In the lobby of Ponyville Town Hall, you awkwardly sit in a broken rolly chair behind a creaky secretary desk—soon to be your creaky secretary desk. You're trying very hard to set a good example for the impressionable young minds that were misguidedly placed in your care. So far, you’ve lied and tricked them into doing your work, so you think you're doing a pretty good job overall.
In the middle of the room, a towering mound of paper stretches halfway to the ceiling. Smaller, more organized stacks line the walls, steadily growing in size thanks to the magic of child exploitation. To your immense surprise and relief, the vast majority of the papers so far have been complaint forms. Apparently, some folks aren’t too happy with the lack of mayoring going on recently. You’re pretty sure you can safely ignore all of that for now, so those are the ones getting shoved against the walls. The rest of the papers are a mix of tax stuff, notes about changes to the weather schedule, and a concerning number of funding requests from various public facilities, namely the school and the hospital.
It's a miracle this town is still functioning.
"I found another one!" Sweetie Belle announces, her head emerging from the large pile. You had instructed her to look for any papers without the decorative green border marking the complaint forms. After wiggling the rest of her body out, she proudly holds a single paper aloft. "What does 'charitable deduction' mean?" she asks, slowly sounding out the words.
"It's something to do with ducks," Scootaloo answers, her muffled voice coming from the opposite side of the pile.
"Oh, okay,” Sweetie Belle nods. “It’s got Fluttershy's name on it, so that makes sense.” She tilts the paper sideways, squinting her eyes. “Wow, ducks are expensive."
You don't bother correcting them, mostly because it would bring up more questions about how taxes work, and you don't have the energy or patience for that. You also have a mild case of severe retardation, so there's a very good chance you would give them the wrong answers anyway.
Shaking off that thought, you take the paper from Sweetie Belle and return your attention to the task at hand—your left hand, to be precise. Your right one is currently being held hostage by a southern accent with a big pink bow. Apple Bloom had crawled into your lap shortly after you sat down and has since refused to move. She’s been surprisingly useful, helping you sort the miscellaneous papers into something resembling an organized system. Unfortunately, you made the mistake of petting her. It seemed fine at first, until you tried to pull your hand away. She grabbed it, put it back on the spot you were rubbing, then shot you square in the face with a double-barrel of sad eyes and a “pretty please?” You haven't moved your hand away since.
You need to grow a fucking backbone, dude.
Apple Bloom snatches the paper away and eagerly shoves it into the drawer you labeled 'TAX SHI STUFF.' She and Sweetie Belle immediately check to see if they've earned their cutie marks. They both sigh in unison when they see that their flanks are still blank. It was amusing the first few times, but they've been doing it for every single paper. It's just sad at this point.
"Anything?" Scootaloo calls hopefully.
"Nothin'," Apple Bloom replies.
Scootaloo groans and crawls out of the pile with a great deal of flailing limbs and buzzing wings. You could help her, but the scene is just too damn funny. It’s like watching a cat trying to walk in tiny cat shoes.
"Ugh, I'm starting to think we're not gonna get paperwork cutie marks, girls," she finally pants, out of breath from her battle with physics.
The other two Crusaders voice their agreement, making you realize your plan had only partly succeeded. Come next Monday, you'd still have a massive load of work, but at least now it's been cut down a bit from the stupid amount it was before.
"Honestly, I'm kinda glad we didn't get our cutie marks," Sweetie Belle says. "This was getting boring."
"Yeah, I'm beat," Scootaloo nods.
"Whaddya mean?" Apple Bloom yawns, stretching in your lap before hopping down to join her friends. "Ah had a great time!"
Of course you did, you little shit. Now free of the oppressive filly's control, you take a moment to massage your cramped fingers and weigh your options while she talks to her friends about pony shit.
You could let them drag you along on their next crusade, but that would involve moving. Well, moving more than usual. Hmm. Maybe you could "accidentally" lock them in your house. It's already a mess, so there's not much more they can do damage-wise. No, that wouldn't look good if someone contacts the police after hearing a bunch of fillies trying to escape. On the other hand, there's free food in prison, and your exposure to Pinkie would go down significantly.
When the thought of not seeing the pink mare anymore enters your mind, you realize you would actually miss her. Shit, you miss her right now, and it's only been a few hours. Jesus fuck, dude, you're such a pansy. Sure, she’s the only reason you get out of bed in the morning, but you can live without her for a single fucking day.
Maybe.
"C'mon, Anon!" Apple Bloom interrupts your thoughts. "It's almost lunch time! Granny Smith is makin us a whole buncha apple turnovers!"
You have no idea what an apple turnover is. Before you can actually ask, Apple Bloom is already out the door, her friends following close behind. You briefly entertain the thought of just taking a nap while they fuck off to the other side of town, but you know Rarity would have your head on a fashionably silver platter if she found out you slept in these clothes. That would make them all wrinkly, and she can smell wrinkly clothes from a mile away. There's also the whole abandoning the fillies thing, but they technically left you, so you’d probably be safe on that front. Still, it's not worth the risk.
Grumbling to no one in particular, you drag yourself outside and head for Sweet Apple Acres.
"And one time, mah cousin came over, and we built a float for the Summer Harvest Parade, and Sweetie Belle was gold!"
"It took days to wash it out of my mane..."
You nod politely, chewing on another apple turnover while the Crusaders take turns talking at you about the their long string of failed attempts to get cutie marks. It almost makes you feel a little better about yourself. You may not have succeeded at anything in life, but at least you didn't fail as much as these three.
"Anon, dearie?" Granny Smith calls from the kitchen. "Can ya come in here real quick?"
Expecting more food, you gently untangle yourself from the fillies attached to your arms and shoulders, trying to mentally block out their whines of protest. It almost works. Walking through the doorway, you see Granny Smith near the sink, motioning you to come closer.
"Ah ain't one fer fancy talk, but Ah just wanted to say we all appreciate ya lookin after the girls today. These old bones can't move around like they used to, and Mac has to work extra, what with Applejack going with her friends to that doohickey in the city." She gives you a warm smile, her eyes seeming to brighten as she talks. "Ah know ya been cooped up in that house o’ yer’s for a long while, so it's good to see that yer out and about now. We were all gettin a mite worried."
What. You don't even know this lady. Why would she or anyone else have been worried about you? Fucking ponies, being weird and shit.
You start getting sentimental for some reason, but you power through because you’re a man, dammit. You might be a sorry excuse for one, but you're still technically a man, and men don't get emotional about stupid shit. Only about serious shit, like dog movies.
“I guess you can blame Pinkie for that," you eventually say, clearing your throat of any unmanliness. "She's very... persistent." She’s also insane, hyper, even more sickeningly adorable than normal ponies, possibly a demon, and incredibly soft. And pink.
"And she's single," Granny Smith winks.
And she's single.
Wait, what?
The older mare starts cackling at the look on your face, turning back to the stove. You take that as your cue to leave, so you slowly turn and walk back to the dining room. The moment you exit the kitchen, the fillies latch on and drag you to their clubhouse to “draw up blueprints." Aside from the occasional grunt, you aren’t able to offer much help with building the trebuchet. Your brain is working overtime putting together the pieces of the puzzle it just found.
Damn, this story really IS about me, huh
I'm beginning to wonder if ponies and dogs aren't actually related somehow.
Truth. Any man can cry at a sad animal film and keep their male pride intact. The only exception I can think of is cat films.
Fuck cats.
i was not expecteing granny smith to do that maybe thats why i laughed so had
8861286
Amen. Cats are pussies.
The only non-animal film I would and have shed a tear for is The Green Mile.
8861286
Except when ponies are cats. Then, they're adorable.
The puzzle has been unearthed.
s2.quickmeme.com/img/0b/0bb76e7e64886943032731baf901b80343e7700bd930120b7f0a88b5b6fb51dd.jpg
8861367
As a cat owner myself, I can attest that cats are far smarter than humans. I've been fully domesticated by mine.
Nicely done chapter, dude!
Grandmothers, the bane of all relationships
8861286
8861367
I would propose one exception for Big Cats, because if you watched The Lion King and didn't cry when Mufasa was killed (and that heartwrenching scene right after), then you are an alien or a really crappy robot. Or a zombie. Just someone without a soul.
8863267
Yeah, I'm talking more about house cats. That Lion King scene was sad as shit
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You stop making me feel things right this instant i spent so long stamping those pesky emotions out and this bastion of burgeoning love and adorableness is gonna break me
more please it's so pure
fukin cats....
also, I want Anon-kun to hurry up and plow the crazy out of Pinkie
I really love this story; I can't wait for more
8863267
As a alien zombie robot i take offense to this.
Ponies of culture, eh? Representing the superior siege engine, that can launch a 90kg projectile up to 300m.
Soooo.....there was a new chapter last month huh?.........and I only got the note about it now after the second new chapter came out a month later.........I hate it if that happens.
Was this the guy that liked to stand in his awesome corner?
Not sure how to feel about it, nothing bad happens here but sometimes I wish they just would say what they think about instead letting the ponies "ponyfie their feelings".
Not sure if that word works, but I meant making them feel like a pony or fixing them 100% so that they aren't themself anymore but rather what the ponies want them to be.
Long story short, he could have said, "I appreciate it, but why did you got worried I didn 't really knew you guys."
I can also image them speaking about the fact that their feelings or way of thinking works differently and while I can image what they would say, they should actually respect that and accept it like that a bit.
I like this story, I just felt like speaking about it.
Well since this works so well I hope you don't make the "Mares need to protect their stallions or there are more mares thing a fact in your story. I like it if the story just happens without feeling the need to mention that since i hardly see it handled right.
I take offense to that good sir!
...
*crying*
8861205
I'd give them right answers, but not to their questions because I'm full of
BSI mean, useless trivia-- I watch How It's Made and similar programs WAY too much. I'd also be their slave for petting and ear scritches, cute pones are my kryptonite. (Stick a fork in me, I'm done)8863267
I didn't cry when mufasa died, I cried when Scar did
Funzies aside, it really is a hard four-piece puzzle. I mean, you have four squares, they're all white with a hint of blue (but nowhere near the edges), and there's no manual as to how they should be assembled. You're supposed to put it together and decide whether you like it (and you're done) or not... And while people will tell you that you're not supposed to end up with a weird shape that's three squares next to each other and one on its fucking edge... they can go fuck themselves, I'll put all of my fucking pieces on the edge if I want to. Same edge, too! Fuck you!
Ehrm. Anyway. Yeah.
Quick learner.
Who else was worried?
10161497
I'm beginning to believe that this is a scenario that actually happened due to the level of detail in your comment.
God damnit anon, you had three rules to follow, and you just broke one of them