[RT] Ponies Rejecting Anon

>Summertime in Ponyville is gorgeous – both in weather and in decoration. As you walk through the town with Pinkie and Fluttershy trotting alongside, ponies pass back and forth in an harmonic hubbub, banners clutched in their mouths and flowers glowing inside back-balanced baskets.
>”So, how about Big Mac then, huh? He’s tall, hard-working, silent – just like you! – aaaand word around town is that ‘Big’ ain’t a misnomer-me-jigger at all! Plus the two of you looked soooo cute up on-stage together as the Ponytones! You’re practically made for each other.”
>And of course, Pinkie Pie is doing her best to try and weasel out who Fluttershy plans on asking to the dance before the Summer Sun Celebration. You would’ve suspected Rarity as the one who'd put her up to it if you hadn’t already known who had.
>Fluttershy, for her part, has a face brighter than her mane.
>”I-I really don’t think so. Big Mac’s such a large stallion and I don’t really know him that well at all.” Then, a lot quieter, “And I’d really hate to think of what Applejack might do if she knew I’d asked him...”
>This, in no manner, deters Pinkie.
>”Oh, alright then. How about… Soarin’! The super-duper Wonderbolt-colt! He’s cute and well-muscled and he was so amazingly nice to me the last time we hung out together!”
>There’s a slight edge of annoyance to Fluttershy’s voice this time: “He doesn’t even live in Ponyville, Pinkie. He’s also a well known womaniser.”
>This fazes Pinkie precisely not one iota: ”Oh. Right.”
>Fluttershy sighs.
>There’s a lull in the conversation as the three of you cross the bridge next to Townhall. Fluttershy peeks up at you through the pink curtains of her mane, and you chuckle at the weary expression on her face. Pinkie’s relentless questioning is clearly starting to get to her.

>Pinkie, for her part, is craning her neck this way and that, evidently looking for some stallion or other to question Fluttershy on.
>Then she spots you.
>”So… how about Anon?”
>Whoa
>Wait
>What
>Pinkie, no, not now: “Hey, I’m standing right–”
>”Omigosh, you’re not saying anything! That is sooo different to the last seventeen times I asked you! I knew it, knew it, knee~w it! You’ve got a crush on Anon!”
>Fluttershy continues to say nothing, though her body language speaks volumes: she’s hunched over, wings scrunched in to her body so tight the feathers overlap and her hair completely curtains off her face.
>”And I mean, why wouldn’t you have a crush on Anon? Anon’s the best! He’s so tall and smart and kind and funny and can you imagine what those hands would be like in bed, huh?”
“Pinkie, everyone’s look–”
>”I bet they’d be great! All wiggly and tickly and able to get into all those small nooks a hoof would never be able to! And you really like hanging out with non-ponies, too! The two of you would be – oof!”
>Fluttershy’s wing suddenly snapping out and catching Pinkie’s side more than cuts her off: it sends her flying. Winded, Pinkie crawls into a half-sitting position.
>A breeze folds Fluttershy’s mane out of the way.
>Tears are streaming down her face.
>”I get it, okay? You think I haven’t – sniff – haven’t heard it all before? ‘Fluttershy likes animals more than ponies!’ ‘Fluttershy isn’t interested in anypony!’ ‘Fluttershy f-fhh-fucks animals!’”
>A hole opens in your stomach. You can feel it emptying out the whole of you.
>Angry gasps break out of her throat in-between her words.
>The entire of her body’s shaking.
>”And it hurts, Pinkie. It really, really hurts. I just…. I just never thought I’d hear it from one of my f-friends…”

>She trails off and looks around. Everyone is staring, the hustle and bustle of daily life evaporated into naught. Slowly, she turns around.
>The expression on her face makes it more than clear she knows what the one on yours means.
>”I-I’m… Anon, I… I didn’t mean you were…”
>She glances round, eyes wide, pupils tiny, and her breathing rate picks up – rapid fluctuations of in and out and in and out until she breaks.
>Tear-ridden, Fluttershy sprints out of Ponyville, hair streaming behind her and the sound of her crying loud against the hush.
>Your hands clench and unclench. You want to scream; you want to spit. You want to hit something.
>But you turn and look at Pinkie.
>She’s broken too – shattered into little pieces. There’s something glinting in her eyes.
“Pinkie? Pinkie, it wasn’t your fault.”
>Her voice is quiet: robbed of all its usual cheer.
>”Yes it is, Nonny. Yes it is.”
>With a soft pop, her hair shrinks and straightens – but only slightly.
>All right. Fine. If she wants to play this game, good. Right now, you need to move.
“Okay, Pinkie, look. Find everypony else: find Twilight, Rarity and so on and etcetera. You want to make this up to Fluttershy? You do that and you meet me by her cottage, okay?”
>She looks you in the eyes. You smile at her, and she gives you a brave one back.
>“Okay. I’ll do that.”
>And with that, she’s gone.
>Seconds later, you’re gone too, racing off to the one place Fluttershy always goes in circumstances like this.

*****

>The meadow’s tranquil at this time of day. The background noise about it is the gurgle of a running stream, the soft rustle of the wind inside the willows and the occasional mewl of a bird soaring overhead.
>The foreground – the noises you’re concentrating on – are the timid gasps and sniffs drifting out of the willow.
>This is where Fluttershy always comes when she’s upset. It’s in the meadows round about Ponyville, but not the ones nearest to the Everfree. Nopony ever comes here, which means her animals friends are more likely to.
>Speaking of which, they don’t appear to be here, yet. Looks like you’re the first one on the scene.
>But then again, what else are you but another one of her ‘animal’ friends?
>Your chest tightens, but you ignore it.
>You push the trailing branches aside like you’re pushing past hair. And there she is – a bright-yellow, quivering lump amongst the roots.
“Hey.”
>There’s a sniff. Wet eyes peek up from a pair of forelegs wrapped around her face.
>“A-anon? Anon! I’m sorry, I… I didn’t mean to–”
“I fucked up.”
>You crouch down a way off from her, fingers unable to keep still.
“It was me. I asked Pinkie to do that to you, I… I asked her to put you in that position.”
>She stays quiet for a while. Then:
>”I don’t understand. How could you have asked Pinkie to… to tease me like that, and–”
“I like you.”

>You can’t look at her, won’t look at her. You find yourself studying a root: the wooden thickness of it; the slight dribbles of dirt before it drills into the ground.
“That’s it plain and simple, without any of the playground bullshit. I like you.”
>Your mouth hangs open, words jammed inside your throat before something dislodges them, and they all come tumbling out:
“I asked Pinkie to check for me. See if you liked me too, y’know? Drop a few hints, ask a few questions. I… I didn’t mean for her to go and do it in front of the whole town like that, but I did mean for her to do it.”
>You finally find the will inside you to look up and meet her eyes.
>There’s nothing but pity in them.
>Not regret, not remorse. Pity.
>The void inside your chest grows stronger, hungrier.
>It’s getting harder and harder to breathe.
>”Anon, I… I can’t…”
>You nod, smile without it reaching your eyes, then flick a tongue across your lips.
“Yeah, I… gathered that.”
>You blow out and turn it into a chuckle halfway through.
“Everypony else should be waiting back at the cottage. Pinkie’s gonna be apologising to you like crazy. Don’t accept it: this was my screw up, so if you’re going to be mad at anyone it should be me.”

>”I’m sorry.”
>You look up. She's still crying.
>Slowly, she uncurls and then totters towards you, unsteady on her hooves. You swallow, and the action hurts your throat.
>The hug is long: slow. It’s perfect. Wonderful. Tortuous.
>Everything you’ve wanted for the past few months, everything you’ve dreamed of, and now know you cannot have.
>Her mane feels sleek between your fingers: smooth like silk, even with the occasional burr of a twig or leaf trapped between the strands.
>"I'm sorry I said that. I've just... so many times when I was young. They wouldn't stop teasing me, and..."
>You can feel her swallow, feel the bob of her head and shift of her body. "You're not an animal."
>Animal. You think about what that word means here, where you can hold a conversation with a bee or play poker with a rabbit.
"Yeah. Yeah, I am."
>Her head tucks back and she looks up at you, eyes still wet. You slide a thumb over her cheek, lifting off the moisture. She smiles.
>”Are you alright now, Anon?”
>You smile back.
“Yeah. Sure.”
>You’re lying.
“Everything’s gonna be just fine.”



Other things from earlier threads -- included for completeness/memorabilia:


~Luna~
>W-With Him? For sooth? Surely thou jests, Sister. As the Princess of the Night, tis our duty to defend against the monsters that plague Equestria, not fornicate with them.

~Celestia~
>To my dearest niece,
>Your dedication to this guessing game is admirable, if a bit tiring. No, I do not have ‘closeted feelings’ for Anonymous. I do not have such feelings for anyone.
>I can only see this conversation growing longer, so you must forgive my being curt.
>Cadence, I have lived more centuries than you have years, and had more lovers than you’ve had friends. And I can tell you from experience that it is not better to have loved and lost; that love does not conquer all things. Time, as ever, is unvanquished.
>Perhaps it is true that one can learn to love again after your first love or even your fifth, but your twentieth? Your one hundredth? How many times can you set off down a road knowing it leads only to one place?
>Do not write to me of this again.
>My best to you and Shining Armor,
>Princess Celestia

~Miss Harsh-Whinny~
>“Anonymous? A curious choice, Junior Associate. Skinny looking thing, isn‘t he. Not really enough muscle-mass around the chest. I’m not even sure if humans can fly, truth be told, though I suppose those long forelegs of his have got to have some purp--
>“Oh. I see. You were referring to a topic outside of the scope of the Equestrian Games, Junior Associate.”
>“The short answer is no. The longer answer involves me firing you for such blatant disregard of the professionalism required for the games to function.”
>“Which would you prefer?”