The Mare From Germaney

by Flutterpriest

Rating: teen
Tags: My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Human, Romance, Anon, Original Character, Second Person, Comedy, Random
Length: 3591

Growing feelings for someone in text form is one thing, but what happens when you meet for the first time? Anon meets his long time penpal and crush from overseas, Aryanne

Growing feelings for someone in text form is one thing, but what happens when you meet for the first time? Anon meets his long time penpal and crush from overseas, Aryanne.

Nazis are bad.

Published 2017-01-13 22:40:01 UTC
Last updated 2017-01-13 22:40:01 UTC

A Good Kind of Weird

Author's Note

Nazis are bad.

A Good Kind of Weird

When your friend Twilight signed you up for a penpal service nearly two years ago, you were borderline pissed. Writing isn't something you really do. Why would you write to people across a nation or overseas when there are perfectly fine ponies right where you live.

Hell, the first message you were going to send was "Send nudes," until Twilight burned the letter in your hand and forced you to rewrite it. Fucking Princess.

But, that said. That wouldn't put you where you are right now. And if you were told that this would be your life, you would have laughed. Needless to say, you did not see this coming at all.

You sit on a bench at the Ponyville Train station, waiting for the locomotive to arrive. Your penpal, Aryanne, was in Equestria on some business. When she brought up the idea of actually meeting up, you didn't expect for her to be so serious about it. But you have to admit, you are dying to finally meet her. You look forward to her letters every time they come. But, now the genuine article? The two of you poured your hearts out onto the page, but have no idea what the other looks like.

As you see the train begin to form in the distance, you rise to your feet. Your stomach sinks through the floor and you can't tell if you want to laugh, cry, run, or whip out your dick. But, that last one is more because you had a weird childhood. You've grown to accept that whipping out your dick is not an appropriate answer to most social situations.

Except your mind is racing. What should you do? What should you say? What is there to say? What if she mentions your beer gut? Does your hair look good? What if she hates you're a human? You already told her you're a human. Relax. But there's a difference between theory and the real deal. Maybe you should go. Maybe this was a bad idea.

Except, you can't bring yourself to move. You'd be lying to yourself if you didn't dream of this moment. Most of the time it leads to some long anticipation of a dark pony with an obscure face, but a feeling of joy that bursts within you. And you whip your dick out, but that's also dream land and a completely different scenario.

Now the train is growing closer, and you can feel the sweat forming on your palms. You rub them on your jeans, then realize how empty your hands are. Should you have gotten flowers? What's wrong with you?! What if Aryanne is just a pen name and she's actually a guy and oh god the train just pulled up.

Your mind goes blank as the wheels grind to a halt outside the station. Your eyes trace as the conductor steps out and opens the train car doors.

Soon, pony after pony files out of the train, carrying various bags of luggage. You stare down each pony that exits like if you stared hard enough, you could see through their clothes. If they wore any. A few ponies pass odd glances at you, probably because you look like a serial killer right now, as they exit the train, but nopony stops and approaches the human on the platform. You stand there, quietly waiting for something to happen. Anything to happen.

You look at a few ponies who didn't immediately run off to join friends or family, but they've already scurried off the platform. You do your best to look through the windows of the train car, but it looks as if there's no other movement. You pause.

Maybe she's thinking the exact same thing.

Maybe she thought... it would be easier to just leave you here.

Your breath catches in your throat.

"Oh," you say aloud, the thought hitting you so hard that you actually break your posture.

Then, you hear a commotion from inside the car. The sound of raised voices and of thick foreign accents.

A thick, foreign accent, that's female.

"This is absurd!" the voice continues. "I paid for round trip ticket. I must return to Germaney in three days! I have very important work to do."

"Miss, we understand, but there must have been-"

"No mixings-up!" she screams. "Three days I board train. Three days I go home. Understand? Okay? Okay."

And with that, a pony stomps out of the train. All you can do is watch. Her blond mane tosses and flows with a wind that only you can see. She moves with a sense of authority. A sense of grace. Then, she opens her eyes, immediately setting her gaze on you. Her eyes are a gentle robin's egg blue. She stops, taking a moment to look at you. Oh my god, Anon. You're staring. Stop staring.

But then, you can't look away as the edges of her lips curl into a smile.

"Anonymous?" she says.

"Yeah, that's me," you say.

"I gotta admit," she says, walking up to you slowly. "I didn't expect humans to be so tall.

"Well, if we're being honest," you reply. "I was terrified you'd be a guy."

She remains quiet, staring back up at you.

"I am a guy, though," she says flatly.

You stare back down at her, er, him, and silently hope for a meteor to strike you off the face of Equestria. That's it, man. Game over. Game over, man. Walk away.

"Oh my lord you thought I was serious," she says lightly. "See, in Germaney we have zis thing called sarcasm."

"Oh! RIGHT!" you say way louder than you should. "Of course. Well, uh. Hey! Welcome to Ponyville. I think it's time we formally met. My name's Anonymous," you say holding out a hand.

Aryanne smiles, shakes her head and leaps towards your legs, wrapping you in her hooves.

"And I am Aryanne," she says. "Is there anywhere we can get coffee? I am just exhausted."

“So, I’m guessing the business went well?” you ask.

Aryanne holds her coffee in the hooves in front of her, then looks up at you with a bit of a smile.

“Anonymous, I must make a confession,” she says.

You sit up straight, taking a sip of your coffee as Pinkie Pie bounces from table to table in Sugarcube Corner.

“Zer was never any business in Canterlot. I wanted to meet you and finally meet the human behind the words.”

You set down your coffee cup and look across the table at the mare in front of you.

“Oh, wow. I, uh. I feel really special, then. I wish I had more planned for us, heh.”

Or any plan at all, Anon.

“Well, what did you have planned for us?” she asks happily.

SEE! THIS IS THE SHIT YOU GET YOURSELF INTO.

“Well, I was thinking of maybe going on a walk, seeing a movie, then finishing my… uh, sauerkraut.”

She pauses, staring at you.

“Sauerkraut?” she says. “Did you make that just for me? It takes weeks to do properly.”

You smile, rubbing your hand on the back of your neck.

“Well, I mean. I suppose it sorta lines up that way,” She glares at you in disbelief. "Okay, well yeah. But! I did it by the instructions you sent to me.”

Aryanne snickers and takes a sip of her coffee.

“You know, they say in my country that a stallion who makes good Kraut is worth keeping.”

You nearly spit up your coffee into your mug.

“Really?”

She gives you a coy smile and puts her tongue out at you.

You can’t help but smile. She’s so gorgeous. She has such a sense of humor. All of this is going so well. Holy shit. Are those bedroom eyes? You haven’t seen bedroom eyes since that night you vomited on Suzie at prom. You can’t believe this is really happening.

“That was a wonderful movie,” Aryanne says. “All of the dancing, and the singing. And the happy ending!”

“Well that’s Shene Filly’s movies for you. He’s got an odd name, but boy can that horse dance.”

You walk up to the front door of your home, unlock the door and hold it open wide.

“Welcome to my humble abode, Ary,” you say warmly.

“My, what the gentlecolt,” she says, feigning a posture of high class civility. “Don’t get any wise ideas.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” you say as she steps inside.

She trots in with her bags and gazes around at your humble little home. Sure, it’s not a whole lot, but it’s the one with the highest ceilings you could find for ponyfolk. That way you don’t have to crouch down inside homes. Who would have thought that finding a place to live in a horse world would have been so damn difficult?

“Your home is very, how you say, cozy,” she says, setting down her bags.

“Well, make yourself at home,” you say. “You’re welcome to stay as long as you like.”

“Oh! No, I could not impose,” she says waving a hoof. “I will get motel room. After all, this is our first time really meeting.”

The words slash you like a knife. But she’s right. You hadn’t really thought about it since you picked her up, but this was the first day you have ever spent with Aryanne in person. The hours seemed to pass like minutes. Every moment was a new laugh or a fresh wonder. It felt like the two of you had been best friends for years.

“Oh,” you reply. “Right.”

“Now zen!” she says with authority. “Let me try your Kraut.”

“Right, right,” you say, pushing the nagging feeling of disappointment to the back of your mind. You shouldn’t feel disappointed. You’re right. She’s just a friend. You wouldn’t have a crush on her. You can’t have a crush on her-- God fucking damnit you have a crush on her. Why do you ALWAYS DO THIS?! Every time a pony is nice to you, it’s an instant tug on the heartstrings. This is it. This is where you draw the line. You will just be good friends with Aryanne. It’ll be fine. And it will be good. And you will be happy.

You pull the fermenting sauerkraut out of the fridge and immediately spoon it onto plates to allow it to come to room temperature. You can smell the salty pickling that’s mixed with the cabbage and can already tell that it’s still retained some of it’s crunch. There was always varying notes on how long to properly store the food and allow the bacteria process to settle, but you remembered the one important thing from her notes. Carrots. No kraut is complete without carrots.

Quickly, you prepare a few simple sandwiches, set them on the plates. You lift her plate, grab a fork for her, and bring it to the table where Aryanne sits patiently, her hooves folded on the table. You can’t help but notice the curve of her cheeks, and wonder what it would be like to caress--

No. Stop.

You place the plate in front of her with a smile.

“Judge me,” you say with a smile.

“Don’t mind if I do,” she says, eagerly taking the fork. You grab your own plate and sit down at the table as well, examining how she picks around at the food.

“Well, you could have left it to sit longer, but I suppose that is all to taste,” she says inspecting the dish. “Herr, ich will seine Gefühle nicht verletzen.”

“What?” you ask, blanking on her native tongue.

“Oh! Nothzing,” she says happily. She takes a load onto the fork and puts it in her mouth. You feel the air catch in your lungs. You watch as she chews, looking at the ceiling as she examines the tastes in her mouth. Then, she swallows.

“So,” you ask. “What do you think?”

“You are very salty person,” she says.

You pause, tilting your head.

“Uh, what?”

“You, erm. Used extra salt,” she says scooping another forkful. “I like it though.”

“Really?” you ask. Honestly, you spilled the bag of salt and swore you put in way too much, but hell this works too. “That’s... that’s awesome.”

She pauses, taking another bite of the food then setting down the fork as she chews. You take a bite of your own food feeling a warmth flow through you. You’re so happy she liked it. You were able to cook food for a cute mare and not mess it up. Everything went well. For once.

“Anonymous?” she asks.

You raise your gaze from your food back to her, and you now see a sort of troubled expression written across her features. She stares down into the plate of food and closes her eyes.

“I vant to ask you something.”

“Yeah?” you say, setting down your fork. Your heart drops through the floor. What is this? What was this leading up to?

“I’ve just. I have to say something. Is not very easy for me,” she raises her gaze to look at you, her ears turn down and there’s a sort of vulnerability in her eyes. You raise your hand, hoping you could provide her some sort of comfort, but pull it back, thinking better of it. “I joined the Equestrian Connection Project to improve my writing and skills in other languages. And when I heard I was matched with a human, I was, very skeptical. I am not usually… fond. Of non-ponies.”

You nod like an idiot, letting the words roll off you, because the way she’s gently talking, the rise in her voice, you know she’s building up to a bombshell. You wet your lips and sit up straight.

“And, well. As we began to write more and more, I began to find that we were not so different. I began to really look forward to ven I would receive your letters. One day I went to mailbox three times to see if I got one.” She chuckles at that, looking down to her food. “And today has been amazing. You even can cook.”

“I somehow find a way to stay alive,” you say.

She laughs even more, then moves her gaze to you, her features relaxing. There’s a dreaminess in her posture and a whimsey in her smile.

“I just. I feel… strange. Like I’ve known you all my life, even though this is the first time we’ve met,” she says. “Is that… is that weird? Is that, wrong?”

You shake your head.

“No, I know exactly what you mean.”

You rise to your feet, your heart taking control and setting your logical brain in the backseat. Buckle up, Anon, you’re going for a ride. You move around the table, keeping your eyes on her. She watches you as you pace towards her and kneel down.

Reaching a hand out, you indulge your inner brain and place a hand on her cheek. The white mare instantly grows flush and her eyes dart away. You pull your hand back, trying to block out of your mind how soft her fur was.

“Should I not?” you ask.

“No, it’s not that,” she says, looking back to you. “It’s just…”

“We’ve just met,” you say.

“Yeah,” she says. “And… It’s hard to wrap my mind around it. It’s veird.”

You smile at her accent, that particular word hitting you in a way that makes you feel light and bubbly. Her slightly skewed way of saying your language makes you just want to wrap her tightly and never let go.

“Well, if this is ‘veird’,” you say gently. “I don’t want to be normal.”

You look into her eyes, and she looks back at you. You raise your hand to her cheek once more, but she doesn’t break eye contact this time. You move your head closer, and she slowly closes her eyes. Then, you close yours. You feel the warm softness of her lips send a sensation through your body that you haven’t had in a long time. Love.

You feel her hoof move through your hair to the back of your head as she holds the kiss. Is this happening? Holy shit this is really happening. WAY TO GO, ANON! A million tiny Anons in your head clink glasses of beer and shoot party poppers. Free high-fives for everyone, because you did something right for once.

Then, she breaks away, looking deep into your eyes.

“So,” she says gently, looking to the floor once again. “I suppose nothing needs to be said, huh?”

You shake your head and smile.

“I love you,” you whisper.

“Ich liebe dich auch,” she whispers back.

You pull the mare off her chair and press her into your embrace. She nuzzles her head into your chest, and you can feel the warm, softness of her fur against your hands.

“This is veird,” she says quietly. “And probably too fast.”

“Yeah,” you mutter. “But a good weird, at least?”

“Yeah.”

A silent moment passes as you hold the mare close to you. You look down at her blonde mane, her eyes closed and gently breathing in your scent. You look up to the plates of food that you made, and simultaneously feel a pang of regret for food wasted, and a sense of gratefulness for food being a way into any person, or pony’s, heart.

“So, uhm,” you say. “Can I be extra weird?”

She looks up to you, curious.

“Do you, uh. Still want to get a motel room?”

She freezes, looking at you with a blank expression.

“I mean, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable or anything,” you say, trying to defend yourself. “It would be a really nice way to save money and-”

“Not really,” she says, cutting you off.

A moment of silence passes through the room as she smiles.

“Oh! Well, I can take the couch or sleep on the floor tonight or something-”

“We won’t be getting much sleep tonight, Anon,” she says with a smile.

The sun beats in through your bedroom window as you open your eyes. Holy shit. That was an amazing dream. You dreamt you met the love of your life and then had a long night of deep passionate cuddling and-

You look to the floor of your bedroom and find your clothing tossed about everywhere.

“Holy shit, it wasn’t a dream,” you mutter.

Sitting up in bed, you see the other side remarkably empty, the bed remarkably empty. Wait, where did Aryanne go? She didn’t leave, did she? Shit. Maybe you were so bad in bed that she straight abandoned you.

Except, you pause. You sniff at the air. What’s that smell? That’s… that’s burning.

HOLY SHIT. YOU WERE SO BAD AT SEX THAT SHE IS BURNING YOUR HOUSE DOWN.

You leap out of bed, toss on a pair of pants and rush down the stairs. Standing in your kitchen, humming a happy song is the blonde-maned mare.

“guten Morgen!” says Aryanne.

“WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?!” you scream.

“OH!” She says happily. “Is not a big deal. I found filthy Juice in your refrigerator.”

You pause, staring at her incredulously.

“Is fine. I put in oven. Juice will be no more,” she says happily. “Would you like some breakfast? I made pancakes.

“YOU PUT MY JUICE IN THE OVEN?!” you scream in shock. You sprint to the oven door, throw it open, and a huge pillow of black smoke pours out of it. Sure enough, two large, unopened bottles of juice are sitting in a pan and are on fire in your oven. “YOU’RE BURNING THE JUICE! YOU CAN’T JUST GO INTO A MAN’S HOUSE AND BURN JUICE.”

“No. Our house,” she says happily. “I live here now.”

“Wait, what?!”

“Is fine. Is good veird. We call it, hrm… I am reiching for a word here… Blitzkrieg! Yes.”

You look at the smiling mare in front of you in a whole new light. Holy shit. It all adds up. She hates juice. She went deep into another land and found a new place to live by force. Transports everywhere by train.

You’re in love with a Nazi. To be honest, you really did not zee that coming.

You sit down in a chair, staring at her as she hums away, delivering you a full plate of pancakes and coffee. To be honest, this is weird. Really fucking weird. But, she’s nice. And if you count the years you’ve had a crush on her via letters, you’ve probably dated her over a year. So she has this one flaw. She’s still funny. She’s still cute and fun to be around. Falling in love with an Equestrian Nazi doesn’t make her a terrible person. I mean, who’s gonna miss a few boxes of juice here or there.

You pause, realizing what you just thought, honestly wondering if that makes you a bad person.

“You know what? This is fine,” you say with a smile. “I love you.”

And so began the beginning of something wonderful. Wonderfully atrocious. Sure, the two of you were a weird couple. Every couple has their quirks. But, in your own words, the two of you were a good kind of weird, or veird. And so the fire raged on inside not only your hearts, but also in your oven.

And the sex is Heil-la good.