//------------------------------// // Chapter 12 - Aches and Pains // Story: One or the Other // by Blind Alley //------------------------------// Getting back home was a relief. Sure, it sucked that we were leaving things up in the air so we could “sleep on it”, but it meant I could do something I'd been needing to do since yesterday: take my stupid top off. Unicorns and earth ponies have it so easy. All they have to worry about is arms and legs, maybe a horn if they're really long or trying to put on a sweater. Wings make clothes way harder for pegasai. Unless they're full open back, shirts need holes cut in them big enough not to chafe, but small enough that they wont catch the wind while flying and drag you down. Getting shirts on usually isn't too bad, but taking them off again means going against the grain of your feathers, and that is a surefire way to have a bad time. When my wings had finally caught up with the rest of me, I'd had a terrible time learning how to get dressed without needing an hour of preening afterward. Sure, you can get shirts that button up the back, but those are like having a ton of extra bras to fasten all the way up and down your back. Speaking of bras: they suck. You've got your normal bras with hooks and snaps that you gotta work around your wings to deal with, then you've got your sports bras which are like wearing another, tighter shirt under your shirt. They say mares don't really need them and that they don't do a thing to stop you going saggy later, so why bother? And yeah, if you're just gonna sit on your rump all day, you're probably good. But, unless you're flat as a board, you're gonna want something to hold the stupid things still if you're gonna fly cloud busting duty. Before long, and without too many ruffled feathers, my tanktop joined its many identical twins on the laundry pile. That only left my binder, which is an even bigger, tighter pain than a regular sports bra. I worked my fingertips under the bottom edge as gently as I could manage to start trying to peel the thing off. I winced as the fabric pulled away, probably leaving the usual reddish grooves where it had dug in. The tough, skin tight fabric fought hard to stay where it was. Any other day getting the stupid thing off took several long, painful seconds of contorting my arms and wings before I could feel the sweet relief of freedom without breaking any feathers. This was not any other day. I'd been stuck in the horrible thing for over twenty four hours straight and during that time I'd been slapped across the face, made Sweetie cry, got pinned to a tree by the lips, come out of the closet, and almost ruined my relationships with my best friends. My chest ached and throbbed, my skin was sore around my ribs, the bases of my wings were chafing, and I was officially done with it. “Come on you stupid--” I yanked and stretched at the unyielding black fabric first in the front then in the back. Breath hissed through my clenched teeth from the jolts of pain. “Get OFF!” I gave a frustrated tug at the neckline that would've been totally useless for taking of a brand new binder fresh from the store shelves. This binder was not new. It'd been too small since forever ago; the fact that I was still using it was, being honest, more out of denial than anything else. After years of holding way more pony than it was built for, the binder finally gave up and split open right down the front. It was a lot like opening one of those new cardboard tubes of biscuit dough. My flattened chest instantly became unflattened in a display of cleavage that probably would have made Sweetie Belle's eyes pop out of her head if she saw it happen. Y'know, if my boobs weren't ugly and gross. “Oh, come on! Why now!? Uuugghhh!” I stalked across the room to my nightstand and rummaged through the top drawer for a pair of scissors to cut the thing the rest of the way off. The bottom band of the binder was still clinging on for dear life which would make getting it off a pain in the rump even torn in half. One quick snip with the scissors and I was finally free. “Ohhh, Celestia, I needed that.” I shrugged the shoulder straps of the binder off and finally shoehorned my wings free in the back. The ruined fabric flopped to the floor, where it would probably hang out for a few moons before I decided to clean it up. My shorts and socks followed but got kicked over to the laundry pile instead. At long last, I reached the edge of my bed and flopped onto my side, careful of my wings and my sore chest. That was my last binder, too. Three years of wearing the things, ever since I started my stupid growth spurt. I was the last out of the Crusaders at pretty much every step of growing up. Last to learn my natural magic, last to get (sorta) taller, hay, I was even the last to hit puberty by over a year and a half! They were seriously starting to think something was really wrong with me and then, bam, it all hit like a ton of bricks. I glared down at my chest spitefully. If I'd been born an earth pony or a unicorn I would probably have been pretty happy when I started growing. 'Course, they'd turned out weird shaped, all lumpy and squashed and ugly, so that probably wouldn't have lasted. Even if they were as perfect as Sweetie's and AB's probably are, I'm not an earth pony, or a unicorn, or a crystal pony, or even a sea pony. I'm a pegasus and pegasai aren't busty. At least, y'know, we aren't supposed to be busty. Pegasai are born to fly and up in the air a big bust is dead weight. Drag. A big pair of sandbags weighing you down that are only good for holding open the collar of your shirt to let the wind get in and blow it up like a windsock. Sure, the only reason any pegasus gets off the ground at all is magic, but the more body weight that magic has to lift, the less is left to be awesome. That means the pegasus ideal is lean, light, toned, and fit. Rainbow Dash has that nailed down perfectly. She doesn't exactly check the other boxes about grooming and styling and makeup, but that's just 'cause she's too busy kicking rumps and taking names to need to care. I wanted to look like that so bad it really, actually, for real hurts. A lot. That's what I got for breaking my Pinkie Promise to Fluttershy, I guess. I groaned long and loud while I sat up and rubbed my sore chest gingerly, wincing from the pain of my memory of last time as much as my current agony. I had to go back to Fluttershy. The only other pony off the top of my head that even owned a measuring tape was fussy, overbearing, the sister of one of my crushes, and out of town. Even if she weren't, I'd probably end up in some kind of frilly, pink corset instead. I shuddered and slid off my bed to get dressed again. …Then I started imagining Sweetie in a frilly pink corset. A nice, tight, uplifting corset, and her all posed on a bed with her hands in her lap so her arms pushed in from the sides and she was wearing this sneaky sort of smile and-- I sighed and turned right back around towards my bed. “Stupid, sexy Sweetie…”