Author's Note

This chapter was masterfully guest-written by the amazingly talented Grimm

A Pear in Cider

Granny Smith stood in the beautiful sunshine, listening to the birds call happily to one another under the deep blue sky, and she had never been so furious. On a day as promising as this one it would normally take a great deal to sour her mood, but if anyone could do it, it would be him. It was always him.

Be it stealing her customers at the apple stand, or trying to one-up her tree care techniques, Grand Pear seemed to have dedicated his entire life to getting under her skin. This time, though, he had gone too far.

“And just what in tarnation do ya call this!?” she spat, pointing her hoof accusingly at the offending object.

The young stallion leaned against the wood, running a hoof through his curly mane with a smirk. “Well, I don’t know about you, but I’d call it a fence.”

“I can see that,” Granny Smith replied, through gritted teeth, “but I sure as heck don’t know what you think you’re doing putting it there. You’re way over into our orchard.”

Grand Pear gave her a look of clearly feigned innocence, glancing up and down the length of his new construction. “You think? Looks about right to me.”

“You dang well know it’s on our land! Why else would you have snuck around overnight to build it?”

“Snuck around? I did nothing of the sort. In fact, I only rebuilt it to make sure you Apples know where the line is, since you’re the kind of ponies I’m trying to keep out.”

“The kind of ponies?”

The stallion grinned widely. “Riffraff.”

Granny Smith’s hoof slammed into the dirt, kicking up a cloud of dust as she ground it in deeper. “You take that back!” she snarled. “Us Apples are twice the ponies you Pears will ever be, ya hear? Three times, even!”

“But those sour things you call fruit can’t even hold a candle to our pears. It’s a wonder you’re still in business.”

“Oh yeah? Seemed like you had mighty slim pickings at the market the other day.”

Grand Pear’s confident smirk finally slipped, replaced by his own snarl of rage. “That was your fault, you cheat! Just because you started giving free samples.”

“You’re just mad you didn’t think of it first.”

“Like I’d ever be jealous of an Apple’s idea.”

As the argument continued, the quarreling ponies got closer and closer, leaning in towards each other until their heads butted together, staring daggers into each other’s eyes. Their confrontation quickly devolved into little more than insults and obscenities, no longer even trying to hold onto the pretense of a genuine disagreement as their long-held grudge boiled over once again.

By the time they finally ran out of steam, Granny Smith had no idea how much time had actually passed, only that the sun was a lot further across the sky than it had been earlier. She pulled herself away with a dismissive ‘hmph’.

“You just wait,” she assured him. “I’m gonna bring up my deeds and prove y’all are extending out into our property.”

“Good, I want to see them, so I can show you how wrong you are,” snapped Grand Pear. “If anything, I coulda put this fence out even further!”

“That’s horse apples and you know it!”

“Then prove it!”

“I will!” she exclaimed, and with a last, indignant stomp, Granny Smith swiveled and stormed off towards the house, already looking forward to wiping that smug smile off his face.

Another uncomfortable wave of heat rolled through her body as Granny Smith rooted through yet another drawer. She couldn’t stop her hindquarters from shifting, and it was taking all her conscious effort to keep her tail pinned down where it belonged. Of all the days…

She’d known her heat was coming, of course, but at the very least she’d figured she’d have a couple more days before it got this bad. Her argument with Grand Pear had kept her distracted enough she hadn’t noticed how much warmer her body was starting to feel, how that all-too-familiar itch was beginning to settle itself deep inside her, begging to be scratched. It was probably a good thing she’d been too focused to notice, in retrospect. On the way back to her house, though, her estrus had started to kick like an ill-tempered mule, and it was quickly becoming unbearable.

She had a half a mind to find one of the farmhands already – they were always more than willing to help with this particular problem – but Granny Smith had work to do first. She couldn’t leave that insufferable Pear be, or he’d think he’d won. There was far too much at stake here to let that smug bastard alone. No, she’d confront him with the deed, and then she could celebrate a job well done with the hottest stallion she could find. Yup, that sounded just about perfect.

How would he take her, she wondered? Perhaps they’d make their way over to the barn, and then he’d bend her over a hay bale and mount her, she always liked it when they did that. Or perhaps they’d stay out in the orchard, and fuck against one of the apple trees, or maybe they’d-

Focus. Don’t get distracted just yet.

Where was that dang deed? She could have sworn she left it in this drawer, but then again she’d thought the same for the last three drawers she’d searched, and she’d been wrong every time. It was just so hard to concentrate, to think about anything other than finding the nearest stallion and pinning him down beneath her, grinding herself against him, feeling his rock hard meat between her legs as she would start to sink down and-

FOCUS.

Horse apples, it was difficult. She was just so hot, her body burning with need and lust and want. She couldn’t remember the last time it had been this bad; normally she was so much better at dealing with it, at least being able to keep herself under control until she could find a stallion to fuck her silly. Now, though? Now she was having difficulty just thinking straight, filled with the urge to bury her hoof between her legs.

Of course, she knew from experience that never helped. A moment of brief respite, perhaps, but the fire would always come back so much fiercer afterwards. No, there was only one thing that could sate the heat, and it would have to wait.

Her hoof brushed against a roll of parchment buried at the back of the drawer, and Granny Smith grinned as she pulled out the land deed she’d been looking for. Grand Pear would never know what hit him.

Despite everything, she couldn’t stop herself from beaming as she gathered up the documents and made her way downstairs. This was going to be fun.

This was not fun.

She’d started the walk out into the orchard filled with visions of rubbing Grand Pear’s face in it, fantasizing about gloating and ordering him to take all his fences down, knowing how much time and effort it would take him to do so. By the time she reached the fence where she knew he’d be finishing the day, though, the only thing left in her head was lust and regret, and a terrible, gnawing emptiness. A void, so empty it hurt, with only one possible thing that could fill her up again and make her whole, that could give her the relief she so desperately needed. She had never needed a stallion so badly, to have him fill her again and again and again, not stopping until they both collapsed in a puddle of sweat and fuck, until that burning fire inside her had cooled. Her legs trembled with every step, a bead of sweat rolling down her forehead.

This was a mistake. She should have waited after all; until her mind was in a clearer place and her thoughts weren’t muddy with lust. But she couldn’t back down now, it was too late. She could see Grand Pear now, and he’d noticed her too. If she turned and left she’d look like a coward, too scared to face him.

Granny Smith was a lot of things, but she sure as shootin’ wasn’t a coward.

And so she straightened up, puffed out her chest, and tried her absolute damnedest to ignore the pressing need that had soaked into every inch of her being, her skin tingling, tail doing everything it could to flag and show how ready she was to mate to the world. But she couldn’t let it, not yet. Soon, but not yet.

“Well well,” said Grand Pear with a smirk as she approached the fence. “Look who decided to show up. I thought you’d chickened out.”

“I ain’t no chicken!” Granny Smith shouted back.

“Of course not,” said Grand Pear. “Chickens are actually good for something.”

“More than you Pears are, that’s for sure.”

Grand Pear blinked, then sniffed. He turned around to scan the orchard behind him, where his own farmhands would have been, but they’d long since learned to leave whenever an Apple showed up, else risk his ire once all was said and done. No, the two of them were alone, he’d find no back-up there.

“You alright there, Grand Pear?” asked Granny Smith, intentionally leaving in as much of the disdain as she felt dripping from her voice. “You’re looking a little nervous.”

“What?” Grand Pear snapped back around. If Granny Smith didn’t know any better, she’d swear he’d forgotten she was there for a moment. “No, I’m fine, it’s… Shut up. What have you got there, anyway?”

“The deeds I was telling you about,” she said, proudly presenting the parchment. “They show you’re trespassing on our land, clear as day.”

“Give me that,” he snapped, holding out a hoof.

“Gladly.” She took a step closer, her tail lifting slightly before her conscious mind was able to kick back in. Applesauce, she could feel a drip running down the inside of her leg. Fuck she was wet. And when she handed over the parchment and his hoof brushed against hers her entire body tensed at once, a coiled spring ready to explode, her marehood winking at any stallion who might have happened to be behind her.

Grand Pear’s nostrils flared, his pupils narrowing as he took a long draught of the air. Could he tell? Oh fuck, of course he could tell. Why wouldn’t he be able to? Of course he could smell it, smell her, she must be drowning the air around her in her scent right now. Fuck, fuck, fuck, he’d have so much ammunition to mock her now, and she’d have nothing to respond with except her growing desperation, and that would be no response at all.

But he didn’t say anything, grabbing the deed instead, shaking his head dismissively, and unfurling the parchment. Were his hooves shaking, or was that just the evening breeze? She had been thankful of the wind on her way here, its touch the only cooling part of that evening as the sun burnt dark gold into the sky. But now it was traitorously spreading her scent, letting every stallion know exactly how needy she was right now, exactly what her body was begging for.

If Grand Pear had noticed (and he must have), at least he didn’t mention it, looking over the deed and muttering obscenities under his breath, his frown deepening. “Well, there’s only one explanation for this,” he said, eventually.

“That you’re a dirty, land-stealing cheat?”

“That you…” Grand Pear trailed off and blinked again, shaking his head as if to remove some deeply lodged thought. He took a deep breath before continuing, although he wasn’t even looking her in the eyes any more. “That you faked this.”

“How dare y’all accuse me of that!?” she spluttered. “That there document is as legitimate as they come and you know it.”

“I know nothing of the sort. It’s exactly the sort of underhoofed move an Apple would pull.”

“Underhoofed? You take that back, you yellow-bellied liar, or I’ll-”

Grand Pear leaned in over the fence as close as he could without touching, his scowling features less than an inch from her face, furious eyes staring straight into her own. “Or you’ll what?”

Something snapped. With a final shriek of indignant rage, Granny Smith vaulted over the fence towards him in a single leap, relishing that moment where Grand Pear’s face transformed in shock and even fear as the wild mare lunged at him. She wished she could savor that expression of his forever, but all too soon physics took over and her body collided into his with a solid thud, sending the two ponies sprawling into the dust, kicking and bucking viciously at one another.

Grand Pear was strong, but so was she, and after a brief struggle Granny Smith managed to roll him onto his back and pin his hooves down beneath her. It was surprisingly easy, given how big a stallion he was, but she wasn’t going to take her victory for granted.

“That all you got? Huh?” she taunted, breathing heavily. He was, too, and in fact Grand Pear seemed far more out of breath than herself, practically panting as he stared up at her. Through her, almost – his eyes had taken on a strange, glassy quality, as though he wasn’t really taking in what he was looking at.

And then she felt it. A hard, hot length pressing into her thigh. It all clicked. She’d seen that look before, on the faces of the farmhands she’d wandered up to and coaxed into a tryst behind the barn with little more than a pheromone-laced flick of her tail. They would all look at her with that same, not-quite-there expression moments before-

Horseapples.

That momentary lapse in concentration was all Grand Pear needed, and before Granny Smith even knew what was happening he’d rolled her over, reversing their position as she found herself pinned beneath him, Grand Pear glaring down at her.

She didn’t know how she hadn’t noticed sooner. His cock stood proudly to attention, so thick and hard for her. His musk filled the air almost as much as her own, and she drank it in as he stood above her, a shudder of anticipation running through her as the scent of his maleness filled her lungs.

What the hay do you think you’re doing? He’s a Celestia-damned PEAR. This is fraternizing with the enemy.

“See what you’ve done, you horny bitch?” spat Grand Pear, his cock throbbing as he did so. “You fucking tease, parading around, smelling like you do, flicking that tail about like I wouldn’t know what you were up to. This is what you wanted all along, isn’t it?”

Another jolt of excitement, her marehood winking desperately, urging him to stop talking and just fuck her already. But of course, she couldn’t let him have her. Not him. Not a Pear.

“From you?” she asked, with as much disdain as she could possibly muster. “Don’t make me laugh. Like I’d ever-”

He interrupted her with a kiss. She didn’t normally let the stallions kiss her, and even when they did it was usually gentle, kind, passionate. In the afterglow when they forgot the rules and her mind was too fogged with satisfaction to remind them.

This was not like those kisses.

This was demanding, forceful, his tongue invading her mouth as he tried to steal her breath away. Any remaining resistance crumbled as he took from her in a way she didn’t even know was possible, preventing any thought or feeling other than reveling in this moment, right here, right now.

When he broke the kiss and pulled back she could feel the dampness between her thighs. She couldn’t remember ever being this wet, this ready, before. She didn’t care that he was a Pear – that he was Grand Pear, no less – all that mattered was that he was a stallion and she was a mare and right now she needed him to plunge that glorious cock of his as deeply into her as he could.

But she couldn’t let him know that.

“I hope you fuck better than you kiss,” she sneered.

Grand Pear didn’t answer with words. With a deep, primal growl he leaned in and thrust himself into her, not stopping until he was fully hilted inside. She couldn’t even try to keep the gratified moan from escaping as her body finally received what it had been begging for, as his hot length filled every inch of her, as she clenched tightly around him, desperate to hold him as deep inside her as she could.

It still wasn’t nearly enough to quell the fire that blazed through her, a mere drop against the inferno, but it still made her shudder and gasp as Grand Pear paused for a moment, his wide eyes filled with both lust and the faintest hint of surprise, as if he himself couldn’t believe he had just hilted himself inside his mortal rival. She couldn’t have that; this was no time to hesitate, his sudden stillness only driving her lust to even greater heights. She didn’t need him to freeze like a rabbit in torchlight – she needed him to rut her, to fuck her into the dirt beneath them until they were both exhausted and satisfied.

Grinding her hips against him out of pure desperation, the only thing she could manage with his weight pinning her lower body down, Granny Smith leaned up and nipped at his ear, slightly too hard. As he gritted his teeth, she murmured just loud enough for him to hear. “Is that all you got?”

Grand Pear twitched inside her at her words and then snarled in anger. “You ain’t seen nothing yet, slut,” he growled, in that primal voice that stallions could only find when they were fucking. The one that made all the fur on the back of her neck stand on end from the feral forcefulness of it.

You are mine, that voice said, and it left no room for her to argue otherwise.

Not that she had any inclination to argue, every inch of her craving his touch, melting against him as her body urged him to claim her. And claim her he did, drawing his hips back before plunging into her once again, holding her waist tightly, and Granny Smith couldn’t even try to hold back the deeply satisfied moan that burst from her lips as his length filled her again.

“A real bitch in heat, aren’t you?” Grand Pear sneered. “I barely started, and you’re already moaning like the whore you are.”

Granny Smith snorted in derision, trying to ignore his hot length twitching inside her and failing miserably. “This the only time you made a mare moan?” she asked. “Betcha always need them to be in heat before they enjoy it.”

He leaned in close again, muzzle to muzzle, glaring at her with his confused mix of anger and desire. “And what about you, huh?” He shifted a little and grinned when Granny Smith’s breath caught. “Do the other stallions normally get you this wet? This sensitive?”

Rather than wait for her answer, Grand Pear took the opportunity to dip his head low and nip at her neck.

“You don’t have to answer that,” he muttered, as she moaned and clenched even tighter around his shaft. “You already did.”

Granny Smith growled in frustration. She’d already given up everything so she could have some Celestia-damned relief, and he couldn’t shut his stupid mouth for five seconds to just give her what she needed.

“Will you shut the hell up and rut me already?” she groaned.

He smiled, in a way that was almost predatory. “Beg for it.”

“Oh for…” She’d waited long enough.

With a sudden burst of strength, Granny Smith rolled over once more, flipping Grand Pear onto his back with a painful sounding thump. She grinned down at the wide eyes beneath her, that smug surety from before replaced with surprise and a deep flash of anger. And yet, as she ground her hips against him she felt his hot length twitch inside her, so hard, so deep, and it only made her smile wider.

She leaned in close, letting her breath play across his ear. And then, in little more than a murmur: “Apples don’t beg.”

Another twitch, another grunt of frustration from the stallion pinned beneath her. Granny Smith was careful to keep him held down as she raised her hips, her marehood clenching tighter and tighter as she did so, unconsciously trying to hold him buried as deep inside her as she could. Even just that small amount of lift left her so empty, so needy, so fucking desperate as another wave of heat crashed over her. But she knew it would all be worth it, and as she sank back down onto him, letting him fill her so deliciously again, listening to him grunt as she enveloped his straining cock, she couldn’t hold back the deeply satisfied moan that shuddered out of her. Loud, wanton, the kind of moan that only a mare in heat could make, and hearing herself so desperate only made her want it even more.

Yes, this was much better – Grand Pear grunting and shuddering beneath her as she rode him, his wonderful cock hilting so deeply inside her, scratching the itch that no hoof ever could. He clutched at her hips, but there was no chance of him setting the pace like before, like he so desperately wanted to. Instead, he was simply holding on as she took him, as he accepted his new role beneath her – little more than a toy for her to sate herself on.

“That’s a better look for you,” Granny Smith smirked. “So, now are you gonna beg?”

Grand Pear simply growled in answer, his grip on her hips tightening almost painfully. The sting did nothing to damper her newfound power, if anything only exciting her more.

“That’s okay,” she said. “You can just lie there, it’s all you’re good for.”

The snarling anger on Grand Pear’s features was almost more satisfying than the white-hot lightning bolts of pleasure that crashed through her with every movement, as she continued riding him in earnest. Almost, but not quite, and even Grand Pear was struggling to keep his anger above his lust, his gritted teeth failing to hold back the appreciative grunts and gasps with every rise and fall of her hips.

He hated this, she could tell. Being dominated by his arch-rival. He couldn’t even bring himself to look at her now, face turned to one side, eyes screwed tightly shut. And more than anything she knew he hated how much he was enjoying it, every other part of him practically pleading with her to continue with every grunt, every shiver, his cock straining inside her.

She reached a hoof behind her, feeling the weighty swell of his balls pressed against her rump.

“Someone’s a little pent up,” she murmured. “Ain’t getting much attention from the mares, huh?”

“Shut up,” he groaned.

“Makes sense,” she continued, slowing herself until she was back to merely grinding against him, enjoying the flush of heat that blossomed now she was no longer roughly riding him. “Guess that’s why you’re desperate enough to lie there and let me do whatever I want to you.”

“I said shut up!”

Granny Smith leaned in close, letting her smile drip into her words. “You gonna make me?”

Too late she realized her mistake in underestimating him. Too late she realized he’d just been biding his time, his grip on her waist not just for show as with a bestial roar he lifted her, keeping her impaled on his length as he dragged them both upwards. Celestia, he was strong, his muscles pronounced even through his sweat-slicked fur as he rose up onto his back hooves. Her back landed against hard wood – not painfully, but not gently either – Grand Pear laying onto the fence that had started all this mess in the first place.

Well, that wasn’t entirely true. The demanding, fiery ache between her legs had started all this, and that need surged up again at the sight of Grand Pear atop her once more, the very picture of a virile, domineering stallion.

“That’s better, Apple slut,” he grunted. “Back where you belong.”

She squirmed in his grasp, but there was no turning the tables back now; his hold was too strong. And, although she hated to admit it, she didn’t want to. His musk and sweat filled the air, and as fun as it had been to toy with him like that, it wasn’t half as good as the proper rutting she needed.

“Now, where were we?” he asked in a low growl, his eyes drinking in her figure beneath him. “Oh, that’s right. You were gonna beg for me.”

Granny Smith stayed silent, scowling up at him. Like hay she was going to beg. She’d never give him the satisfaction. She could wait all day if she had to, she was a wall, she could-

“Well, if you don’t want it,” he said, and began to draw his length out of her, leaving her so cold and empty.

“No!” she cried, any resistance immediately replaced with pure fear that he would remove that glorious cock of his and leave her in a lust-soaked puddle, desperate and horny and alone.

“Then what do you say, bitch?”

“I need it,” she whispered.

“I can’t hear you.”

“I need it.” Louder, more desperate, a red hot flush of embarrassment rising in her cheeks.

“What do you need?” His smirk grew wider still, his hips rocking back and forth just the slightest amount, tantalizing and teasing and so, so frustrating.

“I need you to fuck me!” Granny Smith practically screamed it, her need so powerful it was getting hard to think, hard to do anything but whatever would get him to sink back into her and fuck her as hard as he could.

Even his grin at her desperate words barely registered as she wriggled and writhed, trying to eke out any satisfaction she could from his half-sheathed stallionhood. It wasn’t enough, though, not even close to enough.

He leaned in close, so close, his wicked smile as wide as it had ever been. “Say please.”

“Please!” Not even a moment of hesitation, her voice so desperate it was almost a whine.

“Good slut,” he muttered. “All you had to do was ask.”

With one motion he was buried inside her again, and Granny Smith’s vision was stars and bursts of white as shuddering, impossible pleasure filled her once again. Finally, finally, she was getting what she needed. His weight above her, pressing against her with each rough thrust. His grunts, every one filled with such ferocious lust. A stallion, taking his mare.

“Guess you found your backbone,” she managed to sputter between his powerful thrusts, slamming into her hard enough to make the fence shake.

“This is just. What you. Deserve.” Each phrase punctuated with another driving thrust, another loud smack as their hips came together. And every time sent another rolling wave of shameful satisfaction through her, being demeaned like this only bringing her to greater and greater heights.

She could feel it coming, feel that rising, irrepressible tide begin to flood through her, that warmth that soaked into every inch of her body as her legs tightened around his bucking hips. As if that would do anything to hold him; he was far too wild, and she could do little more than cling to him as he brought her closer and closer to the edge.

He could tell too, his thrusts growing uneven and almost as desperate as she was at the sight. “Are you going to come, slut?” he growled.

Granny Smith couldn’t answer, too wrapped up in her pleasure to even try and formulate a response.

“Then do it,” he said, voice riddled with contempt. He knew he had one, and just this once she was going to let him.

She let go.

Her climax tore through her, so long awaited. Shuddering, moaning, breathless cursing. Grand Pear didn’t stop or even slow with her orgasm, and every single time he sunk back into her that wave crashed over her again, pulling another blissful cry from her lips, her marehood desperately tightening around him and demanding him to stay and give her everything, only to be left so wanting as he drew back before plunging into her once more.

It was too much. It could never have been enough. She could hear herself speaking but whatever she was saying had bypassed her mind entirely, no room for anything but the surges of pleasure that filled it, filled her, filled everything.

Whatever she said had some effect on Grand Pear, and with a couple of final, erratic thrusts he buried himself into her with a roar of satisfaction. One last twitch and he was cumming, so thick, so full, his warmth and lust pouring into her, claiming her, filling her entirely. She shuddered and held him close and without thinking she was kissing and nuzzling his chest, pressing herself as tightly to him as she could as his seed flooded into her.

And then, as suddenly as it had started, it was over.

The warmth faded, the pleasant cloud muddying her thoughts began to clear as he pulled himself out of her and the pair collapsed to the ground, neither capable of anything more than lying in the dust, panting. She felt the light brush of Grand Pear’s hoof on her hip, the only bit of tenderness she’d ever seen from him, and then it was gone as he thought better of it.

Good riddance.

As her strength returned and she pulled herself up, she glanced over at the supine Pear, his cock already starting to pull back into his sheath as he stared glassily up at the red sky above them.

Granny Smith took a deep breath, steadying herself, trying to ignore the wet drip of his seed rolling down the inside of her thigh. “You better move that fence now,” she said, after a moment.

“Fuck you,” he replied, not missing a beat.

Despite herself, despite everything, she couldn’t help but laugh. “You already did.”

Oh no. Oh fuck. Oh fuck fuck fuck fuck FUCK.

Granny Smith paced up and down the length of her bedroom, trying as hard as she could to keep calm. It probably would have helped if her bedroom was big enough to let her get more than three paces before turning around.

No, it wouldn’t. This was way beyond pacing.

Her next cycle was late.

Really late.

Late enough that there was only one explanation left.

She should have known, of course. Her heat had died down so quickly, far too quickly, and instead she’d just taken it for granted. In fact, when all the other mares had been suffering and she’d been right as rain she couldn’t help but count her lucky stars.

There were no stars left to count now.

How could she have been so stupid? She had never fucked in heat without taking her herbs before. She was smarter than that, always had been. And yet the mare that stared back at her in the mirror now looked anything but smart. She looked dumb, and she looked scared. And if Granny Smith looked for too long she swore she could see a small but perceptible round swell in her belly. Her imagination, of course – she wouldn’t show for months yet – but she saw it anyway.

She stopped looking.

It wasn’t even the worst part. She could have handled any other unplanned pregnancy, she was pretty sure. Yes, it would have been difficult, and yes, she’d be sitting here trying not to panic regardless.

But at least it wouldn’t be his.

She groaned and flopped back on her bed, hating even thinking about him. And even that wasn’t the worst part. The worst part was that she was going to have to tell him.

They hadn’t spoken since… it had happened. Not that they were exactly on speaking terms before, but a week seldom passed without at least one or two altercations. Now, though, she hadn’t seen hide nor hair of him, and she was certain he was avoiding her. It made sense; she was absolutely avoiding him too.

Until now. Until she had this to tell him.

She’d spent hours trying to work out an alternative, any other story she could spin to hide it from him and everyone else. It was a stallion from out of town, only here for a few days before heading back to wherever he came from. It was a farmhand, you wouldn’t know him. She’d been drunk, and couldn't remember who the father was.

But no, and not just because Granny Smith was a bad liar. The life now growing inside her wasn’t just hers, it was his too. No matter how much simply looking at him made her want to scream, no matter how much she despised him, she was not terrible enough of a pony to deny him being a father.

He’d probably work it out anyway. Once she started showing, once the rumors started flying, he’d work it out. Better he found out now than later, and straight from the horse’s mouth, so to speak.

With a heavy sigh, she pulled herself upright. It could wait a while, at least. A few days, weeks maybe? Enough time for her to get used to the idea of being a mother, at least.

Enough time that when she told him she might even enjoy the shocked look on his face.

She didn’t enjoy it as much as she’d hoped.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

“I wouldn’t kid about something like this,” she snapped. “What kinda pony do you take me for?”

Her voice echoed around the empty barn, the lantern between them sending ghostly silhouettes dancing up against the walls.

It hadn’t been easy to persuade Grand Pear to meet. Hay, even just finding him had been hard enough. Eventually, she’d managed to convince one of his workers that she genuinely wanted to talk to him, it wasn’t just some scheme, and here they were. An old barn that bridged their properties, left alone because if either of them tried to mess with it the other would inevitably kick up a storm. Neutral ground.

“I take you for a lot of things,” Grand Pear replied, “but even I didn’t think you’d be that dumb.”

“You watch your mouth,” she growled. “You’re the one who finished inside me, you shoulda' known the consequences.”

“You told me to! Don’t try and shift the blame here, it won’t work.”

“I… What?”

“When we were-” He caught himself, rolling his eyes in exasperation. “You practically demanded it, don’t pretend otherwise. We were both there.”

Granny Smith sighed deeply. Of course she did. She always had done, it helped stave off the heat for longer. When she was taking her herbs it didn’t matter, and she’d been in no state to think when she’d…

“I just thought you’d be safe,” he said, quietly. “What kinda mare fucks in heat without protection if they ain’t trying to get pregnant?” His eyes widened. “Wait, is that it? Is all this just to get back at me? You’re a sick pony, Apple.”

“It’s not like that.”

“Oh, I get it. This is a trick. Look, I’m struggling to get past it too, but it happened. Let’s just let it go and-”

“I ain’t joking,” she said, firmly. “I’m pregnant, and you’re the only one it could be.” Granny Smith hesitated a moment as his shoulders slumped in defeated resignation. He’d been so desperate for any way out, and now he seemed to shrink in on himself as the reality sunk in for the first time. She bit her lip. “And there’s more.”

“How in the hay can there be more?”

“I went to the hospital, just to get checked up, make sure everything was okay and healthy.”

“And?”

Granny Smith closed her eyes. Just say it. Get it over with. “It’s twins.”

There was a long silence.

This was followed by a string of obscenities so long and varied that Granny Smith could do nothing but wait for him to finish. She was actually a little impressed. Eventually he finished his tirade, slamming his hoof against a supporting beam hard enough that she heard a crack.

“Look, it’s not what I wanted either,” she said, as he nursed his sore appendage, “but I’m not gonna ask anything of you. It was my mistake. I’ll raise them, you don’t have to send bits or anything. I just needed to tell you about them.”

He was silent a moment longer, but when he turned to face her his eyes were hard and determined. “No,” he said.

“Huh?”

“I said no.”

“No what?”

He shook his head. “No way in Tartarus I’m letting an Apple raise my foals. Especially not you.”

Granny Smith stared at him, dumbfounded. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

“I’m saying that you’re the worst choice of parent I could think of, and I’m not gonna let you ruin my foals.”

“That ain’t your choice to make,” she snarled. “You wouldn’t even know good parenting if it ran up and bit you in the ass.”

“I’d sooner trust a manticore as a mother than you, and they eat their young!”

“And if I did that they’d still be better off than having a Pear as their parent!”

“You shoulda' thought about that before you got knocked up, then.”

Granny Smith bit back her immediate retort, snorting in frustration. “Forget this, I didn’t come here to fight.”

“Then why are you here?”

“I’m here to tell you the truth,” she said. “You don’t deserve much, but even you deserve to know you’re a Dad. I should have known you’d just turn it into another argument.”

“You don’t want to argue? Fine,” he said. “You said it was twins? Then the answer is easy. I’ll take one, and you take one. That way at least only one of my foals will have to put up with you.”

Her eyes widened in disbelief. “Split up my kids?” She shook her head vehemently. “No, you can’t ask me to do that.”

“I can, and I did. They’re my kids too, and we both know how hard it’ll be to raise two of them. This is the best thing we can do. You raise one of them the Apple way, and I’ll raise one the right way.”

“No,” she repeated, barely even hearing the insult this time. “They stay with me. You’re not taking them away from their mother.”

Grand Pear stomped the ground, hard. “But you’ve got no problem taking them from their father? You think you’re the only one who cares what happens to them? Who needs to make sure they’re okay?”

“You can… You can come visit,” she said, the first flickers of uncertainty beginning to seep into her words. “Any time you want.”

“You want that?” he said, knowing she didn’t. “You think something like that would ever work?”

“We’ll make it work.”

“No, we won’t. You don’t want me coming round any more than I do. You don’t want everypony to know exactly what we did. Gossiping, muttering. And you really don’t want our foals to see their parents hating each other’s guts the whole time.” He nodded to himself. “This is the fairest way to handle this. For everyone, including them. Especially them.”

“I…”

“We’ll raise them each as our own, and no one ever has to know what we did. Least of all the foals. They’ll be happier, and we’ll be happier.”

“But-”

“No buts. For once in your life, Apple, do what’s right.”

“Nothing about this is right,” she said.

“It’s not,” he agreed. “But this is the closest we’re gonna get.”

Granny Smith was silent for a long time. “Let’s say I agree –- and I ain’t agreeing to anything yet – but let’s say I did. How do we decide?”

“Decide what?”

“You know.”

“No,” he said. “I don’t.”

He was really going to make her spell it out for him. “How do we decide who keeps which foal?” Granny Smith asked, with a deep grimace. She hated talking like that, like her children were just things, to be traded and bartered away. She hated everything about this, and most of all she hated Grand Pear for getting her to even consider it.

“I guess we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.” He sighed at the clear distress on her face. “Look, this really is for the best. Neither of us has the time or energy for two foals. Heck, it’ll be enough of a struggle with just one. And I don’t want to have to explain to my kid why their mother and I fight all the time.”

A sharp sting at the corners of her eyes told Granny Smith what she already knew, tears starting to well up as she struggled. He was wrong. She could handle two foals. She’d be a great mother. She didn’t need him.

But.

She hated that there was a but.

But he was their father. Before this, she’d never even thought about having foals, except how to avoid it, but the idea of having them taken from her now was already so painful, more painful than she could ever have imagined. And yet, that’s exactly what she was trying to do to Grand Pear. Making him watch his own children grow up over the top of a fence, brought up by his arch-rival to hate him, never even knowing the truth about him. And what were the alternatives?

They both knew that even this couldn’t mend their fierce rivalry. That wound was far too deep, their feud too vicious. There was no chance for a traditional parental situation here, it could never work.

But could this?

“What would you say?” she asked, eventually.

“To who?”

“Everypony. You suddenly show up with a foal to take care of at the same time as me? No mare around? I think that would be a hard one to lie about.”

He shrugged. “I’ll make something up. Say it was some wild fling, and then eleven months later I get a basket on my doorstep and a letter saying I’m the Dad.” Grand Pear gave her a withering look. “Ain’t even that far from the truth. And it’s not like anyone’s gonna notice you getting one at the same time, there’s plenty of mares pregnant right about now.” He smiled humorlessly at the thought before his attention turned back to her. “And what about you? What are you gonna say? There’s no stallion around for you either.”

“I’ll tell them to mind their own dang business.”

His smile returned, genuine this time. “I like that,” he said. "Maybe I’ll say the same.” With an air of finality, Grand Pear straightened up. The lantern was burning low, and even the ever-present crickets outside were beginning to quieten. “So, we’re agreed then?” he asked, proffering his hoof.

“I…”

Grand Pear didn’t say anything more, but he did scowl meaningfully, jutting his hoof further forward.

She closed her eyes, and then reached forward to take his hoof in her own, although not before spitting heartily into it. She took great pleasure in the disgusted expression he gave her when she opened her eyes again.

His hoof was warm, and there was a momentary flash of memory, of heat and fiery lust, of the scent of apple blossoms and musk and dust. And then it was gone, and they back in this decrepit barn, and she yanked her hoof out of his grip as if stung.

Carefully wiping his spittle-covered hoof clean on the ground, Grand Pear nodded. “Alright,” he said, his voice sounding more nervous than angry for the first time that night. “Then it’s settled.”

“It is,” she said, wishing it wasn’t.

He hesitated a moment, on the verge of saying something more, but then he thought better of it. Without another word, he left her alone in the flickering, dying light.

In the growing dark, Granny Smith at last stopped holding back the tears and let them roll slowly down her cheeks.

They were beautiful.

Everything over the last few days – the stress, the pain, the fear, the dread – it had all been worth it now that the two of them were in front of her. Hay, everything over the last year had been worth it. They were perfect.

A colt and a filly. The colt was yellow furred, bright green eyes staring up at her under a fiery red mane. The filly was orange, and had taken more after her father, her mane already starting to curl at the ends. Over the last few days since they’d been born she’d spent every moment with them, treasuring every memory she could. And now, as she began to bundle them up tightly in blankets whilst they looked up at her with wide, inquisitive eyes, it was hard to look back at them.

Once they were bundled up in their blankets, Granny Smith gave them one last, sad smile, and then placed them both gently into their basket. Gripping the handle firmly between her teeth, she pushed open the door and stepped out into the cool night air.

With every step, the doubt and worry in her heart grew more sheer, great stabbing pangs of regret with every swing of the basket against her chest. She just gripped it harder, almost enough to start biting through, and did everything she could to avoid thinking about where she was taking them, and why. She’d spent the better part of a year not thinking about it, a few more minutes was all it would take. Never think about it, because if you do – lying alone in bed, seeing foals playing with their parents, or even just looking too long at her bump in the mirror – you’ll never stop. You’ll spiral, like you’ve done all those times before, and you can’t spiral now. It’s too late for that.

And so instead she just concentrated on her breathing, keeping it slow and measured. On her hoof steps, and each and every crunch in the dirt. But not the weight of the basket she was carrying. And not her destination.

The walk to the old barn was a long one, and yet it was over all too soon as Granny Smith found herself outside, yellow light once again flickering through the cracks in the warped wooden sidings. He was already here.

It almost looked welcoming, if she hadn’t known better. It took a long while for her to build up her courage, standing still long enough that she began to shiver. It wasn’t until one of the foals started to voice their discontent that she was able to get her legs to move again.

The door opened at the sound of their approach, revealing the silhouette of Grand Pear in the frame, waiting for her. He didn’t say anything as she stepped past him across the threshold, but she could see the way his hoof scratched anxiously against the wooden floor, how he hesitated before shutting the door behind her.

Eventually, he managed to speak. “Hi,” he said, lamely.

“I’m not gonna choose,” she said, gently setting the basket down between them. “I can’t.”

Grant Pear shifted uncomfortably, and then nodded. “It’s okay, you don’t have to.” A pause, and then: “Can I see them?”

She stepped to one side to let him crouch down by the basket. As he leaned in, the filly reached out and gently pressed his muzzle with a giggle. Granny Smith had never seen such pure happiness on her rival’s face as she did in that moment.

“They’re amazing,” he whispered, the first thing that Granny Smith could unequivocally agree with him on.

He straightened up and held out his hoof to her. In it was a shiny, golden bit.

“Heads, the colt. Tails, the filly,” he said.

Her eyes widened. “That’s how you’re going to choose?” she sputtered. “A fucking coin flip?”

“Do you have a better idea?”

“I… A coin flip!?”

Hearing the distress from her mother, the foals began to cry, and she quickly reined herself in and stooped down to soothe them, trying to keep the seething anger from bubbling up again.

“I’m not going to choose either,” said Grand Pear over her shoulder. “Let’s just leave it up to chance.”

She bit back her retort, muttering nothings to the foals until they quieted again. As horrifically cold as it seemed, it did make some kind of terrible sense. If neither of them could choose, this was the fairest way. She stood and turned back to him.

“Heads the colt, tails the filly,” he repeated.

“Okay,” she said, the word landing like a ton of bricks between them. “Flip it.”

And he did. The coin spun through the air, twisting, turning, catching all the lantern’s light and sending golden patterns skittering along the walls before landing Grand Pear’s waiting hoof. With a final flick, he spun it ground and stomped against the floor, trapping the coin, hidden, beneath his hoof.

He waited a moment before unveiling it, staring fully at Granny Smith, searching for something. She didn’t know what he was looking for, or whether or not he found it, but his attention snapped downwards and he raised his hoof.

“Tails,” he said, and her heart broke.

Not because of any preference, but because now it was real.

Grand Pear stepped over to the basket, gently lifting the filly. She cooed softly in his hold, reaching up to try and grab the curl of his mane.

“She’s called-”

“Pear Butter,” he said, sharply cutting her off and shattering her heart once again. “That’s her name.”

“Okay,” said Granny Smith, all her fight and anger gone now, her voice thick with despair.

Grand Pear sighed, and held out his daughter. “You can say goodbye if you want.”

With trembling steps, Granny Smith stepped back over to him and gave her foal a gentle kiss on her forehead. “Be good,” she murmured. The filly laughed in answer, smiling up at her with that same, beautifully naive expression she’d already come to love. Was this the last time she would ever look at her mother that way? Once Grand Pear had raised her as his own, Pear Butter would surely stare at the Apples with nothing but hatred, and here, now, would be nothing but a memory she’d never know. But for now there was nothing but love there, and despite her tears, Granny Smith smiled back.

Grand Pear said nothing as he drew Pear Butter close again and made to leave. There wasn’t really anything he could say. At the doorway, though, he paused, casting a glance back to the basket where his son still lay. “Take care of him,” he said.

And then the door was closing behind him, and both he and her daughter were gone. Granny Smith sank to the ground with a sob, and, as the warmth beside him began to cool now that his sister was no longer there, Bright Mac began to cry too.