GREEN
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1306 7.41 KB 89
1306 7.41 KB 89
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>You are Anonymous.
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>You’re taking the sour with the sweet.
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>Although you were prepared for a long day’s work, deciding to pick apples in a two piece suit wasn’t the brightest idea you’ve ever had.
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>But in spite of the enervating heat, you’re more or less comfortable with where you are.
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>It’s nice to hang out with AJ and her family, the pay’s good, and you’ve been meaning to get outdoors more anyway.
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“Things could be a lot worse,”
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>you say to yourself almost unconsciously as your mind wanders, idly contemplating your current state of affairs as you pluck what must be your millionth apple of the day.
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>You’re definitely buying a set of summer clothes from Rarity with these bits.
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>And maybe some ice cream while you’re in town.
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>Mint chocolate chip sounds heavenly about now…
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>Just as your eyes begin to glaze over, you’re shaken from your reverie by what appears to be a steadily approaching glob of the dessert in the distance.
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>Hallucinations. Great. Must be heatstroke.
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>You grab swig of water, and when blinking the shape away doesn’t work, you strain through the sweat that blurs your vision, trying to get a better look at the pastel form contrasting so sharply with its surroundings.
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>It continues its trotting advance, closing the distance in roughly a minute before finally plopping down about 5 feet in front of you, a small cloud of dust punctuating its arrival.
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>Or rather, her arrival.
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>As you refocus, the mirage parts to reveal the visage of a seafoam green mare sporting a rich auburn mane, waving at you with a wide grin that only a cartoon horse could manage.
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>“Howdy there, Anonymous!”
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“What’s up, uh…”
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>Fuck.
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>You forgot her name.
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>In fact you’ve forgotten the names of pretty much every Apple you don’t communicate with regularly, but you’ll be damned if you ever let that slip.
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>She looks up at you quizzically, a more subdued but equally adorable smile now adorning her face.
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>You distinctly remember having been introduced before, but the whole barn-raising thing happened so fast you hadn’t gotten the chance to speak with her, much less become properly acquainted.
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>You glance at her cutie mark, desperate for any semblance of a clue.
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>A candy apple and a caramel apple stare back at you.
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“Candy… Apples?”
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>Wild guess.
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>The two honey-tinted globes she calls eyes immediately light up, signaling that the guess was a good one.
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>“Well I’ll be! And here I was thinkin’ I hadn’t made much of an impression.”
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>You both breathe a sigh of relief, neither willing to question your luck.
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“Don’t worry yourself, Candy. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
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>You go for another drink while you wait to hear what ails her.
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>She pauses, but only for a moment, before suddenly blurting out
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>"Can I be your waifu, Anon?"
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>A jet of water sprays from each of your nostrils, the volume of which causes the birds watching from the surrounding trees to scatter.
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>Candy Apples freezes, a wave of panic overtaking her as she realizes what just absentmindedly escaped her lips.
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>There was clearly meant to be more finesse to that question.
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>Stifling a cough, you again seek confirmation that you are still mentally present.
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“Did I hear that right? You want to be my 'waifu'?”
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>Where did she even hear that term?
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>She fidgets with her scarf, sheepishness mounting as she begins to speak.
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>“Hah, well, I-I mean, isn’t that how you… that’s- umm…”
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>What started off as a nervous chuckle quickly devolves into incoherent stammering as you survey her with raised eyebrows, your expression utterly inscrutable.
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>Her vocal register has already risen half an octave.
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>“I thought y-you’d…”
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>Her face begins to glow a brilliant crimson as a veritable deluge of spaghetti pours from her metaphorical pockets.
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>“Y’know, l-like when… yh-“
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>Her voice catches, coming out as a diminutive squeak.
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>Niether marinara nor macintosh hold a candle to her complexion in this moment.
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>“…was just… w…”
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>She trails off.
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>Suddenly the universe is silent, save for the gentle breeze aimlessly weaving its way through the orchard and the rustle of its chosen leaves.
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>Her resplendent amber eyes, now with tears of opal to match, glisten in the late summer sun as her nerves get the better of her.
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>You both remain motionless for a moment, gazing through one another, two souls meeting in the space between the world.
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>Wait, what?
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>Your heart skips a beat.
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>You don’t want to know why.
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>When at last you compel yourself to speak, you are preempted by a frustrated huff, itself followed by the ruffle of a neckerchief and a soft thump.
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>Candy Apples has gone prone, hiding her flustered muzzle beneath trembling hooves as she stews in embarrassment.
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>The ball is in your court.
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>There’s a friendship lesson in here somewhere.
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>At least that’s what Twilight would say.
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>While the little alicorn in your head isn’t wrong, you think it’s worth noting that as far as non-platonic relationships go, Ms. Know-It-All couldn’t find her way out of a wet paper bag if it had “hot date” written on it.
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>You’re resigned to the fact that Twi is going to have you write an essay about the thaumatological ramifications of a botched confession later on, but for now you have more important matters to attend to.
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>Namely the lovesick wreck of a mare crumpled just outside of the shade.
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>The poor thing looks like she’s been run over by a steamroller.
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>By now you’re acutely aware of what she wants, and though your mind is still somewhat in denial, something about her innocent, silly, hapless antics seems to have pierced straight through your heart, making you feel the same way.
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>And so, as your normally steady hands fumble with your canteen, you decide then and there that you’ll give it to her.
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>You’ll make Candy Apples your waifu.
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>You take a few small, resolute steps into the sunlight, closing the distance between man and mare in more ways than one.
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“Candy, listen. I…”
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>you begin, unsure exactly how to go about this but determined to see it through.
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>A beat passes before a muffled voice reaches your ears from below.
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>“Just forget it, Anon… it was a s-stupid thing to ask…”
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>Your mind snaps back into gear at the sound of her self-denigration.
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“No. It wasn’t.”
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>Slowly as if through syrup, you kneel down and reach forward, gently cupping the disheveled pony’s head in your hands.
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>She perks up at your touch, peering at you with wide, wobbly, aureate eyes as she gingerly sets down her front hooves.
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>“Wha…?”
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>You swear you can hear her heart trying to escape her chest.
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>Or is that yours?
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>The wind shifts as an overwhelming sense of peace and calm pervades the woodlet, the nigh-imperceptible zephyr now a tailwind guiding your head toward hers.
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>A warm smile steals onto your face as you brush a lock of scarlet away from her left ear, leaning in close to whisper your answer.
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“I would love nothing more.”
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>A shiver runs down her spine before she springs into your arms, wrapping her forelegs around your neck and nuzzling her plush snoot into your chest with a squeal.
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>The force of her tackle knocks you onto your posterior with a thud, placing your back perfectly against the trunk of the half-plucked apple tree.
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>As you sit there in each other’s embrace, your mint-hued marefriend cooing softly as you stroke her silken mane, one thing becomes abundantly clear.
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>Apples may come in all shapes and sizes,
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>But you sure know how to pick ‘em.
by Archiver-Writefag
by Archiver-Writefag
by Archiver-Writefag
by Archiver-Writefag