A Spark Between Them

by ICCUWAUSIMTOI

Rating: mature
Tags: Twilight Sparkle, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Romance, Sex, Big Macintosh, Slice of Life
Length: 10473

Love can work its magic in strange, and often incomprehensible ways. A TwiMac story.

Big Macintosh has hit a snag in his life. He has feelings for a mare he knows rather well. It was an unexpected thing, but he is not quite sure how to act. Of course, his shy nature and his tendency not to talk about how he feels about things is liable to get in the way. How will things go for him?

Of course, just because he doesn't quite know what to do doesn't mean that that he is the only one...

Twilight Sparkle finds herself trying to understand her feelings. She has to learn where she stands on things.

Of course, life isn't going to stop for them to do so.

Edited by- Venatus75, Bunsen,sfitzknott, and A Dumb Door

Pre-read by - FlimFlamBros, ChainReaction, and SleeplessBrony (at least for chapter one).

Each one helped me get this story off the ground. I would also like to thank Sleepless as well, for helping me along the way, as well as for being one of the inspirations for the story, along with NightsGlory and BroniusMaximus. Special thanks also go to FlimFlamBros for coming up with the name and finding the cover picture, and for helping me get this off of the ground.

Cover art by kissey-su on deviantart.

Published 2012-12-02 05:10:01 UTC
Last updated 2012-12-02 05:10:01 UTC

In Media Res

“Sis,” the big, red stallion of draft build- Big Macintosh- says. He is sitting at a table in his family's dining room, having just eaten dinner, and his grandmother and youngest sister have already left the room. A checkered tablecloth sits upon the old wood table, the woodwork of which was hoof-made by his late grandfather and his late father, may their souls rest in peace. It is not a complex piece, but there is something to be said for its simplicity. The woodwork is not intricate, but it truly brings out the wood grain, which, in the lighting of the farmhouse, truly shows its intricacy. It is not made of apple tree wood but of the stronger wood of a very large chestnut tree.

“Yes, Big Mac?” the orange mare with blond mane- Applejack- responds, while drinking a tall glass of water, with ice in those strange semi-cylinders that are for some reason called “cubes”.

“What do ya know ’bout love?” he asks, sitting in a chair across from her. His face is currently directed toward her, awaiting her answer.

This turns out to be a horrendously bad idea. She spits her drink all over his face in that fine mist of great volume known as a spit-take.

“Why do ya’ ask me such a weird question?” she asks, right eyebrow cocked.

“Better question is why did Ah ask ya that while ya were drinking something?” he says, mane now drooping down and thoroughly drenched with the water and saliva that had formerly been in her mouth. “Ah feel like a big idiot.”

“Ya look like one, too. But, t’ answer yer question... No, Ah, don’ particularly know much ‘bout love, why d’ ya ask?” she says. She pauses for a second. Her eyes widen and her jaw drops slightly. Her eyes then narrow as she gains a smirk on her face. “Ya’ have a crush on somepony, doncha? ” she says, having pieced it together.

“Um… uh... heh...heh...” he stutters; his eyes dart from side to side; a smile begins to form upon his face.

“Ah knew it. Who is she? Is it one of my friends? Is it Fluttershy?”

“Nnope,” he says, in the same way he always has: with a defining drawl of authority.

“Huh. Woulda thought ya two woulda had some sorta mutual crush. Is it Rainbow Dash?”

“Nnope,” he says again, exactly the same as he has previously said.

“Huh… Thought the athletic side o’ ya woulda had a sorta attraction outta respect,” she says.

He cocks his eyebrows, incredulously.

“Guess not. Is it Rarity?” she asks.

“Nnope. She’s pretty, but… She’s a mite… melodramatic.”

“Shoulda seen tha one comin’. Is it Pinkie Pie?”

He looks at her with one of those stares of disbelief of more deadpan variety-that kind of look that just screams to the highest heavens, “You’re kidding me, right?”

“Yeah, shoulda thought of that one. She is too fast-paced for ya’… or anypony, fer that matter. Is it Twilight?”

His face turns red enough to deem necessary some sort of ridiculous metaphor. “Let me tell ya a story…” Big Mac says, trying to explain.

“Whoa! Hold on! Don’t talk to me ‘bout it. Ah’ can’t help ya with it!”

“Too bad. Ah am not bringin’ this up with Granny, because she is a li’l… impulsive. Apple Bloom… Naïve and impulsive… Braeburn… outta town and impulsive. Rarity… gossip…. Fluttershy… would go very wrong. Rainbow Dash… insensitive and impulsive… Pinkie… Nnope. Cheerilee… while we are still friends, it would be very awkward. Yer the only reasonable choice.”

“Well, the way Ah see it, ya’ are certainly smart enough fer her,” Applejack says.

“Thank ya’. Now, let me tell my story,” he says.

The sun’s rays beat down with irresponsible and unwarranted vengeance upon the poor stallion.

What did I do to deserve this? Big Macintosh asks, if only in his mind.

The world around him is an orchard, full of apples. Golden Delicious, Red Delicious, Crab Apples of various varieties, Granny Smiths, Braeburns, MacIntosh, Red Gala, Green Gala, Royal Gala, Fuji, Ambrosia, Bloody Plowpony, Beauty of Bath, Peasgood’s Nonsuch, Wolf River… well, one gets the idea: it is a literal orchard. The decaying underhoof layer of the petals of the spring’s blossoms - once, a spring’s winter - are, now, a summer’s autumn. Spring requires the grafting of stems from certain cultivars onto the root stocks of others (namely Antonovka or specially-bred rootstocks).

Not an easy task without hands. And it is meticulous and tedious work, at times, which is why he does it, instead of his sisters.

Whoever thinks that farmers are fools is ill-informed.

Mymind is starting to wander. I’m… wait, that’s the only thing I can do, really. All by myself. Out here. In the orchard. Surrounded by apples. And nothing else.

He kicks a tree with one hoof. Apples fall out of it in short order. Then, he repeats the process with another tree. Then, yet another.

With every kick, the fruit fills the buckets. Firm, juicy, tantalizing, delicious apples fall into their pails, piling atop one another as if by clockwork, their skins not bruising, and their sounds of collision pleasantly ringing upon his ears. The repeating drum rolls of plunks and thunks are as music to his ears.

I have to admit. It gets kind of lonely out here. Wouldn’t mind having somepony to talk to. I’m afraid I might just start talking to the apples... or just keep quiet... like I always do...

“Big MacIntosh?” a voice- female and familiar- calls to him… from surprisingly nearby.

“Miss Twilight,” he says in his signature drawl. “Wha’ brings ya’ here?” he asks.

“I came here to see if I could help at all around here. I thought I could create a spell that could preserve apples longer or make the trees produce more fruit, or…”

“Well, if ya’ can do either o’ those, it would be righ’ highly ‘ppreciated,” he says with his regular honesty and simple dignity- with a calm, warm tone, a slight drawl, a smile upon his face, and slightly dilated eyes.

She blushes, the flush sweeping her whole being. “Thank you, Big Mac. Maybe I need to learn more about apples, first,” she says. The last part, however, she draws out and deepens her pitch, ever so slightly, and delivers with half-lidded eyes.

“Actually, all ya’ really need to do t’ preserve the apples longer is t’ make a spell tha’ cools, but not freezes ‘em, that lets out all o’ the ethylene gas when it is at peak ripeness, and will dispel when the apple is bitten into. It’s actually rather simple,” he says, changing his tone just a slight to be clearer.

“Now… that will work…” she says, with a quizzical look upon her face. She is reduced to staring at the stallion in whose company she is. Her gaze travels from his eyes, to his snout, to his neck, to his arms, to his toned middle, to his very toned flanks. From the little trail of drool starting to form by her mouth, she might, in fact, like the view she is seeing by her own will. She catches herself, and tries to snap herself out of it. She fails to do so, of course. She forces herself to just look at his face. “How do you know all this?”

I ain't gonna say anything about the drool... These apples do look that scrumptious... They are quite distracting...

“Ah wrote a paper on the subject, actually. Including the necessary formulas,” he says, feeling the need to either establish credibility… or impress the lavender mare in front of him. Really, it is a toss-up as to which one. Maybe he is trying to impress her by establishing credibility?

“I’m impressed,” Twilight says, blushing furiously. She is, again, reduced to staring at him, and her gaze follows the same pattern as it did previously. This does absolutely nothing to reduce her blushing. If anything, the blushing only deepens as she does so.

“Well, Ah actually just used some old facts t’ put t’ new use. Ah can’t call it anything special. Besides, I didn’t include the magical formulas, considerin’ I don’ know magic,” he says.

“So… you don’t normally talk very much at all. Why the sudden change?” she asks, face growing ever-redder. Not quite a candy apple red... yet.

“Well, it’s t’ help th’ farm. It’s mah livelihood. Ah can’t help it,” he says, blushing a slight. His eyes begin to dart back and forth.

“Oh,” she says, her head drifting down ever-so-barely, before drifting right back up to its previous position. “Is there anything else I can do to help?”

“Well, ya’ can help me buck apples. I’m not one t’ turn down help.”

Twilight’s horn begins to glow a in a purple aura. Exactly when she does so, the apples in twenty of the trees are swathed in the same shroud. They begin to levitate into the air and to the buckets, depositing themselves inside.

Chills ravage his spine as his fur raises to its ends. His jaw falls, and his gaze is fixed upon the sight before him.

“Now tha’ is an impressive sigh’...” he says, forcing his mouth to talk, only for his jaw to return to the dropped position.

She turns a shade of red that would render many a rose an envious shade of green.

Cute... why am I thinking that. Oh, wait...

“It’s nothing special. I’ve done it before,” she says.

“Ah know. Ah’ve seen it before. Don’ change anythin’,” he says. “It’s righ’ mighty helpful, and I do ‘ppreciate yer help. Thank ya’, Miss Twilight.”

“Please, just call me Twilight,” she says, still as red as she was previously.

Too cute, he thinks. “Alright, Twilight, Ah guess Ah can manage that.”

He looks around him. As it happens, the apples are travelling faster, and moving slightly erratically.

Tone it down, ya’ big lug, he thinks.

“Whoa! Whoa! Whoa! Hold it righ’ there! Stop!” Applejack says. “Y’all two were harvestin’ the apples. T’gether. So tha’s how ya’ got done with the job so fast. So, ya’ were wonderin’ if she likes ya’? How? Why?”

“Might’ve been embarrassin’ ‘er,” he says, gazing downward.

“True... reminds me of the first time Trixie was here,” Applejack says, her gaze directing toward the ground briefly.

“See?! It ain’t so simple as it seems.”

“Ya’ sure o’ that?”

“Well, Ah think the moment Ah tripped and my face landed square on her flank kinda... killed my chance,” Big Macintosh says, not changing the expression upon his face.

“Do wha?”

“Ah said...”

“Ah heard ya’ th’ first time. How did that happen?” Applejack asks, furrowing her brow in frustration.

“How did what happen?”

The sweet, innocent, younger sister of theirs, Apple Bloom, stands in the door way. Sweet, innocent, and younger, in this case, meaning teenage, semi-rebellious, and somewhat distant, reverse respectively. So... she has pretty much stayed somewhat the same as she has gotten older. Though, there is an image of an apple and a plank of wood on her flank.

“Apple Bloom, ya’ don’ wanna hear this,” Applejack says, trying, desperately, to deflect her attention.

Of course, that never works.

“Why not?” the filly ask, inquisitively. Her eyes become beady, and her mouth opens in excitement.

“‘Cause it involves a lot of tha’ mushy talk Ah used with Cheerilee when y’all put me under the love poison,” Big Macintosh says, knowing the effect it will have.

Said effect is Apple Bloom running off down the hallway, screaming at the top of her lungs, and not looking back. He must have triggered a flashback. This, however, is probably for the best, especially considering what happened in said particular instance.

Shmoopy Doo... UGH! That must have been some very powerful potion to get that out of me. I hope. I hope...

“Do it really?” a much more aged voice says. They turn to see their wizened, ancient, green grandmother sitting at the table with them, having sat down with them while he was telling the story.

“Granny Smith? How long ‘ave ya’...” Big Macintosh manages to get out. A bead of sweat begins to form upon his brow, and drips onto the tablecloth.

“When ya’ started. Ah’m old, not senile. Or deaf. So, yes, Ah heard all o’ tha’.”

“So... ya’ know... that Ah...” he stammers, hoping, desperately, that she missed that little tidbit.

“Know it? Are ya’ denser ‘n a brick? Ah heard it!” Granny Smith shouts, like many grandparents do during embarrassing moments.

“...horse apples,” he says, his aforementioned hopes thoroughly ground into a fine powder and indiscriminately cast upon the winds. His gaze falls as he feels the last bit of his dignity shatter.

“Bu’, Ah wanna hear yer story.”

“...fine...”

Big Macintosh and Twilight Sparkle continue to work, bucking apples at a dazzling pace. Every bucket fills with apples- each time faster and ever faster. Each time either one of them gazes at the other, their motions become faster. They each groan slightly as they each work harder.

Twilight lets out a breathy, pleased pant. Finally, the ripest are all in buckets. Some are overflowing.

Twilight and Big Mac are drenched in their own sweat, panting in satiation, and gazing at each other.

“Ya’ good?” Big Macintosh asks her.

“Yeah, I’m good.”

“Big Mac... tha’ weren’ subtle,” Granny Smith says, interrupting him to say this.

His face picks up a deeper hue of red.

“Let me finish my story!”

“So... since we’re done for the day and all sweaty and such, would ya’ like to go for a swim?” he asks, looking at her in earnest.

“That sounds pleasant,” the livacious lavender librarian answers.

She walks a short distance forward, stops, and, then, turns around with a puzzled look upon her face. “Where?”

“Follow me, and Ah’ll show ya’,” he says, beginning to walk in a different direction, away from the farmhouse. She trots up beside him and then slows to keep pace, staying close and watching intently.

He sees this. He starts trotting off in the same direction. He looks back, smiling in jest. Oh, how much he underestimates her.

She begins to canter toward him. She smiles back at him as she passes him.

He breaks into a full gallop toward his destination- the river at Sweet Apple Acres.

She does the same, and catches up to him. Their hips circle around as they move quickly. They each find themselves gazing at each other, panting heavily, blushing violently, sweat dripping in droves from their bodies.

They reach their destination, and come to a stop. Looks of satisfaction grace their faces, and the powerful musks of sweat linger heavily in the air surrounding them.

“That was fun,” she says.

“Big Mac, tha’ weren’ subtle,” Granny Smith says for the second time.

His jaw droops as the inner corners of his eyebrows drop and he tightens his lips into a small frown. He stares directly at her.

“What did Ah say las’ time?”

The water is a shade of dark green, with a touch of a bluer color mixed within. As the water nears the banks, it grows gradually clearer. Small wavelets crash upon the riverbanks. Large, iridescent dragonflies briefly land upon the water’s surface before taking flight once more, off to parts unknown. A dead branch floats downstream, having fallen from some unknown tree into the river. There are several miniature flat cliffs amongst the banks- cut through a hill that the water, at some point, passed into. Small patches of river grass have taken root in areas of slower movement, caused by the remains of a very old, very large chestnut tree that fell into the river at some point in the past. Many tiny insects seem to have made nest in its age- and decay-darkened trunk, allowing them to grow larger on its nutritious bulk. Another tree has risen from where its fallen father had once stood, and its own fallen blossoms in various stages of decay are cast across the entire area. When spring comes, the fall of chestnut petals will make other such events seem minuscule in comparison, but not today.

Big Macintosh slips his yoke off of his neck. Twilight looks at him, curiously. He gazes back at her.

“I’ve never seen you without your yoke,” Twilight notes. She does a visual scan of his form. She turns a shade of scarlet as she gets look at him.

“Eeyup. Ah don’ normally take it off,” he says, smiling gently.

“So, who’s going to jump in first?” she queries, looking at him and, then, at the river itself.

“Ah will, Ah guess,” Big Macintosh says.

He looks around. He spots a suitable point to jump from. He finds purchase, runs at the position, and takes a leap of faith. He hits the river and makes a large splash. Quite a bit of the water hits Twilight, who playfully squeals.

He floats back up to the surface. As his head breaches the surface, he gasps for air. Then, he turns his head to look at her.

“Sorry ‘bout gettin’ ya’ all wet,” he says.

“Oh, don’t worry. I don’t mind,” she says, deepening her voice ever so slightly and batting her half-lidded eyes. Her now wet mane is drooping down.

She looks at the spot that he jumped from and runs directly at it.

She jumps, and flies through the air. She lands a bit short of where he is.

His gaze is fixed upon her.

Graceful... why am I thinking that?

Her splash drenches him. This does not even phase him. Instead, he simply smiles.

She floats up. She gasps for air as she breaches the water’s surface.

She looks nice with... WHY AM I THINKING THAT!? Aw... I give up.

She looks at him, smiling, seemingly, from one ear to the other.

“This feels great,” she says.

“Eeyup.”

She starts to swim by him, his gaze in hot pursuit.

She giggles playfully, breathily... beggingly.

He swims after her. It does not take him long to pull up beside her. She sees him and picks up speed, flicking her tail and wiggling her rump to taunt him playfully, benevolently... magnetically.

He speeds up, trying to catch up earnestly, competitively... determinately.

She gazes at him, again. She picks up speed, not willing to give up.

He speeds up his pursuit, not willing to let her get away.

This sequence repeats itself several times; each time, they get ever quicker, ever faster.

Finally, they tire, and head toward the shore. She pulls herself onto the shore, and lies down where it is dry. He is not far behind her. They lie there, panting heavily, gazing at each other, and smiling in content.

“Well?” Big Macintosh asks.

“Oh, Sorry. Tha’ one was subtle!” Granny Smith says. “Continua!”

Applejack takes the moment to speak up. “Are ya’ sure ya’re still a virgin?” she asks.

Granny Smith and Applejack just start laughing wildly.

Big Macintosh just stares at both of them with that look he had on his face the last time that Granny Smith had interrupted him. “Y’all done?” he asks, once they seem to have ceased their cackling.

As it so happens- no, they are not done. The immediately resume laughing exactly when he shuts his mouth.

“Nnope,” he says- in the same way that he always has.

“Big Macintosh?” Twilight asks.

“Eeyup?”

“What do you plan to do with your life?” she asks.

“Dunno. Same as Ah’ve always done, Ah guess,” he says, more softly-spoken and drawn-out than he normally does.

She turns her gaze towards him with a puzzled look on her face. “You don’t even have plans for family?” she asks, inquisitively.

“Ah plan to have one, though Ah ain’t rightly sure who I might have one with,” he says, the last part carrying a deep sigh.

“Ah,” she says, getting up off of the ground. As she does so, she stumbles slightly.

He, too, gets up, but he fumbles more than she does. His head accidentally rams into her flank.

Oh, horse apples. This ain’t how I wanted to do that.

She blushes furiously, eyes widening, rapidly darting, and screwing shut. Tears force out of her eyes, ever so slightly. “I need to go!” she says, dashing off.

“WAIT!” he screams.

But it is too late, as she teleports away.

“Ah’m sorry,” he whispers. Tears well up in his eyes, and begin to trickle down his face. The tears then flow down his neck and drip onto the ground. He kicks the ground with his left front hoof, wishing it is himself, not sure of what to do, not sure of where to go, not sure of who to talk to, not sure of himself, not sure of what has just happened...

Not sure of anything at all.

He begins to walk towards the farmhouse, head drooped down with ears flattened.

“Big Mac,” Applejack says, in a warm tone.

“Eeyup?” he responds, looking directly at her.

“Jus’ go ‘n talk to her. Ah’m sure as sugar she’ll understand what happened once ya’ explain.”

“Bu...” he tries to utter.

“Do i’, sonny!” Granny Smith tells him with a very serious look on her face and authority heavily in her voice.

“Yes, Granny Smith!” he squeaks, as he runs for the front door.

Big Macintosh steps out of the farmhouse door and begins his trek toward the library.

I guess I should ask myself, “How do I feel about her...” I guess I find her attractive.

‘How? What exactly do you find attractive about her?’

Well she has a perky...

‘Whoa, there, cowpony. You have not been staring at her flank, have you?’

He turns a shade of red worthy of a prize firethorn’s respect.

Maybe, but I was going to say face...

‘Riiight. Anything else?’

I really like her mane...

‘That sounds insincere. How much do you like her mane?’

It has a beauty in its simplicity. It is an indicator of her intelligence, yet it is simultaneously entrancing. It is long enough for me to submerge my face into. Its colors are hypnotic. It’s practical and better for it, because it is hers, and nopony’s else. The colors are magnetic. Like her.

‘That is profound... I never knew I knew those words.’

He walks directly into the library...’s front door.

“Ow!” he yelps.

A purple dragon with green spikes opens the door. He is not quite the little guy, anymore, as he has grown to about the same height as Twilight is. Maybe even a little bit taller. He’s thinned out a little bit, though.

“Hello, Big Mac,” the teenage dragon says. His voice has deepened more than a touch, as well.

“Howdy, Spike,” the red stallion returns.

“You run into the door, again?” the dragon asks with a face of nonchalance.

“Eeyup.”

“You need to stop doing that.”

“Eeyup.”

“You here to talk to Twilight?”

“Eeyup.”

Spike turns around and yells, “Twilight! You’ve got a visitor! It’s Big Macintosh! I’m pretty sure you know why he’s here.”

“Wait, ya’ know ‘bout...”

“Duh. She’s been talking about it for the last two hours,” he says.

I know the feeling.

“Tell him to come here, please,” a rather muffled and hoarse female voice calls.

Big Macintosh walks into the library, and Spike shuts the door behind him. As he walks down the hall, his mind begins to race.

Come on, big boy all you have to do is tell her it’s not a difficult thing to wrap your head around.

He turns and enters her room, and Spike exits. Twilight is lying on her bed, with her face buried in her pillow. He looks upon her, and sees her lift her head up to look back at him. Her eyes are puffy, and her mane is dishevelled from being shoved into a pillow and shaken around. She has been crying recently, and her breathing is evidence of this.

It’s just the most difficult thing in the world to say. But, not telling her is exactly how you got into this mess. If you want to fix it, you’ve got to tell. Might as well start by apologizing to her.

“Hey, Twilight,” he says, stuttering ever-so-slightly.

“Hey, Big Mac,” she says, voice hoarse and quivering slightly.

“Ah’d... like to apologize fer what happened t’day. Ah... just want to let ya’ know... that it was an accident,” he says, closing his eyes. “Ah never meant fer that t’ happen that way.”

There, that wasn’t so hard. Because that wasn’t the hard part. That was how you were raised to act. The hard part is telling her how you feel.

“I know,” she says, voice still hoarse, and the quivering a little less slightly.

“Ya hafta... wait... ya believe me?” he asks out of sheer incredulity.

“Yeah. You’re an Apple. You’re honest by nature. It just wouldn’t be like you to do something like that on purpose. You’re just too nice to act like that. You are just too nice! And, I guess I just panicked. I was really nervous. B- B- Be- Be- Bec- Bec- Because- Because- Because I... Because I...” she says, voice still hoarse and still quivering (and not at all slightly, now). She takes a deep breath, cringes back, and sighs just as deeply afterward. “Because I like you.” she says, a tear now gliding down her left cheek, unclear as to whether their origin is pain, worry, regret, or fear... her voice stuttering, somewhat blubbering...”and I just... didn’t know if you felt the same way.”

Tears form in his eyes. He thinks quickly, his rationality completely out to a fancy dinner.

What do I do What do I do What do I do she needs to know oh I’ve hurt her by not saying anything oh I’m not good enough for her oh this is all my fault...

‘EY!’

Yeah?

‘Shut up and kiss her, you idiot!’

Good plan I’ll do it

“Twilight? Look at me, please,” he says, quietly.

Here goes nothing... and everything...

“Yes?” she asks, looking up at him.

He presses his lips against hers. Her eyes shoot wide open, and her face turns incarnadine, but her tears do not cease. Her heart races, prickles, fuzzes, flitters, flutters, and flies. The feeling of burden upon her shoulders and back dissipates and ceases its existence. Her tears are warmer, and her expression of sadness becomes one of confused surprise. Then, her eyes gently close, and she pushes back.

Their lips stretch, press, and caress against each other. His arms wrap around her, and she tries to do the same, failing only because of his size. He begins to rub her back with his left hoof.

“Does that answer yer question?” he queries, tears gently dripping down his cheeks.

“Yeah. You are the sweetheart you have always been,” she says, voice still hoarse.

“Does this make us...” he asks with a smile on his face, and tears lightly upon his cheeks.

“Eeyup,” she says in her best impression of him, which, honestly, sounds much more like Applejack than it sounds like Big Macintosh. Regardless, they both laugh at it, though the tears remain unabated. Not that such is a bad thing- after all, these are tears of joy.

“So, wha’ does tha’ make ya?” Big Macintosh asks, out of sheer curiosity, his eyes gazing into her own.

“The happiest and luckiest mare in the world,” she says, looking back at his eyes.

Wait a minute. This is going way too smoothly for this to be real... Pinkie would’ve...

The realization hits him. He looks at Twilight, and notices the exact same expression upon her face.

“Do you think this counts as a...” Twilight asks him.

“Eeyup.”

“So that means that...”

“Eeyup.”

Suddenly, a rapping sounds from the door of the library. A very rapid tapping.

“I GOT IT,” Spike shouts. As soon as they hear him he turns the doorknob, they hear the door swinging open in his direction and the door slamming him into the wall.

“Twilight Twilight Twilight I felt a doozy,” a familiar, high-pitched whine screeches. “Do you have any idea what it could be?” Pinkie says as she rushes in the door to Twilight’s room without her hooves even seemingly touching the ground.

Of course. Should’ve known.

It is at this moment when she notices Twilight and Big Macintosh in each other’s arms, still wrapped in each other’s embrace.

“Oh, now that is a doozy!” says the perky pink pony with a particularly powerful penchant for persistent partying, shoving her face directly into theirs. “Do you know what this calls for?” she says, pulling away and beginning to prance around.

Both Twilight and Big Macintosh shudder. Drastically.

“PINKIE! PLEASE, NO PARTY!” Twilight says, sternly, glaring daggers into Pinkie’s eyes.

“Aw... but Twilight...” Pinkie Pie says, pouting like a pitiful puppy.

“Miss Pinkie, as much as we are both glad that yer so... ecstatic ‘bout us gettin’ together, bu’ we just got started as a couple. We don’t want the stress of everyone making a big spectacle out of our relationship. That’s a lot o’ pressure. ‘specially since the incident with Cheerilee, and ‘cause of all of the meddlin’ Ah don’ need t’ deal with,” Big Macintosh says with solemnness.

“That’s so true! Mares are going to cry about the day Big Macintosh’s heart was taken. And more than a few stallions, too. And don’t get me started on the number of mares and stallions who will be disappointed by Twilight being no longer single!”

The two of them just look at her, with widened eyes and dropped jaws. Noticeably, they are still in each other’s embrace.

“Aw... you two are such a cute couple,” Pinkie says, pushing her cheeks up with her hoofs.

“Thank you, Pinkie Pie,” says Twilight Sparkle. “Now, can we have some time alone?”

“WAIT! We have to tell Applejack! She has to know!” Pinkie says, grabbing both of them and running.

Before either Big Macintosh and Twilight Sparkle can protest, both of them are being dragged out of library. Then, before they even realize it, they are already at Sweet Apple Acres. Pinkie is banging on the front door of farmhouse.

How did she... never-mind. That question is better not to ask.

“APPLEJACK!” she screams, still pounding her hooves against the door.

“Pinkie! Why th’ hell are ya botherin’ me this late in the doggurn night? Did Big Mac get t’gether wit’ Twi’?” the orange mare asks, a rather sour look upon her countenance. She, then, peeks behind the party-preoccupied mare to see her brother and her best friend staring at each other, trying (and failing) not to kiss each other. “Never-mind.” She smiles. “Ah told ya so, Big Brother, didn’ Ah?”

He turns a very interesting and unique shade of crimson. “Eeyup.”

“Well, Ah’m mighty happy for y’all both.”

“Thank you, Applejack,” Twilight says, facing the cowmare. She turns her head toward the party filly with a more serious expression upon her face. “Pinkie, can you promise that you will not go telling everypony? We will tell everypony when we feel like we are ready to,” she says.

“Cross my heart, hope to fly, stick a cupcake in my eye,” she says, brushing her hoof across her chest, shaking it a bit to the sides, and sticking her hoof up to (but not into) her left eye, all with a very large smile across her face.

“Thank you. Now, can we please have some space, Pinkie?” Twilight asks.

“Okie dokie loki!” she squeals. As soon as she finishes saying that, she runs off to... somewhere in some direction that they cannot determine.

Damn... how does she do that? On second thought, better not to ask that question.

His eyes are drawn towards the flanks of Twilight Sparkle.

Perky... aw, horse apples... I just stared at her rump in front of my sister. Eh, could be worse. Could have copped a feel... okay, I’m just going to have to come to terms with it. I’ve got a dirty mind.

His sister notices his gaze diversion.

“Ya look like yer dyin’ t say somethin’, Big Mac,” Applejack says.

“Nnope,” Big Macintosh responds.

“Alrigh’, Ah won’t press that one, but just be glad Cousin Bloody ain’ here,” the orange mare says, giving him one of those smiles of jest.

“He’d let me ‘ave it,” Big Macintosh says, with the thought of the ex-royal guard in his mind.

Bloody never was happy about not seeing combat. He was... what did the discharge notice say? “Too eager for combat and bloodshed. Always scaring new recruits with tales of what he would do to those whom he did not like. Unfit for service due to psychological instability.”

The big red stallion shudders.

Glad he is only distant kin. The time in solitary did him no favors.

“That’s his name?!” Twilight squeaks. A slight, subtle twitch is in her left eye.

“Eeyup. Real breed of apple, too.”

“Why?” Twilight asks, her expression best described as “bug-eyed.”

“There’s a story behind it, but it is rather... meh...”Applejack says.

“Are there any other notable members of your family?” the lovely, lively lavender librarian lets leave her lips, lingering lengthily.

“Over seventy-nine hundred named after kinds o’ apples. Not even countin’ the number of others...or maybe that was just the number of family members...”

“That’s ridiculous!” Twilight says.

“Eeyup, it is, but we Apples are a very fertile bunch, for some weird reason,” her beau says. “Anyway, Ah believe we need t’ talk t’ Granny Smith.”

She kisses him, lingering a little. “Fine by me,” Twilight says.

“Boy, howdy, Twi’! Didn’ know ya were so fiesty, there!” Applejack utters with a laugh. “Ah’m afraid y’all’ll start ruttin’ rabid if Ah turn back.”

The couple blush a shade of red so deep that it would cause poets to say, “Fuck it! I give up! I do not have a suitable comparison!” The two of them start staring at each other, looks of with identical expressions- wide eyes, dropped jaws but closed mouths, raised eyebrows, and flattened ears.

As usual, the universe is not willing to give them a break.

“Dagnabbit, Applejack! Ya revealed ‘deir plans t’ da whole world! ”

Dammit Granny that wasn’t funny why would you say something like that I can’t believe you said that what possessed you to say that oh great now they are laughing I must have a very stupid look on my face don’t I...

“Well, y’all jus’ gonna stand dere looklin’ like ya’ll’re tryin’ t’ catch flies in yer mouths? Ya’ll look like y’all ta’ just ga’ startled by Pinkie Pie!”

As if Twilight Sparkle and Big Macintosh are not already embarrassed enough, they are now both so red in their faces that there are no acorns of orchard wit, no colloquial sayings, no scientific nomenclatures or artistic designations suitable or extant for its shade.

The new couple, now, sheepishly walk through the front doorway to the Sweet Apple Acres farm house.

The elderly green mare wastes no time in asking, “S’y’all’re now a pair, eh?”

“Err...,” Big Macintosh replies, with great hesitation quite a bit of a blush.

“We haven’t even been on a date...” Twilight admits

“S’y’all’rn’un’o’n’lope’r’othin’, r’ya?” Granny Smith says... incomprehensibly to most beings.

“I’m sorry. I was counting apostrophes. What was that?” Twilight asks, one eyebrow raised, both eyes widened, and her jaw completely agape due to the excessiveness of that contraction’s scope.

Granny Smith gets a big grin on her face and laughs soon afterward. “Thoughcha migh’ say dat. Ah’s a tryin’ t’ mess wicha!”

Big Macintosh, who completely understood what Granny Smith was saying, is now bringing his head down in a sigh of relief.

Phew! She didn’t catch that one! It’s way too early to be thinking about marriage. Way too early. Going to store that one away for a later date... and... putting that on ice... and there we go. Stored. Now to forget the question was even asked. There. Done. I think...

“Well, Ah’m mighty happy fo’ y’all ta,” Granny Smith says.

“Thank ya, Granny Smith,” Big Macintosh says.

“Yes, thank you,” Twilight says.

“Ya be good t’ her, ya hear,” Granny Smith says to her grandson, with a look and tone that underscores just how serious she is.

Big Macintosh gets shivers down his spine as his eyes shoot open. The color may, possibly, be completely leaving his body. “Yes’sum!” he says with a very sheepish tone.

“Now, Ah need some sleep. So, as long as y’all ain’ loud,” she says, giving a particular glare at Big Macintosh, likely remembering his earlier lack of subtlety when recounting the events of the day, “Ah really don’ mind ‘er stayin’ here. Y’all ta’ plannin’ on goin’ on a date, soon?”

Big Macintosh’s eyes dart back and forth as he tries to find an answer. “Um... we... hadn’ ...thought ‘bout that or, at least, talked about it. Before Pinkie Pie barged in.”

Granny Smith simply glares at him with a furrowed brow, “Why don’cha just take her t’ a fancy rest’rant?”

“Oh... duh...” Big Macintosh says.

“Kids ‘n datin’, dese days. Why, in my day we din’t wait but a couple o’ dates t pop da question! A date meant ya’ere po’lly gonna marry!” Granny Smith says, like many elderly ponies decide to do every now and then.

Big Macintosh, however, says with a glare, “Granny, don’ mess with my lovelife. Please. Ya’ remember wha’ happened t’ Peasgood’s Nonsuch and Wolf River. The twins still have more than a little bad blood with Ambrosia. Peasgood’s especially.”

Twilight has no idea what we’re talking about. Big family equals big problems, sometimes.

“Ah wasn’ plannin’ on i’. Ah ain’ senile... yet. Ah can’t say da same ‘bout e’veryone else, d’ough."

“...great. Jus’ what Ah needed...” Big Macintosh says, tossing his head down.

“Y’all bettah be good t’ each oder, y’all hear?!” Granny Smith says.

“Alrigh’, Granny Smith. Don’ worry ‘bout it, none,” he says.

“Ah’ll jus’ hafta trus’ ya on dat ‘un.”

“Thank ya’, Granny,” he says.

“Yer welcome.” As soon as Granny Smith speaks this, she leans back into her chair, throws up her legs, and simply dozes off instantly.

“Why did that not surprise me?” asks Twilight.

“She’s old. She’s real old. She also likes naps,” says Big Macintosh, smiling slightly.

The new lovers walk into the dining room to find Applejack sitting at the table in her usual seat.

Whoa... deja vu...

“Hard t’ believe my brother’s datin’ one of my best friends,” Applejack says, shaking her head slightly as she says this, though simultaneously smiling.

“I’ve been there,” Twilight says. “I’ll admit, he and I actually had our first kiss years ago.”

Big Macintosh’s jaw drops, and his left eyebrow rises. “When was this? Ah certainly don’ remember kissin’ back then!”

“When Discord brainwashed you, you licked me. Considering you that you were a dog, and acting solely on instinct, it was my first hint that you were of a very strong mind, if that was the major trait of yours that was reversed by Discord’s magic,” Twilight states.

Big Macintosh gives a looks somewhere between one of “Aw, shucks”, “Oh, no!” and a flat “What?”, but it shifts so much between the three of these that the exact mixture of these faces is indeterminate.

I DID WHAT!? Not that I wouldn’t want to... at times... I’m a perv, ain’t I?

‘Eeyup.’

He, on a whim and without thought, kisses her on the cheek.

“Sorry ‘bout that. I wasn’ myself at th’ time,” he says, simply smiling.

Applejack begins to chuckle. “Rarity is going to freak when she finds out that she missed this.”

Oh, horse apples. It’s getting late, ain’t it? Probably should say something.

“How ‘bout Ah get ya ‘long home?” Big Macintosh says, looking at Twilight, and standing up.

“That sounds fine,” she says, gazing at him, and getting out of the chair she was sitting in.

Applejack, too, arises from her seat. “Alrighty, then. Well, it’s been interestin’ Twi. Wish ya two the best of luck,” she says, with a smile on her face, and wrapping her arms around Twilight.

“Thanks, Applejack,” she says, returning the gesture.

“Ah bet Rarity is goin’ t’ force us t’ have lunch t’gether,” Applejack says, with a snicker as she lets go of Twilight and begins to walk toward the front door, walking past the still sleeping Granny Smith(who now has a river of drool pouring out of her mouth).

“Probably,” Twilight says, trying to stifle a giggle and following Applejack’s lead. Big Macintosh does the same.

Yep. That sounds like Rarity.

“Well, Ah’ll see ya later, Twi,” Applejack says, waving to her brother and her best friend as the two of them step through the doorway..

“Bye, Applejack,” the lavender mare says, turning around and returning the wave as she and Big Macintosh began to walk toward her home. As they get far enough away, she shuts the door.

Big Macintosh and Twilight Sparkle begin their trek toward her residence, amongst streets lit only street lamps’ lights. She looks at him, eyes wide open and lip slightly pouting. He turns a shade of crimson, stretches his lips back in a smile, and drifts towards her. She stretches her neck up, plants her now puckered lips on his left cheek, and pulls away.

All the while, their shadows play, mirroring their every move in elongated abandon.

He turns his head to look at her. Her face turns away and rose red, giving his hue a run for its money. He leans over and nibbles on the tip of her ear, with a smile on his face and one eyebrow being held high. Her flush deepens rapidly. He can feel her heartbeat begin to pick up in pace, matching the same increase in his own. She gasps, and he releases. He pulls away.

All the while, their shadows cavort, as dark parodies of their forms.

She drifts towards him. She leans over, and licks his neck. His eyes shoot open, his lips purse, his brows raise, his pupils dilate, and his head, instinctively turns toward her. His gaze fixes upon her, his lips slightly separate, his mouth waters slightly, his ears flick, and his hair stands on end.

I suppose this is payback for that one time I don’t remembershe’s getting daring I should be careful I don’t want to take this too fast well I do but I shouldn’t...

She lets out a giggle, seeing the look of utter shock upon his face. He cranes his neck over to her and lays his lips upon her neck, smacking them lightly upon her coat. He turns red (well, redder than he is already) and purses his lips slightly as his eyes widen.

Now I’m the one getting daring...

She turns her head to look at him, revealing to him her eyes at half-lid and her face bearing a grin. Her body casts a long, dark shadow in the dim light of the streetlamps. He leans in and places his pursed lips upon her smirk. They each push their own lips against the other, and, then, each one’s lips tremble.

Their lips part, and he gazes behind her. “We’re here,” he says, looking at the front of her tree house, his face lit up by the library’s lights. His shadow fades into the street lamps’ lights’ dim gold glow. She looks at his face and smiles.

“A kiss good night?” she asks, batting her eyelashes, which catch the weak lights and cast tiny shadowlets upon her eyes. She puckers her lips.

He presses his own lips against hers. her lips quiver, as do his own. they linger for a time. Then, a little more. Then, a littler more. Eventually, their lips part, and their eyes meet.

“So... when are we going to go on that date?” Twilight asks.

“When do ya feel is a good time?” Big Macintosh responds, rubbing the back of his head with his right front hoof, bending his head over, and smiling as he does so.

“How about... Let’s say... Six o’clock p.m. tomorrow?” she says.

“Sure thing. Sounds good t’ me. We’ll figure out where, then,” he says.

“Sure. That will work, I guess,” she says.

He leans toward her from the front, presses his lips against hers, briefly. Their, lips part.

She draws a breath and utters, “Good night, Big Macintosh.”

“Good night, Twilight. Ah’m the happiest Ah’ve been in a long while,” he says, a large smile and a slight flush sweeping his face.

“I could say the same thing,” she says, a similar set appearing upon her face.

They, turn, simultaneously, at that moment, she slightly faster than he. They begin to walk in different directions; into her abode; he homeward bound.

As he walks, he hears her door shut behind him. He looks toward a dimly lit area, atop a hil. The indigo sky, the bleak lights of the streetlamps, and the blackest shadows seem to create a form. A familiar form. A form of a pony. The form of a familiar pony.

You’re a lucky stallion Big Mac. You’ve come a long way. There’s no other way but up from here.

The corners of his lips speed upward and outward. Moisture collects, a bit, in the corners of his eyes.

With that, he begins the long walk home.

Twilight opens the door to the library. She steps inside, and shuts the door. She drifts toward the nearest window, hoping to catch a glimpse of her new beau’s departure. She sees his toned flanks, walking slowly with an ever-so-slight spring in each step. Each side goes around once, alternating with the other. Twilight finds her gaze drawn to study his gait and arse... for scientific purposes, of course.

That is one nice flank... if only I could bottle it. It would sell faster than Sweet Apple Cider.

She then realizes what she is thinking. She shakes her head back and forth a couple of times, and closes her curtains.

She turns around and yells, “Spike! I’m home!”

She hears nothing in return. She starts sweating. She starts, frantically, searching around the tree house for Spike. He is, literally, nowhere to be seen, but, luckily for her property values, she finds a note on her door before she gets carried away.

Dear Twilight,

I’ve gone to stay at Rarity’s for the night, because I need a good night’s sleep. I know better than to stay around you at times like this, considering how you are when Big Mac is around... let’s just say that my good hearing does me no favors.Love,

Spike

A.K.A.

Your faithful assistant.

She puts the letter down on a nearby table.

Why that little...

“UGH!” she groans.

Ah, well, it's not so bad... But, what am I supposed to do now?

She goes back to the window. She gazes out. He is still in her view. His flanks are still bouncing slightly. She gets a brief view of something more... interesting.

How did I get to this point?

‘Well, you know exactly how you got here. You didn’t see your preludes, but it is obvious that you would know.’

Shut up.

She puts out most of the lights in the main part of her door. She walks towards her stairs, heads to her room, and climbs onto her bed. She lies on her back atop her sheets, staring at the ceiling, noticing the tree rings dimly illuminated by the weak candles, only for the light to fade into the darkness of distance-borne. With all the windows covered by her curtains, only the candles provide any light. The flames flicker at irregular, irrational intervals, ever-so barely shifting the fadings into the shadows. The stark, solid silhouettes of her possessions and herself impale the slow fadings with near-complete shadows. Because of the flickers of flames, the landscape of shadows shifts and the impalements recede and rewound the fadings as they see fit, dancing as they do so.

“This is a good day, all things considered,” Twilight says, blinking twice as she does so.

Yep watching Big Macintosh work...

‘And getting him as a coltfriend.’

That means a big change.

Immediately, her mind’s eye drifts to her standing next to him. He smiles gently, and plants a kiss on her muzzle. her cheeks turn rosy.

Her real eyes see only the very weakly lit room. It is more dark than light, in her bedroom.

In her mind's image, she sees him. She is lying on a bed... her bed. he is kneeling over her. The room is candlelit, much like it is currently. She looks into his eyes, seeing his green eyes piercing into her own, not out of malice, but out of warmth.

She feels a tingling feeling emanating from her nether regions- a mixture of slight needling discomfort, slight pinching pain, and a third sensation that makes her mouth stretch into a smile and her eyes lid at half. The same amalgamation of sensations fills her head and chest. Her heart alternately rushes and relaxes; her mind is beginning to race.

He is a muscular stallion, isn’t he...

‘Yes, and they say he is very gentle…’

And he is mine all mine he is my coltfriend…

’Can you keep him?’

The shadows dance and rustle with the increasing swayings of the flames. She begins to see his form fill the space near her.

In her mind, he sits in the same place near her.

Is this real?

She feels a phantom set of lips press against her own, and she tries to press back, but her lips press through.

In her mind, he presses his lips against her own, and she presses back, here, too. This time, they connect. His details are all too clear here. His body is toned. His mane is short. His flanks are muscular, and his eyes are warm despite their cool color.

She slides her hoof between her legs and begins to rub her clit. She feels a wetness- warm tackiness, and somewhat slippery, with a slight stick to it.

Vaginal secretions check arousal check oh no I did it out of order no I’m an idiot now I’ve got to do it again…

A bead of sweat forms upon her neck and falls onto her mattress. Another forms on her chest and trickles, trails, and accumulates as it travels down her upward-facing underside. It reaches her clit, and it sends shivers down her spine. It drips into her slit, and she giggles, slightly.

The indeterminate form of her beau lingers above her. It tries to enter her.

On her mind’s canvas, Big Macintosh sits right above her, cock at full mast, eyes widened and pupils dilated, but focused on her own eyes.

‘Do you want this?’

I don’t know…

Her eyes widen and her jaw drops, as she feels her folds spread and her walls being pushed apart.

She sees the form entering her.

In her mind’s cinema, she sees Big Macintosh’s eyes close slightly, tossing his head up as he gently slides his cock into her, seemingly trying his damnedest not to hurt her.

She lets out a soft, low moan.

Is this real?

The possible Big Macintosh prods the length of its featureless cock barely into her.

The Big Macintosh of her mind’s stage slowly glides his into her, his eyes focused only on her.

A tear forms in each of her eyes, each of which is half-closed.

She looks at the shadow-draped form. She purses her lips and a shudder moves across her form.

She gazes at the Big Macintosh of her mind’s opera hall. She purses her lips as her legs buckle and quiver, and she kisses his form.

He’s a nice guy strong capable OOH virile…

The shadowy form shoves its maybe-cock far into her folds. Twilight arches her back fro, writhing in pleasure yet wincing in ambiguous pain, and cringing in all-too-clear pain. She lets out a yelp or a moan- something somewhere in-between the two sounds. It speeds up, and she flips over, and gets on her knees.

In her mind’s silver screen, Big Macintosh gently guides his tools into her deepest crevices, careful not to go too far so as not to impale her. Twilight arches her back fro, writhing in pleasure and panting in longing. She lets out a moan of pleasure… after all, is that not what you are supposed to do? He speeds up, but he remains just as controlled in the force he applies, and she flips over, and gets on her knees.

All the while, the flames merrily prance about, fueling the shadows’ furious dances.

The stallion-in-shade pushes himself into her deepest crevices, tossing all caution unto the wind. Twilight feels a phantom bite on her left ear, and, then, her right.

The Big Macintosh of her mind’s meadow slowly guides himself into her, but he stops short of her deepest crevices. His gaze remains solely on Twilight’s head as he guides his playfully nibble on her left ear, and, then, upon her right.

A lick, then, lashes up her neck.

His tongue, then, slowly slides up her neck.

She feels two building pressures well up from within her. One makes her loll out her tongue. The other makes her bite her lip.

Twilight arches her back, sweat slowly flowing down her being in rivulets. Her eyes screw shut, and as the pressure builds up, she lets out a soft moan, and her breaths become shorter in length and heavier in depth.

A final scene plays in her head-

She and Big Macintosh are standing, quietly, over a crib with a tiny red foal inside on its back, eyes shut, face relaxed, lying on its back, wrapped in a quilt, and peacefully sleeping. She kisses its forehead, and, then, he does the same.

She smiles as the pressure gives way to a tidal wave of ecstasy that rushes up her body, emanating from her nethers. She bucks her legs, and whips her back. Her eyes screw further shut.

When they open, the shade is gone.

It was all in my head.

The last image plays back in her head as vividly as it did the first time, with one exception- as Twilight and Big Macintosh finish kissing the little newborn foal, they turn around, and walk slowly and carefully out of the room. They look at each other, and, then, gaze at the foal. The little one’s face breaks into a tiny smile as it drifts into the land of dreams. They look at each other once more, and slowly bring their lips together.

Her heart beats harder, though not faster, and a tear forms in her eye, slowly dropping onto her bed. A smile breaks upon her face, a blush forming with it.

But it doesn’t have to stay that way.

She gets off of her bed, gathers a quill and paper, and begins writing letters.

Dear Princess Celestia,

I learned today that love is a subject that is difficult to approach, but painful to ignore. It is not one that can easily be explained. No two ponies feel love the exact same way, nor will they share it the same way. I am not Shining Armor. I am not Cadance. I am not my mother. I am not my father. I am not Spike. I do not show love like they do. But we all feel that, sometimes, all that it takes is the will to try. This I had to learn first-hand, on my own time. It is not easy. But I feel that, with time, it will be worth it far beyond what I can now imagine. Love is funny like that. I think Cadance once told me that love is mysterious like that. You never know where it will take you. You never know where it will guide you. You never know what it will lead you to. You never know where you might end up. You never know what you might find. You just have to take that first step to begin the journey. From there, the adventure begins.Your Faithful Student,

Twilight Sparkle.

P.S. I am now dating the brother of my best friend, Applejack- Big Macintosh. He is a big, strong, handsome stallion. Smart, too. Full of common sense. He is quiet, most of the time, though. We have a date tomorrow. Any advice?

Dear Princess Luna,

Do you think that you could put some extra effort into tomorrow’s night’s sky? I have a date tomorrow with Applejack’s older brother, Big Macintosh. He is a quiet, intelligent, sensible, big, strong, and handsome stallion. Any advice, while I am mentioning this? I am not quite sure what to do.Your friend,

Twilight Sparkle

P.S. He was the one who dressed up in the poison apple suit for Nightmare Night. The one who pulled the cart with three fillies in it. Mind you, nothing happened because they were drunk, and he is a gentlecolt. He hates taking advantage of mares. Which would probably be why it took the two of us so long to get together. Do you think that might be the reason? He is as introverted as I am, but he is very kind. Always willing to lend a helping hand. Also, his sister and her friends once gave him and the local elementary school teacher a love poison. They had to do all of his chores while they went on a date. Also, when he was under Discord’s influence, he licked me because he thought he was a dog.

P.P.S. You are laughing right now, right? Great… I have made a fool of myself again.

Dear Princess Cadance,

You were right and I was wrong. I owe you one hundred bits. I also quoted you to Celestia. I am now no longer single. Next time, I will remember not to make a bet with you when love is on the line. That is one of the classic blunders....Your Sister-in-law, Favorite foal to foalsit for, and friend,

Twilight

Dear Big Brother Best Friend Forever,

Funny. It seems like only yesterday I was the best mare at your wedding. Well, I am, now, no longer a single pony. I now have a coltfriend named Big Macintosh. He is quiet. He is intelligent (When he was under Discord’s influence, he thought he was a dog.) and, according to his sister, Applejack, is always using his fancy mathematics to muddy up the issues. He, apparently, wrote a paper on creating spells to preserve apples longer. Minus magical formulas, but including all physical ones. He is also incredibly strong. I have seen him applebucking. With one hoof. By tapping the tree. I bet he could go hoof-to-hoof with you and hold his own, or even beat you. Even if you used your shields. But, he is incredibly nice. He is always willing to lend a helping hand. He is just a little bit shy. But, he is also honest, much like his sister. He is pathetic at lying. I bet you and he would get along just fine. As Rarity might say, you two would get along smashingly. He is a bit bigger than you, though, as far as body size goes.

His youngest sister and her friends actually gave him the love poison, not realizing it was not a love potion. He and the schoolteacher her ended up obsessed with each other. They were making up all sorts of disgustingly sweet nicknames. Extreme emphasis on the “Disgustingly” part of that.

He is also quite handsome. And, according to Pinkie Pie, that is not just my opinion. Or only the opinion of mares, for that matter. Although he has a very large family. As he told me, he has over seven thousand and nine hundred members of his family. And that is only the ones named after cultivars of apples. That is not even counting the number of idioms for apples there are.

Your Little Sister Best Friend Forever,

Twily

P.S. Speaking of this, how are you? I plan to visit you, if I can find the time. Cadance is right- we need to meet up when the fate of Equestria is not hanging in the balance. After this happening… a lot… of times, I am starting to think she is right about this sort of thing. Also, be glad I told you all of this, and did not wait until the wedding to tell you about it… unlike somepony I know.

P.P.S. I enchanted this letter with a scrying spell that is designed to activate when you, and only you, see this letter. It allows me to see your reaction to that previous statement from wherever I am. Have fun thinking about that, Shiny Hiney.

Dear Mom and Dad,

I am no longer a single mare. I have a coltfriend named Big Macintosh, now. You remember meeting Applejack at Shining Armor’s and Cadance’s wedding? Yeah, this is her older brother. He is big, handsome, and he’s quite intelligent and strong. And honest, like his sister. How strong is he? He is a farmer. He bucks apples. He can knock down all of the apples in one tree. With one hoof. By simply tapping the tree. And, Applejack tells me he knows his math. Don’t worry. I will not be bringing you any grandfoals just yet. We are not at that stage, yet. Just, please do not give us any unexpected visits without warning. Please. I will introduce him to you when I feel we are ready for that. Please. At least send me a letter first. That way I can get things ready. So I do not look like a mess. Or the library. Or Spike.Love,

Twilight Sparkle

As she finishes writing the last letters, she leaves a note for Spike to send the letters, dries her quill in a small cloth, closes her inkwell, puts both the quill and the inkwell into a drawer, closes the drawer, walks to her bed, gets under her bed sheets, and, finally, closes her eyes.

Never should go without telling those important to you about big developments in your life. Otherwise, schedule conflicts can result. Doesn’t hurt to be extra-thorough, either. If I am going to make sure that no communication is missed... I think I might be going a bit overboard... I mean... do my parents even need to be informed... Was all of that actually necessary... Oh, well. Better safe than sorry...

She thinks back to the events of the day. The applebucking, the running, the swimming, the confessions , the talking, the kissing...

Today has been a good day.