There's Magic in the Mare

Chapters

Prologue: The Puppet Master
A knock in the night
Gathering clouds
Picnic of fools
Taking her home
A buck to the gut
Weathering the storm
Heart to heart
A romp in the park - NSFW
Public disturbance - NSFW
Pulling an all-nighter - NSFW
A grand finale!
Epilogue: The puppet master's revenge

Prologue: The Puppet Master

Prologue
Cadance

Cadance had always found the lilting jingle of her magical laptop’s boot-up sound enjoyable. The melody was a lovely little opening tune for her daily royal duties, which she loved to perform.

Unlike Celestia, who had to raise the sun… Luna who had to raise the moon… and Twilight, who had to ensure that the magic of friendship was alive and flourishing… but Cadance’s domain was love.

Over the years, she’d grown more and more powerful as she became familiar with her abilities. She could still fondly remember her early days as a novice, when she could only create new relationships and love-lives for ponies within eyesight.

But it hadn’t been long before her confidence in her skill began to grow, and she found herself stretching out with her newfound abilities into the ether. It came like a sixth sense to her, sensing the potentials of love swirling around her, a vast and complex network of ponies’ affection for one another.

It wasn’t easy.

She’d once described it to her husband as trying to track bubbles in a raging white-water river, not dissimilar from the sea of quantum foam and probabilities that the Empire’s leading physicists were exploring. Every sapient creature in the world fizzed and tumbled in the rapids of circumstance, sometimes colliding and forming a new, greater whole. It had been intimidating at first, trying to navigate the chaos, to choose tiny bubbles from the cacophony and bestow upon them a gift of potent love-magic, ensuring that a new relationship would bloom.

Soon, she found herself mastering the demands of the swirl... able to twist and weave the red strings of fate connecting millions of ponies… but the responsibility that came with that power was crushing, driving her to isolate herself for increasing periods of time for the concentration needed to handle so great a burden as managing the romantic interactions of an entire planet. It might have become a dangerous obsession, if not for her sister-in-law’s incredible invention.

Twilight’s magic laptop had applied boolean logic and brilliant programming to sort through the vast array of potentials, distilling Cadence’s task to a far simpler one: instead of surfing a thaumic dimension of bubbling possibility… she now had a simple and convenient desktop program that displayed all pending decisions that required her additional level of scrutiny, and a basic set of commands that would allow her to decide how to proceed.

In other words, Cadance had the world’s ultimate dating simulator app.

She pulled up the day’s pending decisions, scrolling through and quickly clicking the ‘approve’ / ‘green-light’ button on nearly all of the possible relationships. More love was always a good thing - and it was only those relationships that were illegal, unsavory, or could politically harm the kingdom that she would defer or delay.

Except for one pony. She frowned as her mouse scrolled over the name…

Trixie Lulamoon.

‘Her again.’ The permanently perky pink princess couldn’t prevent the grimace from crossing her face. It was the fourth time this year the magician’s name had popped up. It was like fate herself was angry at Cadance for constantly denying Trixie any romantic satisfaction - the laptop was creating chance after chance for Trixie to become entangled with another pony.

She clicked through the history of denied opportunities that she’d already cancelled for the magician. Starlight Glimmer. Sunburst. Snips and Snails. Maud Pie. Twilight Sparkle (as if Cadance would ever let that ship sail).

Cadence growled and shook her head before checking the newest possible connection. Twilight and Ponyville may have forgiven the stage-magician for her misdeeds… but Cadance was not merciful. She made no qualms about being a vindictive and protective mare. Mess with her family... or even worse, a family member and her favorite former babysittee, and you got the horns.

‘Huh, looks like the new romantic opportunity is… a fan?’ She didn’t know the name, unlike the previously denied options. From the quick background her program provided it looked like he was a reporter... he’d started off skeptical of the showmare’s obnoxious ways, like most who’d crossed paths with Trixie… before slowly being won over as he covered the show-tour. He was a lonely bachelor, with the beginnings of a crush...

And now… a small window was opening over the next week when the two would cross paths in Manehatten.

Not that it mattered. She grinned evilly, sliding her mouse cursor over the approve button… then continuing on to hover over the red deny, prompt.

‘Mess with Twily, you end up forever alone you blue bi-’

“Mom! Are you in here?” The door to her room burst open, as her teenage daughter, Princess Flurry Heart kicked open the solid crystal barrier, sending it rebounding off the wall with a noisy slam. “We’re gonna be late for dad’s birthday brunch! Come on!”

“Honey! You spooked me!”

“Hurry up already, mom… I’ve been ready for like… ten minutes already! I don’t want to make dad wait!”

Cadance sighed, Flurry always got so anxious when it came to her father… she was such a daddy’s girl. It was cute, really.

‘Wait. What button did I click?’ Cadance gulped as she stared at the screen. ‘Was it approve? Or decline?’

A knock in the night

Trixe - Day 1
Another town, another show.

Trixie took a deep breath as she fastened the clasp of her cape. The purple, silky garment — adorned with decorative moons, suns, and stars — showed its age. It didn’t help that this was the same cape she’d worn since she first started doing magic shows as a young filly, nor that she still had no idea how to cast a half-decent garment rejuvenation-protection spell, if such a thing even existed.

And she’d be damned if she went into that prissy white unicorn’s circus-ride excuse of a shop to ask for help.

The announcer on-stage finished his introduction, calling her up.

Trixie let the breath escape her slowly. ’Manehattan is always such a tough town, especially when I play in the park.

The rumble of an eager crowd, the creak of floorboards under her hooves, the muffled calls of the announcer on the microphone… despite her veteran showmare experience, it still made her feel like her stomach was full of horseshoes. That anxiety, the slinking fear in the buildup before the performance could never be truly conquered. It was something all performers dealt with, handling the energy of wanting to have a great performance, but Trixie’s butterflies were a bit more brutal.

There was no shaking the cynic inside — the one armed with about how pathetic she truly was.

Charlatan, it said. Fraud. Weakling. Incompetent.

And this would be the show that revealed it to everypony — her fans, friends, family… and most importantly, herself.

“No! That’s not true, Trixie! You ARE the Great and Powerful!” whispered to herself, before chanting the mantra in her head for the millionth time, her tried and tested ward against those dark feelings.

The stage curtain rose to thunderous applause, and those thoughts were put on hold. The Great and Powerful Trixie had no doubts; she was perfect in every way conceivable, and with the tip of her hat, an equally jaw-dropping salvo of magical fireworks lit up the stage behind her.

The show had begun.

...

“Thank you, Manehattanites!” Trixie called, bowing as she removed her hat with a theatrical flourish, sweeping low. Raucous applause rolled through the crowd, which had grown exponentially as the show went on. Flowers and bits rained onto the stage as the ponies chanted her name over and over.

“Trixie, Trixie, Trixie!”

“Yes, yes! Thank you, thank you!” Trixie chuckled, heading toward stage left. “Please enjoy the rest of the show. Up next is…” she checked her hoof for the notes she’d received. “...uh, the styling of Octavia Melody and her string quartet.”

Trixie sighed, already missing the basking glow that came with the intoxicating approbation of a supportive crowd. Already their cheers had died down to a soft murmur as the cellist and her team of musicians made their way onto the stage. As the melodious tuning strokes of Octavia’s bow were drawn across her instrument, Trixie wondered if anypony would even remember her name by the end of the soiree.

Her head dipped down as she made her way out the back entrance to the large stage, heading toward her wagon tied up at the other side of the park. At least she’d quelled those demons for a few minutes, had stopped her anxious self-destruction for another night. The bottle of wine in her wagon would help too.

“Ex-excuse me, M-Ms. Trixie?”

She looked to her side and found a little purple unicorn filly nervously eyeing her with a notepad and pencil in her mouth. “Oh my!” Trixie smiled, flipping her hair and cape back. “Could you be a fan of the Great and Powerful Trixie?”

The filly nodded nervously. “Y-yes. I was hoping… I mean… if it’s not too much trouble, c-could…”

Trixie chuckled, sweeping the filly up into her forelegs and giving her a big hug. “Trixie always has time for her fans. They have the best taste in all of Equestria, after all.”

The filly giggled and laughed as Trixie sent her flying about in a kinetic field, before bringing her gently to rest right in front of her; no easy task, unless you were an alicorn or high-class, town-dominating unicorn.

But maybe it was easy. Maybe she was an incompetent thaumic user, only capable of simple show-magic?

The twinkle of the filly’s eyes: filled with love and admiration for her quieted the thoughts.

“Now, I could give you only an autograph...” Trixie mused aloud playfully, as she signed the filly’s pad with a flourish. “But tell me, little filly… are you a magician too?”

The filly nodded with a smile. “Yup! I’m the AMAZING Flash Star! I know three tricks.”

“Hmm… Flash Star, eh? Needs a little more pizazz… How about the Fantastic Flash Star?” Trixie sent sparks up into the night air, illuminating the filly’s name in the sky.

“That’s awesome!” Flash Star squeed, her eyes as big as saucers.

“But you know what? I think that Flash Star the Fantastic needs a new prop.” Trixie brought out her wand and offered it with reverence to the little filly, like a guard would offer a princess their sword. “Would this be of any interest?”

“W-what!? Your wand? F-for me?” The filly looked like she was about to cry.

“Of course! But you must promise to take great care of it, and dazzle me with your show when I’m back next year, Fantastic Flash Star!”

Clutching the wand to her chest like a million-bit treasure, she looked up with tears in her eyes and nodded emphatically. “I-I will!” She ran off back toward the crowd of ponies with a happy skip in her step, pausing only to look back over her shoulder at her hero.

With a happy sigh, Trixie turned away, looking back toward her wagon with no small amount of disappointment. Foals could be so lovely — so full of energy and happiness, so innocent… not crushed down by the realities of the world, surrounded by family and friends who loved them dearly…

Trixie opened the door to her wagon interior, revealing the cramped space, jammed full of various magical tricks and trappings — room enough for only one lonely showmare.

…Where had she gone wrong?

She reached under one of the cardboard boxes, picking up the half-empty bottle of wine that she knew she’d left there from the previous evening’s show. It wasn’t fancy wine; she’d always been good about living within her budget while traveling, but it was effective wine. The nomadic life tended to teach one how to be pragmatic, and she’d quickly discovered that price didn’t always reflect quality.

It also afforded her plenty of time to think. Plenty of time to reflect. Plenty of time to worry.

Maybe that’s where the doubting came from.

Things had been getting better in more recent years, yes. She’d made a new friend in Ponyville — somepony who could really understand her. She’d also managed to somewhat make amends with the ponies of that town, even the ones she’d purposefully antagonized. Even the ones who did deserve it.

An extra-long draw of her wine bottle accompanied that particular memory. Jealousy, especially when combined with an all-corrupting magical artifact, could make a mare do crazy things. A part of her relished it, though — a deep, dark part of her that she hated — despite it being the wrong thing to have done;for a time, the world had to listen to her, because she was just too great and powerful for them to ignore. Such an easy way to get everything she’d always wanted. And such a sinister way.

She shivered.

She wasn’t even really sure why she’d been so jealous of Princess Twilight. Power? Prestige? The fact that friendship and love seemed to come so quickly to her pseudo-nemesis? As it stood, Twilight was objectively the most beloved pony in Equestria, possibly even surpassing the Princess of Love herself. It wouldn’t be long before Celestia’s favored pupil was smothered in friendship from every nation. And should she wish for it, she probably wouldn’t need to try all that hard to find somepony to start a family with — Twilight had already saved the world upwards of a dozen times, so there’d be no shortage of admirers so long as she stayed in the spotlight.

Trixie, however…

What could she do? What claim to fame did she have? Sparklers and fireworks and the art of illusion, performed day after day, night after night, to town after backwater town... only to be tossed aside and forgotten like the stale popcorn that littered the showgrounds each morning. She wasn’t Twilight and never would be, and every new exploit she read in the news or heard by word of mouth only served to remind her of that.

Another swig of the red wine drowned that particular sequence of thoughts away.

When she was in one of these black moods, memories of the adoration of her fans helped. The way their eyes sparkled, the way their hooves shot up in the air, the way their tails swished merrily. It gave her confidence that she was a good pony. At least, for a little while.

Their love was a mere placeholder. A tiny sip of the acceptance she truly wanted. Somepony who would give her that affection for who she was when she was off the stage. Somepony to travel with across Equestria — to go on adventures with, to giggle with. Someone who would be there, with her, when she was alone.

Alone in her tiny wagon. Like now.

This wine was poor company.

Maybe she could try one of those dating services. Or hang out in bars and nightclubs like in one of Starlight’s steamy romance novels. Hay, maybe Trixie should just go to the town square, hike her tail up and beg.

Another swig. She jumped into her hammock with practiced ease.

Maybe going to one of those ‘town-studs’ was the only way she’d ever have someone to care about…

She shook her head to clear the thought — they were just old mare’s tales anyway. She’d have to do something though. It wasn’t like some foalish prayer to Celestia would send the love of her life knocking on her do-

*KNOCK KNOCK*

“Hello? M-ms. Trixie?”

The voice jolted her up and out of her hammock. Unfortunately, her right hoof caught in the webbing as she disembarked, sending her ass over teakettle into a pile of her famously effective smoke bombs. She froze, not moving her forelegs a millimeter, making sure to very carefully keep the pile of orb-shaped glass capsules from exploding and filling the entire wagon with the acrid diffusion.

*KNOCK KNOCK*

“Hello? Are you in?” The voice asked with hesitation. “I thought I heard something.”

Sure that her entire wagon wouldn’t be set ablaze, Trixie let out a sigh of relief and began to carefully go about getting her head out from under her plot. “What is it!? I have a permit to keep my wagon on the park grounds this year!” Shaking her completely disheveled mane out of her face, she stomped toward the door. The Manehattan park cops were always crawling up her tailhole with their ridiculous regulations: they never cut her any slack! “I swear, this is hara—”

She ripped the door open to see what was decidedly not a police officer standing there. The rusty-haired stallion looked unsure of himself, his beard-framed mouth stammering to find words as his surprised green eyes raced over her.

“Uh… I… huh…”

Trixie clicked her tongue in impatience, quickly assembling her emotional armor. “Well? What is it? The Great and Powerful Trixie was busy… perfecting the most advanced of alicorn magic!”

The stranger blinked, and then he creased his brows, apparently stunned out of his stupor. “But you’re… not an alicorn.”

“Hah!” Trixie put a hoof to her chest, “Experimenting with alicorn energies is trivial to the Great and Powerful Trixie. I have extensive experience with vast, swirling, ethereal powe—”

“Because of the time when you had the Alicorn Amulet?”

She paused, staring off into the sky with an open mouth for a moment, then brought herself and narrowed her eyes at him in guarded suspicion. She didn’t think there was anypony she hadn’t apologized to for those dark few days in Ponyville, and she’d certainly spent enough time in the town itself that she was rarely harassed for it, so she was sure that chapter of her life had been put behind her. But she supposed that maybe she should’ve seen this coming: if this was indeed what she thought it was: a Ponyville emigre who didn’t think saying sorry was enough, and preferred to settle things the old-fashioned way. “Just who are you?”

The pegasus slunk back, ears splaying against his ruffled red mane as he pointed a hoof at himself questioningly.

“Yes. You.” Trixie arched an eyebrow. “Somepony who comes knocking on my door in the middle of the night, demanding to know if I’m Trixie and dredging up the most awful event of her life... Who. Are. You?”

He shuffled his wings. And was he sweating? Trixie never understood how easily it came to some ponies, nor did she have much of a mind to tolerate those who did, even if it wasn’t their fault, strictly speaking. “I’m… sorry.”

“Well, ‘Mr. Sorry’, what exactly do you want?”

“No! I mean… I’m not that kind of sorry.” He sighed and looked to his right, casting his gaze over the empty lots on the edge of the showgrounds. Pulling the cart all by herself tended to get her to her destinations a little later than she liked, so all the best spots were usually taken by the time she arrived, just as they were here. She’d had to relocate to an empty camp-ground, far from the stage and most of the park traffic. “My name is… Bawdy Jot,” he continued, returning to her. “I’m a reporter for the Manehattan Monthly.”

Trixie cocked her head slightly, but made no comment; she wasn’t sure how to deal with this. She’d spoken with the press before, of course — trite pieces about her show and the event she was performing at, generally followed by her making a desperate pitch for some good publicity. Unfortunately, she often had to consider herself lucky if her name made it to print: they usually accredited her quotes to “a magician.”

Then she’d had the incident.

All of a sudden, she couldn’t get away from reporters. They’d hounded her every step. She begged to keep her name out of the papers, only moving from town to town seemed to work as a remedy to the unwanted public attention of ‘The World’s Most Egotistical Unicorn’. Needless to say, the headlines were not flattering.

That’s how she found herself wandering the edge of nowhere, trapped in a kind of paradox; attention is what she sought, but without any of the baggage her name had already acquired.

She’d learned her lesson when it came to the newspaper rag-merchants, going so far as to disappear for a while after helping Starlight save Equestria from the return of Queen Chrysalis. And the irony wasn’t lost on her, nor was it merciful: it had been the proudest moment of her entire life, and there she was, refusing to acknowledge her part in it.

Her. Trixie Lulamoon.

Twilight made it all look so effortless, but what did she know? She’d lived in privilege all her life, always told she was destined for greatness, groomed and tutored by Celestia herself. Of course, everypony loved her, no matter what she did. No way the press would spin their webs of lies and deceit about her. But Trixie? Oh, Trixie was fair game.

And she was beginning to regret not having brought her bottle with her to the door.

“Uh-huh…” she finally replied, eyelids lowering to halfway in a glazed look. It was better to pass this charlatan on to somepony with more patience for his tomfoolery, or else nip this weed at the bud before it sprouted. “Well, the press office for the park show organizer can be reached for—"

“Actually, I was hoping to speak to you.” The reported smiled weakly. “The Great and Powerful Tri—"

“Trixe doesn’t do interviews.”

“O-oh. Well, shoot…”

Trixie waited for him to leave.

He didn’t.

“Don’t you have someplace else to be?”

“Oh.” He blinked as if it surprised him to learn that he was acting out of the ordinary. Then he bowed his head and lowered his attention to the grass beneath his hooves and kicked at it. “Well, I was, uh… hoping to get an autograph, truth be told…”

That made her blink, her brows rising high in surprise. “A-an autograph?” And then she began frowning again. “Why?”

“Oh, uh… sorry, it’s just...” He drifted off, growing distant in his gaze as well. And then he sighed, lowering his eyes, and started to turn away. “Never mind. Forget I asked.”

This was what she wanted: to be left alone. But now she was interested — just what was this stallion after? So few adult fans ever actually made an effort to look for her after her shows... except for that creepy Saddle Arabian, Hoof’ar.

No.

Action had to be taken. She’d been trodden on by the press for far too long, and she wasn’t going to let this guy get away with what was probably a failed defamation attempt either.

“No, wait! Don’t go.”

He stopped in his tracks and peered up at her, ears attentive, but his expression still somewhat crestfallen. A dedicated con artist, it seemed — rare that one would keep their ruse up after their bluff had been called. It almost made her feel guilty — disarmed her. Almost.

“It’s no problem at all, I swear. I wasn’t expecting… a fan.” She turned around and began rummaging through the supplies inside her door. “Give me a second; I need to find a pen.”

His spirits seemed to brighten, facing her with a hopeful smile. And then he looked down and watched as he offered his notepad and pencil, almost as if he could hardly believe his luck. “You could use this.”

“Oh, how kind,” Trixie said, putting on the most flattered tone she could manage without coming off as fake. She accepted the offer with a small but gracious bow of the head and then scribbled out her signature with a flourish, the bold strokes quickly filling up the entirety of the page. “To whom should the Great and Powerful Trixie make this out to?”

“Oh, uh… Bawdy Jot.” He smiled, extending a hoof. “I’m very pleased to meet you, Miss Lulamoon.”

Trixie returned the gesture. He undoubtedly acted like a nice fellow, but so did quite a few. Maybe he thought he had her fooled, but Trixie knew better. “For my dear friend, Bawdy Jot,” she said as she wrote, looking up at him with a smile from behind the notepad.

He grinned back.

And then her smile darkened. “Now, let’s see what you really think,” she defiantly announced, snapping back to the notepad and immediately flipping through the pages, searching for any and every scrap of dirt she could find. And sure enough, she found scribblings on the next page over.

‘How did you get into stage-magic?’
‘Ask her about interesting stories about her time traveling throughout Equestria’
‘Ask her favorite trick/spell.’
‘Bring up how many foals she’s made happy throughout her tour.’

‘Find out what she likes/dislikes, her dreams, her aspirations’
‘~~How is she so beautiful~~’

Trixie stopped, and she found herself staring.

“Hey!” he yelped, snatching the notepad back and scowling at her with an open mouth as if he had more to say. But he stayed there, frozen in a look of indignation, seemingly unable to speak. And then he blinked, and the expression faded to a rattled one, and he did his best not to look at her. “I mean, uh… th-thanks for your time. I’ll… I’ll get out of your hair now.” He quickly turned and trotted urgently away through the field. “Good luck with your next show!”

She could only watch, still processing what had just happened, what she’d just seen.

She was beautiful. That was a fact. Everypony she met also knew it, they were just too afraid to admit it, especially to her face. But for a reporter, of all ponies, to jot it down and scratch it out as if it were a forbidden thought? That was bordering the absurd.

But she saw it. With her own eyes, she saw it. Clear as day, bright as the sun, even in the light of the moon. None of those questions were aimed at attacking her credibility, or her character, or seemed in any way like they had an ulterior motive in mind. And to top it all off, he asked himself why she was so beautiful.

Why, if she didn’t know any better, she’d have thought he almost genuinely…

‘Sweet Celestia…’ she murmured internally. ‘Was he actually…?’

Then she had the thought to speak out, and when she finally blinked, she scanned the grounds, only to find them empty. He was gone, and she hadn’t seen where he’d vanished to. And when she had the thought to lift her hoof and step outside and venture forth for him — for what purpose, she couldn’t be sure — the air seemed to grow colder. The world was less inviting. Empty. Imposing.

Lonely.

He hadn’t come to attack her, had he?

She’d just pushed him away.

She spun around and retreated inside, slamming the door shut behind her, slumping against it and sliding down with both forehooves to her temples. What was she supposed to feel? Disgusted? With whom? Him? Why? She wanted attention, didn’t she? It was only natural that somepony might — no, would — find her attractive, if not immediately then definitely when they gave her a chance and got to know her. He was allowed to fantasize — she’d caught herself doing the same with other ponies plenty of times, some of whom weren’t ponies at all.

Herself, then? She had every reason to be suspicious! No reporter before him had taken her all that seriously, and those who did were usually out for blood, and she was easy pickings; his profession practically demanded ruthlessness, in all its forms. How was she supposed to know that he wasn’t like the others?

How was she supposed to know he thought she was beautiful?

Could she remember his face? She had to. His name was memorable enough: Bawdy Jot. Sounded like a shot of brandy. Looked like he could do with one to calm his nerves. Redish hair, greyish coat, a pegasus to boot. Memorable enough. If he were in a crowd, she’d pick him out quite readily.

But still, he was gone, and she’d done that to him. Chased him away.

Buck.

She grabbed the bottle of wine and finished the rest of it off with a single, multi-glugging gulp, then threw it with frustration against the cardboard box filled with scarf-sleeve tricks.

What an idiot.

Author's Note

Are you enjoying the story?

Throw me a like and a comment if you are!

And they're off!

Jot is an OC of my own design. I won't say he's a self-insert, but there are definitely elements of him (being a writer, having red-hair, etc.) that match. Don't worry though, this is not a self-insert fic, and I am not a Mary Sue writer.

I just love Trix, and I hope you love her too!

Gathering clouds

Jot Day - 1

What an idiot.

Jot groaned to himself, opened his wings and took to the sky. He’d bumbled over all his words like some moronic pubescent teenager! Just when he’d done everything he could to finally meet Trixie in person, when he finally got a chance to speak with her, to get to know her better: he just crammed his hoof in his mouth!

He soared over the busy manehattan streets while keeping an eye out for other flyers in the twilight sky — it was never fun having a mid-air collision in the traffic-heavy airway. It was a short flight to his destination — the Manehattan Journal’s main building. With a few flaps of his wings, he came to a quick, hovering halt before pushing open the door to the lobby.

“Hey, Cuffs.” Jot gave a quick wave to the security guard.

“Yo, Jot.” The security guard didn’t look up from his chessboard. “Working late again?”

“Mmhmm... “ Jot sighed, “Live to work, right?”

“I think that’s supposed to be work to live, isn’t it…?”

“Eh, never could figure that one out.” Jot slid into the elevator and punched the button for his floor. “Catch you on the way out.”

“Mmhmm.” The guard waved a hoof idly at him as he walked into the elevator.

The soft ping alerting him to his arrival at the correct floor brightened his mood. This was the writer’s home-territory.

The big, open work-floor after regular business hours was a quiet place. Here and there a few night-shift reporters toiled over their articles and the odd sportswriter looking to cram in the sports score from the recently completed buckball game was far too preoccupied trying to quickly smash out a few lines that they had no interest in speaking with anypony else on the floor.

Bawdy quietly trotted over to his cubicle and slumped down with a heavy thump, before turning to look at his cluttered desk. With a grin, he reached forward with his wings, spreading out his feathers and stretching the various muscles and tendons that he used to do his work. Reaching out quickly, he pulled the unstarted piece of paper from his pride and joy — a classic black typewriter.

Of course, eventually he’d have to finish his work on a company-provided laptop, submitting it in the digital file format required by the printers downstairs before the weekly deadline, but there was nothing that could replace the clickity-clackety rhythm and tactile feedback of an authentic typewriter. The way the mechanical linkages whirred and clicked, filling the white page with black symbols as thoughts poured out of his head, racing down his feathertips and onto the blank canvas. The satisfying ding of the carriage reaching the end of its travel track, necessitating a hoof-push to reset the whole thing and begin on a new line. He even loved the way an error couldn’t be so quickly deleted but instead had to stand as an annoying blot of backspaced-out X’s. It meant he had to be entirely in the zone, in-synch with his feathers, mind, and the clattering keys.

His whole writing process was like a jazz recital of words.

It had bought him some street-cred with the few old-timers that had survived so many of the waves of incoming new journalist ponies. Many of those veterans shared stories of the publication’s glory days when the news was hard and breaking a story meant something… Not many of those ponies were still around — they’d been replaced by ponies of Jot’s age, or younger, most of whom were more concerned about just how controversial they could make their next piece, how they could integrate their stories with the latest media pusch, all so they could aim of getting more followers.

But he wasn’t one to complain. It was a great job — and there were many starving writers out there who would kill to make the cushy salary he did.

“Hey — Jot… Equus to Jot? You there?”

Jot looked up from his page — he hadn’t noticed what he’d been writing - he was too much in the flow… but he’d filled the thing up with a half-baked essay on the importance of believing in yourself and speaking from your heart. But his frame of mind had completely distracted him from his surroundings — and the senior editor hovering over his cubicle wall.

“Hard Copy?” Jot looked at the older unicorn, who was grinning down at him. “Sorry, I didn’t notice you! I was writing…”

“Yeah, I could hear you from halfway across the floor — that old thing makes a real racket late at night.” He chuckled, then extended a cup of coffee. “Need some fuel? You behind on a story?”

Jot shook his head but accepted the cup. He wasn’t a coffee drinker, but wouldn’t refuse a kind gesture. “No, I already got my piece for the next submission date out… I just… I wanted to think…”

The older, mustached pony glanced around the floor with an arched eyebrow. “...so you came into work in the middle of the night?”

Jot grinned. “Hey, I might end up tricking a senior editor like yourself into thinking I’m working harder than I am. What keeps you here so late?”

“I had a call with a Neighponese source. The time difference can be brutal… mutually annoying for both of us if we split the difference — so I agreed to come in really late.” He chuckled. “Good strategy on your part, though. For the record — I know you’re working harder than most of the other writers around.” He patted Jot on the shoulder. Hard Copy was one of the better bosses to work for. “You’re one of my star writers, and good to have in the team — which is why I’m giving you the cover story next week.”

Jot blinked and leaned back, scratching his head. “Wow. I mean, I really appreciate that… but… I don’t have a big story on the go right now — what are you expecting me to—"

“Oh, come on.” Hard Copy scoffed, before taking a sip of his coffee. “Everypony knows you’ve been doing that big Lulamoon exposé for months now. You can’t sit on something forever, Jot.”

“Trixie?” Jot blinked again, his mouth dropping open slightly. “Why do people think I’m doing a—"

“Jot, please. You don’t need to be an investigative journalist to figure that one out.” Hard Copy gestured at the various stacks of materials in the cubicle, most of which had something to do with Trixie. The short stack of Trixie photographs wasn’t helping either.

“Ah.”

“Yeah, so just punch up your hit piece a bit and run it by me next week. It doesn’t have to be whatever giant thing you’re prepping — just a taste… if it takes off, you can run a series on her.”

“Okay, I guess, but… wait… hit piece?” Jot pushed back from his typewriter and sat upright, a serious look crossing his face as he stared at his tired boss.

“Well, I just assumed. She is Trixie Lulamoon, former evil villain after all.” Hard Copy took another sip.

“Boss, I…” Jot hesitated, considering his next words carefully. “...It’s not a negative piece. It was a profile story of a pony who’s changed and actually deserves a lot of credit for —"

“Eh… that’s probably not gonna fly.” Hard Copy sighed, setting down his cup and rubbing his temple. “Paper’s owned by FlimFlamCo, you know.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Well, for starters, they didn’t buy us to lose bits… they want stories that sell, that get clicks, that improve subscriptions and advertisers. Biographies won’t cut it! Scandals and outrages about former villains operating in Manehattan would.”

“That's ridicu—"

“And.” Hard Copy quickly cut him off. “I happen to know that the brothers, Flim and Flam, have a personal grudge against that unicorn. Something about her suing them for wages owed when she worked for one of their traveling shows back in the day... In fact, their acrimony for Trixie was the main selling point I used to get you that cover story: I think they’re drooling to get some revenge on Ms. Lulamoon.”

Jot snorted, a scowl forming on his lips. He took the pencil out of the crook of his ear and tossed it onto his desk with dismay.

“You gotta be joking me.” Jot crossed his forelegs across his chest.

“What?”

“With all the political claptrap that’s filling up the other papers, with all the reporters out there with an agenda… we’re going to go this way too… fake news?”

“Oh, spare me the drama, kid.” Hard Copy rolled his eyes. “Fake news is just the latest in a long line of epithets used against us — nothing has changed.”

“That’s crap, and you know it.” Jot spat. He could see the negative impact his words were having on the mood. He wasn’t usually so forceful around the office — and definitely not with his boss, but this was just… wrong! “Ponies depend on us to do our best in telling the truth of what’s happening out there! What’s gonna happen if they need to discount everything we tell them — always wondering what our angle is?”

“What’s up with you Bawdy Jot? You got a thing for the mare or what?”

Jot felt a flush cross his cheeks and the wind come out of his sails slightly. It wasn’t that he had a thing for her… was it? “N-no! I just… it’s really not the truth at all!”

Hard Copy shrugged and sighed, turning away from his young protege. “Well, maybe that’s the case… or maybe you’ve just got a soft spot for the lady… either way, we’re running a front-page exposé on Trixie next issue — get it done!”

Jot groaned, slumping back into his chair. He knew that Hard Copy meant it — the pony would find another writer to make sure that the story got out on time — if there was one thing that the aging editor didn’t do, it was to miss deadlines.

The passion project he’d been working on in his spare time had suddenly turned into the bane of his existence — Jot angrily swatted the photos and notes that lay strewn about his cubicle, knocking them to the ground. If only he’d been more secretive about it, maybe this wouldn’t have happened.

He growled at himself before looking up at his typewriter.

Suddenly the keys and paper were more menacing than a rabid timberwolf.

Author's Note

Are you enjoying the story?

Throw me a like and a comment if you are!

Oh man, poor Jot - it's his own fault for letting his work on Trixie get found out so easily... hasn't he learned that you need to hide your power level?

I often work very late at work or go in way after-hours, I highly recommend it if you like to get things done. Meeting the late-night shift of your business, even if they are 'just' security guards and cleaning people is often a pleasant experience too.

Picnic of fools

Trixie - Day 3

“Well then, what if I instead of a flower… I gave you a whole bouquet?” Trixie flicked her wrist, letting the spring-loaded stems shoot from her fake sleeve before she plucked them free and handed them to the young fan, bouncing in front of her after having just received her autograph.

“F-for me!?” The young colt’s eyes glistened as he took the flowers to his chest and hugged them. “Thanks!”

“Anything for such a handsome young stallion!” Trixie smiled.

The colt’s father nodded at her. “Thank you kindly, ma’am.” He wrapped a hoof around the colt’s shoulders. “This will really cheer him up.”

“Of course! Just… make sure he doesn’t eat them — I’m not sure if the factory that makes them is concerned about culinary quality.” Trixie grinned.

“Eat them!?” The colt squeaked as he danced on his hooftips. “I’d never! These are going up on my wall, forever!” He trotted away with his father, both of them chatting about the show happily.

Trixie smiled as they departed, happy to have gotten through the last of her Manehattan shows without incident. She loved the city, and especially her audience members, but the ponies here always seemed to be a rallying cry away from forming a mob. It had been the same in Ponyville, of course, but her long-term residence in the provincial village had helped to spread a more positive view of her personality — nearly all had learned of her changed ways and forgiven her… unlike in the big city.

“That was very nice of you.” A familiar voice spoke from behind her. “I guess that’s why you have so many returning fans every year…”

Trixie turned and noticed the light grey pegasus with ruddy red hair, sipping a coffee with a soft smile as he watched from a nearby bench.

“You!” Trixie’s ears perked up; her eyes opened in pleasant surprise at seeing the stallion from the previous night once again. But her reaction didn’t have the desired effect — the pegasus flinched slightly, eyes darting guiltily from side to side.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to bother you again, I just happened to be walking through the park and —"

“No, no!” Trixie coughed out. “You’re not bothering me at all! I’m, uh, happy to see you.”

“I was just thinking that I had been so rude the other night—"

“No, I was rude — it had been a long day, and I snapped off at you—"

“Then I just ran right out of there, after knocking on your door—"

“I was wondering if…

“If it’s OK with you…

“Want to get a coffee?” Both ponies said at the same time, after fumbling over their words. The air was thick with tension, two pairs of eyes staring at one another for a few moments… before breaking down in chuckles.

“Aren’t I supposed to say ‘jinx’ now?” Trixie grinned. “Then you can’t say anything until another pony says your name.”

“I think so.” The stallion laughed back. “Honestly, I wouldn’t mind having the ability to put my hoof in my mouth taken away from me.” He reached his hoof out to her to help her up from the impromptu autograph table she’d been sitting behind. She considered the hoof for a moment — considering… gracious, a bit old fashioned, but charming.

It would do.

She took his hoof in hers and let him help her up. A small part of her mind clicked — how long had it been since she’d had another stallion make physical contact with her, with any kind of romantic intent, in the past months… years? She realized just how starved for affection she truly was.

“Well, we can’t have that now, can we Mr. Jot?” Trixie smiled back, nodding to make sure he would understand that he was no longer jinxed.

“Oh, just Jot!”

“Well, Jot, please continue to address me as the Great and Powerful Trixie!” Trixie turned her nose up slightly, the r’s rolling off her tongue with well-practiced flourishes.

She watched with amusement as Jot’s eyes widened in surprise. “R-really?”

“No, of course not… I’m joking.” Trixie giggled, bumping her hip against his. Gods, it was fun to be flirting with a stallion again! Why had she chased him off the previous night, anyway? “So, where’s a good cup of coffee to be found around here?”

The two trotted along toward the center of the park, making small-talk. The stallion seemed content to stay on incredibly boring, safe subjects. The weather, the city and how it had changed over the past year... throwaway questions about her travels and what she had eaten the night before. Trixie was no master socialite like Rarity, but even she could tell that this stallion was beating around the bush.

Not that she was doing much better.

She’d always been awful at this part of the elaborate dance of socializing with the opposite sex. She’d learned long ago that her usual manner with mares — boasting, self-aggrandizing, haughty… tended to not work out so well with stallions. In a society where mares outnumbered stallions three to one, they could simply pick somepony else.

Still — bits of her ‘self-confidence’ managed to leak out in their idle chat. She couldn’t help it if she was amazing!

“...they’ve actually cleaned up the park a lot — no more crazed wildlife, like timberwolves or raccoons… there was even a rumor about an ursa minor running amok for a while!” Jot motioned around him at the beautiful expanse of trees.

“You know, Trixie once assisted the princess of magic herself, Twilight Sparkle, in subduing a wild ursa minor.” Trixie hummed with self-satisfaction, holding her chin up. Internally though, she was roiling. ‘Why did you have to say that? It’s not even true!’ But she couldn’t help it — this stallion only knew her from her stage shows! And if she wasn’t great and powerful… what was she?

“Wow!” Jot exclaimed. “I bet the kids in town must have been going nuts after that!”

Trixie smiled, happy that her little boast hadn’t been ill-received.

“W-well… not really… actually two colts were pretty big fans.” Trixie grinned, remembering the two young teenagers.

“You’re so good with foals — how do you manage?” Jot asked, as he casually used a wing to swat away a branch that hung over the park path.

“Oh well…” Trixie sighed, trying not to think about how she had treated those two colts only a few moons later. “Foals just have so much love in their hearts — you don’t need to blow them away with impossible stories or feats of great power… you just need to give them a little bit of encouragement, and they love you! You can be their hero so easily.” Trixie sighed, kicking the ground with a hoof. “Unlike with grown-ups, to have respect you need to be so much more… to be a hero… it’s pretty much impossible.” The soft-spoken words slipped out of her mouth with a touch of sadness. “Unless you’re a princess…”

“It’s hard to be great and powerful, huh?” Jot grinned at her.

The remark brought her back to reality; she’d just made herself seem weak, vulnerable. How very un-mare-like! She quickly straightened her shoulders and flipped her hair back.

“Hah! Not really! Not when you’re Trixie!” She added a haughty chuckle to the mix. “It just comes naturally!”

“Uh...huh…” Jot seemed a bit off-put by her statement. Perhaps she needed to crank up her self-confidence even further?

“I just wonder why ponies far and wide don’t fall down at Trixie’s hooves, recognizing her as the most powerful magician in Equestria!” She tapped her forehoof to her chest before gesturing outwards, “It’s not like Trixie didn’t single-hoofedly save everypony from the return of Chrysalis!”

Jot cocked his head slightly. “Um… didn’t Starlight, King Thorax, and that chaos dude help out too?” Trixie stumbled slightly, clearing her throat with a cough as Jot went on... “You don’t need to pump up the amazing stuff you’ve done to me — you know you’re not on stage, right? You don’t have to put on an act if you don—"

“Well hey there, feather-butt!” A mare chirped from nearby, standing up from the small picnic blanket that she and her two friends had spread across the small grassy clearing to the side of the park path. Trixie could see that strewn about the small sheet were numerous bottles of cider — clearly, this young mare and her friends were well into their cups on this lovely summer afternoon. Trixie looked from the pastel-pink unicorn to Jot with wariness, unsure if the reporter knew this mare.

“Do I… uh… know you?” Jot asked, cocking his head.

“Not yet, stud.” The unicorn tottered slightly, swishing her tail and wiggling her eyebrows. “But you will… Why don’t you ditch the old bag and come hang out with me and my sorority sisters? Down a few ciders, head back to our place, and let me rock your world?”

“Excuse me?” Jot looked more confused than insulted, but his wings were already shuffling, his back stiffening with alarm.

“Petunia!” One of the other unicorns stood up from the picnic. “Leave ‘im alone. You’re smashed.” She trotted down to the path as well. “Sorry about my friend, she’s from a rather sheltered Baltimare family — she has some more… traditional views on stallions.”

That was an understatement. Trixie scoffed aloud. It was like something out of an old comic book — the out of touch sorority jock aggressively hitting on a stallion. All that was missing to make it complete was some misandrist statement about how he should know his place...

“Awww… buck off, Tulip. No mare will say it anymore, but everypony knows a fine piece of stallion like that..” She looked over Jot, licking her lips like a wolf, “Belongs in the bedroom, making babies, taking care of a mare’s needs.” She took an awkward stumbling step closer to the pegasus. “C’mon baby, why don’t you make me the luckiest mare in the Pie-Cupcake-Cupcake Sorority house tonight.”

“Pfft…” Trixie laughed, shaking her head at the soused lout.

The mare quickly craned her head to look at Trixie with a fierce growl. “What the buck are you laughing at?”

“You. You’re like a bad caricature of a Saturday morning cartoon villain.” Trixie clicked her tongue. “Pathetic.”

The last mare of the trio stood up from the picnic blanket, a sturdy looking unicorn who seemed to be half a drink short of losing consciousness. “Wha the feck is all this racquet…?” She staggered forward, taking position next to her other two friends, violence flashing in her eyes. “Is she givin’ you trouble Petunia?”

“What did you just say to me you ugly bitch?” Petunia prodded Trixie right in her chest, the sharp edge of her hoof tip digging into her painfully. “Why don’t you just fuck off?”

Trixie growled slightly, hackles rising. “Why don’t you try to make me?”

Tulip, the one mare who had seemed to have any semblance of sanity, quickly took station next on the other side of her inebriated friends, a scowl setting across her face. “Hey lady, you should just butt out and get out of here before you get hurt.”

“Nah, fuck that.” Petunia smiled, glancing over Trixie’s shoulder. Trixie’s eyes started to move that way, wondering what the drunken lout was looking at… before realizing too late that it was a textbook distraction to set up a vicious sucker punch. “I wanna hurt her!”

Trixie only saw the blur of the unicorn’s forehoof as it flashed through the air. Instinctively, her nose began to scrunch up, already anticipating the stinging strike that she was sure would land flush against her face, with the full drunken force of the ne'er-do-well's body weight.

But another grey blur intercepted her vision, as Jot slid into the punch, letting the strike deflect off his forearm. The look on Petunia’s face was one of shocked surprise as the stallion stepped into the force of her punch, positioning his body under hers. For a moment it looked as though he was about to flip the stunned mare ass over teakettle, pivoting her around and slamming her down with all the force she’d tried to punch with... which Trixie thought would have been a fitting and justified punishment… but he shifted instead, using an ingenious slip of his wing to trip her and bring her to the ground, pinning her under his weight.

“Calm the buck down!” Jot snarled, pressing hard into the unicorn’s shoulder joint.

“Would you look at that, Tulip?” Petunia grunted from the ground, “stallion’s got a little fight in him — cute…”

“Let her up, asshole!” The unnamed third unicorn snarled.

“I will... once everypony just calms down!” Jot coughed. “You two better take a couple steps back, or I’ll pop your friend’s shoulder out! I know how! I wrestle at the Y every Friday!” Trixie could see Jot wasn’t lying — he was big for a pegasus, not sleek and lithe like many city-stallions tended to be. If anything he looked as strong as one of the earth ponies that worked in Ponyville’s many farms. His powerful muscles flexed, easily overpowering the drunken mare and keeping her pinned in the dirt despite her efforts to get up.

“Lemme up!”

Trixie blinked as she watched her new friend pin the smaller mare with his strength. On the one hoof, she was impressed and grateful that he’d helped her to avoid taking a solid blow directly to her face. On the other hoof, he looked… scared, unsure of what to do. He looked like he needed help. She wasn’t sure why that surprised her: perhaps she had been in too many altercations if this sort of scenario wasn’t evoking the same feelings in her, but her life on the road and her adventures with Starlight had given her valuable experience.

“Ain’t that cute, he knows how to wrestle — owch!” Petunia grunted her snout pressed into the earth as Jot added a bit of extra leverage.

“So fuckin’ what.” The surly unicorn growled, “I know magic.” Her horn lit with a sparking yellow glow, quickly encapsulating the pegasus in her magical field and lifting him away from her friend. Jot’s legs thrashed helplessly in the air. All those muscles did him no good now, his wings panickedly flapping and thrashing at the air, desperately trying to escape the magical field.

Petunia’s magic added to the levitation field, smoothly spinning Jot upside-down. The stallion vainly swam against the field, trying to hide the more private parts of his body from view as the unicorn mares easily pulled his limbs away, exposing all to see him.

“That’s enough!” Trixie growled, charging her horn. “Put him down now, or else.”

“Or else what?” Petunia laughed, now all the way back up on her hooves. “Why don’t you get the buck out of here?”

Trixie grinned to herself.

Of course, it would have been better if these three mares had just put her brave, if somewhat foolhardy, companion down. But with just how annoying and obnoxious these young college mares had been, Trixie had been hoping that they would continue to push the envelope… and give her more than enough reason to unleash her abilities. The law would already be clearly on her side: Equestria, in general, frowned very heavily on using magic against non-magic users — besides being quite unsporting, it could be dangerous for a skilled unicorn to lash out against an earth-pony or pegasus who had little to no magical defense.

But Trixie was no pegasus or earth-pony.

She was a unicorn. A unicorn with experience.

A quick teleport of one of her smoke bombs from her saddle bags into Petunia’s still open muzzle was an unexpected and clever way for her to start the row. So many novices expected the first blows in a magical confrontation to be bolts of energy or a battle of contested telekinetic force. Trixie had learned from many practice duels with her friend Starlight that if you were outmatched in terms of raw magical talent or power — there was still a whole world of sneaky and effective tricks that could bring the fight to a conclusion in your favor.

Not that Trixie was admitting that Starlight was more powerful than her… it was just… Starlight had a better warm-up routine… yes, that was it. Trixie needed her tricks to stand a chance, but once she learned how to warm-up properly, she’d easily overpower her friend.

Speaking of tricks, the smoke bomb went off in Petunia’s mouth, sending the mare’s eyes wide with fright as a small explosive singed her mouth and sent choking, acrid smoke down her lungs. She fell backward onto the grass, rolling back and forth, hacking and heaving as she gasped for air — entirely out of the fight.

“W-what the f—" her surly friend started to turn toward Trixie. But she was too slow. Maintaining the magical field on Jot meant that her casting time would be way too delayed to set up any magical trickery defense against Trixie. A quick flick of her horn and the spell blast caught the mare square in her side.

“Wh-what did you do to me… I don’t… feel so gooo…. *BLEGHHH* The next thing to come out of the mare’s muzzle was a set of novelty, spring-loaded, pop-can snakes. Vomiting and coughing out the bizarre objects for another few moments, she desperately covered her mouth… whereupon she noticed the corner of a handkerchief sticking out of her left nostril. With her avenues for getting oxygen rapidly diminishing, she grasped the edge and pulled, hoping to clear the obstruction.

Of course, a whole line of handkerchiefs, tied corner to corner began to come out of her nose; the classic gag-novelty trick now used to stun and panic a foe.

As she continued to pull, the mare’s eyes flashed to one side: streamers were now pouring from her ears!

“What did you do to my friend!?” Tulip shouted, her horn alighting as she tried to diagnose what was wrong with the panicking, once-macho mare.

“Oh, I’ve just made it so her body has become a party-favor dispensary… nothing too fancy — her orifices will just be expelling some fun for you three for the next hour or so.” Trixie giggle-growled at the last pony of the trio that stood any chance of engaging her.

“Her… orifices?” Tulip asked, her confused face turning from Trixie to look at her friend.

The mare’s stunned face, handkerchief line coming out of her nose, streamers pouring from her ears, hoof covering her mouth, paused, eyes flaring even wider in momentary shock. “EEEP!”

*Ppppptttt!*

A small ‘poot’ of sound came from her rear, accompanied by a light shower of colorful confetti that sprayed out and showered down over the still writhing Petunia, falling like ridiculous candy-colored snow. It was all too much for her, and her eyes rolled back in her head, as she slumped backward, totally passed out.

“Ha!” Trixie let out a single chuckle, then proceeded to imbue the handkerchiefs with a snaking, coiling spell… not too dissimilar to one she’d used years ago to bind Applejack when the farm-pony had tried to interrupt her first Ponyville show… and quickly bound the hooves of the two incapacitated mares. “Amateurs!”

Trixie turned to face the last remaining mare. Doing her best to project as much menace and confidence as she could. She’d always found that half the battle was a good, menacingly evil attitude. “Care to try your luck?”

“You’re crazy!” Tulip stumbled backward, her horn flaring up as she prepared to deflect any spell from hitting her. “J-just leave me and my friends alone!”

Trixie snorted derisively, flicking her hair back. “Just take them and get out of here.”

Tulip struggled with the ensnaring handkerchiefs for a moment, never turning her back on Trixie, until giving up and simply picking her two friends up in her magic and levitating them back toward the picnic spot they’d just vacated moments before.

“I… I’m gonna tell the cops about this!” Tulip whined, still retreating without showing her back to the magical pony. “Y-you’re a menace!”

Trixie heard a grumbling voice from the ground beside her, where Jot had landed in an ungainly heap after the magical field holding him aloft had turned off. Jot had found his voice and bellowed furiously, “Tell them what? That you were drunk and disorderly in public? Besides you don’t even know who—"

“Remember this the next time you try to face the Great and Powerful Trixie Lulamoon!” Trixie proclaimed theatrically, throwing her hoof out in the air with pride.

“Trixie!” Jot groaned.

“What?” Trixie looked down at him. It almost looked like he was disappointed… hadn’t she just rescued him?

“Nothing… just… I think I see now why you catch so much bad press.” Jot got back to his hooves, using a wing to brush off the dirt that he’d gotten on his legs.

“What do you mean?” Trixie asked, using some of her magic to help and sweeping a kinetic field down the right side of Jot’s flank, brushing away some of the leaves and twigs that had snagged in his fur. It wasn’t until she’d already rubbed against his flank that she realized just how intimate that contact could be construed. She quickly snapped the magic off her horn and tried to suppress the growing blush on her face.

Jot seemed to be blushing too. “Nothing… I’m just glad I can refute whatever bogus story those mares dream up… if they even do go to the cops, that is.”

“Thanks.” Trixie nodded. “These things never seem to turn out in my favor.”

“Of course!” Jot smiled. “You really saved my butt back there. I guess pegasi really don’t stand a chance against unicorns, huh.” Jot sagged a little bit. “Really sucks to feel so helpless, despite being bigger, faster… it’s all useless against magic.”

Trixie shook her head vigorously. For some reason she hated seeing Jot feeling down — she much preferred when he was upbeat and chatty… and ready to laud her praises, of course. “No! Not at all… I know some earth-pony and pegasus mares in Ponyville who could take down even the strongest unicorn mages!”

“I guess…” Jot’s shoulders still slumped, and he gazed wistfully at the retreating trio of lugubrious mares.

Trixie saw that her words had little effect on him, so she slid in beside him and gave him a little hip-check, hoping to jolt him out of his funk. She wanted him to be happy; he should happy… he was in her presence, after all. “Seriously! I could show you a few tricks to make those three a cake-walk! You’ve definitely got the physique and the size to do it!” Trixie pointed at Jot’s strong limbs, her eyes sliding over his powerful back muscles… and his flank.

“Y-yeah?” Jot asked. It was apparent to Trixie that he’d noticed where her gaze had been lingering… she quickly coughed to clear her throat and looked back at him.

“Sure! It’s just a matter of technique!”

“W-well…” Jot rubbed the back of his head. A small grin finally started to appear on his face — Trixie was surprised by how much it warmed her mood… obviously it was just a case of wanting to make sure a fan was happy! “I guess if you don’t mind… I can’t always depend on you being around to save my flank.”

Trixie shook her head with a smile. “And it is a flank worth protecting.” Even as the words slipped out of her mouth, Trixie felt her brain catch up to her. ‘What did you just say out loud, you bucking idiot?’ She resisted the overwhelming impulse to slap her face with her hoof, instead opting to smile like an idiot.

“Uh… thanks? Y-you too…” Trixie watched as Jot blushed as he failed to resist what was likely a similar urge, slapping his face with his hoof.

Trixie giggled, throwing her mane back and glancing back at herself. “It is a nice flank, it does belong to the great and powerful Trixie, after all.” She threw up her chin with pride.

This got a more wholesome laugh out of Jot, who shook his head cheerfully. “How about we exchange that coffee for a drink instead? I could use one after this little sideshow.”

Trixie glanced out of the corner of her eye, head still held high with pride. Her mouth cracked into a full smile. “Trixie will allow this.”

Both ponies laughed again as they made their way further down the trail.

Author's Note

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Throw me a like and a comment if you are!

A little bit of the RGRE flavor hints.

There's far less of it in the modern city of Manehattan, but a little still persists, particularly when the mares involved are unicorns with a bit of a tribalist bent.

Taking her home

Jot Day -3

With a raucous laugh, Jot stumbled out of the bar.

Trixie followed him half a beat later, with an apologetic glance to the annoyed bouncer, before trotting to catch up with him. He winked at her goofily as she caught up, and they began to giggle and chat. The two had become fast friends - both enjoying the same sort of impish humor best enjoyed over an intoxicating beverage with salubrious cheer.

A quiet stall near the back of the establishment had been their refuge for the evening, and the clumsy awkwardness of their earlier conversations quickly became a relic of the time before ‘the incident,’ as the two had taken to calling it.

Throughout the peaceful night, with Trixie sipping on rose wine and Jot nursing a dry scotch, it only took a joking impression of any of the three ponies who’d assaulted them earlier, and their ignominious defeat, to set the couple to laughing loudly with mirth.

Now, as they took a step into the warm Manehattan summer night, the atmosphere seemed a bit more subdued, a little more… intimate.

“You don’t have to walk me back to my wagon if you’re headed in another direction, Jot.” Trixie smiled.

Jot grinned back. “Naw — it’s right on the way to my place.”

“Really?” Trixie arched an eyebrow at him.

Jot sighed, hanging his head playfully. “Well… no, but I wouldn’t mind escorting you back.”

“As if the great and powerful Trixie needs an escort!” Trixie grinned and winked at him. “Let’s not forget whose plot was plucked out of a magical suspension field!”

Jot laughed and shrugged his shoulders. “Alright, call it a guide service then!” Jot blushed a bit as he looked at the blue unicorn, her silvery mane sparkling in the streetlamps of the Manehattan night. “I’d… like to chat more.”

Jot watched as Trixie’s face melted slightly, that dopey-happy grin that he loved to see on her flickering across her features for just a moment before it resumed the facade of a haughty showmare. “W-well… I’ll allow it…” Trixie held her chin up for half a moment before looking down at her hooves with a blush. “I guess I’m enjoying chatting with you too…”

The two began to trot along, comfortably close to one another that Jot could feel Trixie’s tail hairs brushing his back legs from time to time, could smell the lavender scent of her perfume, could hear the little breaths she took.

“S-so…” Trixie coughed. “I-is there a Mrs. Bawdy?”

Jot choked out a scoff. “Not hardly. Nope! It’s the bachelor life for me.”

“Why have you given up so quickly!?” Trixie cocked her head to one side. “Trixie would have thought a handsome, strong stallion like you would have been snapped up by a mare by now!”

Jot felt a bubbling glee deep inside him. ‘She thinks you’re handsome!’ That statement alone would make tonight a good night. “Well, I have to admit I’m a bit of a curmudgeon — long hours working… not the most active pony when it comes to social events.” Jot sighed. “...and of course I’m a hopeless buffoon when it comes to such things. But what about you? How come the most famous showmare in Equestria doesn’t have a bunch of A-list celebrity ponies wrapped around her hoof?”

“Who says the great and powerful Trixie doesn’t?” Trixie sniffed, flicking her head such that her mane spilled gorgeously over her left shoulder. Jot had started to get used to this act — it seemed to be Trixie’s goto response whenever a question was asked of her — put on that prideful, showmare front; even though it was about as thin as a piece of paper. It was cute.

Trixie blushed and coughed into her hoof. “I just… my show takes up too much of my time.” And even cuter when that facade cracked.

“Yeah, work work work.” Jot sighed, scratching his beard while wistfully looking up at the moon. “I hear that… used to be, that was enough for me — along with friends and family.”

Trixie shivered next to him. The movement caught Jot’s eye, but before he could say a word, Trixie cut in. “Trixie…. I don’t need those… my show is all I need.”

“Ah…” Jot mumbled. “You don’t get a chance to see your folks much?”

“I… I never met my father,” Trixie whispered, staring up at the moon herself. “My mother… she’s amazing of course… and I love her dearly, but I… I find it hard to go visit her in Fillydelphia.”

“Why’s that, if you don’t mind me asking?” Jot tilted his head.

“More research for that ‘article’ of yours?” She caught his eye and arched an eyebrow at him playfully.

The implication suddenly rushed back to Jot — he was a reporter after all. Trixie might think that he was trying to dig up dirt on her! His eyes widened slightly and he quickly waved a hoof at her to ward off the accusation. “No no! I… nothing for an article, it’s all off the record… not even background information, honest! I’m just interested.”

“Hmm?” Trixie grinned. “And why would you be interested, if not for a story?”

Jot swallowed nervously. He could feel his heart beating in his chest. “W-well… you’re an interesting pony, Trixie. I want to know more about you.” Even as his mumbles came out of his mouth, he felt like a complete idiot. He physically chewed the inside of his cheek as he regretted everything he’d said so far.

But the words seemed to have a different effect. Trixie blushed and coughed herself, before again proudly tapping her chest. “Well… of course you would want to know more about Trixie!” The bravado lasted only a moment, as per usual, her shoulders sagging. “But in reality… I haven’t seen my mother since that… amulet incident…”

Jot blinked. The Ponyville alicorn amulet debacle had been years ago now.

“Don’t get Trixie wrong!” She hurriedly went on. “I’ve had plenty of correspondence; I call her every other week or so! I just… I always find a way to be on tour around the holidays.”

“Why?” Jot couldn’t help but ask.

“Why do you think?”

“But… that was so long ago. And everypony knows that the amulet was cursed — it wasn’t even your fault. It—"

Trixie harumphed, her tail flicking with annoyance. “It was my fault. I was stupid.” She shook her head. “I appreciate you trying to be nice about it, just like Starlight and Twilight and all her friends… but I knew the amulet was cursed. I thought I could use it... responsibly... to show Twilight just how special I was...”

“That’s what I mean — it wasn’t like the first mistake makes you culpable for all the ones that followed!”

“Is that what they tell drunk drivers after they’ve killed somepony? That the mistake of getting behind the wheel doesn’t make them responsible for what happened after?” Trixie shook her head somberly. “I’m just lucky nopony was hurt. I had the power of an alicorn and was... a complete, evil… bitch.”

Jot closed his mouth. He’d never thought of it that way before. Had never even heard anypony else make that argument. Most of the ponies who didn’t like Trixie were convinced that she was evil incarnate, or had her head so far up her plot that she was beyond saving. He would never have thought that the Trixie-opponent with the most rational arguments against her would have been… Trixie.

“But you saved Equestria — you rescued all of the Princesses from the second changeling invasion! Your mother should be proud of that!” Jot pointed out. “And everypony makes mis—"

“I know.” Trixie sighed. “I just… it’s hard to go back and face my mom. I know… I know she wanted so much more for me.”

Jot nodded thoughtfully. “They always do, don’t they? Career, health, happiness… it’s not enough - gotta find that marefriend...”

“...get hitched to a nice stallion and start popping out foals…” Trixie agreed with a sigh.

“I used to roll my eyes at the regular lecture I’d get from my mom about settling down…”

“The crazy thing is… I think I’m starting to understand why they were going on about it…”Trixie smiled up at the moon.

“Yeah,” Jot said, following her gaze, looking through the silvery leaves of Manehattan’s Central Park trees at the crescent-shaped sliver. “I have to say, coming home to an empty apartment after a long day of work… it just isn’t cutting it anymore.”

“Heh. You should try a wagon.” Trixie glanced at him. “You don’t even get to know your neighbors.”

“Maybe we should get cats. I hear being a crazy cat pony is the next step in being a hopeless loner.” Jot snarked.

“Hee hee!” Trixie shook her head. “I’m more of a dog pony.”

“Oh me too, a nice beagle… or a retriever.”

“No, no, no.” Trixie shook her head. “It has to be a dalmatian, she would make such a great assistant for the show.”

“Well you can have the dalmatian, I’ll get the beagle.” Jot smiled. “It would be so nice to have something to come home to…”

“...someone who is always there for you.”

Jot nodded. He felt Trixie shift her walk slightly toward him, bringing their bodies into contact. Just the warmth of her fur against his was an alien feeling — it had been so long since he’d been so close to somepony.

It was nice.

He wanted to lift his left wing, extending it over Trixie’s back and draw her in closer… but he worried that was a step too far. Everything else could still be in the realm of platonic friendship, but doing that would be like grabbing her hoof: it was pretty definitive. In any case, the last thing he wanted to do was to ruin this perfect moment… under the stars.

Out of the darkness, Trixie’s blue and purple wagon came into sight. He felt his back stiffen with alarm — the critical moment was approaching. Next to him, he could feel Trixie quiver as well. Was she thinking the same thing? What did that mean? What should he do!?

The thoughts raced through his mind as the pair reached the bottom of the small wooden stairs to her home. Agonizingly, she pulled away from him. He was focusing on the area where they’d been touching so intently that he could feel pins and needles from his skin where she’d left him.

“Well…” Jot began a hoof reaching up to scratch the back of his mane.

“W-would… you… like to come in?” Trixie asked, unlocking her door and looking hopefully over her shoulder with a blush.

Fireworks exploded in Jot’s mind.

‘She… she wants me to come in! She wants me!’

Thoughts raced as he considered everything that might imply — his mind strained to remember every technique he’d ever learned, dusting off old memories of the few romps he’d had, what felt like years ago. Sweat appeared on his brow.

Trixie blushed slightly and covered her mouth with a hoof. “N-not l-like that! The g-g-great and powerful Tr-Trixie was inviting you in for a cup of tea is all!”

Jot blinked, his face turning crimson as he realized how he might have misinterpreted her invite. “O-oh! Y-yeah… what did you think I was thinking?”

Now it was Trixie’s turn to go beet red. “N-nothing! I… Trixie was just worried you might think that Trixie was trying to hit on you… I wouldn’t!”

“Oh.” Jot sagged.

“I mean — I would.” Trixie groaned. “But y-you’re probably not interested in… I mean… Trixie is not the kind of pony to do… that… on the first date.”

“Date?” Jot blinked. He watched as Trixie melted into a pile of confused pony, even worse than he’d been just moments earlier.

“Err… uh, the Great and Powerful… you see…”

She fell silent — the both of them standing there in the moonlight, blushing and staring at the ground between them.

“I-I’ll go…” She turned around.

Something inside him, perhaps a spark of Princess-intervention, compelled him. Every bone in his body wanted to reach out to the blue unicorn who looked so sad as she turned away from him toward her lonely wagon — and thankfully, something made him move.

“T-Trixie!” He stepped forward, just as the mare turned back at his cry.

He extended his forelegs in a swift movement, grasping her around the body just as she finished her half-turn, wrapping her in a tight hug. He felt his wings flutter and extend naturally, wrapping around her body instinctively, pulling her closer to him.

For a terrifying moment, he felt nothing in return, just the press of her warm fur against his, her muscles coiled in anxiety. Then he heard it.

A delighted sigh.

She melted in his forelegs, her hooves extending up as she pressed back against him, hugging him back under his wings. A rumbling little coo could be felt, as much as heard. Her muzzle carefully pressed underneath his chin, careful not to poke him with her horn.

It was incredible.

The sensation of being held by her — the sensation of holding. Of being so close. The affection of her nose against his neck. The pounding of his heart — and the pounding of hers… the little squeezes they traded.

He didn’t want to even breathe. He was worried if he did anything it might break the spell, wake him from the dream… it all felt so surreal. Only a week ago he’d never even spoken to her, and now he was embracing her!

“Mmmm… th-thank you Jot.” Trixie’s muffled voice came from below him.

“Trixie… I-I had a great time tonight.”

“I… I understand.” Trixie glanced up at him. Jot was surprised to see what looked like watery tears forming in her big, violet eyes.

“N-no! I…” Jot chuckled. “I want to see you again… tomorrow! I understand if you don’t do, uh… that… on the first date… but I really like spending time with you.”

Trixie sniffed slightly, a small smile starting to form on her face. “Y-you d-do?”

“Yes!”

Trixie’s eyes blinked, her grin becoming warmer. “Trixie also… I also like spending time with you.”

For some reason, Jot couldn’t help but laugh. Maybe his heart was just too full. But it was infectious, and soon Trixie was laughing too.

“We’re both just a couple of clods, aren’t we…?” Jot grinned, his laugh subsiding.

“Mmm-hmm…” She blinked, stared intensely at him, then began to close her eyes, and lean forward.

Jot felt his heart stop.

And at that moment, possibly due to the intervention of an evil princess or chaos god, his courage failed him. He coughed and stepped backward, releasing the embrace.

“I… I w-wouldn’t, want to make you break your rule…” Jot blushed, kicking the dirt at his hooves, bashfully. It didn’t help. He still felt like he’d let her down. “S-sorry.”

Trixie coughed, blushing herself and shaking her head. “We really are hopeless, aren’t we?” She laughed derisively at herself, then opened her door.

“So… tomorrow — can I take you to dinner?” Jot asked, smiling hopefully.

“Oh… of course not.” Trixie grinned.

“W-what?” Jot felt his wings sag slightly.

“I may not do anything on the first date.” Trixie chuckled as she walked into her wagon, flicking her tail seductively. “But the great and powerful Trixie has no qualms about taking charge for the second date…” She looked over her shoulder with a seductive smile. “Trixie will be choosing the nature of our second date, Mr. Bawdy Jot. And she intends to order in.”

Jot felt a flush overtake him, rushing through his face and boy… images and thoughts of the wild night that Trixie was preparing for him danced through his head. He found himself tucking his tail against his body as much as possible to avoid embarrassing himself, before swallowing heavily.

Trixie chuckled at his response, covering her mouth with her hoof. “Cute, Jot. But don’t worry — Trixie will take care of everything. Get lots of rest tonight!” She winked at him, closing the door.

Jot took a deep breath. Air rushed into his lungs for what felt like the first time in minutes, hours, days. He felt a trembling excitement coursing through him, shaking through his muscle fibers as he strained to deal with the adrenaline in his veins.

He crouched down then sprung up in a mighty jump, wings extending as he took off into the night sky, pumping a forehoof in triumph as he cried, exuberantly: “Yahoo!”

Author's Note

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Well, well, well! It seems like the beginnings of love is in the air... if only Jot and Trixie could stop putting their hooves in their mouths and let it happen!

Still, it seems like everything should be rosy from here, right?

Love (and fanfic writers) never make it that easy.

A buck to the gut

Trixie Day - 3

Trixie heard the shout from behind her door. She was pressing her back against the wooden entrance, having sat down against it as soon as she entered.

An ecstatic smile was bubbling on her face, threatening to boil over into laughter, or a scream of joy. She tried and failed to suppress the urge, breaking out into a giggle as she laid her head back against the door and let out a silent prayer of thanks to Celestia.

She’d used the booze as an excuse to herself to proposition Jot. The last five minutes of the walk home had been a constant mantra to herself, psyching herself up to ask the stallion inside. She’d failed so many times in similar situations that she’d given up hope. It helped to adopt her showmare persona — it came so quickly to her, like a security blanket, protecting her ego… she couldn’t be turned down if she was the best… it was something wrong with them not her.

But this stallion was different. He was so — understanding, so patient. If he turned her down… it must mean something was wrong with her.

And when she’d asked him to join her inside, her whole body had been shaking with fear. A fear that became a dark, bleak hole the longer he went without answering her.

At that moment she’d known. Beyond a reasonable doubt. That she had embarrassed herself, that she wasn’t irresistible and gorgeous and talented and powerful and great. The security blanket would not work this time, not when she’d put herself out there so courageously.

But she had to try.

She used her usual line, about inviting for tea and not being a mare who did anything on the first date…

Hah! As if mares these days would ever choose to not take a stallion in! Getting a date in the first place was rare enough!

Still, it would usually allow her to turn her nose up when the stallion would inevitably turn down her offer of a refreshment, reassuring herself that the great and powerful Trixie needn’t concern herself with stallions only looking for a quick roll in the hay. Even if that tired reasoning wouldn’t work with the genteel Jot, it was like muscle memory to her.

But then he’d sagged. Hurt by her words.

He would have come in! If only she hadn’t opened her big, dumb yap! And then, trying to make it better, she’d really put her hoof in it! But she couldn’t stand the thought that she’d somehow managed to break Jot’s heart, because she was worried that he was about to break hers.

She groaned aloud to herself, the flush coming back to her cheeks as she replayed the scene in her head. It was so embarrassing; she had tried to leave, but then… then he’d hugged her.

Trixie wrapped her forelegs around herself in her empty wagon, a far cry from the embrace she’d just had, but still enough to elicit happy memories of the moment.

She’d thought he was taking pity on her… just being the nice pony he was. But oh, how wrong she’d been! When he said that he liked her… her! And he knew about her… Trixie Lulamoon, not the great and powerful showmare, but the pony who’d failed Ponyville… and he still liked her!

She giggled to herself as she twisted back and forth in her self-embrace.

Gods she’d wanted to smooch him harder than any pony had ever been smooched. And more. But he was a gentlepony and remembered what she’d just said, so he’d pulled back.

Trixie groaned to herself, throwing her head back with a thump against the door. If only she hadn’t opened her big, dumb mouth! Even right now, they could be...

Trixie blushed harder, swallowing deeply as her imagination raced. After a moment of indulgence, she shook her head clear.

No, no… that hug was even better. It was fine! He was a shy pony.

She grinned to herself. She’d just have to take charge tomorrow. Tomorrow!

She squee’d aloud, giggling.

It would just make it all so much sweeter for having waited.

She couldn’t wait!

She jumped into her hammock, smile plastered across her muzzle, unsure how she would be able to get to sleep… until the combined drowsiness of a long day and a decent amount of booze overcame her.

Her sleep was fantastic.

Her forelegs stretched gloriously, and she let an almost triumphal yawn, rubbing the sleep from her tired eyes she slipped out of her hammock quickly. She couldn’t seem to shake the goofy grin that had made its way onto her face, that she hadn’t been able to dispel since her little solo-squeeing session the night before. Rubbing her cheeks with glee as she replayed some of the different dreams she’d had the previous evening — various iterations of spending time with her new friend, and unusual ways of spending time with that friend… it was far too much fun.

A twittering bluebird outside her wagon window brought her back to reality. Usually, she’d shout at the annoying thing to bugger off — the creature had been a rather irritating neighbor for the past week since she’d parked her wagon here — but today she leaned out the wagon window and chirped “Good morning Mr. Bluebird!” back at the little thing. She felt like she was acting like one of those insufferable princess protagonists in those foal’s fairy-tales… but she couldn’t help herself!

“Well then, time to get Trixie some coffee!” She smiled to herself, walking out her wagon door as she cast the familiar spell that twisted and sussed her hair back into order, taming the strange muss of mane that always accompanied her after awaking.

She trotted out into the musty Manehattan morning, the sound of magic-powered lawnmowers explaining the smell of freshly-cut park grass lingering amidst the humidity of the air, as the night dew began to steam off in the light of the early sun.

She trotted toward the food-stand that she’d been frequenting nearby while in residence at the park — a simple place with simple fare… and awful coffee. She smiled at the stall owner as she trotted up, already snagging the bits from her saddle-bag to pay for her usual — a cream-cheese bagel and a paper-cup of the stall’s foul brew.

“Good morni—" Trixie began happily, the words dying in her throat as two of the customers who had just finished getting their order turned and gave her a dirty look.

She frowned. It would be one thing if the look she’d gotten was just the usual Manehattan scowl, the defacto grimace that all busy urbanites adopted as they tried to make their way through life surrounded by far too many ponies… but these two had been smiling happily until they’d seen her. Once their eyes had seen her, their bright faces had twisted into that bitter derision that betrayed the hate they felt underneath.

She swallowed and sighed. It wasn’t the first time she’d run into somepony who recognized her and despised her, and it wouldn’t be the last… probably not even the last-time today. And she wasn’t going to let something like this get her down, not today. Not when she was going to see Jot later.

She cleared her throat and began again. “Good m—"

“It is her. So she really is in Manehattan.” A pegasus stallion whispered far too loudly to her left. Trixie twisted her head to look at him, but he quickly buried his head back into his newspaper, shuffling it slightly.

Frowning, she strode up to the stall. She hated that her good mood had been stolen from her so quickly — it wasn’t fair that fate could snatch away her happiness so immediately. But, all she had to do was get her coffee and bagel and retreat to her wagon; planning out her evening with Jot would more than make up for the intrusion of these annoying ponies.

Then she saw it.

The advertisement on the paper was in big, bold letters on the front page. It wasn’t the headline, of course, but it may as well have been — the red and black font standing out more than the paper’s cover story ever could…

THIS UPCOMING SUNDAY EDITION: TRIXIE EXPOSED — A VILLAIN VISITS OUR CITY… DON’T MISS IT!

Suddenly she wasn’t so hungry.

“Th-this can’t… this can’t be… r-right…” The words slipped out of her mouth — she couldn’t control them. The bits that she had intended for her food clattered onto the counter, used for the newspaper instead.

She walked back toward her wagon, all the sensations she had been enjoying just moments before lost in a swirl of adrenaline and shock. She held the paper in front of her with her magic, as if it were a bomb or hazardous waste… but still, the red and black words throbbed out at her, burning into her mind.

As she walked, mouth hanging slightly open in shock, she could feel the eyes of every pony around her, each landscaper, each park-jogger. All she wanted to do was escape, to shut herself out and away from the attention, to re-read the paper. Some little hope within her hoped that it might somehow read differently, if she could just get some time to sit down and study it.

The door couldn’t come fast enough for Trixie, even as she passed through it, she could already feel her breathing getting faster and shallower — not quite a panic, but she was getting there.

The nearest cabinet provided the only foundation she’d felt since taking the paper, and she slumped against it to take the weight off of her shaking muscles.

She poured over the advertisement, though she’d already read it several times on the way — it hadn’t changed of course, despite her hope:

THIS UPCOMING SUNDAY EDITION: TRIXIE EXPOSED — A VILLAIN VISITS OUR CITY… DON’T MISS IT!- Full cover story by Bawdy Jot

“W-why!?” The word died on Trixie’s lips.

She wouldn’t be sad. Not this time. She’d shed too many tears over betrayals and disappointments in the past; she’d hardened her heart against anything so foalish as crying over a newspaper article…

Then why did it feel so bad?

‘Because you let him in… you thought you’d made a friend. You thought, foolishly, that there was something there.’ Trixie’s inner monologue was always a bit too smug for her liking, especially at times like this. ‘But of course, that wasn’t the case… he was just using you — making you look like a complete idiot.’

Trixie threw the paper away from herself, the gray leaves of paper scattering in a noisy, flapping mess. She wouldn’t cry, she wouldn’t. She wanted to be angry instead, furious. She wanted to spit in that stupid, evil pegasus's face. Fury felt so much more empowering than despair. It was more welcome.

Then why couldn’t she get mad?

Why were her eyes misting up?

Tears began to stream down her cheeks, and the first, choking sob escaped her. She knew that more would follow. She hung her head into her lap, tears flowing freely now.

She wanted to go home.

Author's Note

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Cruel, so cruel.

Why can't it ever be easy?

I feel sorry for Trixie, I think I could understand if she was going to just tuck her tail and run home to Ponyville. Starlight would be waiting for her with a nice cup of tea and a friendly hug.

Weathering the storm

Jot - Day 4

This elevator was so damn slow.

Jot slammed the button again, snorting air out of his nostrils as he did so. Two interns who just happened to find themselves in the lift with him had already shrunk away, pressing themselves against the back wall as far away from his unbridled fury. At any other time, he would have turned around to reassure them that everything was OK… but right now he was content to let the negative energy radiate off of him, unchecked terrifying.

DING!

The cab reached its destination, and he burst through, eyes darting left and right.

‘Just give me a target.’ He wanted some stupid pony to come up to him with a cheery greeting — he’d love nothing more than to take somepony’s head off in the middle of the busy news area, a collateral sacrifice to the pure rage that he was feeling for his editor, Hard Copy.

His hooves stomped annoyingly into the corporate, industrial carpeting — he wished that there was something more solid beneath him — something that could provide him with a nice clacking rhythm for his rage. He’d never felt so angry before — his jaw actually ached with how hard his teeth were grinding into each other.

The grey mop of a mane came into view as he rounded a corner — his target was sitting in one of the larger conference rooms, surrounded by the division heads of different parts of the news organization. In the midst of some bullshit meeting about something Jot couldn’t care less about.

Good. He wanted an audience for the screaming match he was about to get into.

But just as he was choosing the particular invective that he would start his tirade with, Hard Copy caught sight of him… and for just a moment, Jot saw something that made him stop cold in his tracks.

He had the slightest, barest, sliver of a grin.

The bastard had glanced at the bigwigs all around the table… and then back at him… and he’d grinned. It was such a small thing, but it revealed everything to Jot. He wanted him to explode, to go off like a madpony, to curse him out and tell him to shove his forced Trixie story up his tailhole. ‘Hell, he would probably love it if I quit right here on the spot.’

The pieces clicked into place.

He wasn’t trying to give him an opportunity when he got me the Trixie story — he was trying to drive me out. He knew Jot was prepping a positive spin story for Trixie and set him up for an impossible position… either take the cover story and ruin your principles, resign, or flame-out!

That was how the old bastard had kept his spot for so long: by driving out young talent that could be a threat to him.

The strain on his clenched teeth was incredible. A part of him wanted to give in. He could march in there and turn the conference table on its side. Play right into Hard Copy's hooves and damn the consequences — who gave a buck at this point?

But that Celestia-damned grin. Jot couldn’t stand to see that again. He had to be smart.

It took every ounce of control he could muster, but he turned and started heading back toward his desk. He could feel his muscles aching from the tension; it was almost painful not to go after the editor… but somehow, he managed.

He collapsed into his seat, barely resisting the urge to sweep all of his stacks of research off the various cabinets and desks in frustration — if only he’d been less messy and more organized the subject of his research would never have been discovered.

But it wasn’t over. Not yet.

The beginnings of a plan were forming in his head — Jot slid open his Rolodex, fishing through the printing department personnel until he located the name he’d been looking for. Perfect.

“Jot? What’s up?” Hard Copy’s voice made him slam his hoof down on the Rolodex, shutting it quickly.

“Hmm? Nothing.” Jot coughed. He tried to focus on the typewriter in front of him — anything to avoid looking at the asshole unicorn’s face and betraying the depths of his anger.

“Really? I saw you storming around earlier and thought you wanted a word.”

“Nope, all’s good here boss, just working on the story.” Jot began punching some of the lacquered black keys, idly typing nonsense boilerplate in an effort to avoid thinking about or speaking to his boss.

“Ah?” Hard Copy’s voice sounded less sure than it had a moment before. “Well, good… that’s a big investment the company is making in you. They even took an ad out in the paper today — did you see?”

“Mhm.” The shortest reply possible. A grunt, really.

“I know you wanted to go a different direction with the story, but this is a good thing kid. It’ll show the higher-ups that you’re flexible to the needs of ownership. You’re alright with that, right?” Hard Copy was leaning over him more and more, trying to get into his field of vision.

“Yeah.”

“I mean if you don’t want to, I can have someone else do the story.” Hard Copy needled. “I know you’re a pretty principled writer and all that, I mean — it might look bad but if you want to maintain a high standard of journalistic integrity.” The fact he was saying it aloud so blatantly showed just how desperate he was for Jot to play into his little trap.

“No, that’s fine.”

“Really.” Hard Copy’s tone was clipped, angry. Good, it gave Jot some satisfaction — just enough that he wouldn’t stand up and deck the bastard across his face. “Well… fine then… but I want to see your article in full before it goes to press Saturday night, I want the final draft Friday afternoon.”

That was a full, half-day before the usual deadline, and a massive change from the routine procedure, where an established writer like Jot could clear his work with the proofer. More evidence that the old editor was desperate to get a rise out of him.

But Jot wouldn’t give that to him.

“Sure thing, boss.”

“Good.” Hard Copy sniffed. “With a writer like you, I’m gonna have to do a lot of revisions I’m sure. Honestly, I don’t know why they gave you this shot anyway.”

‘Changing your strategy already?’ Jot hit the carriage return with a forceful tap, sending the whole thing traveling back with a loud DING, that punctuated their exchange.

“No problem boss, I’m writing it now. Kind of busy, actually… so….”

With a growl, Hard Copy turned and left.

Jot scarcely noticed. He was already lost in the clattering of his typewriter, keys flying as the words poured out of him. It helped that he had a new motivating force behind his writing — one that he’d never felt before.

Revenge.

Trixie - Day 4

*KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK*

The knocking sound echoed through the clearing. She didn’t want to do this, had no stomach for it, but it had to be done.

“Trixie? Are you in there? Please!”

Jot’s voice seemed desperate, needy. ‘Good.’

“Get away from my door.” The words felt good coming out of her mouth, like they’d boiled out of a deep painful pit in her belly, bringing some of that pain with them. A good opening volley as far as she was concerned.

“Trixie! Thank goodness, I’ve been here for almost half an hour trying to talk to—"

“Well Trixie is sorry she made you wait, Mr. Bawdy.” The sneer felt good on her face. She wanted to hurt this pony as he’d hurt her.

“Trixie, listen that st—"

“No you listen.” Trixie stepped forward, knocking the pegasus off of her doorstep with a blast of magic like he was a piece of paper, causing him to stumble off the small wooden steps and fall onto the grass. “I don’t want to have anything to do with you, understand? It’s one thing to regurgitate the lies that have been spread about me for years… but to go so far as to fake being my friend so that you could manipulate me?” She shook her head and stared down her nose at him, mustering every ounce of venom in her body. “Disgusting.”

Jot frowned. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you — it’s not true. You’re talking about that advertisement, right? My asshole boss was trying to force me to—"

“Save it.” Trixie snapped off. She hadn’t expected him to be so bold as to try to make excuses, to try to lie his way out of this. It was satisfying to shut him up. “I don’t want to hear another word from you. Ever. Ponies like you may have poisoned the public against Trixie, but I know a princess personally… and if you ever so much as come near Trixie again, I’ll make sure you regret it.” She flicked her nose up, staring down her snout at him.

She held him for a moment in the fire of her gaze, enjoying watching the stallion melt, hoping to shame him into withering away from her. But he wasn’t staying down. She was surprised to see him find his second wind, standing up and setting his broad shoulders squarely to address her.

“Just listen damn it!” His wings flared out. “I wasn’t writing a negative story on you. I never was! My boss knew that I was crushing on you, so he knew he could screw me into bucking up or quitting by forcing that damn advertisement through!”

Trixie straightened. ‘A… a c-crush?’ Gods how she wanted that to be true. She looked at the desperate stallion, his eyes set in a knotted frown, teeth grit, nostrils flaring with frustration. He looked just like somepony who’d been badly wronged, who wanted to lash out against some cosmic injustice done to them.

She knew that feeling well.

Her gut twisted with anxiety — she didn’t want this complication! Anger and outrage were so much easier.

“H-horseapples.”

“I swear.” Jot stomped his hoof, grinding it into the dirt. “I… I really like you, Trixie. I used to think you were just another pompous half-villain, back when I first started looking into your story, but then I saw how you are with your fans, with foals… and I got to know the real you. I’ve been writing a piece about you, yes. But it was a good story—"

“Stop.” Trixie breathed, twisting her head away as if trying to reduce the force of the words impacting her ears.

“NO!” Jot pressed on. “I need you to hear this. I want to tell the whole world how special you are Trixie, how you saved Equestria, how you help ponies all across your tour, how you won a place in my h—"

“STOP.” The shout came out of her, fading into a soft sob as it did. Why were there tears again? She’d just spent the whole morning crying out every last tear… getting over this… over him. how could she still cry?

“Trixie, it’s OK. Just let me—"

“NO!” Trixie flared a burst of magic through her horn again, a force bubble flashing outward.

She wanted to believe him, wanted it so badly. That fantastic feeling she’d experienced the night before, excitement and anticipation, the feeling of being wanted, loved… Could she get back to that? “I… I’ve just cast a truth spell, I’ll know if you’re lying!” She sobbed, fibbing about the nature of the magic outburst she’d just released.

“Trixie calm down, it’s… it’s OK, I’m not lying. I’m your friend.” He hadn’t even hesitated, hadn’t flinched — he either wasn’t lying — or he knew that she couldn’t tell.

But maybe… maybe she could give him the benefit of the doubt?

‘No!’ Memories of her awful morning surfaced, the hurt, the betrayal. The only thing that had kept her from packing up and making a retreat to the comfort of Ponyville and her friends was the significant monetary penalty in her contract to perform for Manehattan Park. And after such a miserable morning, such a betrayal, out of it all, all the mistrust and sadness, she’d come to ask herself a single important question: why?

Why was she even putting herself through this? Life on her own wasn’t so bad. Certainly not so bad that she needed to expose herself to so much pain.

She took in a sobbing breath, chewing her cheek to stave off a complete breakdown. She might not be able to tell if Jot was telling the truth, but if she was OK on her own… did she need to?

“No.”

“No?”

“No — I don’t believe you, Jot.” Trixie hung her head, watching her massive tears fall to the ground.

“W-what?”

“What kind of idiot falls in love with somepony he’s never met in person? With somepony that he only knows from research and stories?”

“T-Trixie…”

She looked up at him, hoping that he could see the sincerity in her eyes. “You don’t know Trixie Jot. Even if you’re telling the truth — it doesn’t change anything. Thinking Trixie is some hero-mare is just as asinine as thinking Trixie is a villain.”

“I’m not—"

“Trixie is not a good pony, Jot.” Trixie cut him off before he could speak. “And she’s not a bad one. Trixie doesn’t know what she was thinking yesterday, but she’s thinking clearly now- you don’t know who she really is, you never did... and your precious story, good or bad, could never capture the real Trixie.”

It hurt to say these things, hurt to see their impact on the earnest pegasus, to see his ears folding back in anguish as she went on.

“I-I wanted to get to know you, the real you…. I thought I w—"

“You thought wrong.” Trixie sniffled, clearing her throat. “I’m sorry, Jot — but… you never will. Goodbye.”

Trixie turned away from the stallion’s stunned face before the sight caused her to reconsider, slammed the door behind her…. And started to sob. As hot streams poured down her cheeks, she realized how foolish she was to have wanted Jot to be telling the truth, to truly be in love with her — it would have been so much easier to know that he was an evil bastard. To know that she was hurting a pony who deserved it, and not somepony who had just gotten too close.

She couldn’t help but imagine the doors she was closing to protect herself.

Those sobs became heavy, uncontrolled, heaving.

Apparently, she wasn’t done crying yet.

Not by a long shot.

Jot - Day 5

Jot stared at the page on his typewriter. The damn hum of the light on his desk lamp was far too loud for his comfort. The rattling of his keys was usually enough to overwhelm the dim buzz of the fluorescent bulb, but the blank white page partially fed through the antique writing-device betrayed the complete lack of progress he’d made on the article.

It was infuriating.

For so many months, he had been ready to write — all his bullet points, all his research, all the opening paragraphs he’d planned. Hay, he’d even punched out several drafts of the article that he had planned to write — all of them completely useless now.

Trixie’s harsh words still echoed in his ears. In his heart. He had never wanted to hear such things from her, to know that it was even possible he really hurt her in such a profound way. He’d never wanted to do that to her… not to anypony… but especially not her. How could he have gone so wrong as to make her cry?

Buck.

He tore the draft piece of paper from the side of his desk, crumpling it into oblivion and firing it over his shoulder into the growing pile of detritus that had been building up there over the past few hours.

She was right of course. And wrong.

Mostly wrong.

Maybe.

He had been a bucking idiot, putting her on so high a pedestal. He wasn’t sure why his opinion had changed so much since he’d first heard of her — was he trying to like her? Was he rebelling against the status quo so that he could feel high and mighty compared to all those other judgemental Manehattan ponies? So that he could feel like he was a real reporter while all those others were something more? Was he so vain that he’d convinced himself that he could see the good in Trixie, just so that he could convince himself that he was special?

No. It wasn’t just that.

He shook the self-deprecating thoughts out of his head. Somewhere along the way, during all the time that he’d spent with her... he’d fallen for her.

Jot tapped on the space bar on his typewriter several times, advancing the key position without adding any ink, letting out a sigh as he did so. If he kept pressing space, if he filled the entire page with nothing, he’d walk away from the article loving that pony in his own heart. The story he was going to tell was really for other ponies. Not him.

How he felt didn’t have anything to do with his story. Not anymore.

She must have known that too, known that whatever he wrote at this point would not change their feelings for one another. So why had she been hurt so badly by the possibility he might have written an attack piece?

There was no way he could hurt somepony like Trixie without actually having found some spot in her heart — she wouldn’t care about the impact of a story on the public… she cared because she thought it might show how he felt… and she was too smart to think her affection was a one-way street.

A slow shake of his head accompanied the memory of Trixie slamming the door shut in his face.

Maybe she’d been so brutal to convince herself she didn’t want to be with him… to risk being hurt... but she’d also done it to hurt him. There had been spite in those words. There had to be.

So… She really wasn’t a good pony. Nor a bad one… she was just damaged, scared, alone… Like him. Like Trixie. Like every other pony on this planet.

“And just where the buck does that leave me?” He asked the empty room, slumping to his elbows and digging a hoof into his cheek.

He could write the slander piece. Trixie wouldn’t care. It would probably torpedo all of Hard Copy’s machinations. That would give Jot a chance to skyrocket in the eyes of the senior management at the paper, launching his career to the next level… but he would care. It might be bad for his career, but he couldn’t distance himself from his writing, couldn’t pretend that what he put to paper didn’t matter.

He could write his puff-piece and get fired. Become a pariah among the various writing outlets — lose any hope at being a professional writer in the city. Accept life as a despised pony on the streets — the loser who had tried to defend one of Equestria’s greatest villains.

He could run away.

But really, the blank page had already told him exactly what he had to do.

Write.

Never meet your heroes. An editorial by Bawdy Jot.

You’ve probably heard the adage many times. But how many of us actually take the prescription as issued? How many of us, instead, congregate around the various politicians, athletes, actors and heroes that grace our beautiful city, desperate to bask in the limelight of their celebrity, even if only for a moment?

Some of you are aware that our city has had a visitor for the past few weeks. You probably wouldn’t have known it but for the advertisement in the paper on Thursday. That’s right, Trixie Lulamoon has graced Manehattan as part of the summer festival’s ‘Play in the Park’ spectacle. The one-time supervillain has been delighting the city’s foals and families for almost a month, with feats of magical daring and flashy fireworks.

If you hadn’t known, Trixie would likely have returned next year as well, becoming the popular summer festival’s longest-standing attraction. Ever since the uproar, I’ve been informed that Manehattan’s Central Park Planning Committee will not be inviting the mare to return. Many fans who have waited long hours in line to speak with the showmare after her shows will be disappointed not to receive a follow-up next year and a chance to experience another special night filled with memories of Equestria’s greatest magic show.

But who can blame those denizens of our fine city demanding her immediate expulsion?

We all know the details about how Trixie Lulamoon remained one of the few villains to have escaped the Princesses’ justice. Nopony has forgotten just how she enslaved one of Equestria’s more productive farming hamlets for days and even threatened the safety of our most recently anointed Princess, Twilight.

But how familiar are you with the facts of the story, really?

We often gloss over details when the narrative is so compelling. We salivate with anticipation and jerk at our chains, eager to abandon the subtlety and nuance of a situation, discarding them as mere fluff, unneeded brakes applied to a steaming locomotive of self-assured righteousness.

Still, I owe it to our readers to make them aware of all the facts.

For instance, Trixie was under the influence of a cursed magical artifact, now known as the Alicorn Amulet. This device compelled its user to corruption and evil. She had obtained this artifact after a dispute months earlier with Twilight Sparkle as a means to level the magical playing field between them. And no, she didn’t know that the artifact had such corrupting properties.

After being freed of its influence, Trixie remained in the affected hamlet town until all of the damage she’d done had been repaired, and she personally apologized to Twilight before leaving in self-imposed exile from the area.

Few ponies know that she voluntarily surrendered to Princess Celestia’s royal academy for a thorough investigation of any ongoing corruption and the effects of the amulet. Even after being cleared, Trixie asked what she could do as a means to receive forgiveness from the solar diarch. My court sources in Canterlot told me that the Princess was surprised that any punishment was even being considered and cleared the unicorn’s record of any blemish.

A pardon was not even offered - because in the Princess’ eyes, she hadn’t done anything wrong.

She didn’t run from justice — she faced it.

But that doesn’t sell papers. That doesn’t empower our legislators to raid and regulate magical artifact shops across our country. That doesn’t help our news reporters to stir panic and division, or our business ponies to exact revenge on rivals.

Few ponies are aware that the owners of our publication, as well as several other media outlets in Equestria, obscure their holdings through an elaborate set of shell companies, trusts, and legal vehicles. Ultimately, over seventy percent of mainstream media groups are beholden to the Flim and Flam brothers. Those same brothers had a long-standing dispute with Trixie when she violated contracts with the brothers regarding endorsement of their brand of discount wands, capes and magical supplies.

Although it’s impossible to go into detail for each of the editorial decisions made by the Flim and Flam brothers-owned news organizations, a simple mathematical analysis shows that they ran with stories that portrayed Trixie negatively over 85% of the time during the year after the incident, while other more ‘neutral agencies’ averaged only 10%.

So who is Trixie, really?

Try asking your neighbors, friends, and family members that have gone to see one of her shows. Fan reviews of her events are always glowing. “I wouldn’t miss it even if the Wonderbolts were hosting free-shows the same night. I haven’t skipped a show since I first saw one five years ago!” Said Skip Hoofsmith, a thirty-year-old accountant at Tuesday’s show. “Trixie’s amazing, and I’m taking my niece to get her poster signed afterward, last year Trixie gave her a magic lesson!” Another glowing review from Jumble Jumper, a teenage mare in line last Friday with her younger niece for the much-beloved meet and greet that has become a staple of Trixie’s shows.

Trixie’s insistence on keeping her shows run out of smaller venues, and personal settings have kept her fanbase from exploding — but allowed her to keep a core, dedicated smaller group of fans. Although, looking at the lines after her shows might make you doubt that assertion, with lines that stretch out for hours. But Trixie spends time with each and every one. Stories abound from her fans about times that she has gone that extra-special mile for her supporters — even following one family home to provide a private magic-show to a sick filly who was unable to attend the actual show.

But so what? Just because she’s a good showmare, that doesn’t excuse a terrible and dangerous mistake, does it?

Maybe not — but she also saved thousands of ponies, the princesses themselves, and all of Equestria!

And not in some obtuse, indirect way. I’m definitely not suggesting that the increased regulation of magical trinkets has prevented further amulet catastrophes from occurring. She literally saved our nation.

We all recall the panic from two years ago when our capital suddenly went dark. Communications and infrastructure in the central core of our country abruptly cutting off, only to be replaced with confusing replies and bizarre outputs from ponies that seemed off.

Only later would it be revealed just how close our society came to complete destruction, with whole swathes of the population replaced by Changeling interlopers. This included our princesses, taken by surprise in their sleep.

Only the quick thinking and brave actions of former villain-unicorn turned hero managed to free our monarchs — freeing our new friends the changelings from Chrysalis’s grasp in the process. We celebrated Starlight Glimmer as a triumphant hero of Equestria. We even gave the mare a ticker-tape parade through our busiest streets, giving her the key to the city and hosting her on all our morning TV shows and late-night programs as a mare all of our fillies could look up to. And she deserved it.

But ponies quickly forget that she had help.

Again, news agencies suspiciously downplayed the fact that a group of four stormed the anti-magic citadel to rescue our princesses. In the case of King Thorax and Discord, this is somewhat understandable. One was a member of the race that had just made the coup attempt, which could confuse the story. The other is a well-known memetic hazard, and by convention, we try to avoid invoking the chaos god too often.

But Trixie was there too.

From direct testimony at the Canterlot Noble’s Special Commission on Capital Security after the incident, Starlight pointed out numerous times that Trixie risked her life and prevented the mission from failing. Efforts which received her commendations from the commission and the Hero of Equestria award, the highest honor our nation can bestow. Strangely, that was not mentioned in the press, which chose to cover Baltimare’s Humie-con instead, burying the award ceremony which was attended by all four princesses deep in the pages of their journals.

So, who is Trixie? A hero.

My hero.

And I made the mistake of meeting her.

When you elevate somepony to the level of hero, you set unrealistic expectations for them. We have been spoiled by Princess Celestia, who appears to be without fault, excepting the odd scandal involving cake and sweets. We have seen ponies who embrace fame and celebrity by choice, like the Wonderbolts or our actors and politicians, who are ready to handle all the pressure that comes with it.

Trixie wasn’t used to being treated like a hero. She was used to being treated like a villain. The burden of simply being a hero can be crushing, overwhelming. She rejected it when I tried to give those burdens to her. In doing so, she reminded me that ponies are not archetypes of justice and evil, not paragons of light and dark… but complex, nuanced creatures. It was a valuable lesson, but a hard one.

And during it, I didn’t meet a hero. I met Trixie.

So don’t meet your heroes, don’t meet your villains. Meet the real pony underneath, if you’re ever so lucky as to get the chance.

This will likely be the last article that I can write for this paper — and as I depart I place my faith in my fellow Manehattanites that we give Trixie the benefit of a fair shake — as a real, good, pony.

-Bawdy Jot

He slammed out the last letter on the typewriter, then gripped the page and pulled it out with a single motion, placing it reverently in the stack that he would shortly edit and proof before delivering directly to his contact in the printing room.

It had taken a hefty bribe and promises that no blame would fall on the printing staff, but he had been able to convince the crew awaiting the final copy that his story could be submitted directly to them, as opposed to the usual channels through the senior editors and the final proofreading teams.

It was a sneaky way to sidestep Hard Copy and his demand for a hit-piece, but it would work. As it currently stood, the machiavellian editor had no idea: Jot had submitted a completely separate, faked article for his sign-off, and that vile, slander-filled piece was what he thought would come out the next morning.

Wouldn’t he be surprised!

Jot shook his head with half-bemused mirth. If he was at all responsible, he would be using this time to update his resume and make sure that the important personal effects that littered his workspace came home with him. His termination was all-but-guaranteed; in fact, he would be lucky if he was able to avoid a civil suit for what he was doing. His career was over too — how could you employ a writer who had a history of going rogue and burning down the establishment that he worked for?

But he was too tired to care about that now. Writing his article had drained him. Emptied him.

All he wanted to do was sleep.

For a week.

Maybe the whole thing would have blown over by then.

He snapped the light on his desk off, likely for the last time, and turned to leave.

...

Author's Note

Are you enjoying the story?

Throw me a like and a comment if you are!

Oh man, Jot is struggling. What's he going to do now? Has he given up? What's going to happen next?

He's going to be fired, that's for sure. But I think he's given up on having any chance with Trixie... does he even want a chance with her at this point?

Who knows?

Heart to heart

Jot - Day 6
He barely slept a wink.

Fitful and tossing-turning dreams kept him in a state of sudden re-awakenings, each time the clock glowing that it had only advanced a few slow minutes. When the clock finally rolled around to eight A.M., he’d had enough, rolling out of his bed and walking through his apartment.

But he couldn’t bear the idea of suffering in the small, unclean space either. More than anything else, he needed movement, energy, something — to keep the thoughts and questions away. An invisible leash seemed to pull him out of his home, through the sticky early-morning air and down the only slightly less-crowded streets of the city on a Sunday morning.

He couldn’t help but see his bold headline in so many hooves as he walked along. Some ponies were reading his article. Some had flipped along to other sections… but it had happened, his column was out there, in the wild. There was no going back.

His hooves already knew where they wanted to go, though his mind couldn’t believe what he was doing. It was stupid. Foolhardy. Destined for disaster.

Still, he headed toward the park. Toward her.

It wasn’t until he got within a few hoofball fields’ lengths from where he knew her to have parked her wagon that he slowed, found a picnic table, and plopped down heavily. His form slumped over the table with a sigh, his hooves digging into his cheeks as he let all of his weight rest on his elbows.

He could see the top of her wagon from here, off in the distance. Was this as close as he could get?

He knew he couldn’t go to her, not like this. Not after he’d just written that article. It would smack of a cloying attempt to get in her good graces, like money offered to a whorse. No, though it felt cowardly, this would be the best he could manage with Trixie — watching from afar, cheering her on, wondering what could have been.

Minutes ticked by.

Hours.

He blindly stared into the distance, head filled with emptiness, thoughts of his present situation spiraling off as he wondered what the mare might be doing at that moment, whether she’d seen the paper. It was somewhat more comfortable to think of such things, rather than the grim reality that awaited him — the end of his job, his prospects, prosperity.

For now sitting in the park, watching ponies walk by, hearing the sprinklers turn on and off, was enough.

Then suddenly, his vision went completely black.

“H-huh?”

He realized that a pair of hooves were covering his eyes quickly, and he stiffened in fear. A thug? Or maybe those mares, back to finish the job?

“S-so… you want to meet the real Trixie, hm?” The voice was whispered, weak, but unmistakable. He spun around instantly, the hooves falling away.

Standing before him was the mare herself, in all her shimmering glory. She stared up at him meekly from her seat on the ground, small tears forming in the corners of her eyes. It was hard not to notice the puffy, red eyes, and nostrils. Clearly, Trixie had not had a relaxing evening either.

“Yes… if she’ll let me.” Jot breathed, scarcely able to believe the mare before him was actually there.

“H-ha!” Trixie choked out, clearing her throat and touching her chest. “Th-the great and p-powerful… T-Trixie…” her words were coming out with so little confidence compared to their usual blustery ebullience that it pained him to hear. “... is obv-obviously s-so… *sniffle*... in-interest…” Whatever Trixie was trying to do to prevent herself from crying, it wasn’t working very well.

Jot watched as hot cheeks became wet ones, tears streaming from the poor unicorn’s face as she started to sob.

His heart took control of his body — wrapping the girl in a tight embrace, squeezing her firmly and rubbing her back. He felt her curling into him, muzzle pressing against his neck, her sobs coming harder and wetter now.

“Oh, J-jot… Trixie is… no, I am so sorry.”

“Shhh…. Shh…” Jot cooed, feeling tears trickling down that inner crevice of his face as he did so. “I’m the one who should be sorry.”

“I… I tried… *sob*... tried to push you… *hic*... away!” Trixie cries were muffled against his chest, making Jot only want to squeeze her in the hug even harder.

“It’s OK…”

“I… I’m… I’m so tired of being alone.” Her body heaved as she sobbed her confession.

Words wouldn’t do in this situation. They couldn’t. Jot took her by the shoulders, pushing her ever so slightly away from him so that he could see into her face, and the moment he could see her surprised, violet eyes, he plunged forward kissing her deeply. He watched her eyes flare and brighten with surprise, before melting into a droop and closing with happiness as she returned his kiss.

He felt her mouth open, letting him in more deeply, the passion of his kiss matching the love with which he pulled her to his breast once again. But there was no flurry of tongues or hooves, no lusty teenage-like pawing — just a contented, happy comfort, as stallion melted into mare and everything felt… right.

They stayed like that for a while, lips tickling one another’s snouts, little squeezes of reassurance here and there, as their bodies communed in silence, conveying between their hearts what their words never could.

When their kiss broke, Jot felt Trixie snuggle into him even more closely, with a happy sigh and a little sniffle following. Jot sank back onto the picnic bench, bringing Trixie into his lap as he did so, wrapping his wings around her protectively, a little bundle of love in their cruel world.

Their tears had stopped now. Little giggles and grins appeared on Trixie’s face, and Jot found himself unable to restrain his mirth. But they didn’t need words. Not right now.

He had no idea how long they stayed like that, Trixie’s hoof playing with his chest fur as she snuggled into his neck, his feathers stroking her back, their tails swaying and intertwining with one another. It was like they were in a deep pool of joy — all other sensations drowned out, the pain of the world muted by the depth of their happiness.

But slowly, they began to rise to the surface. Their drunken happiness replaced by nervous excitement, adrenaline began to surge inside his body, his cheeks flushing as his conscious mind began to register just how intimate he was with such a fantastically beautiful mare, deeper arousals building in his gut.

“So…” Jot whispered, his voice feeling dry and crackly, harshly shattering the spell, as he began to lift Trixie off of him, gingerly placing her on the ground.

“Mmm…” Trixie mewled, sadly stepping out of the cocoon of warmth he’d created for her with a small pout. She blinked and smiled at him, tilting her head expectantly. “So?”

Jot blushed, shuffling his wings back to either side of his body and scratching the back of his head. He was terrible at this sort of thing. His hope that their cathartic moment would have bestowed some suave self-assuredness vanished. But she was looking at him with so much love! What should he say!?

“Umm… so, h-how about th-that date… and getting to know the r-real Tri—" Jot paused, noticing that Trixie’s grinning smirk and playful shake of her head was indicating that he had put his hoof in his mouth.

“You really are such a wuss, Jot.” Trixie giggled, covering her mouth and shaking her head at him again.

“H-hey!” Jot blushed, embarrassed at being called out. But Trixie shushed him by placing a hoof against his chest, right up against his pounding heart.

“You’re so nervous!” Trixie seemed to be marveling at the pounding organ.

“I’m not—"

“It’s cute.” Trixie smiled at him seductively. “You’re trying to be such a gentlecolt. But if I need to take the lead… well, I’m happy to play aggressive mare.”

Trixie turned and trotted a few steps away, then paused and looked over her shoulder. “Are you coming, Jot? I thought you wanted to know the real Trixie.” The eyebrow waggle and bedroom eyes made the lump in Jot’s belly feel twice as large. Trixie’s flicking tail wasn’t helping matters either.

“You’re not getting out of this one, Jot.” She grinned with a predatory smile and a wiggle of her rear.

That made him chuckle. ‘She wants me.’ The thought was exciting, encouraging. It filled him with confidence.

He smiled back. “This is going to be fun.”

“You have no idea.”

Author's Note

Are you enjoying the story?

Throw me a like and a comment if you are!

D'aww... looks like things are going to work out after all!

Those two cute pones are probably headed back to Trixie's wagons for some smooches. Now if you're looking for the 18+ version of what could happen... click HERE.

The NSFW version of the story will be uploaded soon after the SFW version goes up!

A romp in the park - NSFW

Trixie - Day 6

Trixie walked alongside Jot, leading him along the path toward her wagon. Her heart was pounding in her chest, twinkles of exhilaration running down her hooves.

It had been some time since she’d been intimate with a stallion… years if she was honest with herself: she really couldn’t count her collection of COOLCO coolers and plastic phalluses. They certainly scratched the right spots, particularly during those bothersome heat seasons, but it really couldn’t compare to the real deal.

Here was a breathing, thinking, loving stallion… and even better, it was Jot!

The way her heart was fluttering reminded her of that first school dance she’d gone to, all those years ago. The school-filly crush she’d had on her date and how she’d giggled and tittered with each dance and innocent kiss. Those same happy bubbling emotions were in her now — she could feel the desire, the hope, that her admiration and affection for this stallion… might grow into something even more.

She liked his smile, his courage. He was handsome, funny, and gentle.

Too gentle.

She grinned to herself with a soft shake of her head. She’d had to lead this horse to water, marching him toward her wagon where a really magical performance would take place. Since they’d gotten moving she’d done her best to touch and prod him in every way possible: flicking her tail up and exposing glimpses of her backside, bumping her hip against his, flicking her mane against his neck, even swishing her tail up against the underside of his belly.

But he was still trotting along like a blushing fool, scared to make the first move.

It was cute.

Trixie liked cute. But she wanted more.

The pounding in her chest drove hot blood through her cheeks, as well as the rest of her body. She was acutely aware of herself, each touch of her mane on the nape of her neck, the small sheen of sweat building up on her undercoat, the fullness of her lips, the crackling energy built up in her horn.

And the plump, warm swell of her nethers.

It wasn’t at all like a heat-flush, with its insistent and annoying desire, its separation of the sexual body from the conscious mind. No, this arousal felt more like a total body experience, her adrenaline serving to heighten each nerve’s sensory experience, the lingering memory of the intimacy that she’d just shared leaving a physical yearning in her gut.

She wanted more. Needed more.

She looked at the blushing stallion with a predatory grin. He must want more too, no? Maybe he could smell it on her, sense her burning need? Surely, he wouldn’t mind if she… kicked things off?

Even as the thought entered her head, her horn ignited, the magical spell casting automatically in synch with her unrestrained impulse. She traced the purple kinetic field down the inside of Jot’s left barrel, slipping under his lower belly.

She bit her lip slightly as he blushed and made a goofy face, his eyes darting over at hers. Was that OK? Was she moving too fast?

But all she saw in his eyes was that same fiery excitement that was in herself. He shifted slightly, giving her more access to his lower region, not that he needed to do so, not with the skillful adroitness of her magic. But it was the signal of permission Trixie needed.

She shot him a smokey look of lust, then slid her magic down the taut, thinly-furred skin of his lower belly, searching for her prize. Kinetic magic was never the best at providing its user with the sensitive tactile feedback of an underhoof, nor the kinesthetic awareness of just where in space the field was.

But what she could feel was hot, smooth, stallion skin.

“Where is it…” she whispered under her breath, as she felt herself bump against the inside of Jot’s thigh, and reversed the direction of her field. She wondered if he was… small… It might explain why he was a bit more meek. She hadn’t ever really gotten a chance to inspect his stallionhood, not that a sheathe could tell you much about the organ within. She had seen his bits, of course, and they seemed quite impressive — a pair of black orbs, larger than any average pair you might see swinging between a stallion’s legs.

There! She had caught something fleshy in her field and carefully wrapped her magic around it. She noticed Jot throw his head back with a soft dipping of his eyelids. Bingo!

She played with the bump, a bit small for a sheathe, but still something that filled her field. She coaxed it, wrapping it in a warm magical embrace, eagerly awaiting the feel of stallionflesh growing under her ministrations, expanding, spilling out… her opportunity to make Jot as hot under the hood as she was…

But it never came. The bump remained the same size.

She squeezed again and saw Jot wince slightly. The fleshy lump already was a bit stiff. So this was his whole length? He was small. Thick, strangely shaped, heavy… but small. Trixie bit her lip and shook her head. It didn’t matter at all — she was glad it was him. Still, she felt that she needed to provide him with some encouragement; maybe this was why he was nervous.

“You weren’t worried about your… size… were you? This is just perfect.” She smiled at him lovingly.

Jot cocked his head slightly, confusion racing across his face. Had she said something wrong? Had she put her hoof in her mouth?

Then his eyes brightened with understanding, and he chuckled. “Umm… Trixie, that’s just one of my balls… pfft…”

“Oh!” Trixie blinked, the shape and size suddenly making a lot more sense to her. But that meant… that ball was actually big. Quite big.

She blushed with embarrassment at her misstep. But now she had a landmark. She slid her magical field along to the other ball, grasping both for good measure with a slight squeeze. “Oops. I know where I am now.” She grinned with a wink.

The field slid down his length. It was smooth, hot… and thick. She could feel the skin stretching as his erection grew in her magic. Her eyes widened as she continued to slide down with end, inch after inch… still going… another inch… she hadn’t even felt the bump of that medial ring yet!

Just how big was he!? The blush on her face grew deeper, and her mouth had filled with drool, making her swallow. Her nethers were drooling as well — a warm stickiness gracing the inside of her thighs. She’d never been a size-queen, but the thought of such a… monster… in her magic, excited her.

Finally, the ring — the halfway point! A few more inches and she found his flare, still soft and drooping toward the earth. This big, and he wasn’t even fully erect? She had to see.

Her eyes darted away from his face and looked underneath Jot.

A fifteen-inch, half-erect stallion cock bobbed there, drooping toward the earth. The base was a dark black sheen of flesh that was easily as thick as her foreleg, barely tapering through the mottled pink flesh of the massive coronal ridge, already drooling a clear strand of pre-cum.

“W-woah…” She breathed, her eyes racing back up to Jot, still smiling meekly and blushing. “W-wow Jot.”

“Wh-what?”

“What!?” Trixie scoffed with an eye roll. “Don’t play coy!” She grinned. “I just hope you’ll will fit.”

That got a laugh out of him. Finally, he was starting to loosen up, she could see he was starting to feel a bit more confident. She wrapped her magic around his semi-erect beast and tugged him forward, leading him by his cock. “Hurry up, stud.”

PIC OCCURS HERE: (NSFW) derpi booru.org/1901910

She wrapped around him more tightly, feeling the heat and throb of his body as she played with his heavy thickness, the field exploring every crevice and bump every vein.

“Mmm…” Jot moaned softly.

“F-feel… good?” Trixie huffed. She felt out of breath, the passion throbbing up within her, her throat swollen and aching with the increased saliva pouring down it. And her plot. Gods above her ache was growing unbearable — she could feel her inner lips fattening, spreading herself open, could feel the radiating heat of her nethers against the underside of her dock, flagging up in the air, showing her lust off to anypony behind her… a brief thought about just how abandoned this part of the park was at this time of day was quickly discarded.

She didn’t care, not now.

She felt Jot’s stallionhood strain and stretch upwards, as it filled with blood, twitching and jerking up against his belly with a meaty slap — adding more impossible inches to its previous length and girth. She’d seen pictures passed around the mares of Ponyville of the large red-coated earth pony farmer — he was famous for having a prodigious endowment. The illicit snaps were common clop-fodder for many of the girls in that town, herself included. And he was big.

But Jot was bigger.

As she slid her field over the fat, engorged knob at the end of his phallus, she tried to imagine just how she would fit such a thing into herself, or whether she even could. The ridge of his flare was wider than one of her rear hooves! She’d never even imagined attempting something half that size! Just imagine the stretch, the strain, as her pink lips slid over that dripping, huge… mmph!

A surge roiled through Trixie’s body, the shiver rolling down her spine and her taut, squeezing flanks, clenching her plump nethers and pushing her fattened love-bud peeking out of her lips, parting herself open… once, twice… then a third final time, complete with a thick dollop of clear squirting juice that noisily splattered onto the path.

She hadn’t winked like that since she was a teenager. She hoped he wouldn’t notice… as impossible as that was.

Her musk took only a half beat to fill her nostrils. A pungent lavender fog that she could sometimes extract after a more vigorous solo session. And Jot could smell it too. She watched as his nostrils flared wide, inhaling deep snuffs of her. It was a bit embarrassing — until his reaction.

“Oh, f-fuck Trixie…” Jot grunted and clenched his teeth, pausing in his stride, muscles bunching and tensing.

She felt his thick stallionhood throb and hop in her grasp, slapping up against his belly with two wet thwacks, as it released two clear jets of pre-ejaculate, hitting his lower ribcage then dripping to the ground below.

Now she could smell him.

Celestia’s mercy, what a cologne. The romance novels she perused always made her roll her eyes with how much the authors would play up the smell of a stallion in rut. Her own experiences were far from the swooning olfactory sensations those smutfics implied. Up until now, she’d always attributed it to over-zealous writing.

Not anymore.

She could taste Jot’s rich musk on her tongue, a spicy tang that made her swallow with desire. The aroma flooded her snout, nose flaring with excitement as his essence filled her lungs. It was so thick in the air — she could almost imagine it sticking to her fur. Her eyes darted to the little wet drops on the brick of the path, and she had to bite her lip to refrain from licking her mouth.

Her ache was bad now.

And despite her tugging, Jot was frozen in place, groaning, cock twitching against himself.

‘Buck it!’ Trixie glanced nervously behind her, the empty park trail of the late afternoon giving her the small surge of confidence she needed.

Taking a step off the path, Trixie walked right in front of Jot, flicking her tail up as high as she could, her dock straining with the exertion. She swatted the stallion’s nose with a flop of her tail, making his eyes shoot open in alarm. She grinned over her shoulder, pressing her shoulders down to the soft grass, a nice patch situated just behind some bushes, widening her rear stance a bit and sticking her plot as high up in the air as she could.

Her eyes never left Jot’s face, but his eyes were certainly directed elsewhere, glued to her ass… her rear suddenly felt very exposed, as if the stallion’s gaze itself warmed her quivering ponut and drooling, swollen marehood. And she loved it. She was a showmare at heart, after all.

With a waggle and a shake, she gave him a full show, grinding her ass against some invisible stallion… the invitation couldn’t be any clearer.

“Come on, Jot.”

Jot’s mouth hung open slightly; she could see the hot breath coming from his snout in little bursts as he fumed, turned, and approached her. His heavy, powerful hooves clacked off of the brick then dug into the grass, sending little shivers of excitement through Trixie’s body. Jot’s body, posture, bearing… the meekness was burning away, leaving a strong animal of a breeding stud behind.

Her stud, here to fuck her.

Jot reared up, and she saw it, in all its glory. She might not be a size queen, but Gods did that thing excite her. The thick, ebony log of stallion-sausage proudly sprang from his groin, a log of horseflesh perched above a pair of massive, dangling black balls that swung low with his excitement. The considerable thickness of his base stunned her, replete with throbbing veins and a pronounced ventral bulge running up from its throbbing black base, under the grotesquely thick medial ring, and up to his massive cockhead. His girth tapered only slightly as the shiny black flesh transitioned to a pink-speckled color… That fat pink flare was plastered against his belly; the saucer plate-sized head punctuated by a smooth dome, ringed with a knobby flare… and right in the middle was a swollen circular cockslit, drooling with steaming stallion juice.

That thing would destroy her... Gods did she ever want it to.

“Trixie…” Jot moaned, balancing on his hind legs and stepping forward.

She braced herself, clenching her eyes closed, felt her pussy wink and strain to open itself as much as possible — to prepare itself for the massive undertaking it was about to endure. Then she felt it.

The heavy weight slapped down over the top of her ass, resting on the small of her back. He’d laid his giant pipe on her back! The hot mass slid along the delicate fur of her pert rear, his flesh sliding against the side of her sensitive dock, leaving a snail trail of stallion pre along the small of her spine… sliding down, down, down… reaching halfway up her body!

Finally, she felt her humid tailhole kiss against the underside of his cock, felt his heavy balls swing against her parted pink flesh with a wet splotchy impact, felt the bump of his hip bones against her glutes.

‘Celestia he’s so bucking big!’ Trixie mewled slightly, wiggling her hips, equally relieved and sad that her stud hadn’t speared her, stretched her, fucked her… the delicate teasing touch of her boiling pink lips against his balls and the alien feel of her swollen ponut against his groin were a poor consolation prize, as the horny mare pushed back into him.

“F-fuck, Jot…” Trixie moaned into the grass, her clit slipping out to deliver a sticky kiss to his sack, as she bounced backward with small, plaintive, humping thrusts.

The stallion only groaned in response, hooves gripping either side of her moving hips. No doubt he was steadying himself, grinding his sensitive cock against the fur of her middle-back, making it stick and sloppy.

Her dock kept bumping against his hot base, her wagging tail pressing against his girth as the two ponies ground on each other just off one of Manehattan’s park trails. She wanted to wrap herself around his pleasure, his lust… but she couldn’t summon the focus to conjure the challenging kinetic field, not while she was pumping backward with abandon.

So she used her tail to channel that magical energy instead.

With a little burst of thaumic kinesis, her hair wrapped around Jot’s meaty cock, wrapping him up in her silky blue tail… once, twice, three times encapsulating and gripping him squeezing his fat penis against her.

“Oh… Trixie!” Jot pushed against her with each stroke of her tail grip, heavy balls swinging against her plot, wet slaps of flesh on flesh as his hooves dug deeper into her flesh.

Her ache was sharp now, drooling heat radiating from her winking pussy, begging to be filled. She channeled that frustration into her tail grip, squeezing and milking Jot’s shaft, gossamer hairs becoming soaked with the pungent stallion pre-cum.

Faster. Faster!

Trixie groaned and pressed her nose into the earth, stroking and humping with more speed, partly because she wanted to please Jot, partly because in a futile effort to slake her ache with the grind of pussy and ponut against her stud’s body. On one pump her engorged clit winked out at just the right time, jamming against Jot’s sack, bending it sideways and sending a bolt of pleasure through her.

‘Oh, Fuck!’ Trixie moaned, a ripple coursing through her, fireworks of energy popping like rockets of pleasure, each burst setting off more ripples that cascaded from her gut… right into her clenching cunt. Her guts twisted and shifted with the orgasm, rolling and rocking through her as her brain boiled in the release of pleasure.

“Mmmm!” A grunt was all her mouth could manage, though her marehood managed to soak her lover’s thighs with a spray of nectar.

“Oh… oh fuck! I’m going to — !” Her ears flicked back at Jot’s warning. She felt a massive pulse through the stallion’s cock, straining and expanding her wrapped tail, pulling at the hair as his already terrifying girth throbbed wider, as his heavy pink cockhead twitched and flared on her back, digging into her spine. His grind pressed deeper against her, holding against her, she felt his balls slide up, retracting against him, digging into her sopping pussy. A thick globular mixture of stallion-batter and precum drooled out of his slit onto her back, forced out by the pressure of the enormous release just behind it.

But she didn’t want him to cum. Not yet. Not on her.

She wanted that load inside her.

With a flare of magic, she tensed her tail hairs, channeling an inhibitor spell down the gossamer strands, clenching against his base, cutting off his orgasm, jamming him, leaving him desperately full — unable to release, Like a dam about to burst.

PIC OCCURS HERE: (NSFW) derpi booru.org/2149050

“Oh…. f-fuUCK!” her poor stud moaned from behind her. Throb after throb of his orgasm restrained, intensified, sent back in a cascading feedback loop into his guts, his heart, his mind… All he could do as his flared cock jumped and expanded pitifully was moan and dig his hooves into her flanks, his grip making her ache so good. She felt his balls descend again, thicker, heavier… filled with all the lust energy and the additional wave of her restraining magic, huge orange-sized orbs sinking to her thigh with painful sexual tension.

She almost felt guilty. Almost.

She wanted that inside her.

“G-gaaaahh….” Jot’s breath came back to him, panting and heaving as the interrupted orgasm’s feedback waves slowly bled out of him. “T-Trixie… please...” his deep voice came with a wash of hot air across the back of her neck.

“I want you to cum inside me.” Trixie cooed, hoping for forgiveness. But all she could feel was his hot breath pouring over her back with heavy snort after snort. She turned to look at him.

There was no meekness left in her gentlecolt.

There wasn’t even a stallion there anymore.

Every muscle on his body bulged with definition, his whole barrel heaving with powerful snorts, drawing in great breaths of oxygen to fuel his furnace of a metabolism. His jaw was set forward, clicked in place… and his eyes were… wild… feral. He looked at her like a hungry manticore eyeing a lamb.

Prey.

She swallowed with fear.

The beast’s massive cock strained off of her back, pulling free of her ensnaring tail hair. But it didn’t subside at all from its engorged orgasmic state. Eighteen… nineteen inches? She’d never been one for measurements; she just knew this was no pony-cock… this was like something out of a biology textbook showing the size difference of the feral horse-ancestors of modern ponykind. The cock of an animal.

And that snorting, stomping, feral horse in rut was going to breed her. To fuck her.

She swallowed nervously and gave a little chuckle, eyes unable to unglue from the melon-sized pink flare, which drooled a steady stream of thick, clear pre-cum.

“E-easy…. Easy Jot.” She mewled. She only got an angry snort in response. Then a whinny: rumbling bass that shook her with its power. Commanded her.

She couldn’t help but stick her ass higher in the air, just like a broodmare on the ancient plains, ready to be taken.

“O-oh f-fuck…”

Author's Note

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Public disturbance - NSFW

Jot - Day 6

Everything ached.

Burned like never before.

His muscles, his clenched jaw… his guts, lungs and heart… and his cock.

He felt like a coiled spring, wound far too many times. Lightning in a bottle, waiting to explode outwards, crackling with dangerously constrained energy.

Just how had he gotten here? Every moment walking alongside Trixie had been delightful agony, a dance of arousal and awkwardness, as she flirted with him more and more openly until she grabbed….

Him.

It felt like a dream — his fantasy crush handling his stallionhood, playing with him, ministering to him. And the pride he felt when Trixie remarked on his size! He knew he was a large stallion — had always known it since the days of middle-school gym showers… but it was still a beautiful thing to hear from your mare. His confidence had grown three sizes after that.

Then things started moving so quickly. Before he knew it, Trixie’s lavender musk infused his every pore, awakening feelings, desires in him that he didn’t know were there — desires to overpower, dominate, rut, breed…. fuck this hot little mare. He could do it, too; he knew he could pin her down. He’d been frozen by the burst of lusty, ancient, dominating thoughts and she’d slipped in front of him, sticking her ass up in the air.

When he’d first seen that incredibly tight, pert ass, its taut muscles sculpted from years of pulling a heavy wagon, the wave of desire shook him to his core. Those beautiful blue rounds framed a sight that he’d only ever imagined in his wildest fantasies — and oh how short the fantasy fell compared to the reality.

Underneath her delicate and flagging dock, wagging cutely like a happy puppy dog, was a tight round tailhole, a quivering ponut which just touched the edges of her pert asscheeks. From there, a delicate fold of skin traced from the muscular ring across her taint, before reaching the plump, engorged lips of her marehood. Her whole pussy was boiling with heat — he could see and smell the steam from her hot, twisting, pink interior as her delicate folds parted and opened for him. The first wink from Trixie he’d seen with his own eyes had been incredible, the contrast of dark blue blood-filled labia opening like a flower, unfurling pink petals of slick mareflesh squishing out into the open… and then that beautiful fat clit, almost red with stimulation, extending out of its hidden folds… followed by a huge squirt of pungent fluid, spattering all over the earth.

He had to suppress the urge to bury his muzzle in her right then and there!

And it was him she was doing this for!

It was too much to bear. He’d clambered forward, wanting to mount her right then and there. All cares and worries about the public nature of their display were just static in the background. Jot found himself watching his actions through his own eyes, his body moving via a set of ancient biological commands. He’d mounted his mare, hips wildly bucking...

But his long cock had, of course, missed its target, laying the fat pink and black pipe across the curve of her spine instead.

And then her tail! God’s above, he’d thought the magical field was intimate. Those backward thrusts were even wilder, the wet kiss of Trixie’s needy cunt against his heavy sack leaving sticky, strand-connected kisses, her hot ponut grinding against the underside of the base of his cock.

He felt her orgasm against him, heavy splashes of wet cum spattering down his legs, running down in dripping rivulets to his rear hooves, her shivers driving him wild with the knowledge he had given her the ultimate pleasure.

But when he’d started to release, started to feel that painful knot untie, unload… felt the beautiful beginnings of his orgasm… the sudden clenching, clamping magical ring of tail had stopped him, hurt him.

Every muscle in his body, already straining and popping had clenched and tensed, unicorn magic taking that whole wave of orgasmic energy and bottling it, re-directing it, preventing it… He felt the swirl of lust inside him, sliding back from his throbbing penis into his gut, looping inside him like a raging fire, raging infernos racing down every limb, sweat breaking out all over his body as the energy sought a place to deposit itself.

His mind had been melting — the show he was watching through his own eyes fading away, consciousness slipping into the background as older, fiercer, feral parts of his brain took over. The herd-stud stallion of the ancient plains rising from his murky depths to meet the challenge of the contained lust within him… and finally the pent up swirling energy found its landing spot: right in his groin, throbbing his proud stallionhood to grotesque readiness.

With a fuming whinny, he barked at his broodmare — instructing her to ready herself. The clattering of his hooves as he dismounted resounded with energy... his wet cock slid off her back, soaking her with spurts of his juices, marking her as his. The fat, bulbous flare slapped wetly against her side as he backed up, repositioning himself, taking two hooffuls of her shapely, perfect ass… spreading her cheeks as wide as they would go.

Jot flexed his straining abdominal muscles, sending his length bobbing up and down, pumping it full of blood… then he positioned it against that burning blue plot, Pressing the pink melon-sized knob against Trixie’s taint.

“Uhmmmmnf!” A squeak from his mare came immediately, with a stiffening of his back. She would truly be feeling his size now… as he began to push.

His heavy drooling flare slid against the tiny strip of flesh, sliding down to the steaming opening of Trixie’s wet, slick snatch, his width pressing the fat labia outwards, stretching and straining them far beyond what they’d ever experienced before.

“C-careful! F-fuuuuck you’re big!” She squeaked again. Jot responded physically, gripping her ass harder, almost painfully, spreading her as much as his strength allowed. He let out a low, rumbling growl… and pressed forward again.

“Mmmmmngh!” Trixie could only mewl now.

His flare was stuffed against the tight blue lips, the dome of his cock squishing against her opening… slowly, agonizingly, her vagina stretched, parted… lips permitting millimeter after millimeter of unyielding horsecock to enter. A waterfall of lubricating marecum drooled off the end of Trixie’s extended clitoris, the torrent mixed with Jot’s natural lube as their bodies made every effort to permit the impossible fit.

Then it happened.

“Oh, ohh f-fuuuuuuuuhhnnnn…” Trixie’s moan began from deep in her gut, as the final resistance of her tight inner-lips slowly gave way, and he began to sink into her depths. A grasping, milking wink rolled over the edge of his flare just as he sank his huge cockhead into her, the marehood providing a worthy welcome to its new master.

With a pop, Trixie’s tight blue cuntlips slipped around Jot’s knobby, engorged flare, quickly gripping the top of his shaft. But he wasn’t stopping there… he was going to rut her deep.

All that time in the gym, all that time playing buckball, all those squats… all helping Jot’s powerful muscles press into Trixie’s tight body, slowly splitting her with obscene squelching sounds. Her lips strained and curled inwards, dragged in by the increasing girth of his mottled upper shaft.

The heat was incredible. The tightness was unbelievable. A twisting, swirling ecstasy of pink muscles parting inch after inch as he plowed into her. He could feel the hot bump of her clitoris as it ground against the bottom of his shaft, trapped between the increasing thickness of his stallionhood and the ceiling of Trixie’s lips.

“Hmmmngh! B-big!” Trixie squeaked as the bulge of his fat flare distended her lower body.

Her tail was thrashing in his face now, flicking and quivering with intensity as he stretched her, pressing forward until he reached his meaty medial ring. The thick bulge mashed against her outer lips, squishing them against her asscheeks. He snorted loudly, a rumble coming from his gut as he slowed his first pumping penetrative thrust. He took his forehooves from Trixie’s lower back where he’d steadied himself so that he wouldn’t miss his target… moving them forward and planting them on either side of his mare’s head, mounting her properly.

But he wasn’t just going to mount Trixie. He was going to rut her.

He put one of his forehooves on the small of her back, pressing her down against the earth, pinning her face down, which his thick cock suspended her ass up in the air.

“Oh… oh… oh, f-fuuuuck!” Trixie suddenly squeaked as she was pushed down. A curling convulsion slipped down her back, and those tight, twisting cunt-muscles began to milk and pull at Jot’s cock… caressing and massaging the meat inside her. He felt her compressed pussy-lips strain and spasm, trying to part and wink, felt the hot throb of her clit as it shot out… felt the warm spray of marejuice squirt backward against his balls as she came on his cock.

“J-jot!" She moaned out meekly, head pressed into the soft grass of the park.

His hips drove forward into her winking orgasm, pressing the wide ring of medial-flesh harder and harder against the quivering snatch… he snorted and leaned down, breathing hot air over Trixie’s left ear with a feral growl…

“Ungh!” The ring popped inside her with a loud gasp from Trixie, and his cock slid even deeper, inch after inch disappearing into the smaller mare, plumbing depths that had never been explored. He spread her legs wider, a necessity for her pert, little plot to handle the increasing log-like girth of his lower shaft, straining her tight little pussy obscenely as he finally reached her bottom.

“S-s-stop! F-fuck!” Trixie moaned just as jot felt his massive flare kiss up against a barrier deep inside the unicorn. The slight bulge in her stomach was as far as her belly button now — Jot had just bumped up against Trixie’s cervix, 15 inches of his 19-inch beast vanished in her body… a truly great and powerful magic trick.

And he did stop. Slowly dragging his hips backward, drawing flesh and mass back from the mare’s burning depths, pulling dripping fluids out with his plunger-like shaft as he did.

“Nghhh….” Trixie’s moans were throaty, low. Uncontrolled.

Just as slowly as he’d pulled back - Jot drove forward again. His thrust was grinding Trixie’s chest into the soft earth of the park. He felt his heavy black balls swing forward, slowly tapping against Trixie’s thighs.

“Ohhhnnnngg….” Trixie’s grunt was higher pitched, almost squeaky when he drove into her. Then deep and growly when he’d pull out.

It made for a nice rhythm as he slowly fucked her. In and out. A slow schlick-sound filled spectacle, akin to the speed of an oil-well pump: unstoppable, powerful… but methodical. He could feel her melting around him, the tension and anxiety in her body from coping with his size relaxing into the hedonic pleasure of his steady rutting. Her twitching tail slunk happily against her back; her stiff shoulders unwound - no longer resisting the press of his hoof… and her grunts and groans became mewls.

It didn’t take long for her blue horn was sparkling and fizzing in his face, sparkler-like pops sintering off as he pressed into her, again and again, little mini-climaxes of sensation spilling out of her horn with each thrust. He grinned down at her, enjoying the mare’s tightly shut eyes, happy grin and sparking horn as much as he was enjoying the writhing tightness of her clenching cunt. That he could please a mare like this, so totally, so wholly… it was intoxicating.

He needed more.

He leaned forward at the end of one thrust, slipping his lips over the tip. As soon as he did so, gunpowder-like cinnamon flooded his senses, the small sparks quickly becoming a fountain of energy.

“Ohhh…. Y-y-yeeeessssssss!” Trixie body rocked against him once, twice, then spasmed.

She was cumming. Cumming on his dick.

The milking ministrations of her pussy, rhythmic contractions that tried to draw him in deeper, tried to coax him to release his potent seed inside her, to flood her fertile womb with batter, coursed along the steel of his fat stallionhood. His instinct kicked into a new level.

With extreme power, Jot drew his hips back, withdrawing almost all of his length out of his mare’s needy, orgasming snatch. He paused for a moment, steam wafting off his black shaft as the pair’s combined sexual juices boiled off in the relatively cooler atmosphere. Trixie’s bottom wiggled and ground backward, desperate to impale itself on his shaft as her orgasm peaked.

And he obliged her.

Abruptly, almost violently, Jot slammed forward, instantly penetrating all the way back to the dept of Trixie’s soul, to the center of her being, battering against her cervix. His heavy balls swung forward with speed, the slick, juice-covered orbs swinging up and slapping against Trixie’s teats with an audible *PLAP* as they did so.

“O-oh fucK!”

Jot swung his hips back again, pistoning backward and forward now at his pace. The pace of a stallion.

*PLAP* “Ungh! *PLAP* “Ungh!” *PLAP* “Ungh!”

PIC OCCURS HERE: (NSFW) derpi booru.org/2149025

The melody of wet flesh impacting wet flesh filled his ears. His cock was aching, burning with pent up energy, with the sensation of ramming through such an exquisite marehood. Swirling and winking on him, coiling and milking. And all he wanted was more.

*PLAP* “Ungh! *PLAP* “F-fuh!” *PLAP* “F-fuhck!”

Trixie’s grunts were incomprehensible, each attempt at saying something interrupted by his massive organ driving the wind out of her, slamming her into the ground. He hooked his powerful forearms around her hips, pulling him back against himself with each press, deeper and deeper. He felt his wings aching unfurl to their full width, as he asserted his primal dominance, claiming this mare as his to own, to fill.

*PLAP* “Hng! *PLAP* “Guh!” *PLAP* “!”

Her swirling contractions flared back into full force, her earlier climax rolling right into a new one. She couldn’t speak anymore, her eyes rolling upward in their sockets, tongue rolling out of her mouth with pure ecstasy, her mind awash in a sea of pleasure as she gave in to the raw sensation, gave in to the pounding need of her stud.

*PLAP* *PLAP* *PLAP*

Jot felt the twisting ache in his gut tightening and tightening. Like a balloon about to burst. He couldn’t last; everything was burning. Aching. Insistent.

*PLAP* *PLAP* *PLAP*

He took Trixie’s tail in his teeth, clenching down hard and yanking, pulling the mare’s relaxed ass up just in time for a final, desperate thrust - aligning him so that he could jackhammer to her womb, something parted - letting him slip deeper than before… sliding the last few inches of his cock inside her, hilting her entirely for the first time. Her drooling clitoris pressed against his swinging sack - her sweaty tailhole pressed into his belly as feral stud speared horny mare.

He held her there. Completely wrapped by her. Deep, deep inside her. Feeling everything.

Then a pulse exploded from deep inside him, rumbling up through him like an erupting volcano.

“Fuuuuuuuuuck!” The sound slipped from his gritting teeth. His massive testicles clenched and rose up to his body.

PIC OCCURS HERE: (NSFW) derpi booru.org/2149024

A roar boiled out of his gut as the first heavy rope of semen exploded from his cockslit, painting Trixie’s womb with thick, sticky batter. And just as the first stream subsided, a second pulse raced out. Then a third. Then a fourth. The milking clenches of Trixie’s marehood synchronized perfectly with his orgasmic pulses, splashes of her marecum jetting against his inner thighs with each ejaculation into her body.

Each one came with exquisite agony, as his flare throbbed painfully - unable to expand any further, the taut skin feeling almost like it would pop as his heart sent every free drop of blood down his shaft.

Another blast, and another! The heat of his fluid was boiling, surrounding all of his cockhead, his flare having plugged his broodmare’s womb from the inside, ensuring that every drop of his virile seed stayed inside her.

Another pump - he’d lost count. But he’d never cum like this before. It felt like he’d saved up for years. But he was giving it all to Trixie, every drop! The mare’s belly swelled and grew, making her look like she’d just eaten a hearty meal - truly stuffing her.

Finally, agonizingly, the waves of release began to subside. Each pulse coming weaker now, trickles instead of jets, drips instead of trickles.

He was spent.

The blue tail limply fell from his gasping mouth. His muscles sagged and failed, as he rolled down to the ground in a heap, pulling the blue mare with him as he did so - his softening penis still trapped inside her tight body.

“Oh...oh my Gods…” He wasn’t sure if he had said it, or if she had. It didn’t matter. He pulled her sweat-covered body closer to him, burying his face in the back of her mane.

He needed to hold her. An anchor to reality. To make this impossible dream real.

His hooves wrapped around her barrel, hugging her tightly to him. She moaned happily, covering his hooves with hers and giggling contentedly.

“Jot…”

“T-Trixie…”

Whispers were all they could manage. Jot’s panting was making him dizzy, and he was conscious of the fact he was drenching the back of Trixie’s neck with the sweat pouring off his brow. But he didn’t care. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered — only this hug.

He squeezed tighter.

“Un-unf! C-careful!” Trixie squeaked with a little wiggle. “I’m kind of… f-full…”

“Pfft….” Jot snickered.

“H-hey!” Trixie giggled. “It’s your fault.”

“S-sorry.” Jot laughed. He couldn’t help himself. He was just… so happy. Deliriously happy. When Trixie’s melodic laughter quickly followed, there was nothing else he needed. Two ponies, awash in sweaty, post-coital, snuggling bliss.

…

How long could they stay like that? Intimately connected, giggling like foals, Jot spooning Trixie with love? Minutes? Hours? Forever?

...

“Ahem.”

The strange voice shocked both ponies out of their happy stupor, eyes, and ears quickly darting toward the sound as they were immediately reminded that they were not alone. A female Manehattan police officer stood on the path, eyeing them with annoyance.

“Can you two lovebirds take this somewhere private?” Her bored drawl was letting them know that they weren’t in trouble - yet. “What if a colt or filly came trotting along this path, huh?”

*SCHLORP* *POP* Jot’s organ picked that exact time to slide out of Trixie’s well-rutted body, slipping out of her with an obscene torrent of heavy, cream-like batter that soaked their legs.

The cop’s eyes followed the little river of stallion-cum as it ran through the grass, deftly sidestepping the trickle as it approached her hoof on the dirt path. “Sheesh. I oughta give you a ticket for littering too… now git you two.”

With a blushing and awkward clatter of hooves and a flurry of sweaty, entangled fur the pair flopped, dripped and stumbled the remaining distance to Trixie’s wagon, bursting inside and slamming the door behind them. Only then did they eye one another with a wry grin… and burst out in gut-wrenching laughter.

Tears filled their eyes as they laughed… harder and harder, almost unable to breathe, the tension of the moment bleeding away into soft sighs and giggles.

Jot loved watching Trixie laugh. Loved watching her face smile so honestly, truthfully. He watched her sparkling eyes as she wiped tears from them… watched as she noticed his gaze… watched as she blinked deeply at him, eyes drooping romantically… watched as she leaned into him…

And kissed him...

Author's Note

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Pulling an all-nighter - NSFW

Trixie - 9:40PM

Trixie’s giggle bubbled through her throat as she swirled her tongue around the enormous pink cockhead in her mouth.

She loved watching him.

The face he was making as he grunted and groaned, eyes rolling and squinting, trying to stay focused while staring down at her while she fellated his penis… it was so adorable.

She could feel the pinch of his hoof against the back of her head as he moaned and bucked, sending a trickle of drool out of her messily sucking mouth.

It had been such a long time since she’d done… this.. with a stallion... and never one of such incredible girth. She was sure that she wasn’t doing the most professional job. Not that he seemed to be complaining.

She wasn’t complaining either.

She loved everything about this. The smell, the taste, the heat… the love and adoration from her stallion. Their intense rutting and subsequent discovery by the police had quickly turned into a giggle-fest… then a passionate make-out session… then this slow, steamy debauch.

The past few hours had been a rolling, grunting, moaning, steamy mess. It was a mess of hooves and limbs finding different exciting positions, of new stains on her wagon walls appearing, sheets and rugs becoming soaked with sweat… and other fluids. They were addicted to each other — a slow, smoldering burn of slow, passionate sex. And right now, nothing could beat the knowledge that she was giving her lover the most intense pleasure.

Well… then again, the taste of stallionjuice dripping from his cock slit was pretty good too.

“Oh-oh f-fuck! I’m cumming!”

Trixie felt Jot’s ridge flare out and just barely managed to slide his knobby glans from her jaw before he locked himself inside her mouth. A fat rope of cum splattered against the back of her throat before she could reposition the jerking length, looking up at him with a smile as she let him lay long white streams across her face and her mane - she’d been slightly annoyed the first time he’d finished in her hair… but that was hours ago; now she didn’t mind… now she wanted to roll in his scent, his musk... bathe in it.

She waggled her eyebrows at him as he moaned out the last trickle of his latest ejaculation, a thin line of white seed lining the side of her grinning snout.

“Not bad.”

Jot - 11:45

“Easy, big boy.” Trixie worriedly cautioned as he clambered over her.

She’d been laying on her back seductively… well, as seductive as a sweaty, stained, blue unicorn in a puddle of lecherous liquid could be… which, Jot had to admit, was pretty damn seductive. The naughty filly had fired one of those killer colt-eating grins at him, arching her spine off the wet wagon floor as she did so, teasing him with a cocked eyebrow.

He’d learned quickly that if she was teasing him, she wanted him to take charge.

So he did just that.

He rolled over from his seated position, still gasping from their latest necking session - he couldn’t believe how far down his throat Trixie could get her tongue… it didn’t seem possible. When he’d joked about just how deep she could push into him, she’d just shook her head at him skeptically: “You’re going to say that after what you have been putting in me? Are you for real?” He giggled goofily as he remembered.

Shaking his head and focusing on the present, crawled over top of Trixie now, so that they were misaligned - his groin in her face while he had complete access to her marehood.

“Oof… heavy.” Trixie grunted as he laid down happily on top of her.

“Sorry, not sorry.” Jot chuckled, resting his wet nose in the cleavage of Trixie’s crotchteats, then blowing a small raspberry. The sweaty furless blue flesh was sticky and sweaty, soft and jiggly under the goofy sound he made with his lips. “Always wanted to do that.”

“Motorboating? Seriously? What is it with stallions and teats?” Trixie laughed. Jot saw her spread her rear legs wider, tail thrashing in between her legs happily. “Hey, scoot back a bit big boy.”

Jot grinned at his new moniker. She’d cycled through ‘big boy’, ‘super-stud’, ‘Mr. Big’, all cheesy… all appreciated. He scooched back slightly… and felt his balls kiss up against Trixie’s snout.

“Ppppppbbbbtttt….” Jot giggled from the tickling sensation of lips blowing a wet motorboat against his testicles. “See how you like innnghhhhmmm…..”

Jot cut off Trixie by pulling one of her dark blue areolae into his mouth, suckling the erect nipple like a baby foal, swirling his tongue around the hard nub, flicking it back and forth playfully with his tongue.

But he knew he could do better.

He broke off his wet kiss of her tit, not caring about the sticky strand of saliva connecting his mouth and her breast, sliding down and into the hot valley of moist, sticky mare goodness below.

He lapped and kissed at Trixie’s clitoris, teasing it with delicate, soft nips, then lavishing it with his tongue.

“Mmm… yes… d-deeper…” Trixie moaned into his sweaty sack. And he obliged.

At first, he’d found it a bit strange to lap the slick tunnel’s juices - a mix of his orgasmic releases and Trixie’s. He’d never done that for a mare before - eaten her out after bucking with her. But he’d never had a night like this before either… just non-stop loving, smooching, snuggling, and slow, steady fucking.

He was getting to know her steaming pink folds quite well now. He knew that she twitched and giggled when he slid the tip of his tongue between her inner and outer lips and that there was a spot, a half-inch in… near the left side… that always made her…

“Mmmf… Y-yes… d-don’t stop!”

Jot felt a magical field press his head deeper into the soaking blue snatch, grinding his nose into her body, and pushing his neck against her soft teats as she rode his tongue into an orgasm.

“YES! MMmmmmm….”

A trickle of quivering love-juice sputtered into his mouth, as Trixie quivered and writhed under his bulk. Not her biggest orgasm of the night, but one she seemed to enjoy nonetheless… if the gracious licks against his balls were any indication.

Trixie - 1:57 AM

Jot’s bottom was pressing against hers as they sat side by side up against the cabinets under the kitchen sink. A mason jug of cold water sat between them. She’d left the magically powered faucet running, refilling the hydration source periodically as they took turns draining it.

“Mmmm… water tastes so good during a hard workout, doesn’t it?” Jot sighed, smacking his lips after draining another cup.

Trixie sighed contentedly in response, resting her head on his shoulder. She had Jot’s soft penis in her magical field, gently stroking and coaxing it, a relaxed and playful act that she’d gotten the hang of performing in between their lovemaking, reducing the amount of downtime.

She moved her left forehoof under the heavy black balls that rested underneath, hefting them on her frog as she did so.

“Just how do these things hold so much, anyway?” Trixie wondered aloud.

“So much?”

“Uh…” Trixie rolled her eyes, gesturing quickly around the wagon with her free hoof, a mess of collapsed boxes and trinkets, knocked everywhere during their more intense bucks. Everywhere she pointed had at least one greasy cum-stain on a wall, table, chair, or box… collateral damage when she’d missed having his spurting flare shower her. She pointed at the floor, which had spatters, puddles and pools everywhere.

“Ok… some ofthose are yours too.”

“And this?” Trixie pointed at her belly. The thing was still bulged out since Jot’s first load. She hadn’t felt it get any bigger or smaller since then, but it was a strange sensation… being so… stuffed.

“Heh… Uh… yeah…” Jot blushed and picked up the cup again, gulping down another mugful of water. His adam’s apple rocked up and down with each swallowing chug… water messily pouring out the sides of his mouth and down his neck… it was kind of… hot.

“You know, you’re probably converting all that water right now… into another load.” Trixie grinned. It sounded stupid coming out of her mouth, but she didn’t care. Their pillow-talk had long since devolved into a stream of consciousness, two souls completely connected and unashamed of their intimacy.

“Mmmm…. Sorry about that.” Jot giggled, looking down at her playing with his balls.

“Don’t be sorry.” She grinned and wiggled her eyebrows. “Fill it up and drink another glass.”

She felt him stiffen in her field.

Jot - 4:53 AM

Their bodies were barely able to handle the exertion of their non-stop love-making.

Jot stretched slightly, feeling the knots in his neck pop and crack. He’d never thought he could feel so stiff and tired, while also having his entire body feel like it was made of jello at the same time.

Not that he was interested in stopping.

Not at all.

He watched as Trixie slowly walked over to the window on one side of her wagon, wiping her mouth from their latest Prench kiss. She noticed him watching her, violet eyes flashing back over her shoulder at him.

“What?”

“Just admiring how beautiful you are.”

Trixie scoffed, and flicked her tail up, reaching back in one smooth motion and grabbing her left asscheek, pulling it aside to flash him her winking pink pony pussy and quivering black ponut.

“If you want to kiss my flank so much, why don’t you just do it?” She snarked jokingly.

“Again?”

He loved that his stupid quip got her giggling so easily as she rolled her eyes. It was so fun to just… be with her.

“Whatever, you big perv, I’m getting some fresh air.” Trixie laughed, walking up the window. It was completed fogged with condensation, rivulets of cold water running down the glass. She cracked the latch and opened the pane. He could feel the wash of air as a blast of steamy sex-fog was released into the early-morning Manehattan park atmosphere.

“Ahhh….” Trixie stuck her head out the window, enjoying a deep breath of fresh air.

The way her twitching plot waggled out that hole, the way her tail was flagged up… he couldn’t resist.

“AH!” Trixie squeaked. He’d quickly gotten the hang of sliding into her from behind. It still wasn’t easy, with her tight little snatch and his big fat cock… but practice makes perfect.

“R-really... ?”

“Really.” Jot laughed, pushing a few more inches into her squelching pussy. The little tugs and grips from her gripping cunt and the way she spread her rear hooves confirmed to him that she wanted this as much as he did. “Just enjoy your fresh air… and I’ll enjoy you.”

“That… mmmf…. is so… deeper… corny…” Trixie grunted, bouncing back against him as he assumed the short-stroke rhythm that both had agreed was their favorite pace.

“Just try not to wake up the rest of the park.”

Trixie - 10:34 AM

They had retreated to a small corner of her wagon that wasn’t a bacchanalian biohazard to crash in. Every sheet and blanket she’d owned was far too soaked to be of any use, so they’d curled up under her purple cape. It was too small to cover both of them well, really more of a perfunctory excuse to cuddle together under something, which they both agreed was their favorite activity… hence why they’d run out of any linens beside her small clothing.

Not that they were cold. The humid interior and the body heat of each other were far more than enough warmth.

The huge cock deep inside her was pretty hot too.

They were both too tired to fuck anymore. Movements that could best be described as small body shifts had long since replaced any humping, thrusting, or grinding… but it was still incredible.

Trixie cooed happily, nuzzling the underside of Jot’s chin and pushing her sticky chest fur against his rib cage. She knew that he liked fucking her from behind… she loved it too… he was so alpha when he took her like that. But this soft, face to face, style wasn’t bad either… especially for snuggling.

A happy rumble vibrated through her upper body as Jot hummed in contentment. She wrapped her rear legs around his hips tighter, not an easy task since they were both cuddled up on their sides. The radiant warmth deep inside her was a total one… the relaxed and happy snugness of her marehood matched only by the deep satisfaction in her soul.

“You aren’t asleep yet.”

Jot’s voice whispered from above her.

“Neither are you.” She whispered into his chest, squeezing with her legs.

“I don’t want to sleep... “

“Neither do I.”

“I’m worried that I’ll wake up alone.”

She wanted to giggle at him. Call him out on being overdramatic again… he tended to be a bit sentimental; it was cute. But she could hear his fear, could taste it in herself.

She squeezed him tighter, gripping with her arms, her legs, her marehood… grasping him in every way she could. “Never again, Jot.”

“Now who’s being dramatic.” She heard him giggle. And it was perfect. That fear, destroyed… so easily? Was it so easy?

“Shut up and go to sleep, you goof.” She giggled back, swatting him with her pillow and snuggling back into his body.

Her eyes closed; happily; she knew Luna wouldn’t have to work hard to give her a good dream this time around.

Author's Note

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Throw me a like and a comment if you are!

A grand finale!

Trixie - Day 7

*BANG BANG BANG*

“Ms. Lulamoon?” The whole wagon shook from the impact of a most insistent knocker.

“Go away…” Her groaned reply was that of a happy, if tired, unicorn. She had been having the most wonderful dream, and groggily waking up to find that her reverie of being curled up against Jot’s chest, under his protective wings, was real... only reinforced her decision to stay put.

She couldn’t help the smile that bloomed across her face though, as memories from the previous day and evening flooded back to her. The smooches, the cuddles, the whispered promises… the intimacy. For the first time in a long time that dark voice, that lingering maw of loneliness wasn’t waiting for her. She wasn’t alone.

*BANG BANG BANG*

“I said go away!” Trixie shouted, getting annoyed, she snatched a nearby smoke bomb and hurled it at the door. Luckily the previous night’s romantic activities had disabled the device, which simply clattered against the door with a thunk.

“Hmmmf… who is it?” Jot’s sleepy yawn preceded his question, before he nuzzled her face with his nose and rubbed her lower back with his left forehoof.

“Good morning, sleepyhead.” Trixie giggled, booping the pegasus with her nose as she did so.

“Don’t you mean good evening?” He blinked. “We slept through most of the day.”

“Can you blame us?” Trixie wiggled her eyebrows. “We were up most of the ni-”

*BANG BANG BANG*

“Buzz off! I’m not doing my show today!”

“Ma’am, this is the police - if you don’t do your show we’re gonna have a riot out here.” A distinctly more authoritarian and insistent rumble came from the door.

That got her attention. Jot’s eyes were wide too, staring at her with wonder. ”Guess you better answer it.”

She slid from under his wing, feeling her grimy, sweaty body creak and click with soreness and exhaustion. The good kind.

She trotted over to the door, opening it with an annoyed push. A heavy blast of thick fog-like, humid air blasted out from inside, accumulated after hours of being cooped up with Jot. She was surprised to find two female police officers and the male organizer of the park show all standing there, nostrils flaring as the intense smell rolled over them, making the cops blush and the organizer cough and politely adjust himself .

Served them right for interrupting. “J-just… what is going on?” Trixie sighed with frustration.

“Your show is supposed to start in 5 minutes, Ms. Lulamoon… we’ve gotta get you to the stage ASAP!” The show director, a middle-aged unicorn-stallion with a mop of green mane chirped anxiously, checking his watch and dancing on his hoof tips. In all the years she’d done the Manehattan summer show circuit she’d never seen this organizer’s pulse rise above that of a lethargic sloth… now he looked like he’d had fifteen cups of coffee.

“I don’t understand, can’t you just tell the crowd that my show is cancelled this evening and go straight to the next performer?”

“You don’t understand miss.” One of the officers interjected. “There’s probably twenty or thirty thousand ponies out in the field - and they’re here for you.”

Trixie blinked. She glanced over the officers’ heads, toward the show-grounds in the distance… and saw a massive crowd of all shapes, sizes and colors, completely filling the usually sparse, multi-use field. Was she still dreaming? She’d never had a crowd larger than a hundred or so ponies… this… this was insane.

“We need to get you moving so we can escort you through the crowd to the stage.” The other officer checked her watch, then turned to bark something into her radio.

“I… I don’t understand…” Trixie whispered breathlessly.

“It was that article.” The director piped up. “The last day it’s been all anyone can talk about! Ponies have been clamoring for the Flim-Flam brothers to get out of the news business, and everypony has wanted to support you!”

“Manehattanites love to support an underdog…” Jot chuckled, trotting up from inside the wagon to take in what was happening with wonder.

“Well, sir…” One of the cops rolled her eyes, annoyed. “Manehattanites also love a good riot - which is what will happen if they think Trixie Lulamoon’s final show has been cancelled instead of giving the city a chance to make up for its past shortcomings…”

“We want Trixie… We want Trixie… We want Trixie…” The start of a distant chant rumbled through the evening air, as the voice of thousands of ponies demanded to see her.

And surprisingly, she found that she didn’t care. Only a week ago, she would have killed to get this kind of attention. Now… she pressed in against the side of the handsome stallion standing next to her… she only wanted the attention of one pony.

“Hey, Trixie… go on. Can’t leave your audience hanging.” Jot’s chuckle warmed her, his hip check got her to step forward.

But she didn’t want to go. Not really. She knew it wasn’t realistic, but she wanted to stay in that wagon with Jot… forever. Trapped in that moment. She bit her lip, then turned to face him, fixing him with an intense stare.

“You’re not… going to go anywhere, are you?”

Jot laughed. “Trix, I just lost my job, and have no idea how I’m going to pay rent. I was going to beg you for a place to stay.”

“I’m serious.” She didn’t want a joking answer. That wasn’t what she needed, not now.

She watched as his laugh paused and his features became thoughtful. ‘He must know what I’m asking.’

“Trixie, I’m not going anywhere.” The sincerity in the words was only matched by the expression on his face. “Ever. We’re stuck together now.”

‘I… I didn’t expect him to say it like that.’ Trixie felt her face flush and her heart pound. Images flashed through her head - marriage, foals, living together, long walks, going on tour, meeting his family, introducing her friends… she wanted it so badly! She blushed and looked at the ground.

“G-g-good… b-because the Great and Powerful Trixie will need a publicist…and since you’re now probably looking for work…”

“Hmm…” Jot smiled, pretending to consider. “Is it a lifetime appointment?”

“Eeep!” A delighted squeak slipped from her lips before she could compose herself. “O-of… of course… you would make T-tri… me so happy Jot.”

“Me too.”

She didn’t remember leaning in, or him moving. But in a flash they were kissing. Embracing - and she knew she had him… and he had her. Now and forever.

“Ahem…” One of the cops tapped her watch.

She coughed, and turned away from the embrace, blinking away tears of happiness. “I guess I should get going.”

“I’ll be watching…” Jot grinned, following her down her wagon stairs. “Hey,” he chirped, bringing out a moist tea-towel and hoofing it to her, “You should wipe yourself down before you go on stage… somepony really made a mess of you last night.”

“Pfft… showoff.”

“Takes one to know one.” He grinned back at her with a raised eyebrow.

She chuckled, then shot him a wink. “Enjoy the show… we’ll have a private one later.”

“Go on you naughty magical mare, the whole city is waiting.”

Trixie snagged her hat and propped it on her head then turned with confidence. More confidence than she’d ever felt before, no doubtful voice in her mind now.

Showtime.

Author's Note

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They love her! They really really love her!

Now the adventures of Trixie Lulamoon and her publicist, Bawdy Joy, begin! What a wonderful week of romantic entwinement!

Epilogue: The puppet master's revenge

Epilogue

Cadence

“Buck.” Cadance reach up and massaged her temples as she stared at the screen.

“Buck? Woah mom, I don’t think I’ve ever heard you swear.” Flurry Heart giggled from the doorway.

“Sorry, sweetie… I just… I clicked the wrong button here.” She grumbled, seeing the APPROVE decision locked into the program next to the alert that had popped up for Trixie Lulamoon. And there was no undo button for the power of love. “I just made a little mistake is all.”

“Well hurry up and fix it, ok? I’ll be downstairs hanging out with dad.” The teen clicked her tongue with annoyance then left with as much flourish as she’d arrived, oblivious to the huge impact that she’d just had on another pony’s life.

Cadence shook her head grumpily as she reviewed the outcome of the fated love-encounter she’d just accidentally approved. She bit her tongue, blindly hoping it was one that would end in a one-night stand, or a short-term fling, something casual.

...Lifelong Soulmates and Happy Marriage…

the words blinked out from the LCD screen.

‘Well… that bucking sucks.’ She grimaced. That was pretty much the best outcome possible from the system, and the lucky show-mare had gotten it off of a misclick. There was nothing Cadance could do at this point.

Except…

Cadance’s face turned into a horse-apple eating grin as she opened up the details page of the program and began to edit the scenario. There wasn’t much that she could change, but what she could...

“Well Trixie, enjoy your twins… no…” Cadance cackled evilly, entering a new command into the laptop, “...your triplets from your first evening with Mr. Jot… I may not be able to prevent you any more from getting a happy married life… but at least you’ll have one heck of an eleven-month back-ache!” She slammed the execute command on her edit, blessing (dooming?) the blue-unicorn to her fated motherhood.

“Mom!”

“Coming!”

END

Author's Note

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Phew!

This is the end. I really hope that you enjoyed this labor of love, which came with a lot of work and assistance from a lot of different sources.

I'll probably pour my heart out a little more later on, but suffice it to say that this is something I am proud to have punched out, and it has definitely been an adventure many months in the making.

I don't normally stretch outside my comfort zone of writing pure, short, goofy clopfics... and I may not try again... who knows!?

But at least I gave it one good shot. Here's hoping someone out there enjoyed it.

Thanks for reading, and please, please, please... leave a comment!