Author's Note
Nazis are bad.
Never Meind
There are three main things you have to know when dating Aryanne.
“What would you like to drink, dear?” asks the sweet unicorn mare that takes your order at the small diner.
“Just some water for both of us please,” you say, looking across to your marefriend who eyes the menu carefully. Her mane, the color of perfectly harvested golden straw in fall, shines in the radiant sun that streams through the window beside your booth. Her plush white coat of fur looks as if it were bleached, blindingly bright to a point where the Element of Generosity would be jealous.
“Are you sure, dears?” the waitress asks. “We just had a fresh pot of coffee finish brewing. And we have some fresh squeezed-”
“Please no,” you say trying to cut her off.
“Orange juice.”
Aryanne’s eyes spring up from her page. Her eyes like a burning fire. Her posture straightens as she turns her whole body toward the waitress.
“YOU DARE TO FORCE TO DRINK THE BLOOD OF EQUESTRIAN FRUIT?”
“Oh god here we go,” you mumble, sinking into your seat.
“FRUIT GROW ON TREES AND ARE BORN IN EQUESTRIA TO BEAR NEW TREES AND BEAR NEW FRUIT. IT’S PONIES LIKE YOU WHO SULLY OUR HOOVES WITH THE BLOOD OF THE FALLEN AND CONSUME THE MOTHER’S MILK OF OUR DEAR EQUIS.”
The waitress steps back in shock, then looks to you. Then to the mare. Then to you.
“Water. Please,” you mutter.
The first rule of Aryanne is to not talk about juice. Ever.
“I think that went well,” Aryanne said happily, sinking back into her menu. “I’m thinking about eggs benedict. What do you think? Too much?”
“I think maybe we should find a place that won’t spit in our food.”
“Now why would they do something like that?”
You sigh to yourself, and smile at the naivete that your marefriend shows.
“No reason,” you say chuckling to yourself. “Some ponies are just like that.”
“You really must be more optimistic, Anon,” Aryanne continues. “Afterall. How many people judge you based on your appearance?”
“Point taken,” you say with a smile.
To be honest? You really couldn’t bring yourself to be mad at her for long. The fact that she was here at all was… well, heavenly. The distance between Germaney and Ponyville was… well. Short would be putting it mildly. Several hundreds of bits were required to take the airship to Germaney. It was cheaper by train, of course, but it was also an extremely long ride, which had its own drawbacks.
To be even more honest? The distance is hard. Really hard. Harder than you ever want to admit. Sometimes, after she’d leave, you’d return to your home only to call out “I’m home!” to an empty house. The pit that fills your stomach after is worse than any case of food poisoning.
It’s the difference between being alone, and feeling lonely.
But, shut up, stupid! She’s here! Right now! That’s what’s important.
And what’s important is the question you want to ask her. But take your time. You need to do it right.
“So, our train leaves in about… two hours. Are you excited for me to finally come out to Germaney with you?” you ask.
“Hast du die Sprache geübt?” she asks.
“Gesundheit.”
She sinks her head into her hooves.
“Deshalb mag niemand Touristen.”
“I have a feeling this is because my Germane is really bad.”
“Your Germane is, uhm, nothing. Nothing Germane.”
“That’s not true. I love kraut!”
The waitress quietly brings two glasses of water to the table, setting them down as quietly as possible. Aryanne beams up at the waitress, who looks like she’s trying not to wake a sleeping giant.
“Well, I promise I will try not to embarass you as much as possible,” you say quietly.
“It’s just difficult always doing the translation,” she responds. “Many germanes already already know the common language, but many refuse to speak the new language. I joined Equestria Connect Program to make my common better.”
“Right! Which makes total sense!”
You suppose you probably should share the small detail at some point where Twilight forced you to sign up with the ECP in order to make friends, move out, and stop playing football with Spike. Well, not so much you were playing football with Spike, but rather that he was the football. On the bright side, you now have a marefriend AND you can make a solid punt. Nice.
“I um,” Aryanne says. “I would to do a talkings of something, Anon.”
“Yeah?” you reply. Well shit. It’s probably as good as any time to bring up your conversation too. If things are going to get real, anyway. “I’m all ears. What’s up?”
Aryanne’s ears fold back and her eyes shut for a moment.
The second thing to know about dating Aryanne is to never interrupt her when she’s thinking of how to say something. Especially when English, or, well, common, isn’t her first language.
At this point, this is where the poor waitress comes up to the table and decides to take your order.
“Have you two decided on-”
“Können Sie uns bitte eine Minute geben?!” she screams at the waitress and slams a hoof on the table. “Ich versuche meine Eltern von meinem Arsch zu bekommen!”
She’s so cute when she’s angry. Especially the way she glares at a pony like she’s going to murder them and ensure their family accidentally eats their flesh or something horrific like that. Does that make you a little weird? Probably.
“Two eggs, all white toast. Both of us.”
She looks to you with a heavy glare.
“Actually, eggs benedict for her.”
Then she smiles and looks back to the waitress with a wide smile.
“S-sure,” the mare says, backing away slowly.
“Now zen,” she says, trying to reclaim her train of thought. “Oh yes. I want you to meet my parents.”
You freeze. You stare at the mare across from you in disbelief.
“You have parents?”
“Yes,” she says without skipping a beat. “They make the sex and then have me.”
“Well, yes. I got that part,” you respond. “I guess I just didn’t. Well.”
Is the room suddenly very hot? Because you’re sweating like crazy. You can call yourself a lot of things. Stupid. Crazy. Horny. Hungry. Stupid. But you aren’t stupid. You know that Germaney is just like your country from back home. Earth. Aryanne’s blonde hair, blue eyes, hell even her name. It’s a Nazi reference. And, well. Let’s face it. In a happy technicolor world of ponies, history has a way of glossing over some of it’s darker parts.
It’s entirely possible that pony nazi’s are a real thing, and a lot of Aryanne’s quirkiness is… well, a coverup for real nazi stuff. Stuff she was exposed to as a child.
The last thing you want to do is meet her parents.
“I’d love to meet your parents!” you say.
MOUTH. WHAT THE FUCK, DUDE.
Aryanne exhales loudly in relief.
“Mein Gott!” she says. “I was so worried you’d say no. My parents have wanted to meet this long distance mystery man for a very long time. They will probably pressure into… erm. What is word… Hochzeit. Uhh.”
“Oh, it’s no big deal,” you lie through your teeth. “I’m really looking forward to it! I’m sure they’re wonderful people!”
“Pony.”
“Whatever.”
Next thing you know, you’re in a different country. Obviously it wasn’t quite as literal as that, but stress messes you up dude. There were borders and guards and lots of ponies going from train car to train car. You joked briefly about some ‘private car fun’ which almost became serious, but then there were no curtains on the compartment windows. Screw you too, train.
So anyway, you were on a train, scared for your life, and now you’re in a place you’ve never been before, being escorted by Aryanne. There are many things that are somewhat wrong with this situation, but you don’t have time to process any of that.
“Here we are!” she says. “The street where I grew up! You’re kind of lucky my parents know common!”
“Oh, thank god,” you say. “Then you don’t need to act as translator all night.”
She stops for a moment on the sidewalk, just in front of a house.
“Is this it already?” you ask.
“Anon,” she says, concern filling her voice.
“Yeah?”
“Before we go further, there’s something you should know.”
The third rule of Aryanne is that there are no rules.
“My parent’s a little bit… how do you say… extreme. Even for me,” she says.
Fuck. They’re actual nazis.
“O-oh?”
“See, they don’t know that you’re human,” she says. “I haven’t said you’re a pony, but… well yeah.”
You pause, somewhat dumbfounded.
“Well, that’s a bit of a detail, don’t ya think?”
She winces at your tone.
“I know, I know. They can just get… protective of their offspring and-”
Then, your life flashes before your eyes. Oh lord. If they’re like actual nazis, you certainly don’t match their… ‘perfect pony’ specifications.
You’re so fucked.
“Well, there’s no going back now,” you say with a sigh. “All we can do is hope for the best.”
She gives you a bright smile.
“Don’t worry, Anon. Everything will be just vunderbar.”
She trots on ahead, and you sulk behind her. A few more houses, and a turn, and there you stand. Right on their doorstep.
She gives three gentle knocks on the front door, and you feel a deep unease settle in your stomach. And not the sort of unease you get before you eat one of her attempts at Prench food. You can only handle a blitzkrieg like that once every few weeks.
The door opens widely, and standing there, right in front of you are two older ponies that does quite literally nothing to assuage your concern.
The older mare and stallion both had bleach blonde hair, deep blue eyes, blindingly white fur, and …. Uh. Those cutie marks.
The mare reached out to hug her daughter as you examine her cutie mark.
“Meine Liebe, es ist so wundervoll, dich zu Hause zu haben.”
Adorned on her flank are many glittering pieces of broken glass.
“Ich habe dich so sehr vermisst, Mama und Papa,” Aryanne exclaims happily as you look to her father.
Deep, bright, raging fire.
“Ist das dein Diener?” her father asks. “Spricht er die höhere Sprache?”
“Mama und Papa!” Aryanne says happily, stepping back to you and placing a hoof on your hand. “This is Anonymous.”
Her English comes out slower and more pronounced than usual. The two look you in the eye with a renewed razor sharp focus. Their ears stand at attention. Ice fills the air around you.
“Hello, uhm. Aryanne’s Mom and Dad,” you say holding out your hand.
Aryanne’s father glares at your hand for a moment, then up to you.
“So you are the creature who taint this family,” she says in a low, serious tone.
A silence falls between the four of you.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck. You’re probably going to be murdered. In fact, right now, that’s a very statistical probability. You could probably run to the station now and manage to get back to Ponyville. Twilight will probably hide you, at least until she realizes that you’re hiding in her castle. But it’s a big castle.
Then, he snickers. The snicker turns to a laugh, and the two ladies also erupt into deep laughter. You chuckle, but it’s the sort of chuckle you have when a cannibal invites you to dinner, and you aren’t sure if it’s a joke, or they’re planning to eat you. Do nazi’s eat people? Probably not. I mean, they aren’t animals. Well, the ponies are, but-
“I am Stutt Hoof. This is my wife, Raven Bruck. You must be uhm… how you say… Da Cow Aryanne has mentioned,” he says, shaking your hand.
“Nope!” you say, hesitantly. “Human, actually.”
“Ah! Yes. Hoo-man,” he says, pulling away.
“Papa, you said you would be nice!” Aryanne says with a clearly fake pout.
“Now then, come in you two. We have much that we wish to discuss,” Raven says with a smile. “Would either of you like some kaffee?”
“So that’s when I turned to her and said: ‘When I wanted you to be kinder, I didn’t mean to steal the kid!’”
The room erupts into laughter as you use the only joke you had specifically tailored to Aryanne’s parents.
“That colt’s mother was so mad!” Aryanne squeals with tears in her eyes. “But luckily the police let us go.”
“That’s terrible!” Raven laughed. “Separating poor Sophine and her child.”
“Yeah…,” you pipe in. “If I had to choose again, I’d have worded it differently.
Stutt smile from Aryanne to his wife, then leaned forward in his chair.
“Could you damen, get und Gewürztraminer.”
“Dear, you are mixing languages again,” Raven says rising to her hooves. “Aryanne, would you help?”
“NJa!” she says happily, rising to her hooves and following Raven through their home. You lean back on the couch and take a deep breath.
Honestly? This is going pretty well. Aryanne’s parents seem to be friendly if not welcoming. Maybe it really was just the ‘new people’ anxiety.
“Are you Kampfy?” Stutt asks quietly as the mares leave the room. You blink, looking to Aryanne’s dad. He looks you up and down apprehensively.
“Uhm, yes?” you reply.
“Good. Now. Ae-Non-e-mus,” he says, his eyes narrowing. “As I understand, you wish to… be of relations with mein daughter.”
You open your mouth to speak, and then some sort of tiny, scared teenager inside of you closes your mouth. You slowly nod in response.
“You see, I am very patient stallion,” he says firmly. “Mein daughter’s taste in… male… is very strange to me. She is best daughter. Pure.”
As he says the word pure, your mind immediately goes to dirty thoughts with Aryanne. What the fuck, brain?
“Very pure,” you mumble.
“So, I must be sure that… all males be of good… how you say…” he pauses, raising his chin ever so slightly, as if asking you to finish his thought.
Your stomach sinks down the stairs, right past the crawl space and right into the furnace.
“Genes?” you ask.
“Yes! He says. “You must be of good, blue genes. You make good money, ja?”
You sigh happily in relief.
“Oh, I mean. I mostly do paperwork at the Ponyville City Hall, but it lets me buy clothes and jeans.”
“AH!” he says, clapping his hooves. “A man of action! Of politic!”
“Oh, uhm.”
The correct thing to say is ‘No. I am not interested in politics. Ponyville has about the political turbulence of a gentle breeze on a lake.’ But no, you’re an idiot. You want to impress her dad. Don’t you?
“Oh yes!” you say proudly. “I love the politics. I do so much politic you’d be scared. I am such a politic person. ”
“Pony.”
“Really?” you mutter quietly. “Even here?”
“Then,” Stutt says loudly, rising to his hooves. “We must battle for our party!”
“Wait,” you lean forward, immediately concerned. “Do you mean-”
“WE SHALL BATTLE FOR OUR GREAT WORKER’S PARTY!” He exclaims.
“Scheisse!” you hear Aryanne yell from the next room. “Nicht das schon wieder!”
“Uhm. Is there a way that we… don’t?”
“NEIN!” he yells, grabbing you by the hand and pulling you outside. “Du wirst deinen Wert beweisen!”
“I DON’T KNOW WHAT YOU’RE SAYING AND I’M AFRAID,” you shout, happy you’ve already used the restroom. The mares speed outside as Aryanne’s father pulls you out onto the neighborhood street.
“Vater bitte nicht!” Aryanne shouts.
“A LITTLE HELP HERE! IN ENGLISH! IF THAT’S OKAY!” you shout.
“FIRST TO END OF BLOCK FACIST WINS RACE.”
You pause, standing besides Aryanne’s father.
“Wait, like, a running race?” you ask.
“JA!” he says with a triumphant smile, stretching his hooves. “If you win race, my daughter is yours!”
You look from her father, to her mother, then to Aryanne. You wave your arms to her, and you can’t help but stop to laugh.
“Is this what you were warning me about?” you ask.
Aryanne sighs.
“Yes,” she groans, looking to the ground, her whole face a shade of light pink.
“Well, I mean. You all realize you come up to, like, my stomach,” you say with a smile, almost beginning to laugh. “Yeah, old man. Let’s do it. You’re on.”
“Vundabar! Drei!”
“Anon! It’s not that simple!” Aryanne shouts.
“Huh?” you ask, getting into your running stance. “Why?”
“Zwei!” Stutt shouts. Neighbors are beginning to watch.
“My father was a master sprinter for the Germaney olympics! This is… is… a master race!”
“Wait, what?!”
“Ein!”
In one second, you pause, turning to your opponent to your left. Only then do you notice the way his hooves are longer, and stronger than most other ponies his size. His stance is intense. His eyes focused. His entire body seems to be slender and strong despite his age. Does he continually work out? Actually, you’ve seen guards with blinding speed. You can beat an average Equestrian, but a trained Germane? One who continues to train?
No, conventional battle won’t work here. You’ll be destroyed like a pony in Yakistan winter.
“GO!” he yells!
“BLITZKRIEG, BITCH!” you scream, before punching Aryanne’s father in the face.
He falls to the ground, crumpled. His eyes wide in shock. Aryanne gasps. Raven takes a step forward. The neighbors run off their porch.
“ANON!” Aryanne yells.
“Strutt!” Raven exclaims.
Strutt raises a hoof to stop them.
You immediately feel deep regret for everything you’ve done with your life. That’s it. Time to change your relationship status. Why did you leave your last relationship? You know. A few political differences and, oh yeah, punching her father in the face.
“Young human,” he says, rising to his hooves. “Do you know what you just did?”
“Destroyed any hope of a future life?” you ask feebly.
Strutt walks up to you then pauses, examining your face.
Then, bursts into laughter.
“I HAVE NOT BEEN BLITZKRIEGED IN THIRTY YEARS!”
Rule three.
This stallion laughs so hard, that you think that you might have to call an ambulance. The neighbors are talking quietly to each other, wondering what in the fuck they just watched. If you had an answer, you’d give it to them.
“You win!” he laughs. “You win race! Party is yours! Welcome Ae-Non-e-mus! Tonight’s party of workers is for you!”
Aryanne trots up to you and pulls you down to her level. She leans into your ear and gently asks.
“How did you know you would win the race that way?” she asks.
You look her dead in the eyes.
“Frankly, I had no idea.”
“AND!” Stutt exclaims. “You may making of relations with my daughter!”
“PAPA!” Aryanne shouts.
A deep pit in your stomach is warmed by those words, as kind of messed up as they are.
“Well! I need to hit the showers,” Stutt says to the three of you, moving back to the house. “I’m feeling, how you say, gassy?”
“For the love of,” Aryanne says, placing a hoof on her face. “You mean dirty.”
As Aryanne’s parents walk back inside the house, you can feel the sweat that slowly drips down your hands and your heartbeat ringing in your ears.
“Did that seriously just happen?”
“Yes,” Aryanne says quietly. “You’re the first to ever win the race.”
“Did I just win,”
“Please don’t,” she groans.
“The Aryanne race?”
“I’m done,” she says walking in. “You’re grounded.”
“NOT AS GROUNDED AS-”
“Thin ice, Anon,” Aryanne says grabbing you by the hoof. “Let’s have some wine. Besides. It’s nice that my parent’s like you, but you don’t need my father’s blessing to marry me.”
You blink. Aryanne blinks.
“Wait, did you just say that you want to-”
“I DON’T KNOW WHAT YOU’RE TALKING ABOUT-” she says before galloping into her parents home, but leaving the door open. Well, what do you know. Rule three.
“Well,” you say with a smile as you close the door behind you. “I did Nazi that coming.”
-End
