>You are Anon >And you feel like you got hit by a fucking bus. >Your eyelids crack open, blinking a few times as they adjust to the morning light. >The sickly yellow ceiling is the first thing you see as you enter the world of the waking. >It's probably the thing you hate most about your apartment. >It looked like shit when you first got here, stained with dark blotches from years of smoking and patched countless times. >Just looking at it makes you nauseous. >Well, even more nauseous. If that were possible. >Thirst seems to dominate your thoughts. >Your head sinks into the warm, sweaty, pillow. >The room stinks of stale alcohol. >A forest of green and amber beer bottles crowd the top of your nightstand, all empty or just about. >But above all you feel…heavy? Like you're weighed down, as if the covers were made of lead. >Looking down, your vision is filled with electric blue. >Funny, you don't remember own blue sheets. >In your hungover stupor, you realize it isn't a sheet at all, but fine threads of feathered hair. >There, nestled up against your chest, is a sky blue pony, a stallion. >It takes you a moment, but you soon recognize the form curled up against you. >You could never mistake that face. >It's Soarin. >Soarin, your best friend, is in your bed. On top of you. >Shit.
>True, Soarin was your friend. >But you're not exactly sure how the two of you ended up poured into bed like this. >You're not into stallions and as far as you knew, Soarin wasn't either. >So this definitely isn't normal, for either of you. >Yet here the two of your are. >Rubbing your temples, you attempt to give it some thought to how you ended up here. >All you can remember at the moment is you and your athletic friend had gone out. >Your legs and feet ache, perhaps the sign of a lot of walking. >Nothing comes to mind, however. >And your distracted by the fact your best friend is cuddling you to say the least. >What happened? Did you just fall asleep together? Or did...something else happen? >You sit up, rubbing your eyes and trying to make sense of the situation. >The stallion's face is crackled in a contented smile. >He stirs, gently, suddenly rubbing his face up against your bare chest affectionately, his mane brushing by your chin. >You aren't sure how to respond, frozen into indecision. >He seems to respond to your sudden movements by drawing both of his hooves around you tightly. >Consider he's all ready a pretty heavy boy, you can't move, even if you wanted to. >"Nuuuuu. No practice today, Spits. It's Saaaaturday." >He croons, his voice is cracked and dry. >In fact, he doesn't seem to have any idea where he is. >By Spits, you're guessing he means Spitfire. >You had always known Soarin had a crush on her, but you're a far-cry from that fiery pegasus. >Soarin settles again, snoozing once more on your form. >He looks so…peaceful. >You give your head a brisk shake, trying to throw off your alcohol-induced sluggishness as well as any odd thoughts about your friend. >Realizing that this will only get more awkward, you decide you must break his little fantasy. >Gently, you shake his shoulder, trying your best not to startle him. >"Um, Soarin?"
>The stallion blinks cutel- >No, not cutely. What are you even saying? >Your word choice aside, Soarin's eyelids flutter a bit as he wakes, that goofy smile still etched into his face. >"Mmm?" >He lifts his head so that his eyes meet yours. >His look of contentment lasts for longer than you expect, before his entire face pulls into one of shock, all the peacefulness rushing out. >Falling onto his back, he scoots away from you, scurrying in panic. >But he misjudges just how big the bed actually is and topples off of it. >The impact shakes the room like someone dropped a barbell on the floor. >A wayward beer bottle topples off the nightstand and shatters, strewing glass in a hundred different directions. >As for Soarin, all you can see are his hind legs over the bed's edge. >Quickly, however, he rights himself and soon you can see him claw his way up onto the bed. >You sit there, naked, as he looks you over with squinting, tired eyes. >"A-anon?" >Considering he literally woke up just seconds ago, that's understandable. >His face begins to turn a bright shade of scarlet. >"What are you doing in my bed, man? That's not cool." "You were the one necking me. And it's my bed." >Soarin's eyes flicker again before he begins to take notice of the room. >It takes a few more seconds than you would think for it to dawn on him that it is, in fact, your apartment and not his. >Like he's trying to decipher a complex math problem. >Finally, however, he seems to understand exactly where he is. >"Oh. Yeah, you're right."
>He rubs his face with his hooves, trying to throw off the discombobulation. >"Still, man. That's kinda weird. Are you coming on to me? I thought you knew I wasn't into stallions?" "I'm not either. Honestly, I just woke up and you were there." >Soarin looks noticeably uncomfortable and seems to be focused on anything in the room but you. >His eyes don't meet yours, determined to keep this conversation from getting too personal. >"Huh. Well, I mean, you know me, Anon. I won't judge." >You begin to retort, but you choke on your answer. >He was the one getting frisky with YOU, not the other way around. >If anything, he's the weird one! Right? >Before you're able to generate a salvo, Soarin trots to the door. >"I'm gonna use your shower. That cool with you?" >You give the slightest of nods and he gives you his typical spry grin, before disappearing through the doorway. >"Awesome! I'll be out in a bit!" >You're about to call out and stop him, ask him to come back and help you figure this all out. >But you don't, knowing that might just make everything worse. >You sit there in the musty room, confused and oddly, a little lonely.
>You are Soarin. >And you might have just slept with your best friend. >Slamming the bathroom door behind you, you finally allow yourself a moment of reprieve. >Your body slides down it and you find yourself in a heap upon the floor. >Worry begins to set in, despite how convincing your display back in the bedroom might have been. >Shit, did you actually sleep with Anon? >Even if you told him you're not into stallions, it wasn't entirely the truth. >Though, it wasn't exactly a lie either. >You were mostly into mares, that much you were very confident about. >But the thought of Anon and you? >You had thought about it. Once. A handful of times. >Okay. You had thought about it a lot. >However, you did not dare tell Anon that. >You weren't in any hurry to lose your best friend by bringing up those sorts of feelings. >Anxiously, you begin to work up a plan, something you can say to work your way out of this jam. >But the alcohol has done a serious number on your ability to think. >You were never an intelligent stallion, but a few beers have the tendency to make you feel exceptionally dumb. >Getting up from the floor, you reach the shower and fiddle with the knob, using your hoof to spin it. >The water springs forth from the nozzle at the top in a gurgle, sputtering to life. >Hot, hot, as hot as you can make it.
>The hot water streams down your form and after a few moments, you begin to feel a little more relaxed. >At least relaxed enough to think clearly. >You feel your forehead bump against the cool tile wall. >Still a little hazy, you use it to proper yourself up, seeing as how your legs aren't doing a very good job at the moment. >Shit, what have you done? >You were a Wonderbolt, for Celestia's sake! >Tough, fearless, always in control. >So why does the idea of sleeping with Anon make you this nervous? >Instead, you feel like a foal. >But it had been so nice. Slowly you were allowing yourself to admit that you had enjoyed it. >Warm and safe with your friend's arms. His smell, the way his skin felt on your face. >What was so wrong about that? >As the water continues to pour down your body, you feel the beginnings of arousal taking hold. >You got used to having these episodes a long time ago. >At first, you tried to stop them. Dismissed them as colthood imaginings and not much else. >Now, though, you let them flow freely. >You can feel the skin of your shaft tighten as it stiffens and your sac begins to draw up toward your body. >Shit, how did it get like this?
>Anon isn't just your best friend. He's one of the few you have. >A lot of stallions simply tolerated you. Anon accepted you. >Sure, he was a little out of place too, being human and all. >But you never felt more appreciated and understood. >Many nights of drinking, playing video games and training together proved that. >Hey, yeah! >Anon had never really judged you before, why would he do it now? >Anon seemed a little weirded out back there, but he didn't seem mad. >That was a good sign, right? >Right? >Instinctively, you run a hoof up your member, which is still a bit flaccid. >It's hard to get it up like this, but you need it or else you'll never calm down. >You wonder if Anon is thinking about you.
>You are Anon. >And you might have slept with your best friend. >Drifting through the kitchen in a funk, you attempt to prepare breakfast. >Bachelorhood has taught you how to prepare some modest meals, but your mind is not on your work. >You always keep hay in the house for when Soarin comes over. >Laying a generous pile on the plate, you upturn a ketchup bottle and begin to smother the plate with it. How the fuck does he eat this? >Your hands feel feeble, like they're unable to grip anything properly. >For some reason, Soarin's words play over and over again in your mind. >His reaction actually has you kind of disappointed. >When he woke up and saw you, he seemed repulsed. >Ordinarily, that wouldn't bother you. But it does. >The look on his face is what gets you the most. >You're trying really hard not to be bitter. >Was that weird?
>No, not really. >It wasn't weird, that is. >You clumsily push the plate into the microwave, punch a few buttons and then fall back into your chair, as if the act took all your strength to complete. >Man, you need to hit the gym. Or stop drinking so much. >But it's unclear whether it's the hangover that's bothering you, or if you're actually upset that Soarin doesn't think of you in the same way. >The clock ticks incessantly on the wall, as if mocking you. >A tinny sound of water coursing through the plumbing lets you know he's still in the shower. >Knowing him he's probably pissing in your sink and borrowing your toothbrush. >So while you wait, you sit there, feeling numb and a bit unsure. >Were you actually attracted to Soarin? >You're not sure how you feel about stallions, but Soarin wasn't exactly homely. >That much you can admit. He was an athlete and in terrific shape. >There were plenty of qualities you could admire about your Wonderbolt friend. >You chuckle to yourself as you imagine him in his little flightsuit. >Hair combed back. >All taut and sleek and… >Your hands comes up to your face as you bury yourself in them. >What the fuck are you going to tell Soarin?
>What the fuck are you going to tell Anon? >You finished cleaning up awhile ago, but you leave the shower running. >Right now, you're milking for time. >Staring into the bathroom mirror, you try to form some semblance of a plan. >You see slits under your eyes and you know just how uncertain you look. >Just tell him? Too direct. Could spook him. >Bring this up another time? No, this seems like the best time to get it out in the open. >If not now then when? >Fuck it, you'll figure it out. Some of your best performances have come from improvising. >This was sort of the same thing. Kind of.
>You turn the shower off and leave the bathroom. >Your hooves seem to drag on, never quite getting as far you want. >At the entrance to the bedroom, you notice the bed has been made and the broken glass has been picked up off the floor. >But there's no Anon to be seen. >Curiously you poke your head into the room, scanning for your human friend. >Did he leave? >In the distance, however, you hear a shrill dinging sound, like a bell. >You know Anon's apartment well enough to surmise it came from the kitchen. >Carefully, you begin to trot in that direction.
>You pull the plate of food out of the microwave as it announces itself with that senseless >The sound of Soarin shutting of the shower fills you with a sense of…something. >At first it seems like dread. But it soon gives way to something else. Perhaps excitement. >Soarin rounds the corner and into the kitchen, looking refreshed. He picks at his ear with his hoof and twisting it. "Took you long enough. I thought you fucking drowned." >He chuckles at your banter, before returning it with his own smart-ass comment. >"I didn't think you owned a shower, dude. Considering the way you smell." >You smile at him from your chair and pull the one next to it out from under the table, inviting him to sit down. >He trots over and upon seeing the plate of food you've prepared for him, beams. >"No way! You made breakfast for your old buddy?" "What else am I going to do with hay?" >He scoffs light-heartedly and starts pressing his face onto the plate. >"Seriously, man. Don't knock it until you've tried it."
Yeah, sorry for not getting to the sex a little earlier. I kind of hoped to start it literally after they wake up but figured it might feel stupidly forced. Probably could have fixed that by making Anon and Soarin gay from the start.
>His face emerges covered in ketchup, which his tongue finds a way to scoop in. >"Hey, Anon, about, um, back there." >Soarin tosses his head toward your bedroom, his hair bouncing a bit in delay. >You nod, trying your best not to overreact to anything he might say next. >"Not to get weird or anything. Like I said, I'm not into stallions. But if I were…" >You brace yourself and suddenly find your palms are gripping the side of your chair in an attempt to remain as calm as possible. >"I mean, don't take this the wrong way, but you'd be one of my first choices." >You nod, not really knowing how to respond. Out of pure habit, you say the only thing that comes to mind. "Thanks." >Should you take that as a compliment? Somehow it feels like you just got friendzoned. By your best friend. Was that even possible? "Likewise, I guess." >He nods slowly and suddenly the kitchen is plunged into an uncomfortable silence. >Soarin toys with his food a bit, but it's clear he's just doing it to stall for time. >He chews and raises his hoof to bump your fist nonchalantly. >You reciprocate, but half-heartedly. Despite your best attempt to not make it seem like a big deal, it shows. >He essentially told you he'd date you, but he won't. >Somehow, that feels even worse. >Your gaze falls into your lap, ashamed. >But, then, you notice something...
"Hey, Soarin?" >He pushes his empty plate away and sighs happily, hooves going behind his head in a very suave pose. >"Yeah?" "You feeling okay?" >His brow furrows and looks left and right in quick succession, suddenly shifty. >"Yeah...why wouldn't I be?" >You take a deep breath and try to find the words needed to explain yourself. "I don't want to call you a liar, dude." >Now he just looks angry. He suddenly aborts his cool pose and sits up straight. >"Liar? What would I be lying about?" "That you're not into stallions." >Soarin pushes himself away from the table, the chair scraping along the floor noisily as he stands up. He grits his teeth as he stands there, defiantly. >"I told you I'm not." "I don't think that's true." >"Well why not?!" >You sigh and roll your eyes. You avert your gaze as he rises in apprehension, before pointing your finger at his waist. "Because you have a boner."
>Soarin freezes and with painstaking slowness, looks down between his legs. >Lo and behold, he does. >The poor stallion places a forehoof over his hefty erection, but it's long past the point of concealment. >His entire face is flush with humiliation, reddening. >Defensively, he turns around and looks over his shoulder, sneering at you. >"So?! You would know, dude, guys get boners for no reason all the time!" >You eyebrow pops up. Even he knows what a poorly-formed excuse that is. >Rising from your chair, you walk a few steps over to your mortified friend, who is now sitting on the floor, deflated. >Once close enough, you go to a knee and hold him, clutching him around his barrel. >Surprisingly, he doesn't fight you, allowing himself to be pulled into your grasp, the soft and yet muscular wings fluttering against you. "Soarin, do you like me?" >The pegasus turns his head and reveals that he's beginning to cry. >A bead of moisture runs down his cheek and his eyes get narrow, face contorting in emotional anguish. >Biting his lip, his head bobs up and down in a sad, desperate nod. "I see…" >The little stallion looks utterly destroyed, his smile and determin- >Nevermind. >It's all the more of a shock to him then, when you lift him up into your arms. "Good."
>He struggles slightly, squirming as you pick him up and carry him out of the kitchen. >Eventually, he surrenders and drapes his head over your shoulder. >"I always w-wanted to tell you, m-man." >His words get caught in between sniffles and you stroke his well-kept mane adoringly with your hand. >That softens him and soon, Soarin is a quivering pile of need in your arms. "I know, I know." >"Do you, you know, um-" "I like you too, Soarin." >He springs up, taking your face in his hands and pressing his muzzle to the bridge of your nose. His eyes take up your entire field of vision as he exclaims. >"Dude! F-for r-real?! " "Really." >It's not like you had planned on this ever happening, but, it's the truth. >You can actually feel his pulse quicken in your grip and his hooves link around your neck, trying to meld into you, to somehow be closer than you all ready are. >Stopping in the doorway of the bedroom, you let Soarin down on the bed, >Although he's remiss to leave your embrace, he dutifully lies prone, revealing the dark-blue skin of his most masculine places. >"Are you okay with this? I mean, trust me, last thing I want to do is force you into something you're not, like, ready for." >You shrug as you quietly take off your clothes, something Soarin doesn't have to deal with. "Hard to think about turning back now, buddy." >With that, he gets a determined look on his face, raising his haunches in the air and waving them side to side in temptation. >"Then gimme."
>On your knees, you approach an eagerly awaiting Soarin. >His cock has folded out from the tender flesh that guards it. >Wow. He really, really wants you. >Your hand timidly reaches underneath him and takes a soft hold, delicately. >You've never done this before, but you know enough about your own parts that it comes naturally. >Slowly, you work your hand into a groove, slipping back and forth over your friend's blade. >"Nng!" >He makes soft grunts as you tend to him, all little signs of encouragement and approval. >Adroitly, your fingers play a tune on Soarin's length, causing it to harden rapidly in your grasp. The dark blue flesh throbs at your touch, easily working the stallion up. >"Mnn, come on, man. Don't t-tease…" >Your own hungers become apparent and looking down you see that your own arousal has caught up to you while you weren't paying attention. >Soarin looks over his shoulder at you and eyes you with an expression you can only describe as hungry. >The little blue stallion juts his hips out again and you eye your prize once more: That small, dark entrance just waiting for some attention. >You quickly close the distance and his rump now presses eagerly into your abdomen, your cock cradled in between his muscular backside.
>After a slight moment of hesitation, you ready yourself by placing the tip of your shaft against his entrance. >The stallion tenses slightly, but relaxes himself for you and carefully, you begin pressing inside. >His tightness makes it a bit of a challenge. You fight against the barrier, adding more and more pressure, gritting your teeth as you put a hand on Soarin's back to steady yourself. >He lets off a cry, a mix of glee and shock as he finally lets you in. >Unfortunately, you didn't anticipate the sudden release and you slide home, driving nearly all the way in. "S-sorry." >But Soarin shakes his head, letting you know that it's okay. >His wings flap violently for a moment, perhaps in reflex. >His walls cling to you tightly, choking you down as they embrace their new, intruding toy. >That's not enough, however, because he pushes back, meeting you halfway as he attempts to impale himself deeper on you. >When you reach a comfortable depth, you slowly start to piston in and out, each time your hips joining together for a brief instant. >Every time you draw out, his insides fight to keep you and each time you thrust back in, they welcome you just like the first time.
>At this point, you're bent over him, chest pressed up against his wings. >In the ecstasy, they flick back and forth over your chest, as if they were simply another set of hands. >Ever the multi-tasker, though, you return to your ministrations below, forming a ring with your fingers and sliding it over his thickness yet again. >Your friend twitches in delight, trembling all over. >"A-anon!" >His bestial shaft spasms in your hand and he desperately begins to buck into it, almost reflexively. >And you let him, letting your fingers flex around him, sliding over ever bump and vein. >You pick up your pace, driving harder and faster on each drive, adding a little more gusto into each swing of your hips. >Suddenly, things seem clear. >And all your reservations about this feeling wrong have long since fled. >You and your best friend are bonding in a way you never thought possible. >And with each time he calls your name, you know this is the right thing to do. >Your chest now hovers just inches above his back and though he is larger than some, he's still a pony. >Your head easily is within reach of his, so you lower it to one of his ear and begin to provoke him in the only way you can. "Who's my good little Wonderbolt?"
"ME!" >Your entire body shivers in rapture as your best friend Anon ravages you from behind. >Each time his hips drive into you, you feel the tip of his cock kiss your prostate. >With hopeless abandon you let him ride, though you're still eager to do your part. >The way he slips inside and just as easily slips out has your pony mind working itself into overdrive. >The pants and cries you hear are your own, mixed with huffing from your friend.
>You can't last much longer, not with so many good feelings wracking your body at once like this. >One of your forelegs buckles, but you quickly recover. >A grunt of frustration rumbles in your chest, knowing this can't last forever. >You want more, but you also want it all to stay this way. >A shiver comes over you as you feel climax approaching. >In desperation, you try to warn him, but the words are lost to you, simply too overpowered. "Anon, ah…" >Anon's voice coos in your ears, shushing you softly. >But it isn't like he's telling you not to talk. >Almost like a little way of telling you it'll be okay. >Using your wings, you curl them around Anon, resting them on his back in a sort of reverse hug. >You know he wouldn't ever leave you now, but still. Having him this close to you feels perfect. >Your hooves slide to the headboard. Combined with Anon's powerful humps, it slams against the wall time and time again. >Your eyes shut tight, you simply can't hang on like this, while the room seems to shake all around you, the bed groaning as the two of you push one another to your limits. >A fiery feeling is beginning to burn inside your sac, you can feel it. >It won't be long now. >"Anon, you gotta let me finish, man!"
"I know, Soarin. I know." >Soarin's cries for release are hard to ignore. Poor little pent up pony. >As you continue to assail his boyish pucker with a barrage of humps, you notice him beginning to spasm. >Ears flicking and legs twitching, his entire body is aching for release. >Something you're all too happy to give.
>You can feel yourself slipping away as well as his tunnel milks you for everything you have. >Hot breath leaves your mouth in fitful attempts to choke down air, breathing onto the back of Soarin's neck. >Everything is so blissfully tight and warm. >Your eyes roll into the back of your head as bliss begins to overtake you, gnashing your teeth to fight back the urge. >However, you have a feeling Soarin doesn't want you to hold things in. >From each backward thrust of his hips, he simply wants to make you feel very, very good, just like you've done for him. "Hrk! I'm gonna fucking pop!" >Your little outburst only send him into a frenzy, his rump working tirelessly to get you there faster. >Soon your room is a din of banging and shaking, loud shouts and soft cries. >A growl from Soarin pierces them all, though and soon you notice that his equine length is shuddering in your hand. >As if on cue, a jet of white seed spews from the tip, as ropes of silky fluid deposit themselves gently on the bed. >"Ah, ahhhh!" >Through it all you continue stroking him, coaxing for more as the steed's piston produces salvo after salvo of milky essence. >You're just seconds behind him and try as you might, you're powerless to resist his ministrations. >In the same fashion, your human cock sputters, locking up as your own cum begins to fill Soarin's ass. >His teeth lock together as he stifles a shout and you bounce against him as your orgasm exhausts itself. >The two of you collapse onto the bed, no longer able to support yourselves, landing in a happy, twitching heap.
>Delicately, you pull out of Soarin, watching as you leave white trail behind. >His insides seem reluctant to let you go, he looks satisfied anyway. >He falls to his side, breathing heavily, but there's no shortage of happiness in each little sound he makes. >Falling beside him, your arms wrap around your good friend once more. >Rolling into you, his chin comes to rest on your lean chest, distinctly similar to the arrangement you awoke in this morning. >Once you've both caught your breath, you take the opportunity to gauge your performance. "Well, how was that?" >"Dude. We need to get drunk like this more often." >That produces a chuckle from your dry, parched throat. >You stare up at the ceiling, noting it's tackiness again. >Though nothing could truly ruin the moment, the ugliness of it all makes you frown. >But your friends blue mane obscures it and suddenly the sickly thing fades from view. >You find your fingers coasting through it, gently gliding through the impossible softness of his hair. >"Hey, Anon?" "Yeah?" >"I'm super glad you're my bud." "Me too. Me too."
Gonna stop there. It didn't exactly fit my original plan but I had a lot of fun with this one. I'm not really experienced with m/m clop right now, so excuse it if it comes across as pretty vanilla. I'm going to put this in a pastebin, hang on.
>>19914827 >decide to take a glance in this thread out of curiosity >see that post
More examples of shippers on /mlp/ being intentionally annoying and otherwise bothersome. Some of you shippers just can't seem to resist the urge to shove shit down everyone elses throats, huh?
Now I don't care if you want to ship characters; I'm not a fan, but if you enjoy it then by all means do so. But you'd best be remembering that there are a lot of people who aren't a fan of shipping(whether as a whole or specific ships), because when you go around acting like that's not the case, you're just being a huge shitposter. Then again, I suspect you realize that, and that you're in fact intentionally trying to shove shit down peoples throats.
>>19915585 Though, keep in mind that while I'm not a fan of shipping, and I've had some bad experiences or disagreements with shippers and some of the opinions they may have, I'm not at all suggesting that all shippers are bad or anything like that. I'm sure most of them are just fine.
Despite that though, there is still seemingly a large enough number of people who will go out of their way to be as annoying/disruptive/troublesome with their ships as possible. The bad shippers are also by far the most vocal from what I've seen, even if they are a minority.
Yeah, it seems like a lot of people want to see Anon get plowed by Soarin. Wasn't trying to go against the grain there. I'm going to think about either continuing it or starting fresh and see where it goes, this time with Soarin on top. Suggestions are always welcome, even I can't make promises they'll all make it in.
>>19919741 Earth ponies, unicorns, pegasi, I HATE THEM ALL! And don't get me even started on retards like Derpy. I want to see them burned down. I want to burn down all of Equestria and build a giant mall where it once stood.
>A knock at the door is what wakes you from your peaceful snooze on the living room couch. >The sound was so soft, so timid, that at first you weren't sure if you heard it. >The book you were reading falls off your chest and onto the floor with a flutter. >Groaning and groggy, you lift yourself from the tired piece of furniture. >Instinctually, your wrist turns in order to reveal your watch, its wiry face indicating the hour. >1:31am. >Who in Tartarus is visiting you this late? Or was it more correct to say this early? >Regardless, you lift yourself from the musty and sagging couch, only to hear three more reports at the door. "I know! I know! Keep your horseshoes on!" >You are Anonymous, a human living in Ponyville. >And you are, needless to say, a little pissed off at the moment. >Trudging toward the door, you press yourself up against it and peer through the eyepiece, trying to get a good look at who your late visitor might be. >But, to your surprise, on the other side of the door is... >Nothing. >What? You were sure you heard knocking. >You take a step back and rub your eye before trying again, this search proving just as fruitless as the last. >As if to confirm your suspicion, the door trembles slightly as another set of knocks raps gently against them. >Aggravated and confused, you wrench open the door with a furious speed.
>The smell of rain and an unkind wind rush past you as you open it. >Squinting, you peer out onto the dark Ponyville street. >It's pitch black, permitting you only a few feet of visibility. >In fact, you only know it's raining by the light of a nearby streetlamp, watching needle-like raindrops rush past it, stirring the gravel path that leads to your door. >A lightning bolt occasionally cracks open the sky like an axe splintering wood. >But still no sign of a visitor. >That is, until a low, pathetic voice calls out weakly to you from below. >"She didn't like the flowers." >Looking down, you finally see who has been pawing at your door. >There, on your doorstep, is a pitiful sight. >A small, pale blue pegasus is curled up on the thin doormat, crumpled into a sad ball. >His dark blue hair is damp with rain, hanging down around his face in thick ropes. >Despite all that, you recognize him as Soarin, your close friend. >You sigh and lean up against the frame of the door, folding your arms and shaking your head in disbelief. >A small bouquet of flowers rests on the wet ground a few feet from him, the yellow petals dripping off their stems. >The trademark goggles he loves so much hang clumsily over his face, lopsided, raindrops bouncing off the foggy lenses. >Slowly, he lifts his head up to look at you, giving you a half-hearted grin, practically wincing with the effort. >"H-hey, buddy." >Soarin sits up, resting on his hind legs and nervously begins to tap his front hooves together. >"Sorry to drop in on you like this, but, could I, um, maybe crash at your place tonight?" >He lips pull into a hopeful, pleading smile, silently begging you.
>>19926667 . >You've never seen your friend in such a bad state. >Your heart feels like it's gained 20 pounds. >In your hesitation, however, the shivering stallion speaks up. >"Come on, man. Do me a solid and let me spend the night?" >He pauses a moment before adding, "Please?" >Nodding, you press the door open a little wider, revealing the warm, inviting glow of your home. "Come on. Let's get you warm." >Quickly, you wave him inside. >That seems to add some pep to his demeanor, though not by much. >Taking the sickly flowers in his teeth, he slowly trots into the light. >You close the door behind you, leaving the wind and rain to howl to themselves. >The both of you now stand in the kitchen of your small cottage. >Ample warmth returns as the door is latched, the elements unable to touch you here. >Soarin's head is bent low, in shame, as he takes a few steps in. >To your surprise, the stallion shakes, not unlike a dog, in an attempt to shed the water from his coat. >Bringing your forearm up to your face, you try to shield yourself from the flecks of moisture he's now scattering about the room. >When he finishes, you bring it upon yourself to ask. "Soarin, are you okay? What happened?" >His face falls as he gently sets the flowers down on the kitchen table. >What was the deal with the flowers? >He sighs deeply and turns back to look at you, his face lined in sadness. >"Can you just gimme a minute? I walked all the way here."
>That made sense. It was dangerous to fly in weather like this, even for a pegasus as highly trained as a Wonderbolt. >You let your friend take a seat at the table and go to the stove. >A deft flick of one of the knobs brings one of the burners to life, hissing gently underneath a tea kettle. >You have doubts about giving tea to an overcaffinated stunt pegasus at this time of night, but, perhaps something warm would do him some good. >Trying not to stare, you busy yourself with your cabinets and cupboards, producing a set of saucers and cups. >Peeking into the refrigerator, you locate a piece of leftover pie. >You had, of course, planned on eating it, but you have a feeling your guest might need it a little more right now. >Taking the chance to look over your shoulder, you see Soarin sulking in one of your kitchen chairs, stray drops of water plopping to the floor in a small puddle. >You'd need to mop that up later. >That matters little right now, though. What you're most concerned about is taking care of your friend. >She didn't like the flowers? What was he even talking about? >Something tells you he'll let you know soon enough. >He catches you staring and slowly lets his gaze drift over to you. >You give him a smile and a nod before rummaging through the ice box, reminding yourself not to make him feel uncomfortable. >Your hand closes around the can of whipped cream that was hiding behind the orange juice and give it a vigorous shake, before upturning it and dotting the pie with it. >If you know Soarin, and you'd like to think you do, this should help.
>"I'm sorry I fucked her Shining Armor... I just couldn't help myself" Said Flash Sentry. >"Well, don't let it happen again!" Said Shining Armor. >"Why am I not telling him that I asked him to?" Said Twilight Sparkle.
>Just as you finish garnishing the pie, the kettle bellows mournfully. >Quickly, you pour you and your friend a cup of tea, before placing the refreshments on the table. >As you predicted, Soarin's face brightens at the sight of pie and he nods in gratitude. >He still looks like he got hit by a train, but his smile is at least encouraging. >You take a short detour into the living room and retrieve a blanket from the couch, the one you had been using earlier. >You return to the kitchen and drape it around his shoulders. >Eventually you take a seat across from him and his eyes seem to brim with gratitude. >He holds the teacup delicately in his hooves and raises it to his face before slurping. "So, you want to tell me what happened?" >His face reacts as if you just twisted a knife into him, but he does sort of owe you an explanation. >You're happy to house your friend when he's down, but stopping by so late looking like this isn't usual, even for an unusual pony like him. >Setting the teacup back in the saucer, the pegasus looks away from you and mumbles something. >"I asfm lntrn drst." "What?" >"I asked lunturn der." "Soarin, I can't hear you." >"I ASKED OUT LIGHTNING DUST!" >His shout echoes through your apartment, which gives way to a pungent silence.
>Your gaze falls to the table, where you see the sickly flowers drooping. >Oh. >Their meaning becomes clear as Soarin breathes heavily, recovering from his outburst. >He had told you he was thinking of asking out his fellow Wonderbolt for quite some time. >You had cautioned him that asking out a coworker could be a little awkward, but it was obvious that he liked the mare enough to take the risk. >It must have gone pretty badly to knock him into this sort of state. >Carefully, you press for more information. "I take it she said no? Sorry, buddy." >But Soarin shakes his head and fiddles with the pie, not eating it, just sort of poking at it with his hoof. "She didn't? So what's the pr-" >"She laughed at me, Anon. Laughed and then flew away." >He buries his face in his hooves on the table, the wound freshly opened. >You aren't sure how to respond to that, other than to silently grumble. >You knew that Lightning Dust was an egotistical flyer, but you had thought she would have had a bit more tact than that.
I could imagine a story along the lines of crashing a blimp over the badlands area. The crew consisting of Anon, Soarin, Spitfire and Braeburn or a few others are those that have survived. Both Soarin and Spitfire's wings are out of commission, and they have tasked Anon to figure out a way back home.
>>19947543 Soarin wouldn't want to do it with any other male except his best friend Anon. Mares are free game. But they share something special. If a mare rejected Anon he could always turn to his good buddy for a romp in the hay to lift his spirits. Soarin would try to cheer him up by telling him how much of a good guy he is, How much of a good friend, And how great he is in bed.
Honestly, this is what I was going. I was hoping it didn't sound like they went from straight to full blown gay in the course of an hour. More like, this pony/person cares about me, I wouldn't turn him down if he wanted to fuck me. Hoping that's what came across.
>It appears as if you will have do undo Lightning Dust's handiwork on Soarin's self esteem. >The Wonderbolt was usually brimming with confidence and flair in his element. >However, on the ground, your friend dealt always seemed unsure of himself. >Good lucks and generational flying talent aside, he could be a little socially awkward. >But considering you're a touch of the same, it makes you something of kindred spirits. "I'm sorry, man. I knew you really liked her." >Soarin nods, his lower lip quaking considerably. >"Maybe this is my fault. I guess I am kind of a pussy, huh?" >Ouch. >You've never liked his habit of deprecating himself. "Soarin, don't talk like that." >"But it's true, isn't it?" "Of course not!"
>The pegasus goes limp in his chair, his goggles sliding down his face, which he doesn't bother to pick back up. >He hasn't even nibbled the pie yet, which concerns you most of all. >"I just want a special somepony, Anon. I'm lonely." >You don't exactly know how to respond. That's pretty heavy stuff. >Reaching over the table, you simply take his hoof in both hands and give it a reassuring pat. "I know, buddy. But think of it this way. If you worked up the courage to ask her out and she laughed, would you really want to end up with her?" >He lifts his head and notices your ministrations. >Oddly, he doesn't draw away, letting you continue. >A pensive look, a rarity for Soarin, crosses his face as he purses his lip and cocks his head in thought. >You can practically see the gears of his brain working overtime. >You permit yourself a small smile. Soarin might be a good flyer, but he's also quite thick sometimes. >Eventually, however, he seems to realize what you're talking about. >"I...guess so?" "There's my good buddy."
Man, having a little trouble getting things going tonight. Going to try to get a few more posts in but apologies in advance for typing so slow. Good news is I'm home all day tomorrow so should have plenty of time to work. And Jeff might have some stuff for you guys soon too.
Cool. I know you have a lot of shit on your plate coming up, so you don't have to, but I'm just saying don't feel like you have to wait until I'm done to post. I'll be working on shorts tomorrow throughout the day.
He's nervous, and he's hopeful. But most of all, he's tired. Tired of rejections, tired of his pointless daily routine. He loves his work, he really does. But without someone to go home to, someone to be with... it just feels empty, somehow.
Soarin' just wants someone to be close to. Someone to hold. Someone to share himself with. Won't you be that someone, Anon? He's even wearing those socks he knows you like. The ones you bought him for his last birthday. You said they looked cute on him.
You don't have to say yes, of course. He won't mind. Soarin' can just fly back home, and you can both forget this ever happened. This was... it was just a prank, is all. He'll be going now. Bye, Anon. Sorry I'm not worth it.
>Your pen taps against the paper fruitlessly while your hand clutches at a lock of hair. >Damn, you're not getting any work done tonight. Ideas just aren't flowing. >Frustrated, you throw yourself back in your desk chair and sigh. >Maybe you should just take the night off. >As if brought on by that, the door to your room yawns open behind you. >Slowly, you turn around in your chair, knowing it who it has to be. >That isn't to say it doesn't take you by surprise, however. >In the doorway, stands a timid-looking Soarin, your roommate, wearing a smile you can only describe as hopeful. >That alone isn't surprising, but his attire is. >Long, form-fitting socks cling to each of his little legs, the striped things looking immensely warm. >You quickly recognize them. In fact, you bought them for him. >You're sure that's not exactly a coincidence. >Immediately you feel the heat of a blush rush to your face. "Oh, h-hey, S-soarin. What's up?" >He crosses his front legs nervously, before rubbing the back of his head with a hoof. >He opens his mouth to say something, but the words seem to get stuck in his throat. >Whatever it is, he's having a hard time telling you. >You turn around in your seat completely, no longer simply looking over your shoulder, but completely facing him. >The poor little stallion seems to melt under your gaze, wilting like ice cream underneath a heatlamp. >Seeing as how he's having a little trouble, you decide to get the ball rolling. "Rough day at practice?"
>He bites his lip and nods skittishly. >"I know you're working, but, um. Heh, I want to, uh, ask." >You smile and nod, entreating him to continue. >Soarin looks around the room nervously, before finally settling back onto you. >"I mean, feel free to like, say no or whatever. But…can I stay with you tonight? I sort of could use it." >The pony's eyes snap shut and his teeth clench, as if bracing himself for an unpleasant answer. >He's taken aback, then, when you nonchalantly give him the opposite. "Sure." >His eyelids fly open like a window shade drawn up too fast. He's hopeful, but holds back slightly, unsure of your sincerity. "Whoa, really?!" "I'm not getting a lot done tonight anyway. I could use a break." >You close your book and let your pen roll, forgotten, to the side, getting up from your chair. >His legs uncross themselves and soon, you have a beaming pegasus standing in your doorway. >"You mean it?!" "Yeah." >"Really?!" "Yes." >"Like, no fooling? For real?" >You sigh and your face deteriorates into an impatient look. "Soarin." >The stallion blinks a few times before realizing you aren't leading him on and he takes a tentative step into your room. >"Heh, sorry. That just means a lot to me, Anon." "I know, now get the fuck over here and give you buddy Anon a hug."
>You don't have to ask him twice, as he practically gallops into your open arms. >Going to one knee, you prepare as your athletic friend nearly bowls you over. >His hooves quickly wrap around your neck, letting his chin rest on your shoulder. >In reciprocation, your arms tug around his withers, pulling him into you. >The little stallion seems to melt in your arms, letting out a profound exhale. >Wings begin to flutter happily in excitement, kicking up a few of the papers on your desk. >You let them lie where they fall, though, not wanting to break this little moment for something so petty. >His mane shifts back and forth as he nestles into your grasp, his glorious mane wistfully caressing your chin. >"Thank you...thank you..." >He mewls, rubbing his nose into your neck. >Looking down you notice a wayward tear trickling down his face, leaving a dark trail in its wake. "Shhhhhh, shhhhh. It's alright." >You pat his withers, stroking them affectionately with your open palm, while you coo in his ear. >Soft shushing noises leave your mouth, trying to be as comforting as possible. "Who's my best bud?" >He giggles, before pressing his nose into you again, not letting anything keep you the slightest distance from one another. >"Me." >You permit yourself a chuckle before rising, giving him a firm pat on the head on the way up >His smile turns downwards, reaching up with his hooves like a child demanding to be held. >"Up! Up!"
>Damn. He knows this trick always works on you. This time being no exception. >Reaching down, you seize him under his forelegs and lift him onto your shoulder. >He clings to your head, pressing his cheek up against yours, the soft fur of his coat mingling with your coarse, five o'clock shadow. >But you don't mind, as you kick off your shoes and pull back the comforter of the bed. "Can I ask what's up with the socks?" >Red splotches begin appearing on his other wise pale blue face. >"Oh, um, heh, I thought they would look nice. I can take em off if you want. "Don't you dare." >Soarin smiles again and gently rubs the tip of his muzzle back and forth across your nose, dragging it in slow, loving motions. >"Okay, okay. You got it." >Eskimo kisses from Soarin are hard to beat. >Carefully, you manage to maneuver the both of you under the covers without having to put him down. >You drag the blanket back over the two of you, Soarin sprawled out comfortably on your chest. >He takes long, deep inhales, breathing you in as he attempts to bury his muzzle into you. >"You're a good friend, Anon. Thanks." >You don't bother fumbling for the light switch, too content to consider moving. "Don't mention it."
Back to the normal story today, just wanted to bump the thread with some quick cuddles.
>He manages a weak smile and nibbles at the piece of pie. >It isn't much, but, it's enough to bring a smile to your own face. >A hushed quiet falls over the kitchen and you permit yourself a sip of tea. >As he eats, Soarin's spirit seems to gradually grow a little stronger and before long, his sadness gives way to his insatiable love of pie. >Back on Earth, you were the one friends often came to for advice or even just to grieve with. >In fact, you learned to be quite good at it. >It isn't easy but it certainly makes you feel good. >When he's finished, he pats his stomach. >"You know what Anon?" >You look up from your cup, gesturing for him to continue. >"I think you're right. I liked her, but, I think I deserve better." "You really do, man. You deserve a relationship where someone respects you." >Soarin's face turns a handsome shade of scarlet before looking down, this time more out of embarrassment than humiliation or sadness. >"Aww, thanks, dude. You're the best." "And whoever it is, I'm sure she'll be one lucky mare." >Soarin's face falls for a second, but recovers quickly, hiding some momentary displeasure for what you said. >He has had a pretty rough night, though, so you ignore it. >"Oh...oh, yeah! Right. Thanks, dude." >The little stallion takes one last sip of tea and hops down from the kitchen chair and looks forlornly toward the door. >"I'd better get going."
"I thought you wanted to spend the night?" >Soarin circles around so he's facing you again, cocking his head in curiosity. >"Would that really be okay? I don't wanna trouble you." >You don't say anything. Rather, you point to the kitchen window and as if on cue, a lightning bolt flashes, filling the room with an instantaneous, tremendous light. >His eyes swing back over to you, giving you a sheepish grin. >To your surprise, his face breaks into a blush, betrayed by his pale blue fur. >That's kind of strange, perhaps you set the thermostat a bit too high. >"Yeah…probably for the best I don't fly home tonight." >You begin to busy yourself by placing the dishes in the sink, you'll do them later. "It's no trouble at all, man. Couch is all yours." >Soarin's face falls considerably, but recovers just as fast, teeth grinding together in an unnatural smile. >"Oh. Yeah. The couch. Right." >Okaaaaay. >You decide to dismiss the awkward behavior as nerves. He's had sort of a rough night, so you understand. >Picking up the blanket from the chair, you escort the blue stallion into the living room. >Sure enough, the couch is right where you left it, sitting awkwardly against the wall and pretending it pays rent. >You wince upon seeing it. >The old and tired thing looks like a deflated bouncy castle, only bouncy castles don't come in hideous shades of plaid. >In fact, you're kind of remiss to make him sleep here. It's not exactly very hospitable of you. >You look down at Soarin to see if he shares your sentiments, but he's busy looking down at his hooves and playing with them awkwardly. "On second thought, why don't you stay in my bed tonight?"
>A small gust of wind overtakes the room as Soarin's wings pop up at an alarming speed. >They stand completely on end, feathers extended upward reaching for the ceiling, completely flat and stiff. >It looks like if you tried to move them, they'd snap off like a piece of chocolate or a pane of glass. >What the fuck is with him? Maybe giving him caffeine this late was a bad idea. >"Your b-bed?" "Yeah, you'll be a lot more comfortable." >He looks up at you in disbelief, before nodding emphatically. "I'll take the couch. It's the least I can do to be a good host." >Soarin's nodding comes to an abrupt halt. >His wings slowly begin to unravel, shrinking and folding until they're back at his sides. >"Oh. Sure." >He trots off toward the bedroom at a pretty discouraging pace, all of his energy suddenly sapped. >You recline on the creaky thing, hiding your obvious discomfort for your friend's sake. >Soarin stares back at you with a sideways look in the doorway before leaving. >You wave at him before pulling the blanket over you. "Goodnight, Soarin. Sleep well." >He looks you up and down for a moment and it takes him much longer than you would like to answer. "Yeah…" >With that, he disappears around the corner and his hooffalls die away. >Poor guy. He's taking this Lightning Dust thing pretty hard. >But a yawn lets you know that you're done playing psychologist for the night. >Leaning back against the arm of the couch, you close your eyes and try to sleep.
>You don't sleep easy. >Maybe it's the scratchy, smelly fabric of the couch or maybe it's the occasional crack of thunder that keeps you from resting soundly. >You know what's really bothering you, however. >It is without a doubt the troubles your friend is going through that robs you of your peace of mind. >Soarin was a good stallion, with a lot going for him. >But something tells you your little talk earlier hasn't put his mare problems to rest. >He looked so sad earlier and that look he gave you before leaving the living room bores into your soul. >Perhaps tomorrow you'll take him somewhere, get his mind off things. >But you won't be up for anything if you don't get some rest. >You make the decision to go splash some water on your face and begin to get off the couch. >In your haste, however, you only managing to smack your head against something solid, forcing you back down. "Wah…" >You clutch at your head in a daze, rubbing it to soothe the bump that's undoubtedly growing there now. >Your eyes gradually adjust to the darkness of the room, only to notice the image of a lightning bolt with a pair of wings right in front of your face. >You recognize it, but are having trouble understanding what you're looking at. The lack of sleep and the fact you just collided with it certainly doesn't help. >Soarin's cutie mark. >As if to confirm it, a long, blue tail of whiskery hairs flicks back and forth happily in front of your face. >You reach up for the lightswitch, fingers fumbling, but you eventually find a way to illuminate the room again. >Sure enough, Soarin's hindquarters are in front of your face, taking up a majority of your view. >You see his face peer over his shoulder at you, his eyes going wide with fright. >Quickly he recovers, breaking into an innocent, cheeky grin. >"Oh, hey…"
>You force his ass out of your face and lean to the side, trying to get a look at what's going on at the other end of the couch. >Soarin freezes in place as you notice his hoof fiddling with your belt, which has already half way off. "Soarin, what the fuck?!" >You sit up quickly, this time careful not to bang your head and Soarin scrambles off you. >He lands in a heap on the floor, tumbling into a pile as his limbs get tangled up in a desperate bit to get away. >Soarin picks himself up from the floor and sits on his hindlegs, head hanging low. >"S-sorry, Anon. I couldn't sleep so I, uh…" >He takes a hoof and rubs his neck, surrendering to the fact he's been caught. "So you decided to come onto me?!" >He shuts his eyes tight and leans away from you reflexively, as if your words physically hurt him. >You don't mean to yell, but needless to say you're pretty alarmed that your friend almost accosted you in your sleep. >"I'm sorry. I'll just go." >The stallion gets up on all fours and begins to trot toward the door, each step slow and sorrowful. >Scrambling out of bed, you managed to catch up with him as soon as he reaches the door, your long legs helping you stand in front of it defensively before he can get a hoof on the knob. >"Let me through, Anon." "Why?" >"Because you're mad at me, dude! Just let me go and I'll leave you alone." >You can see his eyes grow watery and he slides his googles into place as if to hide this fact. >Your heart softens a bit at the sight and you kneel down so that your faces are but a few inches from one another. "I don't want you to leave, I just want an explanation."
>You take a hold of his beloved googles and push them back up onto his forehead, only to reveal that tears are beginning to pour down his face. >The blue stallion fights back a sniffle, but loses the battle and a pathetic whine sneaks through his teeth. "Soarin, I'm not mad." >It is somewhat of a lie, but he looks like he regrets it now, at least. "Just tell me what brought this on." >He rips the googles off his head and lets them fall to the floor, his shoulders sagging under the weight of your question. >"You said that I deserve a relationship where someone respects me." "Yeah? So?" >"Well...you respect me." >Oh. >Oh, fuck. >Suddenly things start to come full circle, but your brain is still shaking of the inertia of sleep, trying desperately to get rusty gears to mow. >Soarin wanted a relationship with you? >You can't say you ever really considered that. >For starters, he's your very best friend. >But that certainly does explain his behavior earlier. How he had gotten excited when you told him he could sleep in your bed. >You drag a hand across your face, your mind racing for something to say. "Soarin, I didn't…I'm not…"
At least this isn't as bad as when I made a few typos in the Royal Pincushion thread. I somehow found a way to make it sound like Cadence's chin was on TOP of her head. Like three times. Back to writing in a few minutes.
>Judging by the reaction on his face, you might as well have slapped him. >His entire body shudders as he fights back more tears. >"I just thought…you and me…someday…maybe…" >Stunned into silence, you simply sit there and watch as your best friend pours his heart out. >"I know you're not really into stallions. I wasn't either! But, every time I'm with you I feel happy. Like, really happy, dude." >You let him continue, not daring to interrupt, but also for a lack of things to say. >Your best friend is telling you he has feelings for you and you're at a loss. >"I'm sorry for jumping the gun. Really. Thanks for not laughing at me, at least." >The last few words hit you hard. First Lightning Dust, now this. >Standing, you head back to the couch and pat the cushion, although you don't take a seat yourself. >Dutifully, Soarin follows you and climbs onto it, sitting obediently. >"I understand if this changes things." >It does. Big time. But you think that goes without saying at this point. "Soarin, can you just, give me a few minutes to think? You're welcome to stay the rest of the night, I just, I gotta think this over first." >The Wonderbolt nods in understanding, though you can see he's still a little scorned. >You begin backing up, taking slow, tentative steps toward the bathroom, your hands outstretched, as if he was some delicate vase you don't want to fall over and break. >He watches you as you back out of the room, following you with this sad, wanting green eyes. >Once you're sure he isn't going to up and leave the second you turn your back, you head down the hall to the bathroom. >As you enter, you lean up against the medicine cabinet, your forehead making contact with the cool glass. >Exasperation leaves your lungs in the form of a sigh. What are you going to do?
>>19964651 Start off as fuckbuddies. Where they don't mind of one brings a mare over for a fun night. But over time it buds into a loving relationship where they want nothing but each other to be genuinely happy. Since they aren't having any luck finding a nice mare to settle down with.
In other words, going with the fuckbuddy idea means stretching this out a lot longer than I planned. I'm not trying to like, take away the choice just after offering it, but I'm not sure I can deliver on one of the choices at the moment.
>Feelings seem to intertwine and snake through your body. You go from confusion, to worry and into indecision all in the course of a second, as well as countless other emotions. >Perhaps a little anger at being taken advantage of. >But also some regret, knowing you might have just knocked down Soarin's self-esteem even further. >You desperately feel the need to rationalize, to neatly pack these thoughts away in some mental file cabinet until you can decipher them later. >They aren't going without a fight, however. >You sit down on the toilet seat and bury your face in your hands. >This much is clear to you: >You aren't in love with Soarin. >As much as you want to be able to walk out there and give him good news, you can't fake that sort of thing. >Plus, how crushed would he be if he ever figured out you had just been pretending? >That would make you just as bad as Lightning Dust, if not worse. >It looks like you're not going to get out of this without hurting him in some way. >But somehow you know it's better to hurt him now than to break his heart later, in some twisted kind of logic. >And after all, you'd still be friends? Right? >Right?
>Soarin looks up from his hooves as you re-enter the room. >He's quiet, but the tears on his face have dried and he puts on a brave smile for you. >Leaning up against the doorframe, you send him the most sympathetic look you can manage. "Thanks for waiting." >"No problem, dude." >You realize you're just stalling now. Putting off the inevitable reality that you have to reject your best friend's bid for a relationship. >One rejection was enough and now you have to put him through another. >But Soarin seems prepared for an answer, either way. He just wants to hear what you have to say.
>Quickly, you think of a way to let him down easy. >But you've never had to do this before. And the fact that he's your best friend makes it all the more difficult. "Soarin, listen…" >The ears on top of his head twitch and swivel forward and he leans in slightly, hanging on your every word. "When we first met, I knew you were a great stallion, really. Hell, you're easily the funniest friend I've ever had. Not to mention you've been there for me more times than I can count." >The stallion sits there, wincing in discomfort. He can't tell if you're saying yes or no. >Christ, Anon. Cut the vague shit out. Just put the poor pegasus out of his misery all ready. "But I can't, man. The feelings just aren't there." >He nods knowingly, his mane bobbing as he wordlessly responds. >"T-that's okay, Anon. I understand." >To his credit, he's taking it well, but you can sense that just behind his calm demeanor he's getting emotionally torn asunder. >You just want to run over and hug him, but you know that might only confuse the poor guy even more, so you keep your feet firmly planted on the floor. >The urge begins to subside, but damn, it isn't easy to stop yourself. This is for his own good. "We're still best friends though, r-right?" >The stutter in your voice betrays just how hard this is for you to do. >Soarin hops down from his seat on the couch and grins, though it lacks that genuine cheeriness. It's a facade to keep you from worrying. >"Yeah. Best buds." >He goes to the window of the living room, peering out onto the Ponyville street. >The sun is just beginning to rise over the horizon and it fills the room with a golden glow. >"It stopped raining. I'd better go. Don't, um, want the team worrying. You know how it is." >His voice is completely flat, like a soda without bubbles or a guitar out of tune. >You gulp before nodding, watching him from the doorway. "I'm sorry."
>Soarin turns, but his features are darkened as he stands in the sunlight, a silhouette. >"It's okay, man. You don't have to explain yourself." "Maybe I can take you somewhere today? Get ice cream or something?" >"I think I need to be alone right now, Anon." >It's your turn to feel a little burned, but you see his point. >Not to mention it would be more than a little awkward to just act like nothing happened. >You need to let him hurt for awhile. You owe that much to him. "All right. Maybe something next week?" >He doesn't give it much thought before he echoes back to you. >"Maybe." >He trots past you and heads to the front door, not bothering to look up. >You sidestep, giving him a wide berth. You can feel a familiar mix of disappointment, bitterness and maybe a little anger pouring off him. >Your friend turns the knob and the refreshing scent of morning dew hits your nostrils. >The pegasus goes into a crouch, leaning on his back legs as his wings begin to swirl into action. >"I'll be seeing you. Thanks for the pie." >He doesn't wait for a reply and takes off, so quickly it shakes the contents of your house. >Stepping out onto the porch, you watch a blue streak carve it's way across the sky. >In a matter of seconds, he's a speck in the early morning clouds and in a handful more, he completely disappears from view. >Technically, it went how it was supposed to. Give a little pain now to prevent a lot more later. >But somehow that doesn't feel like it's a good thing. >Turning back inside, you see the flowers, abandoned on the kitchen table.
Cool, I look forward to seeing it, but take your time. I know you've got a lot of shit going on. I'm taking a few pages out of your book this time around, hope you don't mind.
On second thought, I'm okay with making this one slightly longer. I dislike long projects because usually my interests wanes after I've been writing too long, but I think if I plan things carefully, I can make it happen. It looks like Jeff has clop covered, so I'll go the clean route. At least for now.
Gonna stop there for the night, I think, don't want to burn myself out. Plus, I feel like it's better to stop here than to cut out in the middle of important plot. I've got tomorrow off too, so aside from a little homework I'll still be working on this.
>The weights slam down on the stack with a loud bang. >"Make this quick, Anonymous. My fuse isn't exactly long with you right now." >The look Spitfire is giving you can only be described as annoyed, as if you just broke wind in front of her. >She's sort of the last pony you want to converse with, seeing as how Soarin's told you nightmarish tales of how much of a hardass she can be. >Ordinarily, you wouldn't even think of approaching this fiery little horse, but she's probably your best bet at the moment. >You haven't seen Soarin since the night you rejected him. >And to be perfectly honest, that makes you worried sick. >Of course, you understood he needed some space. You probably broke his heart. >But you're beginning to think that your friendship is on the ropes. >No one knows him as well as you, but Spitfire's position as captain makes her a valuable source of information. >Considering the way Spitfire speaks to you, she all ready knows the story. >You watch as the weights rise and fall in perfect tempo in a seemingly endless number of repetitions. >Spitfire's wings are wrapped around two large pads on either side of her body in what you surmise is some kind of pec fly machine for pegasi. >Her enormously powerful extremities bring the weights out in front of her and she clenches her teeth with the effort. >It looks odd, seeing a pony lift weights. >Taking advantage of the brief lull in between sets, you decide to get straight to the point. "Can you at least tell me how he's doing?" >Spitfire draws pensively on the straw of her water bottle. >"You're not seriously asking me to divulge personal information about one of my squadmates, are you?" >Damn it, Spitfire. Nothing was ever simple with this mare. >She begins another set and you impatiently tap your foot, waiting for her to finish.
>Two weeks have passed. >You wouldn't have come to Spitfire unless you were desperate, but that's exactly what you are. So here you stand. >She seems to complete the next round of pulls with even more ferocity than the last, before dropping them again and standing. >You wish she would stop doing that, but considering you're the only two souls in the training center at the moment, you suppose it doesn't really matter. >She begins a trot away from the machine across the floor of the gym, but you follow in her wake, not swayed. >"Shouldn't you know how he's doing? Your his best friend, aren't you?" >It appears you're not leaving here with the information you want unless you eat a little humble pie first. >Heh, pie. It makes you think of Soarin, which brings things full circle. >As much as you dislike the idea of having to prostrate yourself before this spicy mare, she holds all the cards. "He hasn't been around. Trust me, if I knew, I wouldn't be here." >She stops at a rack of free weights, ranging from almost insulting small to intimidatingly heavy. >Your human strength could easily outmatch a normal pony, but the Wonderbolts are athletic enough that you find yourself on level footing. >Or hoofing, whatever. >She scowls at you, maybe wondering why you're still here. Using a wing, begins to curl the dumbbell with surprising ease. >Every day is wing day when you're a Wonderbolt, you guess.
>She doesn't break the conversation as she curls and uncurls the weight, her wings stretching and bristling with energy. >"If you must know, he's been acting weird the past few weeks. Well, at least more than usual." >You wince. "Weird how?" >Spitfire racks the weights and switches to a heavier set, but she doesn't flinch, keeping up as you stand there. She grins, clearly enjoying you begging for scraps of information. >"Why do you want to know so bad?" >You blink in confusion. You thought that she would have already known about your, ahem, mishap, with Soarin. >A "just because" isn't going to cut it here, you need to get Spitfire talking, even if it costs you a bit of pride. >That's a sacrifice you're willing to make. What Spitfire thinks of you isn't important. Knowing if your friend is okay, however, is. "Because I might have caused it." >It's the first time you've ever seen a crack in her egotistical armor. She stops mid-repetition, almost like the dumbbell suddenly tripled in weight. >Both drop to the floor, one after the other in quick succession, a twin pair of booms echoing through the room. >The mare adjusts the aviator sunglasses on her face just enough to peer over the frames at you. >"What did you say?" "Whatever Soarin's feeling right now…it might sort of be my fault."
>She rears up on her hind legs, front hooves pinwheeling dangerously before they slam into your chest, catching you dead center. >The next thing you know you're spread eagle on the gummy floor of the gym, your head bouncing against the vinyl padding. >You choke down a breath in shock, sputtering as oxygen rushes into your lungs. >Did you really just get your ass kicked by a pony half your size? Sure, she's pretty athletic but your pride is just as wounded as the back of your head. >A ferocious looking Spitfire towers over you, all four legs straddling you as she bends her head down to you. >Her face is but an inch from yours and her furious glower takes up the entirety of your vision. >"Explain. You have 30 seconds." "Wha-" >She reiterates her command with short, biting sentences. >"THIRTY. SECONDS. ANON." >You assume she wants you to expand on what you mean by hurting Soarin. "Listen, Spitfire, it's a pretty complicated situa-" >She presses her muzzle straight up against your nose, your foreheads butting against each other. >Through gritted teeth, she makes a threat. >"Try me. I'm a reaaaaaal good listener." >Her words practically drip with venom and vitriol. Holy shit. You're having a hard time believing that a cartoon marshmallow pony can be this frigging intimidating. >You've never made a policy of divulging personal stuff about your friends, but it's painfully clear she's not going to let up until you tell her what you meant by that. "He came to my apartment the other day and…" >You look away, wondering if this is the right thing to do. >"Go. On." "He asked me out."
>She cocks her eyebrow, but soon backs up off you, almost apologetically. >What the hell was that about? >Her voice is suddenly very low, a drastic difference from her serious tone just seconds ago. >"I didn't know he was…you know..." >You sit up, rubbing the back of your head with your palm delicately, feeling the newest bump in your collection of head injuries. "I didn't think so either. Hell, he had just asked out Lightning Dust before he showed up on my doorstep. I haven't seen him since." >Spitfire falls silent for a moment and you take the opportunity to pick yourself up off the floor, brushing off your pants. >"So you said no?" "Well, yeah. He's my best friend, Spitfire. And I'm not really into stallions." >Her lip curls up in a toothy smirk. >"Coulda fooled me." >You decide to let that one slide and start pumping for some news again. "Do you see why I'm worried now? Can you please just tell me how he's been?" >Spitfire's smug look dissipates and returns to its collected demeanor before nodding. >"I suppose I can trust you. But it stays here, you read me?" >Are you actually making progress with firehorse? Whatever, you'll take it. >A solitary nod of your own is your answer. >"He missed practice last week. And he showed up drunk to one the other day. It's not like him, to say the least." >You let out an exasperated sigh. >She's quite right. Soarin wasn't one to shirk his responsibilities, as goofy as he could be. >And sure, you'd had a few beers with him now and then, but he never let that interfere with his job. >Shit, what did you do to Soarin?
>>19978381 >You will never give blowjob to Soarin >He will never pet you with his hooves while you tenderly suck his hot flesh >You will never wipe his watery cum off your cheek, while he lies here, panting and smiling his stupidly charming smile >You will never get extra slice of pie from him
>>19978697 >You will never have Soarin's boner act like a rudder. >You will never ride your majestic stallion-turned-air yacht across the sky. >You will never laugh at the peasants on the ground, as you cause him to empty his testes onto the world below, and right onto their faces. >You will never recount the glorious experience on 4chan, for all the world to read about.
"Anything else?" >Spitfire thinks about it for a moment, but eventually shakes her head in decline. >Well, at least he's hasn't totally dropped off the face of the Earth. >The destructive behavior isn't really a good thing, but you're relieved to know he's not hurt or hasn't disappeared. "Okay. Just, you know, take care of him for me, will you?" >The pegasus' eyes narrow slightly, probably not too keen on being ordered around. >"I will. Not for you, but I will." >You guess that will have to do. As long as it gets done, you don't care how she does it or for whom. >It sucks to know he's taking this so hard, but, you're oddly comforted by the fact Spitfire will be close by in case anything else happens. >She may be a pain in the ass, but at least you can rely on her to look after her teammate. >The gym is filled with a downright uncomfortable silence now, while you and Spitfire stare each other down. >Satisfied that you at least got an answer, you begin to make your way to the door. >Considering she knocked you down earlier, you're not really in any mood to thank her, so you simply wave as you walk away. >The captain calls to you as you leave her in your wake. >Hey, Anon!" >You stop, but don't bother to turn around, simply looking over your shoulder and waiting for her to proceed. >She looks around the gymnasium skittishly, scanning for any potential eavesdroppers. >"This conversation?" "Never happened, I got it." >Waving her off, you decide to head for home.
>The bus ride home is short and before you know it, you're deposited onto the gravel path leading up to your small cottage. >Your mind, obviously, is still on Soarin. >In fact, much of the day has been spent that way. >As was yesterday. >And the past week. Make that two. >But he's your best friend, so that doesn't surprise you too much. >You're just worried about him, poor fella. >You notice your hand growing slick with sweat as you fumble with your keys, but you wipe it off on your pant leg. >Huh. It doesn't feel humid outside. >Finally your fingers find the correct key and slide it into the lock, the door yawning open into your kitchen. >Your errand with Spitfire complete, you're grateful for the welcoming embrace of home. >Save for the couch. Fuck that fucking couch. >On the kitchen windowsill sits a vase of yellow flowers. >They're the ones Soarin had on him when he dropped by your house. >And although you've never really been into horticulture, you feel an odd compulsion to keep them. >They're just flowers. And they weren't meant for you. They were his gift to Lightning Dust. >Lightning Dust. >God damn even thinking about that mare makes you angry. Angry that she hurt Soarin's feelings. But then again, are you any better? >No, absolutely not. Lightning Dust had been flat-out mean to Soarin. >You simply…did what you had to. >You seem satisfied with that logic for now, as you take a glass and freshen the water in the vase. >You're not sure why you're looking after them, but, you don't want to see them die. At least not yet. >They won't last for too much longer, but they're hanging in there.
>A few stray petals have fallen into the sink. >Turning the water on, you let it run for a few seconds and then quickly shut it off again,, watching as the dying, shriveled things circle the drain and then disappear forever. >Your stomach growls and you decide to take a moment for a little snack. >A quick investigation into your refrigerator reveals a large pie, completely untouched. >You baked it yourself, hoping that when Soarin came around, you'd have something to make things up to him. >If he ever came around, that is. >You know you shouldn't talk like that. Pessimism wasn't going to do you any good at this rate. >But at his rate, it'll go bad before the time comes. >It almost kind of hurts as you cut a slice for yourself. >Hah. Getting upset over a piece of pie. Man, you need to see a shrink. >You make a mental note to look into that, but for now you just decide to enjoy your snack. >You sit down at the table with fork in hand. >Feels wrong. >It almost seems a shame to eat some of it. You really wanted to save it for next time. >No, fuck it. It's your pie. You made it. Why the hell shouldn't you eat it? >With gusto you plunge the fork into the pastry and it cracks around the pronged instrument. >You eat it before you have a chance to reconsider and begin to chew, taking a moment to admire your cooking skills. >Not bad. But not as good as Granny Smith's. >Out of the corner of your eye, however, you spot the flowers, dappled in the rays of sunshine pouring in through the window. >A petal pops off and flutters down, slowly twirling until it finds a resting spot on the counter. >Looking back down at your pie, you're suddenly not hungry. >You wish Soarin was here. >You wish you weren't crying.
Haven't been back in awhile. All I know is the guy who makes the threads kept trying to get responses out of Noctis. When anons asked him to stop he kept threatening to go over to the SunDay threads. They're a huge mess. A shame too, because I like writefagging about Moonhoss.
>Sleep comes easier tonight than it has in two weeks. >You're used to lying awake, sick with worry and regret. >Your mind has been slaving in the past, wondering if there's something you could have done to spare Soarin's feelings. >The conversation plays over and over in your head like a cassette tape you can just rewind and listen to at will. >What Spitfire said today makes you feel guilty to say the least. >Not to mention you've begun to wonder how to define your relationship with the stallion. >Was he a best friend? A brother? Or…something else? >For the better part of a fortnight, these thoughts have kept you from any sense of tranquility. >But rest comes mercifully quickly. >You trade the scratchy and humid sheets for what feels like a cool bed of grass. >Your eyes open, expecting to see the sickly yellow ceiling of your bedroom. >Instead, you find yourself looking into an endless, milky, sky, festooned with stars. >You don't question the impossible change in scenery, oddly accepting it as it is. It's too beautiful to try and rationalize away, so you resign to getting lost in it. >It isn't long before the sound of hoofsteps in the thick grass draw near. >You are tempted to turn your head and see who it is, but your vision is still trained on the sky, hypnotized by the tranquility of night. >That and you sort of know who it is already. >The tufted sounds die away, as the figure comes to a halt. >"A fair evening to you, Anonymous. We are most glad you could join us."
>>19994290 >>19994274 >>19994275 It's just about as shark-jumping as you can fucking get. Isn't there something else moon-butt could be doing than talking to a bald Sasquatch and his sexuality issues with his best friend? I mean, really?
I hate to sound like I don't know where my own story is going, but I'm willing to listen to the criticism on this one. A problem I have with Luna is she often robs characters of a chance to develop emotionally on their own, most of the time just handing them the answer to their problems. It takes a lot of conflict out of the story, which is sort of where the feels are supposed to come from. I like her and wanted her in this story, but only if she's going to serve a purpose. Here, she doesn't really, so I'm willing to cut the umbilical.
I think I have an idea you'll like a lot more. Give me some time to regroup and I'll get back to it.
>>19994476 I appreciate it, man, but a smooth sea never makes for a particularly good sailor.
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