The three of you round that same tent to sit on the side opposite the sun. It wasn’t very hot of course, being autumn, but the shade still felt nice on your warm bodies. Sweetie volunteered for the food run, and soon each of you had a big, fat chocolate cupcake for your drinks to wash down.
By noon your small group of three family members had morphed into well over seventy, each one conversing, eating, or shuffling food trays in and out of tents. The once quiet orchard was now filled with the loud hum of dozens of mares and stallions arriving and enjoying themselves.
The sight of various pegasi fluttering and darting about in the sky draws your gaze up high to admire the weather team’s early morning work, the otherwise powerful sun obstructed by large, puffy white clouds.
A comfortable silence had fallen over the three of you as you drank and enjoyed the scenery, ignoring much else but the vague blur of good company. Your head was so in the clouds, in fact, that you didn’t even notice the filly rounding the corner on your small group until she decided speaks up.
”Eyyyy!” an accented voice exclaims.
Each of you turn your heads to acknowledge the cocoa and pink pony that was now addressing you. Your eyes widen when you come to realize who she is.
“… Babs?” you say.
In less then a second you’ve set your cupcake wrapper and cup onto the grass and leapt to your hooves, awestruck.
“Babs Seed It really is you, hohmahgosh!” you exclaim happily as you wrap your cousin into a tight hug, one that’s quickly followed up with the inclusion of Scootaloo and Sweetie.
As the three of you embrace, you idly notice that she’s nearly two inches taller than when you remember her. In fact, she’s bigger in more ways than one. Her hips have grown slightly wider, her face is a little rounder, too, but it doesn’t look like she’s gained any weight.
”It’s been so long since we’ve seen you!” Sweetie squeals, smiling brightly.
Scootaloo nods vigorously. ”I can’t believe you’re here!” Her tiny wings flap in excitement as the four of you break apart.
”Eyyy, you’know,” the Manehattan filly begins, shrugging her shoulders casually, “I heard about all the eye candy in Ponyville and I figured I should get my flank down here before all’a yoos took’em all for yourselves, know what I mean?” She grins wolfishly and nudges each of you with her foreleg.
As the four of you chuckle, you take note that out of all of you, her voice is the deepest. If only by a bit. Just enough to make an impression.
“Why didn’t ya’ tell me ya’ll were comin’ in!?” you say. “How long ya’ been in Ponyville?” You take a seat in the grass as your three friends do the same.
”Aww, I wanted it to be a surprise, ya’ know? I got in last night and just lay’d low with my folks until you guys were startin’ up the fun. I figured we could just hide under you mooks’ noses and you’d be none the wiser,” Babs jokes, smiling triumphantly as each of you feed her false pouts.
“Well, it worked ah guess. Welcome back to Ponyville, cousin,” you say, smiling ear to ear.
You find yourself losing track of time again as each of you trade stories about your various adventures and mishaps. The three of you tell Babs about the time Scootaloo got her head stuck in a honey jar. You tell her about that other time Twist was cleaning her desk and one of her colty magazines fell out for everypony to see. You even tell about that OTHER time when you all tried to help cheer up Diamond Tiara after she farted herself awake in class and everypony was laughing at her for a week straight.
Good times all, ones you’d never forget.
Once the ponyville-faction of the CMC exhausted their tales to tell, the four of you decided to trot around and see the sights as Babs told you some of her own. A lot of them were about her and her Manehattan crusader palls getting up to no good, or her being forced to use the fire escape for a quick retreat when mares came home early from work to find her kissin’ on their sons and what-not. Apparently there was even a time when she was ACTUALLY taken home by the Ponice after they caught her trespassing in a warehouse after dark.
Each of you reacted to your cousin’s exploits with a mixture of mirth and subdued awe, scarcely believing how much she’d grown and charted her own path since you’d parted ways. You were actually a little embarrassed in hindsight at how mature her stories felt compared to yours. For good or for worse, she’d done a lot since you’d seen her last, and she was only a year-and-a-half older than you.
With all the time spent absorbing her various adventures, you hardly had time to notice that the amount of guests arriving and leaving had slowed to a crawl. Everypony who was still around was beginning to settle down and mingle with each other.
Just as you started to wonder where your folks might be a hiding, a tall shadow crawled across your face and drew the attention of the other fillies.
The shadow was made by a long, thick wooden pole slowly being hoisted into the air by a strong rope. Below it sat a large collection of pallets from the barn, each lined up with small gaps in between that were all connected by a long, thin sheet of particle board to create a makeshift stage.
But that wasn’t what you were looking at.
Behind the stage, hunched slightly with a piece of rope clutched tightly in his fleshy claws, was Anon the Human: Destroyer of Confidence.
When did he get here!?
A wave of nervous goosebumps washes over your body as you examine him. The muscle in his arms draws tight as he helps your brother hoist up the beam, one of two which would support the various banners each act would hang up to advertise themselves as they played.
You instinctively find your shadow on the ground, using it to gauge how your mane and bow looked before you twisted your head around into the other direction to check your tail.
Everything looked… okay?
Or maybe everything looked TERRIBLE.
As you stare intensely at the cherry tuft that sprang up from above your rump, you can’t help but notice it as well.
THAT was okay, right?
It looked a little boney…
As your mind suddenly swims with mildly troubling visions of the various mare plots you’d seen recently – n-not that you were lookin’ at’em or anything fooler-y like that – you can’t help but size yourself up in comparison. Soon your entire being is engaged in carefully scoping your flank for flaws, brain whirring as you anxiously dance on your hoof tips.
”Wa-hoh, what’s that thing over there with Mac?” Bab’s voice questions east of your boney flank.
”Who? Oh! Yeah, yeah that’s Mr. Anon,” Scoots replies to the west of your boney, flabby flank.
”He works here on the farm with Applejack and Mac. Isn’t he a sight?” Sweetie Belle comments wistfully to the west of your tiny, boney, flabby flank.
”Ehh… yeah, ya’ know? I guess I see it.“
You take several deep breaths and tear your attention away from your hindquarters to see Babs craning her neck to the side, examining the far off human as he bends his body, shifting his weight to give him better leverage. His face contorts cutely with the effort.
“… If you’re in’da that sorta’ thing… “ your cousin continues distantly, a tiny, satisfied smile spreading on her lips as she watches the two males finally hoist the beam into position.
”Goodness, that seems very dangerous, dears!”
Rarity’s unique voice is soon joined with her presence. The regal, pretty mare (with the confidence draining flanks) approaches Anon and your brother in the distance with a concerned look.
”You poor things shouldn’t be doing this all alone. Where’s Applejack, darlings? Shouldn’t she be helping you with this? Applejaaack!?” Rarity calls out over the crowd of ponies, drawing several stares in the process.
While Rarity apparently had her principles set, it didn’t seem like they were enough for her to strain her prissy little hooves with the effort – that would get her sleek, hoity coat all sweaty, after all. Contrary to what some might assume, you’d heard the stuffy, proper mare was quite popular with the fairer sex.
Anon approaches her and places his fleshy hoof on her snout, silencing her and humming something out of earshot with his perfect, chocolatey voice. Mac draws up to his left to agree with a firm nod of the head.
Anon was wearing all his clothes today, but they were trimmed back slightly so you could see his forearms and legs.
He’d changed since he’d been working on the farm. Not by much, so nopony else really seemed to take much notice. You did, though. When you first met him he was a little rounder in the barrel and thighs, and his arms weren’t quite as ridged. He’d gained a teeny bit of muscle in various areas, but he’d mostly consolidated his figure by slimming down everywhere. If you compared him to Mac’s bulky and muscular frame, he was more ‘athletic’, almost lithe.
A month ago you probably thought it wasn’t possible for him to make you any more antsy than he already did, but you were younger back then.
Younger and dumber.
While you had constant crises about your gangly appearance, he was busy becoming more and more desirable, flying farther and farther away.
”I gatta admit, I wasn’t really expectin’ this,” your cousin comments thoughtfully. “I mean, we got workin’ boys down in Manehattan, but out here in the country? Forget about it! I thought they was all gonna be wearin’ sun hats and blowin’ kisses.”
”Naw, it happens all the time here.” Scootaloo replies “Just, you know, maybe not on farms and in construction and stuff. Anon and Mac are special cases, I guess.”
”—Look, I’m telling you, it’s fine!”
The voice of Anon the human draws the attention of your small party. You’d apparently been leading the other fillies by example, drawing in close enough to hear what was going on without realizing it.
”Look, I’ll prove it. Hey, uhh… you? C’mere a second,” the human says, pointing out a male earth pony with a light brown coat and dark brown mane.
The earth pony smiles sheepishly and looks around before pointing to himself for qualification.
”Yeah you, uh… uhh...“ Anon snaps his fingers and scrunches his eyes shut in thought. “Caramel! Caramel, right? Come over here, help me prove a point.”
The amber stallion blushes faintly as he becomes the center of attention and turns to a cyan mare at his right (Sassaflash, if you remember correctly) for support. He turns back to Anon and shakes his head nervously, a wary smile settling on his lips.
Rarity looks unimpressed.
”Aww, c’mon. I’m not gonna hurt you, I just wanna prove a point. You’ll be fine. C’mon, don’t make me beg,” Anon insists with an encouraging smile. Predictably, the combination of his energy and raw charisma is too strong even for another stallion, and Caramel, with subtle prods from his marefriend, trots up to the human.
”Look, it’s easy. Just pull on the rope with Mac here; anybody can do it,” Anon says, flashing a sly smile in Rarity’s direction.
Caramel reluctantly joins Mac and, with Anon’s direction, takes one of the two ropes tied to the tip of the second wooden stage beam into his mouth. The bottom of the beam rests in a small crevice that slants sharply into a deep hole, readying the beam to catch onto the top of the drop and then fall into place once it was hoisted up straight. The stallion looks a little nervous, but nonetheless seems ready. Anon stands at his side, arms folded, observing.
”Okay! Ready? Mac?” Anon says enthusiastically, peering between the two stallions, “PULL!”
Both of the ropes whip taught and the wooden pole hovers a few inches off of the ground. Though Mac has begun a slow, steady trot backwards, Caramel stays completely still. That is, if you ignored the sharp twitches in his muscles as he struggles with all his might to handle the weight.
The poor stallion didn’t have Mac’s bulk, Anon’s size, or the built-up muscle from doing much work. It was probably taking all of his will to simply keep the rope gripped in his mouth.
Regardless of the small cheers from the stallions and even a few mares that were trickling in to watch the spectacle, Caramel simply didn’t have the raw power to meet the demand. Mac had taken to strafing to the side as he pulled in an attempt to keep the beam pointing upwards as it rose, but eventually he was side to side with the other earth pony and it was tilting in his direction again.
Their work is barely a quarter of the way done when Caramel’s body jerks forward suddenly. Gasps ring out in the crowd as he slides, and it looks as though he could lose his side completely at any moment.
Chivalry fills you, the crusaders, and several of the mares nearby, your bodies moving forward instinctually to assist the overburdened stallion. Before anypony can do anything however, a fleshy claw snaps around the rope just in front of Caramel’s snout.
”Hwoah! Easy, I gotcha’! I got it, Mac. Don’t stop now, c’mon, you can do it!” Anon assures the pony, adding his own force to the pull.
The human’s body slowly morphs around Caramel’s, his taught front pressing into the stallion’s lower back. Cheers from the scant few stallions and the few interested mares reignite in the crowd, and Rarity’s worried expression changes to one of cautious optimism. You silently cheer in your mind, a smile you can’t hold back spreading across your lips.
Anon was amazing; he could turn any bad into good in the blink of an eye, and he could do it without losing his composure. Sure he and Mac had done this by themselves before and he was cheating a little, but in the moment it doesn’t seem to matter.
The human’s arms tighten reflexively, increasing and decreasing Caramel’s loan as he deems necessary; you can tell Anon wants him to earn this.
Several more mares join the group of spectators from the fringes. They eye the two males and whisper amongst each other, strange looks painting their faces.
”Hnnnnnn-nngg!” Caramel whines softly, turning his head and pulling back with all his might, his slim back meshing smoothly into Anon’s toned front.
The human grunts and presses forward, keeping his body folded tightly around him as they work with each other. His hot, steamy breath pools in the amber pony’s soft, wispy mane as it tumbles gently in the wind, face twisted with determined passion as his body rocks back in time with-with—
…O-Oh.
As the boys continue to pull their shares, you notice instantly that more mares are beginning to take interest in the scene ahead of you. The males in the crowd haven’t noticed. They cheer and shout words of encouragement, totally oblivious to the slow but subtle change in atmosphere. Even Rarity seems to be picking up on it.
”Nnng! C’mon, don’t stop now, keep goin’… that’s right…” Anon breathlessly goads the labored… innocent… needy stallion as he pools his toned flanks against the human’s hips, grunting cutely with the effort through the rope obstructing his mouth.
Rarity is digging into the ground with her right hoof, the outline of her jaw standing out on her face.
There are no words. You have no words for what’s happening in front of you right now.
”Y-You was sayin’ tha-… that this, uh… this kinda’ stuff happens ALL the time ‘round here?” you hear Babs mention in another dimension.
Beads of sweat dot Anon and Caramel’s brows as they shift their position, the beam ahead of them steadily growing in height. Their pace is ponderous but consistent, and growing. Growing to a peak.
”You’re-ahh… doing great… almost… almost there…“ Anon groans. His tone is sultry, but only in the minds of every virile female present.
You peer at the amber pony’s struggling form as he shakes with effort against his partner. The poor stallion is almost out of fuel, but you know he doesn’t want to give up. He wants this more badly than he lets on. He wants to show his marefriend and all the other mares how he could do everything that they could. His body aches but he doesn’t care. He’s so close; he wants to finish this so, so badly, and Anon’s going to make sure they finish together.
H-Hoh mercy, oh apples.
Something is pounding hard in your ears, and after a bit of reflection you realize that the sound aligns perfectly with the heavy strum of your heart.
Nopony could know everything there was to know about this big, complicated world – not even Twilight. Probably not even Princess Celestia herself. You could be sure of some things, though. For example, you could be quite sure that things weren’t supposed to line up like this in real life.
Is this… real life?
”H-huff! It’s almost… alllllmost…“ The human groans, his chest heaving.
“Hnnnnnnnnngg!” Caramel’s barrel arches as he puts the last of his strength into crossing that delicious, triumphant finish line.
Somewhere in Equestria – you didn’t know where, but somewhere – there’s a special ‘thought crimes’ division of the Ponice designed to hunt down degenerate mares and fillies for thinking the kinds of thoughts about stallions you were thinking right now. They were coming for you any second – but at least you weren’t going alone.
Not a single female spectator has blinked in the last several seconds. Sassaflash is biting her lip, and you don’t even need to look at the other crusaders to know they’re squirming in place.
Anon, Caramel and Mac gasp as the stage beam suddenly loses all of it weight and warbles dangerously, pointing directly into the sky. A moment later the large pole sinks deeply into the ground with a loud thud, their task officially completed. The males involved release their holds on their respective ropes, pausing for a moment to observe the result of their hard work before turning to acknowledge each other, smiling brightly.
”We did it!” Caramel pants jovially, climactically, his legs wobbling and bringing him down to a sitting position on the grass.
There’s a sound then, like dozens of creatures simultaneously letting out a breath they didn’t know they were holding. Yours was among them.
”See? What’d I tell you? You worry too much,” Anon comments smugly to Rarity as he runs a forearm across his hairline, completely oblivious to the horrible, wonderful seeds he’d just planted in the minds of every mare who’d witnessed what just occurred.
”W-… Why, yes I… I suppose you’re right…“ The element of generosity concedes distantly with not a shred of reluctance, peering out at nothing with great interest as she fans herself with a hoof.
The ponies who had gathered to enjoy the show were beginning to disperse now, various looks of frustration, satisfaction and confusion dotting their retreating faces. That was more intense than it had any right to be.
You follow Caramel as he retreats from the scene to his suddenly very aggressive, out of breath marefriend. Just as the thought of making an intelligent retreat yourself crosses your mind, your eyes suddenly find themselves locked with Anon’s. He’s looking right at you.
You feel your fur ruffle, your breath catching as your lose yourself in those eyes. He’s waving at you now, and smiling that smile you like to think about in the bathtub…
D-Do somethin’…
DO SOMETHIN’. WAVE BACK.
You lift your hoof slowly and wave it.
… Up and down – in the goodbye motion.
CRABAPPLES.
His expression changes to one of slight confusion, your dread building as he lowers his arm. To your right you can just barely make out Babs and the other crusaders trailing your gaze to the human, wondering to whom you were just waving. You have an audience.
It’s okay, you can recover from this.
You can do this.
Uhh, smile!
Your sister tells you all the time you have the nicest, most respectable smile she’s ever seen on a young mare in her life; just smile! It’s easy!
Your cheeks stretch, and you hit him with The Applebloom Classic. Not too much teeth, not too much gum, not too wide, eyes shining, head tilted slightly downwards. Everything aligns perfectly. It’s perfect…
Until the massive glob of saliva you’d been unwittingly holding in your mouth shifts and spills out over your bottom lip, drooling onto the ground before you can catch it.
NO.
You hear one of the other fillies hiss through her teeth. Anon smiles sheepishly, blinking as the hay starts to pile up around your knees.
Hah! Hahaha!
OKAY, NEW PLAN.
You tear your eyes away from him and turn stone still; if you don’t try to interact with him, then maybe he’ll get bored! Just ride it out! It’s easy! Oh Celestia.
You stare at the ground, certain that the horror is now uncontainable in your desolate, shame-filled eyes. It’s nearly impossible to tell if you’re flushed or pale but it’s definitely one of them. You don’t dare look up too soon for fear of finding him looking back, stifling a chuckle at your unmarely performance.
And your ropey legs.
And your sub-par flank.
You can’t remember the last time you were this embarrassed. You’re thinking about it too, hard. Nothing but the flush of your self-esteem as it circles the drain is capable of entertaining your cruel mind at this point, and it does for a long while. Cautious, you turn your head, looking for guidance or relief or SOMETHING from your friends, only to find the same unamused looks that you were dreading to see from the human painting their faces, and none-so more than your cousin.
”Umm… what was that?” she comments incredulously, brow furrowing.
Scoots and Sweetie share knowing looks before you turn to chance a lightning-speed scan of the stage area. Anon is looking away now, smiling and chatting with your brother about something. That would have been fine, perfect even, but you noticed something else. Your brother was glancing in your direction as he spoke, and he was smiling a familiar smile.
Not a sweet smile, no.
A devious, teasing, bastardy smile, like when he had you in the frog of his hoof after catching you misbehaving, and had only but to squeeze in order to wring extra chores and errands and audible declarations of his own attractiveness and superiority out of his burdened little sister…
What’s he saying about you…? Oh Celestia, what’s he telling Anon!?
You hear a high-pitched noise; it’s you. It was the sound of you squeezing air slowly out of your lungs like a pursed balloon.
”That was some sorry display, cousin,” Babs continues. “I mean, I was jokin’ around when I was talkin’ about you fillies snatchin’ up all the colts, but, uh… I didn’t know I was jokin’ so hard, ya’ know?”
Your expression is sullen as you kick around a few errant pebbles near your hooves. Scootaloo and Sweetie Belle approach you on either side and lace their forelegs over your withers for support. While they might’ve wanted to poke fun themselves, they didn’t have much room too. They could’ve rejected Bab’s assumption that ALL of you were bad at talking to colts, but they didn’t; they didn’t command the force of will to lie so completely to somepony’s face.
Several memories bubble up in your mind. In one such scene, you watch on in suspense as Scootaloo approaches a small group of schoolcolts. She retreats moments later to the sound of derisive, coltish giggling, her withers hiked and her face twisted up in distress.
That time when Sweetie Bell approached Pipsqueak at the summer dance also comes to mind. The bold statement of ‘never sitting at the nerdy-fillies-table during a party ever again’ was still wet on her lips when she left said table to enter no-fillies-land on the other side of the auditorium. She actually did great at first, but things went south fast when she reached for the punch ladle and instead landed her hoof INSIDE the punch bowl, tipping it on its side and spilling its contents… right onto Pip’s nice blue suit.
She made him CRY and got dirty looks from the other schoolfillies for a week afterward.
In other words, they were in the same boat. The three of you explain as much while your cousin listens on, cutting in only at the end.
”If you guys was havin’ so much trouble, why didn’t ya’ say so? Who do you think I am, huh?” Babs totes confidently, motioning to herself.
You lift your head at this, eyeing her with a mix of uneasiness and hope with the other Ponyville crusaders – but mostly uneasiness.
”What, what is this? What’s this look? You don’ believe me or somethin’?” She comments in disbelief. The light brown filly frowns and turns away in mock offense. “Eyy, ya’ know, sorry I said anything, huh? I thought you fillies wanted me to give you some pointers or somethin’. My mistake. No biggie.”
She’s smirks as she looks at you out of the corner of her eye. She has you three hooked on her every word and she knows it, and you know that she knows that you know it.
”Hokay! Hohkay, fine!” you relent, gazing quickly at your two partners. “We get it, cut us some slack, alright? How do ya’ do it? How’re ya’ s’possosed to talk to’em? What’re we doin’ wrong?”
Babs’ grin turns up full blast and she laces her hoof around the back of your necks, leading you all forward to walk and talk with her.
”Thaaaaat’s more like it! Now listen up ladies cause I ain’t repeatin’ myself. Maybe you’ll learn somethin’…“
________________
The sun is starting to set, and the air around the orchard has noticeably cooled.
Mostly cloudy throughout the day, moderate in the morning, warm in the afternoon, and slightly breezy in the evening – just as the weather-ponies advertised. The smell of cakes and popcorn has diminished and is slowly being replaced with the heady scent of cold apple cider and freshly baked apple pies.
The crowd on the farm has lessened as well, and now radiates out from a central point; a round, makeshift outdoor bar strung together with old cider barrels. The Apple Family comes to and fro with baskets piled high with pies fresh out of the oven. In random points around the inside of the bar sit more cider barrels. Those ones are the genuine articles, filled to the brim with sweet and sour nectar.
Around the bar sat tables and chairs arranged in rings, the ones farthest out the fodder of families who decided to stick around with their foals for happy hour, but predictably didn’t want them near all the drunks. The chairs rimming the bar support many pegasi, earth ponies, unicorns, and a single purple alicorn – all in various states of inebriation. Among them, too, towers a tall human, balancing his rear awkwardly on a pony-sized step stool as he converses with the nearby equines.
As you approach, the previously mentioned alicorn flutters from her seat next to Anon, clearing you a path to glory as she stumbles with slowly increasing urgency to the cornfield, no doubt to do some spring cleaning in her stomach.
Your time is now.
You’d spent nearly half the day with your knowledgeable cousin. Smiling and laughing and enjoying yourself, yes, but never forgetting what your objective was. Each story she told, each epoch she painted had been a new page in the guidebook splayed out for you to absorb. She cemented each tale with a lesson of sorts, a rule to take with you into battle to counter or avoid your previous bitter defeats.
If you could do this, if you could impress lovely Anon with your banter and at long last gain his respect, you could talk to ANY simple schoolcolt. If you could best him, you could best anypony. If you could do this, then you could do anything.
You control your breathing as the empty seat ahead grows larger. Babs and the other crusaders are sitting at the table you just left nearby, their eyes watching you with mild excitement. Babs holds on to a weary smile as you go, but her eyes are just as trained on your approach. She looks nervous for you, but she wants you to succeed. She knows you have what it takes. Just keep going, and speak up first.
That was Rule # 1: Always be the aggressor.
Babs said that colts loved aggressive mares, so you needed to start the conversation and then lead it. No more surprise appearances from Anon the Human catching you off guard. This time he was in YOUR sights, and he was going to love it.
“H-Hey there, s-s—“ You swallow the lump in your throat. “…sweetheart.” Heart skipping at your unintentional hesitation, you take the seat next to him. Nearby, your brother’s gaze shifts to you as he hoofs a stein of cider to an olive-colored earth mare.
Your cousin’s voice echoes in your mind: Always stay cool, a small stumble here or there is nothing to worry about. Colts aren’t big on the details. They’re emotional creatures that pick up on mood and confidence.
Stay cool.
Anon shifts on his step ladder to look at you, the conversation he was having with the now departing Fluttershy apparently concluded.
”Oh-? Well! Hey there, redhead. Whatcha’ up too?” The human replies cheerfully, reaching out to comb a soft claw through your recently brushed mane.
You suppress a sigh at his unanticipated affection, your stomach tingling pleasantly from the relatively alien sensation. The ‘stay cool’ mantra in your head begins to run on repeat.
Physical contact – and he initiated it first. That was good. According to Babs that meant that he was very comfortable around you. Sometimes, it even meant that he was open to more physical interaction. Hungry for the ‘V’, in Babs’ own words, which you were 87% positive was in reference to your lady-parts.
The sigh you were containing until a moment ago comes out as an excited huff. The human male’s raw, sensual confidence overpowers your control for a moment, and you have to fight to get it back. Mature stallions are no joke.
You turn you head a fraction to scan the crusader table and find Babs, your eyes wide and your mouth upturned, silently celebrating and confirming to her how well this was going. She smiles at you in turn, but she still looks very nervous. Surprised even, significantly more so than Scoots and Sweetie, both of whom were shaking their hooves in the air and silently cheering for you.
Babs had advised against all of this from the beginning.
She said it was way too early for ‘the hunt’, and that maybe you should wait a while before trying her tactics on real-live colts; but you insisted. You knew that with your newfound knowledge you had a real chance for the first time. You weren’t going to let it slip out of your grasp when you were so close.
Don’t get rooster-y now filly, the dance was only just beginning. Don’t forget your training when it matters most. He handed you the reins, he wants this. Lead the conversation!
“Wellllll, ah was just figurin’ that a nice, single colt like you would want a big, strong mare like me to keep’em company.” You eye him unabashedly with a smirk.
Mac isn’t looking at you, but you notice his brow arched as he plates several more pieces of pie to divide among the partygoers. That must’ve been smoother than you thought. Even your own brother couldn’t help but notice your charm.
”Haha… is that right?” Anon replies.
He looks… confused? Why does he…? Wait… did you mess up? Did you slip up again and not even realize it?
Lost in thought, you jump slightly as a loud sound hits you. It’s the rough peel of your older sister’s slightly-too-loud laughter as she slams her hoof repeatedly on the bar-barrel in front of her on the other side of the barrel ring.
Anon is momentarily distracted by the noise; perfect.
Just keep going, keep the lead. Talk about yourself! Babs said that colts love it when you talk about your accomplishments. ‘Be a conqueror, and they’ll want to be conquered by you’. Subtle, brilliant.
“Uhh… did y’all know that I, uhh… carried three WHOLE trays’a cupcakes at the same time all the way across the field this mornin’? Pretty impressive, right?” You flex your forelegs just bit against the barrel counter, hoping he notices.
He turns back to you and smiles, but it’s not a smile of awe or respect. It’s more… amusement. Like he isn’t sure how to respond to what you just said.
”Oh? Well, that is pretty good…” He shifts on the step stool again before glancing back into his cider mug. It was subtle, but it happened again; you lost his attention.
Where was it!? Where did you mess up this time!? Did he really find that unimpressive? How is that possible? You’d even… exaggerated your performance slightly…
Two trays was pretty much almost three trays anyways, right?
“Haha, naw, a-ah mean… it wasn’t that much,” you respond quickly. “A-Ah usually, uhh, carry more like FIVE trays usually, so it weren’t nothin’ much. Ya’ know, compared to, uhh… usually.”
You cringe slightly, noticing how you rambled. Anon is back to being confused now. He peers back at you, sliding his wigglers against the cool side of the cider glass.
”Oh yeah? Do you help out miss Cake a lot in your spare time?” he says. “I don’t usually see that many sweets on the farm.”
You feel yourself pale, caught in your lie. A line of sweat crawls down the inside of your mane.
“W-Well… Ah, uhh… w-well yeah… ah do?“ you stumble, lying yourself in deeper as you peer away, looking to find Babs for support.
This is too much. Anon is too much. Was he immune to your tactics? Was he immune to your cousin’s experience?
You find the cocoa and pink filly where you left her at the table nearby. She’s sweating, her expression noticeably anxious. She’s having a hard time looking you in the eye.
Was this really all a mistake? Was this really too soon like she said? Were you screwing up so badly that she couldn’t even watch? Oh jeez, oh no…
You feel your stomach swish as you turn back to Anon. Mac smiles in the background as he works, energized. He’s been throwing periodic glances your way.
Is he enjoying this!?
You take a deep breath, knowing that the more you fretted the more desperate you probably looked. Just keep going, if you keep going you might be able to salvage this. There was something you weren’t seeing, a secret that would make itself apparent with time if you just focused hard enough; focus!
Okay, Babs said… Babs said that colts love a mare who’s going places. A mare who was rising up in society and making lots of bits, or going to make lots. They wanted a mare who could take care of them through thick and thin and make them real comfortable like a colt should be.
You clear your throat, trying to keep your voice steady through the nerves. “U-Um, did ya’ know that Sweet Apple Acres has been in the family fer a real long time?” you try to say casually, straitening your back and putting on a dignified front.
He’s looking at you again, giving you his full attention. It’s working! Keep going! You’re so close!
“And, uh, since Ah’m the second youngest Mare in the family, Applejack’n me’ll be sharin’ control of it all one day,” you continue, heart strumming. “You know, when I’m all grown up an’ all—”
You freeze, realizing your mistake a second too late. A second too late to stop the words from coming out. Your blood turns icy.
Granny had been telling you for years, since you were a teeny foal, that one day you’d be running the family business with your sister. You often mentioned it to the other fillies with a knot of pride in your chest, knowing that one day the responsibility on Granny’s shoulders would be passed on to Applejack, and Applejack’s duties would be shared and then passed on to you.
As one of the Apple Family mares you had a great and noble profession awaiting you; at least one-half of the modern management of generations of hard work. You’d been saying it all throughout your childhood, and you’d just repeated it. ‘When I’m grown up’.
Like a child would say, like a foal pining to be an adult! Colts didn’t want little fillies! They wanted real mares!
Anon is smiling at you warmly and nodding his head, but you know without confirmation that you’ve just struck out again. You whip your head around, your crisis of confidence quickly welling back up in your chest. Suddenly it feels as though you haven’t learned anything, like the last several hours never happened. The look you settle Babs again is surely horrified, petrified, begging. You soundlessly call out to her with your pained expression, and even the other crusaders seem to notice your despair.
You need support.
There had to be something you missed, something you were forgetting. A key to everything that would solve all of your problems, a key hidden in her eyes. If only she might look your way to communicate what it was, if only!
You silently plead with her to look at you, but she doesn’t. She can’t. Sweat dots her brow, her expression an amalgam of fear and tension and guilt and…
… Guilt?
The world around you slows to a grind. Your cousin’s eyes finally meet yours, just for a split second. It’s all you need. You get a message, yes, but it isn’t the one you were hoping for.
The dilation dread amplifies. Individual droplets of cool apple cider pirouette slowly through the air, reflecting a million and one shades of light as they fall into readied mugs. Your sister’s mane swims slowly around the back of her neck like a river of wheat as she laughs. As you stare into the soul of the dark brown filly, the sounds of merriment and foals crying intermingling into a dull buzz that you can no longer translate, your expression becomes absolutely neutral, and the realization finally sets in.
It was all a lie.
Her encounters with the Ponice, the dazzling, adrenaline-pumping adventures she got into with the Manehattan crusaders, and, most importantly, every colt she’d ever been with. Babs hadn’t told you one single thing that was true. She was just like you.
She was a kissless, awkward, virgin filly who’d never had a coltfriend in her life.
Pale and spiraling, you suddenly wonder if her statement about coming to Ponyville yesterday was but another fabrication. If, in reality, she was actually still in Manehattan. Like the being centered in your gaze right now was some sort of phantom that was never truly there, but just present enough to doom you.
It’s hard to tell exactly how long it took for the flow of time in your head to return to normal. Once it had, you found yourself staring blankly over the bar barrels in front of you, finally and at long last defeated. Your will is gone, stolen from you when you weren’t looking.
Anon is yelling something across the bar to Rainbow Dash, unfazed by your failures yet again. As hard as you focus, you can’t seem to make out what he’s saying through your cold descent. His presence has become a great blinding void in your reality, like a star that you couldn’t stare directly at for fear of it showing you how insignificant all your struggles are.
As you wallowed in yet another attempt undone, you remember something from the morning.
There was only one thing you had left, and you were going to make sure that you collected on it before it was too late.
You wave Mac over, your posture slumped and sickly. You no longer had any reason to put on a show for him. That ship hadn’t sailed; it left harbor days ago.
“Cider,” you request simply. A funny look from your older brother is the only indication that what you said had sunk in. “Sis said ah could have some today, she promised. It’s today, ah want some,” you explain with a frown.
”Mmmm-hm…“ Mac responds, flashing you a skeptical look.
Your frown morphs into a scowl, one that you train on him until he leaves you. He doesn’t go to one of the cider barrels, but he does go to AJ. Your sister is still absorbed in a bout of hysterical laughter with the mares at the other end of the ring when he grabs her attention, whispering something in her ear with a stale look.
She DID promise, and you did have faith, but… trust wasn’t really your ally at the moment, and she had twisted the rules in the past.
You lower your head, wondering if, after everything you’d gone through, your sister might go back on her word and betray you as well. It would be a fine end to your evening. Some just deserts for getting full of yourself and flying too close to the sun; it would be perfect. So perfect, that you actually begin to entertain the thought of leaving before Mac comes back with the bad news. It would be much, much easier to leave the bar and rejoin your friends at the fillies table – where you belonged – before the final hurt could be delivered.
You actually make it half way off the high stool before something touches you.
A warm grabber runs gently up your spine, lithe little claws rolling back the tiny tufts of fur along your back. His hand comes to rest over the top of your withers, stroking you comfortingly. Disbelieving, you turn to find Anon peering down at you, offering a kindly look.
”Hey… you alright?” he asks softly, massaging the back of your neck with his hand. The concerned and distinctly male tone of his voice is cryptically familiar, like something you might remember if only you thought back hard enough.
Uh oh… this is bad.
Your chest begins to tighten to catastrophic levels, and your breath suddenly feels heavy and hard-won. Swallowing hard, you clench your jaw as a wave of accumulated stress hits all at once from out of the blue. You didn’t even cry in front of Applejack, but suddenly you were getting dangerously close to doing it in front of Anon.
Your first impulse it to speak, to let all your awkwardness and fears and questions and desires flood out of your mouth in a steady stream. You wanted to bawl like a little colt and lay everything in your life out in front of sweet Anon, hoping that he would understand and judge you fairly.
But you can’t. You know it isn’t your place to lay all of your burdens on him like it was his responsibility to fix whatever it was you’d become. You also knew for a fact that your voice would betray you if you spoke, so you don’t do that, either.
Instead, you lie.
You shake your head and lie to him again, not daring to meet his eyes as you do. He doesn’t answer, and seeing as how you know you can’t be trusted to speak yet, you keep silent as well.
Several ponies shift about in the edges of your vision, each one lighting a fire with matches or some other implement and approaching various points along the orchard. Slender, simple torches lined up for the occasion spring to life at the tips one by one, the individual glass candles at each table lighting in kind shortly after as all of the guests pitch in in small ways. The dusk that was settling over the populated field waned slightly with their effort, each twinkling light bringing new clarity to the far away tables and abandoned food stands.
The silence between you and Anon persists during this time, his hand never leaving your shoulders. It feels warmer than the first time he touched you, much warmer, and now the mood between you and human feels different. Eventually, inevitably perhaps, he speaks, drawing your attention instantly.
”I can’t say I know exactly what you’re going through,” he says. “Getting older is… well, it’s different for everyone, and it never really stops…” His voice comes out collected and gentle, and he peers out past the lights and sounds in Sweet Apple Acres, eyes focused on nothing. ”But… whatever’s happening, you don’t have to go through it alone. No matter how it might seem in the moment, your family is always there for you.” A comforting and genuine smile settles on his lips when he finally looks at you.
This time you don’t look away.
”I know we haven’t spent a lot of time together, but I want you to know that I’m here for you, too. If you ever feel like you can’t go to your folks about anything, you can come find me. I’ll listen to anything you have to say, alright?”
There’s no lie in his eyes, even as you search them with all your might.
The pressure in your chest has lessened considerably, and your breathing feels like it’s returned to normal. You pull away, turning your eyes to your lap. A heat has collected around your face, but you don’t know why. It’s embarrassing, but also… pleasant.
“… Okay… Mister Anon,” you whisper, just loud enough for him, and only him, to hear. Your heart is pounding again, and you can feel a steady, pure warmth flowing out of your chest.
The human chuckles and places a hand on your head, ruffling your mane around your bow and playfully before pushing it sideways.
”I forgot to mention that that what I said only applies if you stop calling me ‘Mister Anon’ and start calling me ‘Anon’,” he replies.
A real laugh rumbles in your chest for the first time in what feels like years.
Anon offers you another warm grin before turning and motioning to Mac with his empty mug. The red stallion was just returning from the other side of bar ring, the drunk mares there whining comically and pleading for him to return as your sister, who was close in hoof, shot them dirty looks. Your brother quickly pours the human another glass and, to your mild surprise, places another one down in front of you.
You juggle a questioning, hopeful look between your siblings, both of whom were now eyeing you with great interest.
”Ah was figurin’, what with mah promisin’ and all yer hard work lately, that ya’ll deserve this. Yer old enough, after all,” your sister says. Her eyes are mirthful and sure, even if the cadence of her speech is a bit off. “Ah guess this has been a long time comin’. Enjoy; you deserve it.”
”You sure you weren’t meanin’ to ask for carrot juice?” Mac cuts in with emphasis, eyeing you slyly. “Ah know how much you like your… vegtables n’ such...”
The sneer in his voice sets your face ablaze. You chance a look at Anon who, thankfully, seems to be ignorant to your brother’s implication, before huffing loudly and dragging your mug closer. You mean to retort, but you sister gets there first.
”Hey now, don’t you go a’teasin’ her like that,” she says. “Ya’ gots no right to talk mighty on the subject, and I know that fer a fact.” Your perfect, beautiful sister’s face brims with knowing superiority as she defends you, nudging Mac gently in the side.
The red stallion, despite his coloring, flushes noticeably at this and shoots Applejack a dirty look before turning to fill more glasses.
Anon was right. Even if Mac was a jerk sometimes, your family was always there for you. Just in the nick of time if they had to be. They would be there.
”After all,” your smart, sweet sister continues as you finally bring your much-awaited mug of cider close to your lips, your anticipation mounting.
“Everybody goes through it! What she’s doin’ is totally natch’rul,” your understanding, wonderful, beaut—
W-Wait…
You see Mac pause behind Applejack. His eyes widen in disbelief shortly before a large smile begins to break out on his face.
For the first time tonight, you really pause to take full account of your sister’s physical and mental state. Even while standing still in one spot, she sways, and nudging Mac before nearly caused her to topple over. Her smile is wide and goofy with no restraint or modesty added in.
Your sister is absolutely smashed…
And drunk Applejack… means NO FILTER Applejack.
Your pulse quickens as Anon chuckles besides you. ”What do you mean?” he asks innocently, taking a small sip of his drink and sucking on his lips gently from the tartness.
”D’aaw, well, you know,” Applejack replies. “Young folks gettin’ to that age when they start—“
Your hooves slam down onto the barrel in front of you, the sudden loud sound giving your sister pause.
“APPLEJJRRRRKKKKKKKK,” you hiss slowly through your clenched jaw, horrified and blindsided.
You’re standing now, eyes stuck in a silent scream as you stare at her. Mac tries in vain to hold back his laughter in the background.
”Aww, now c’mon sugercuuuube, it ain’t nothin’ to be ‘mbarassed about,” she assures, her words noticeably slurring as she reaches out to pat you on the withers.
She misses.
Her face is twisted up in what you think she thinks is understanding, and you can smell every drink she’s had tonight on her breath. You hear hoofsteps to your right and whip your head around to see Twilight and Fluttershy returning from the cornfield. The purple alicorn groans, and Fluttershy flinches as all the attention and all of your intensity is flung onto her at once, your eyes pleading.
”W-We’re back everyone… what’s… going on?” The canary-yellow pegasus asks timidly, eyeing you with mild concern.
”D’oooh, Applebloom’s jus’ ‘mbarrassed she’s becomin’ a real mare!” your sister slurs without missing a beat. ”With allllll it brings, if ya’ll falla’ me? Ya’ll know what ah mean… the ol’… ‘manual mister’, if ya’ catch muh’ drift?” Applejack motions below barrel level with her hoof, smiling lewdly at what she must think is cleverest bucking thing anypony has ever said.
Twilight is too out of it to notice, but Fluttershy’s expression noticeably shifts to uncomfortable as her face brightens against her light coat.
An aged, light green pony suddenly pops up in your peripheral; Granny Smith. She’d probably just finished up making her last pie and was coming outside to enjoy the last gasps of the party. Shaking slightly, she maneuvers herself onto the now empty seat on Anon’s left.
Sweet Granny Smith, who’d always looked out for you and treated you right, like you were her own foal. This was your way out. She’ll definitely understand. She’ll definitely know. She’ll definitely—!
”Who’s pettin’ it?!” she chirps loudly.
GRANNY NO.
”Applebloom,” your sister answers, gesturing at you.
ANON WAS WRONG. YOU WERE WRONG. YOUR FAMILY ISN’T THERE FOR YOU AND THIS IS TARTARUS.
The sound of the human beside you chuckling softly morphs your face into a rictus of horror the likes of which you’ve never before expressed. That ‘balloon losing air’ sound begins again, and yet again it’s coming from you. Mac has both hooves clasped over his mouth and his chest is shaking violently.
Your sister stumbles sideways, approaching an unopened cider barrel and working at the high cork on its side with her hooves.
Lightheaded, numb, queasy. You’re hyperventilating. You need to get out, you need to run.
Everyone but Applejack is silent as she works at the cork, her head wobbling listlessly back in your direction.
”Nows c’mon now, Ah’s saids there ‘taint nothin’ the matters with it,” she babbles. “There ain’t no reason tuh be bein’ allllaaAAAHHHAAAPPLE-SPACKLIN’ CELESTIA MAH HEART—!”
Your sister suddenly screeches and flies backwards. The lid that topped the cider barrel, thought to be sealed forever, erupts off of it and soars high into the air with an eardrum vibrating pop. A bright pink ball of cider-soggy glitter and raw, untapped energy flies out of barrel not a moment later, soaring high into the sky.
”WEE-HEE!” The flying pink pony cries, summersaulting in the air and splashing everyone in the vicinity with sprinklings of tart alcohol and faintly luminescent confetti.
You’re moving, and you’re moving fast. As fast as you can, tables, chairs and torches screaming by you. As the fillies table draws near Babs and the other crusaders rise to meet you, confused. Scootaloo tries to wave you down but you continue on your path.
“Applebloom?” she says. ”W-What’s—!?“
“NO!” you cry, surging past her.
”P-P-… PINKIE PAAAAAIIIIH!” your sister bellows to the melody of hyena-like cackling far behind you.
You don’t look back.
A cool wind whips by your face as you cut through the last line of tables and finally break free of the party’s parameter. Lungs burning, eyes stinging, screaming, you push on harder and harder, escaping deep into the night and the safety of the apple trees.
Stats
Page generated in 0.021 seconds
Total duration
940 users online
521,342 hits today, 2,054,621 yesterday
FIMFiction
My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic Fanfiction
Designed and coded by knighty & Xaquseg - © 2011-2024
Follow & Support Us
Support us
SubStar
Chat!
Discord
Follow us
Twitter
MLP: Friendship is Magic® - © 2024 Hasbro Inc.®
Fimfiction is in no way affiliated with or endorsed by Hasbro Inc.®
🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥
I didn't even know you had an account.
I love this
Yes, yes... it's close, I can feel it. Much like a boiling pot of soft angel hair that's nearly ready to be strained, the great singularity of carbs spoken about only in myth and hushed tones is undoubtedly near. I can almost taste it now.
...stop
i0.kym-cdn.com/entries/icons/mobile/000/010/884/momspaghetti.jpg
s.eatthis-cdn.com/media/images/ext/977317064/man-eating-spaghetti-foods-make-you-hungrier.jpg
This on a whole other level
8439467
Me either, man.
8440179
D'oooh, you.
This is good.
I like how it's Applebloom getting rekt every day (so far) rather than Anon. It's a twist
Genius!
I can feel my own heartbeat and smell the nervousness of my own prepubescent first impressions...
it was hell on earth...
but a normal part of growing up.
I wish for more ^^
Applebloom should get to spend more time with Anon she deserves it for going through this much stress just trying to talk to him...
I hope for an update soon (but take your time quality has its own price ^^)
J
Ï was just rereading this fine piece of art, when I had to remember another cartoon...
Gravity Falls
especially the interactions between Dipper and his crush Wendy... Little Boy trying to woo the older self-assured girl, that is (due to 3 older brother) acting more like one of the guys...
I love your take on the Reverse Gender Role Equestria I will wait patiently for an update no matter how long I will be waiting...
Your great fan
J
8462363
Yeeaah, a great thing about writing for RGRE is that it naturally works with common themes and tropes in storytelling (or real life occurrences, even) to allow for exploration in a way that's still interesting and fun to read. Getting there is just as easy as looking at things from a different perspective, at which point you have a wealth of characters and threads ready to fall into place already.
Thanks for reading and keeping up man, I appreciate it. Unless I get hit by a buss today I'm going to have more content moved over soon. Before the end of October, specifically. Hope you enjoy.
Maybe Applebloom needs to stop borrowing money?
Oh lord the spaghetti is REAL...
I love this story
I nearly caused myself an injury by laughing so hard when I read this, really looking forward to moar.
You know, if you changed the setting, you could totally publish this. I'm serious. This is damn close to literary quality writing here. A true coming-of-age tale, as it were.
I'm enjoying this story so far. RGRE is already an interesting concept on its own and so far the comedy hits its mark. However, there is one glaring issue: the dialogue. Not to say the conversations aren't doing their part—they're actually interesting and serve the story well—but when it comes to putting a character's accent in a sentence? Like this glaring example:
This needs to STOP and soon.
I don't want to decipher the drudgery of AJ's speech for another 11000 words. We already know the accents of the Apple family; there is no need to forcibly shove the fact that they are Southerners down our throats at every opportunity, especially if you're going to invent new words in an attempt to do so.
8502249
Yeeaah, I can see how that would be an issue. I did intensify the countrisms for AJ in that scene to further flavor her being smashed, but I may have gone too far. While I'd still probably flavor the Apple family's dialog, (like I would with any character) there are honestly a lot of things I would do differently now considering I wrote this past a year ago.
I decided to be honest with myself at the start and deliver this to FF as closely to how it was originally written as I could. I've cheated in places of course, but for the most part the FF version is the same as the original; free from all my post authorial primping and preening. That isn't to say I don't appreciate the advice though, and I will keep it in mind for the future. If I was an outsider looking in, I'd probably feel exactly the same when reading it.
So far so good. This story is pretty good and i would deffinetly recommend it to those who haven't read it yet...Lookin forward to the next chapter! Keep it up!
What did the other 13% think?
9965168
Very nice personality?