Well, here we are at the final story chapter. I'll post one more chapter after this one, but it'll be the sex-scene, in its original format, and is completely superfluous to the story. If you've come this far, thank you for your patience, and I hope it was worth the wait.
When I wrote this story, I did so just for the opportunity to use the final line, you may note it's the same as the title of Xenophilia's final chapter. That's because A Blueberry and her Greenery is dedicated to the anonymous author of Xenophilia; theirs was the first pony-fic I read, and has been by far the most influential.
Finally, I'd like to note that when I wrote the end of this chapter, I was thinking of the song Nessum Dorma, if you care to listen to it, the climax of the story is, in my mind contemporaneous with the final "Vincero," in this video, at 2:47.
Please enjoy.
__________________________________________________________________________
A Blueberry and Her Greenery
10 - Nessum Dorma
Many nights since the tragedy of Ponyville, after the sun fell, and the dark closed in, Trixie would lie in her bed, unable to sleep. In the warm months, with her windows open, the staccato cadence of the night creature's peeps and chirps would subtly nudge her from one memory to the next. When the weather turned, and her wagon was shuttered tightly against the cold, she would lie cocooned in her blankets, silence, or perhaps the low moaning of wind in the wagon's cracks slowing her mind to a lethargic crawl through the worst moments of her past. But whether summer, winter, spring or fall; in chill silence, or by the starlit chorus of summer nights, her musings would always drift back to that which she had lost.
The fantasies of her glorious return to celebrity were many and sundry, as befits a pony of her ego, and intelligence; elaborate affairs filled with lavish praise, humiliation of rivals, and the receipt of gifts and privileges which everypony would once again see as her due. Everypony would know her, everypony would love her, and everypony would call her Great and Powerful again - and they would mean it!
Tonight, surrounded by the story-book beauty of Canterlot Castle, her fantasies have finally come true.
She had given the best show of her entire life. She did it for herself, yes, but more than that, she had done it for her heroines, the Princesses, and for her human, Anon. She is a proud pony, not a selfish one, and the presence of one motivation does not obviate any others; true, she wanted the Princesses to think as much of her as she does of them, but she also wanted to show them the time of their lives, and to make sure Anon's fame would secure his future, as she knew he may not let her be there for him after tonight.
Even the stuffy haute monde of Canterlot were impressed, and in their own pompous way, they let her know. After her show, at the kind of the party she had always dreamed of attending, as she mingled with the crème de la crème of Equestrian society, they had lain their laurels stiffly on her head. She knew it was all exaggeration; they loved her, yes, yet the praise was a role they were playing because they believed their peers expected it of them.
But Trixie didn't mind that it was their own little show, for she was a showpony, too! The hottest, most famous, most exotic showpony in Equestria! Tonight, the highest nobles, richest magnates, and Royalty itself all bore the words Great and Powerful on their lips, and with them, sincerity, in their hearts!
She is Trixie, the Great and Powerful; she's always known it, and now nopony can deny it!
Then she had come, Canterlot's own Equus-famous super-model, known even in the distant lands of griffons, and dragons for her talent, and taste for the exotic. Up until now, she had been easily avoided: Fleur could not enter the castle, and there had been far too much practicing to do to waste time in town. Trixie knew it would have been an inconceivable snub for the Princesses to deny a pony of her standing an invitation, though, so wasn't surprised to see her, “Squirming from the woodwork like a stupid, gangly pink-haired termite!”
Trixie knew a greeting between Anon and Fleur was expected, and so grudgingly allowed it, but as the night wore on, the manner of her interest in him became clear. She wasn't even trying to hide it; not content to merely brush against him, she was actually leaning against him! Nuzzling him! In front of everypony!
Jealousy and rage smouldered in Trixie's heart; as the lead mare of her herd, custom dictated Fleur ask her permission to court Anon before expressing her interest to him, not that she would have given it. How dare that whorse behave this way! Of course, she is the Great and Powerful Trixie, and does not let it show. She masters her feelings, not the other way around. But it hurt. A lot.
Privately, she had feared what she would do if this moment came to pass. In her nightmares, the esprit de l'escalier would seize her tongue, and she would watch helplessly as Fleur led Anon away. That would happen over her dead body. Or Fleur's, but now that the moment had actually arrived, she knew exactly what to do.
Trixie had never given Anon a flower, and they were not officially a herd, but she was still his boss, his lead mare; he was still her stallion, and she would make sure that termite knew it in no uncertain terms. So, when the Princesses announced their retirement for the evening, she captured Anon's attention from Fleur with a word, guided him away from her with a touch, and brought him to their chambers straight away, making damn sure she saw every step, every graceful turn in the waltz of her defeat. Then savored a smug, silent laugh at the look of shocked humiliation on Fleur's face when, in front of everypony, Anon pulled away from her touch, told her, “Good night,” and left with his hand on Trixie's withers.
Her rival was vanquished.
Now, they sit, behind closed doors. Trixie's nerves are getting the better of her, and adrenaline causes her trained perception to make each detail in the room leap out at her. The softness of the bed, the sweet fragrances of its apple-wood frame and herb-stuffed mattress. A cricket chirps from the balcony. Anon furrows his brow in worry.
He knows something is coming, but not this, how could he?
It's time; Celestia help me.
“I love you, Anon.”
“I love you, too, Trixie.” He smiles, she blinks.
Just like that? “You're not surprised?”
“Is this what all the matter's been? Didn't you already know how I felt, Trixie?”
What is this feeling? Such joy! Such Warmth! Threatening to wash over and carry her away! “Of course I knew, doofus!” she says with a strained laugh.
He laughs too. “My incredible little pony really didn't know!” Deep within her chest, a pressure swells, so warm and buoyant it's almost painful, surely her heart will burst? He moves to hug her, but she stops him with a fore hoof on his chest; there's more, and he must hear it.
“There's something about me you need to know, Anon. Something selfish...v-vile.” She chokes back a sob. “Something...” No, not yet! I can't let myself cry yet; that comes later, when I'm alone again.
It's the hardest thing she's ever done, but she is a proud pony, and filled with love; love is duty, and she will not let herself fail him. Love demands revelation, and maybe, it will demand she let him go.
A breath to steady herself.
“I'm a monogamist.” Her ears fold back despite herself, and her eyes cast themselves to the floor, but she forces herself to continue, terrified that she might not get the chance to finish, if she lets him speak now. “I love you, Anon, with all my heart and soul. I want to be with you, want to be there for you, more than anything, but I can't share you.”
Why can't I look at him? “I...I just can't.”
But I will look at him! Painfully, she brings her eyes to his; the effort of doing so scrawls itself across her face. He doesn't look angry, or disgusted, but, she reasons, that's probably just surprise.
“Seeing you with Fleur...I just can't.
“I understand if you don't want somepony like me. Understand if you...hate me, for being so selfish, but I want you to love me as much as I love you; to know me, and to do that you have to know this, too.”
There. I've done it. Whatever happens next, I've done my duty, and bared my soul to this one, special somebody.
Moments pass.
Whole eternities, but the expected castigation never comes. Instead he leans in, and hugs her, squeezing her against his chest. “I don't want anypony but you.”
And there they sit, holding each other as Trixie's frantic sobs wrack both of their bodies. When at last, he sees she's cried herself out, he kisses her neck, and whispers in her ear, “I love you, Trixie. All of you, only you, just the way you are.” He looks down, to see hot, round tears spilling over, beginning to run down her face again, and her eyes; so soft, and so very, very large.
“Don't leave me, Anon. Please, please don't ever leave me.” He kisses away her tears, and holds her close.
“I never will.”
And that, dear reader, brings us to the end of our tale. We won't say they lived happily ever after, for no couple ever does. There are ups and downs yet to come, as is the nature of life, but through it all, they had each other, and they lived a life of love.
When I wrote this story, I did so just for the opportunity to use the final line, you may note it's the same as the title of Xenophilia's final chapter. That's because A Blueberry and her Greenery is dedicated to the anonymous author of Xenophilia; theirs was the first pony-fic I read, and has been by far the most influential.
Finally, I'd like to note that when I wrote the end of this chapter, I was thinking of the song Nessum Dorma, if you care to listen to it, the climax of the story is, in my mind contemporaneous with the final "Vincero," in this video, at 2:47.
Please enjoy.
__________________________________________________________________________
A Blueberry and Her Greenery
10 - Nessum Dorma
Many nights since the tragedy of Ponyville, after the sun fell, and the dark closed in, Trixie would lie in her bed, unable to sleep. In the warm months, with her windows open, the staccato cadence of the night creature's peeps and chirps would subtly nudge her from one memory to the next. When the weather turned, and her wagon was shuttered tightly against the cold, she would lie cocooned in her blankets, silence, or perhaps the low moaning of wind in the wagon's cracks slowing her mind to a lethargic crawl through the worst moments of her past. But whether summer, winter, spring or fall; in chill silence, or by the starlit chorus of summer nights, her musings would always drift back to that which she had lost.
The fantasies of her glorious return to celebrity were many and sundry, as befits a pony of her ego, and intelligence; elaborate affairs filled with lavish praise, humiliation of rivals, and the receipt of gifts and privileges which everypony would once again see as her due. Everypony would know her, everypony would love her, and everypony would call her Great and Powerful again - and they would mean it!
Tonight, surrounded by the story-book beauty of Canterlot Castle, her fantasies have finally come true.
She had given the best show of her entire life. She did it for herself, yes, but more than that, she had done it for her heroines, the Princesses, and for her human, Anon. She is a proud pony, not a selfish one, and the presence of one motivation does not obviate any others; true, she wanted the Princesses to think as much of her as she does of them, but she also wanted to show them the time of their lives, and to make sure Anon's fame would secure his future, as she knew he may not let her be there for him after tonight.
Even the stuffy haute monde of Canterlot were impressed, and in their own pompous way, they let her know. After her show, at the kind of the party she had always dreamed of attending, as she mingled with the crème de la crème of Equestrian society, they had lain their laurels stiffly on her head. She knew it was all exaggeration; they loved her, yes, yet the praise was a role they were playing because they believed their peers expected it of them.
But Trixie didn't mind that it was their own little show, for she was a showpony, too! The hottest, most famous, most exotic showpony in Equestria! Tonight, the highest nobles, richest magnates, and Royalty itself all bore the words Great and Powerful on their lips, and with them, sincerity, in their hearts!
She is Trixie, the Great and Powerful; she's always known it, and now nopony can deny it!
Then she had come, Canterlot's own Equus-famous super-model, known even in the distant lands of griffons, and dragons for her talent, and taste for the exotic. Up until now, she had been easily avoided: Fleur could not enter the castle, and there had been far too much practicing to do to waste time in town. Trixie knew it would have been an inconceivable snub for the Princesses to deny a pony of her standing an invitation, though, so wasn't surprised to see her, “Squirming from the woodwork like a stupid, gangly pink-haired termite!”
Trixie knew a greeting between Anon and Fleur was expected, and so grudgingly allowed it, but as the night wore on, the manner of her interest in him became clear. She wasn't even trying to hide it; not content to merely brush against him, she was actually leaning against him! Nuzzling him! In front of everypony!
Jealousy and rage smouldered in Trixie's heart; as the lead mare of her herd, custom dictated Fleur ask her permission to court Anon before expressing her interest to him, not that she would have given it. How dare that whorse behave this way! Of course, she is the Great and Powerful Trixie, and does not let it show. She masters her feelings, not the other way around. But it hurt. A lot.
Privately, she had feared what she would do if this moment came to pass. In her nightmares, the esprit de l'escalier would seize her tongue, and she would watch helplessly as Fleur led Anon away. That would happen over her dead body. Or Fleur's, but now that the moment had actually arrived, she knew exactly what to do.
Trixie had never given Anon a flower, and they were not officially a herd, but she was still his boss, his lead mare; he was still her stallion, and she would make sure that termite knew it in no uncertain terms. So, when the Princesses announced their retirement for the evening, she captured Anon's attention from Fleur with a word, guided him away from her with a touch, and brought him to their chambers straight away, making damn sure she saw every step, every graceful turn in the waltz of her defeat. Then savored a smug, silent laugh at the look of shocked humiliation on Fleur's face when, in front of everypony, Anon pulled away from her touch, told her, “Good night,” and left with his hand on Trixie's withers.
Her rival was vanquished.
Now, they sit, behind closed doors. Trixie's nerves are getting the better of her, and adrenaline causes her trained perception to make each detail in the room leap out at her. The softness of the bed, the sweet fragrances of its apple-wood frame and herb-stuffed mattress. A cricket chirps from the balcony. Anon furrows his brow in worry.
He knows something is coming, but not this, how could he?
It's time; Celestia help me.
“I love you, Anon.”
“I love you, too, Trixie.” He smiles, she blinks.
Just like that? “You're not surprised?”
“Is this what all the matter's been? Didn't you already know how I felt, Trixie?”
What is this feeling? Such joy! Such Warmth! Threatening to wash over and carry her away! “Of course I knew, doofus!” she says with a strained laugh.
He laughs too. “My incredible little pony really didn't know!” Deep within her chest, a pressure swells, so warm and buoyant it's almost painful, surely her heart will burst? He moves to hug her, but she stops him with a fore hoof on his chest; there's more, and he must hear it.
“There's something about me you need to know, Anon. Something selfish...v-vile.” She chokes back a sob. “Something...” No, not yet! I can't let myself cry yet; that comes later, when I'm alone again.
It's the hardest thing she's ever done, but she is a proud pony, and filled with love; love is duty, and she will not let herself fail him. Love demands revelation, and maybe, it will demand she let him go.
A breath to steady herself.
“I'm a monogamist.” Her ears fold back despite herself, and her eyes cast themselves to the floor, but she forces herself to continue, terrified that she might not get the chance to finish, if she lets him speak now. “I love you, Anon, with all my heart and soul. I want to be with you, want to be there for you, more than anything, but I can't share you.”
Why can't I look at him? “I...I just can't.”
But I will look at him! Painfully, she brings her eyes to his; the effort of doing so scrawls itself across her face. He doesn't look angry, or disgusted, but, she reasons, that's probably just surprise.
“Seeing you with Fleur...I just can't.
“I understand if you don't want somepony like me. Understand if you...hate me, for being so selfish, but I want you to love me as much as I love you; to know me, and to do that you have to know this, too.”
There. I've done it. Whatever happens next, I've done my duty, and bared my soul to this one, special somebody.
Moments pass.
Whole eternities, but the expected castigation never comes. Instead he leans in, and hugs her, squeezing her against his chest. “I don't want anypony but you.”
And there they sit, holding each other as Trixie's frantic sobs wrack both of their bodies. When at last, he sees she's cried herself out, he kisses her neck, and whispers in her ear, “I love you, Trixie. All of you, only you, just the way you are.” He looks down, to see hot, round tears spilling over, beginning to run down her face again, and her eyes; so soft, and so very, very large.
“Don't leave me, Anon. Please, please don't ever leave me.” He kisses away her tears, and holds her close.
“I never will.”
And that, dear reader, brings us to the end of our tale. We won't say they lived happily ever after, for no couple ever does. There are ups and downs yet to come, as is the nature of life, but through it all, they had each other, and they lived a life of love.
Don't hesitate to AM(A)A
The bigger you build the bonfire, the more darkness is revealed.
Every possession and every happiness is but lent by chance for an uncertain time, and may therefore be demanded back the next hour.
The bigger you build the bonfire, the more darkness is revealed.
Every possession and every happiness is but lent by chance for an uncertain time, and may therefore be demanded back the next hour.