The Ribbing, The Landing, And The Cafe
Going to put this Author's Note here. First off, thank you for clicking on the fic! I hope you all enjoy this chapter and I appreciate any feedback I receive except from Mike White. This is a running joke btw, sorry Mike.
Secondly, going to put my song list I listened to while writing this fic:
- Darko US - Ana First Deathcore track I've used for writing purposes.
- Currents - Over and Over THE RIFF THO
- Invent Animate - Sleepless Deathbed The chorus hits so hard.
Lastly, I have already blogged about it, but this fic is already completed, I'm just having my pre-readers (Rikkity and Chaospaladin) run through this so that way it's in its final draft form. So yeah, going to upload the chapters as the pre-readers get finished with them. 
“Spits, why are you here?”
Soarin, who Spitfire saw as one of her best friends, asked her why she was here rather than anywhere else, with Fleetfoot and himself, of all ponies, on her day off.
“I don’t know, Soarin. Is it bad that I wanted to hang out with the both of you?”
Spitfire sighed. She was sitting in the living room of Fleetfoot’s apartment. They were currently on a couch, Spitfire opposite of Fleetfoot and Soarin. The latter were cuddling, Fleetfoot nuzzling right into Soarin’s chest fluff while Soarin had his wings loosely wrapped around her withers. Spitfire felt like she was about to get diabetes from these two, but she wasn’t a huge fan of hospitals, so she avoided it as much as possible by scooting a bit further away from the pair.
However, that didn’t save her from their lambasting.
“Right now? Yes. No offense, I love you as a good friend, Spits. But you should be totally out there enjoying your day off.”
“Her, enjoying her day off?” Fleetfoot piped up, her head now out of Soarin’s chest fluff. “Capt barely knows what a day off is, Soar. Give her a break.”
Spitfire felt her muzzle scrunch up. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Exactly,” the teal furred pile of feathers said with that stupid smirk on her face. She’ll be flying extra laps for this one. “You wouldn’t know because you’ve never had a day off.”
“She’s right, y’know?” Soarin agreed with a sheepish smile, while he frazzled and tousled with Fleetfoot’s mane. This earned him a very burning glare from Fleetfoot.
“Careful, Soarin,” Spitfire said, pointing a hoof at Fleetfoot’s head. “I think I see steam coming off her head.”
“Spits, Fleety won’t hit me for that—ow!”
“Never assume I won’t bop you on the muzzle for playing with my mane like that!” Fleetfoot growled before diving her head back into Soarin’s chest. “Now go back to petting me while you tell Spitfire to go find Anon.”
Spitfire’s eyes widened. “Wait, what?”
“Oh, don’t play dumb, Spits,” Soarin began while he adjusted his wings accordingly. He gently weaved his hoof through her hair, earning him a soft coo. “Fleety and I both know you two are a thing now.”
“Was it that obvious?”
Fleetfoot mumbled something, but her voice was muffled by Soarin’s fluff. He smiled.
“Fleetfoot translator here. She said very.”
Fleetfoot moved just enough to make her muzzle more visible and she added, “Soar and I have a bet going on that you two will announce to all the tabloids in a few weeks.”
“I don’t think you will announce it, but I am pretty certain Fleety here knows you way more than I do when it comes to this stuff,” Soarin said, his gaze now downcast.
Spitfire chuckled. “It’s a mare thing. Besides, you were never good at betting on things.”
“That’s why I have all the bits currently!” Fleetfoot grinned. She flitted her wings.
“More like you steal my bits,” Soarin said with an eye roll. “Anyway, enough stalling, Spits. Go get your stal—er, human?”
“You’re learning!” Fleetfoot chirped, nuzzling back into him again.
Spitfire felt frozen in place, her mind still fixated on how they knew about her and Anon. It had only been a week since she was sick. Did somepony hear them from outside the hall? It made Spitfire’s fur crawl as if her nerve endings were suddenly on fire, but she took a deep breath. She had to keep her cool.
“Alright, alright, you two had your fun?”
“Not until you go see Anon,” Soarin replied, glaring at her. “Seriously, I think he’d love to see you right now.”
“Really?” Spitfire asked with a raised brow.
Soarin threw his free forehoof up, while the other maintained its petting of Fleetfoot’s mane. “Dude, any stallion would be ecstatic if their mare decided to pay them a visit!”
“Hmmm,” Fleetfoot hummed, before nuzzling into Soarin’s cheek. “Guess I need to visit more often.”
“You better,” Soarin said, his not free hoof drifting more toward her withers. “I don’t have anypony else I care about like I do with you.”
“Awww, at least someone cares,” Fleetfoot said, pursing her lips. “Say, after Spitfire leaves, you want to take a nap?”
Soarin sighed and nuzzled Fleetfoot’s cheek back. “Sounds perfect.”
“Are you two kicking me out?”
“Not exactly, more like we’re… prodding you in the right direction,” Soarin advised with a smirk plastered on his muzzle. “Think of us as your wingponies in this situation.”
“Ayy, what he said, Capt,” Fleetfoot said with a mock salute.
Soarin chuckled. “Careful, she’ll make you do extra laps.”
“Don’t worry, she’s already flying double for that comment from earlier,” Spitfire declared with a smirk. Fleetfoot frowned, before bringing her wings out to latch onto Soarin more. Spitfire needed to remember to get a camera next time so she can threaten Fleetfoot with this as blackmail someday. “Okay, so if I fly over to the castle and he’s busy, any suggestions on what I should do while I’m there?”
“Go sight-seeing or something. We always go to Canterlot while on tour or for the Grand Galloping Gala. We never really get to see Canterlot in its glory, y’know?”
“Fair enough,” Spitfire said, her ears splayed against her head. She sighed as she got off the couch and walked toward the door. “Guess I’ll be going then. Make sure you two lovebirds are ready for tomorrow afternoon’s practice, okay?”
“Aye, Capt,” Soarin said dryly. He wrapped his wing around Fleetfoot. “Now go get him.”
Spitfire snorted, before she slung on her saddlebags and walked out of the apartment. Maybe they were right, she hadn’t had a day off in her life. When she was a filly, she could recall taking a day off from school because her mother wanted to take her on an early vacation, but that was the only time Spitfire could recall such a thing. And now here she was, taking her second one, her first one in the Wonderbolts.
What was she going to do if Anon wasn’t available?
Her wings tingled as she walked out of the apartment complex and into the limelight. She unfurled wings and took off, leaving a light gust of wind in her wake. Maybe she was overthinking it or maybe she was destined to be a third wheel for the rest of her career.
Bah. She closed her eyes as she soared into the sky. She’ll wing it like she always had done. That hasn’t led her astray, right?
Right?
Spitfire stretched her wings. She had landed on a nearby cloud that overlooked the city of Canterlot. Yeah, she knew it was a bad idea. Ponies would think she’s scheming on the little cloud of hers and, to be honest, this airspace was a no fly zone, but she didn’t care. No pony was going to bother her. She was just taking a breather.
Yeah, a breather. She was totally selling that one. She had been there for way longer than she should. The sun was high now, and she was definitely burning daylight sitting there looking like some pseudo-stalker.
She let out a brief blow, before groaning. She was making this way harder than she needed it to be. Like, how hard could it be? She’d just stroll into town with a smile on her face, like she’s lived there for a long time instead of looking like a first-time tourist. Easy. She’d just need to pretend she’s not sight-seeing and just bee-line for the castle. Just walk up those stone steps, ask a guard if they could point her in the right direction, and then she’d find Anon. She’d find him and then…
…she’d figure that out when she saw him standing over her.
Cricking her neck and giving a rather shaky breath, she pounced off her cloudy overlook with some oomph, poofing the poor thing out of existence with her hindlegs. She flew just fast enough that her mane, which she didn’t even work on but still cared about, would not morph into a giant ball of static and sweat, or worse: a foster home for non-imaginary birds who got caught in her next wingtip turn. She whipped around the city’s streets, seeing all the little ponies and creatures look up at her prowess. She felt proud. Proud of herself as she totally owned this improvised act she was putting on.
And then she realized that she wasn’t paying attention, and there was a giant fountain getting closer and closer to her.
She pulled up, her wings angling just right to not completely crash and burn. Instead, she would only just burn, as her wings ached by the sudden up-thrust. She thanked them for saving her life. They helped her narrowly avoid what could’ve been her demise: a pile of orange mush and feathers that could’ve been stuck to the ground. Luckily she was just a shaky mess of feathers named Spitfire. She had landed right in front of a nearby flower vendor, whose rickety old stand of rose and luck catapulted her heart into a tailspin.
Flowers. Her weakness. Both in love and in cuisine.
“Uh…ah. Sorry. Can I get a rose?”
The vendor, a mare who looked like she was about to go bug-eyed at her (it’s got to be the Wonderbolt thing going on here, that’s all Spitfire could come up with), nodded. “That’ll be all?”
Her drawl rang in Spitfire’s ears. “Y-Yeah.”
The burning in her wings were distracting her, while her lungs were trying to catch up with her. She panted heavily as she waited for her rose.
But she wasn’t ready for what she was given. She gasped, her eyes blinking rapidly at the flower. The rose sat in front of her, never wilting and as alive as a rose could be. It looked… great, but not as great as the something that she spotted out of the corner of her eye. That was what she was gasping about.
It was important to her. It was what she dragged her sorry self out of Fleetfoot’s apartment for. A familiar face, one that she could spot anywhere.
She shook her head; tossed some bits on the counter; thanked the vendor, whose drawl of a ‘thank you’ went almost unheard by Spitfire’s beating heart; and munched on her singular rose like she totally wasn’t walking straight for them while keeping her eyes glued on her prize: the only human in Equestria.
Realizing her heart was still thumping hard in her chest, and her attempts at calming it weren’t working at all, Spitfire resigned from quelling it, choosing to let out a brief blow. She channeled her inner… her and tossed the stem of the now-eaten rose away in a nearby bin.
Spitfire strutted up to her oblivious human and smirked. “Hey, Anon.”
Her human turned around, his eyes wide and jaw agape telling her that Soarin was right. Better get him an apple pie for later. “S-Spitfire?”
“The one and only,” she replied. She prepped herself to get on her hindlegs to greet him. “Thought I’d stop by to see you and—whoa!”
She squeaked as Anon grabbed her by her midsection and pulled her up. She froze, not expecting to suddenly be lifted off the ground. There, she was folded into him, his arms propping her back while she laid belly up. She was held in place, which made her already beating heart keep its fast pace. She was way more aware of her surroundings, but she was also keenly aware of Anon’s presence, as he had essentially cradled her in his arms and was nuzzling her cheek.
“Anon! What the—”
“Sorry, I’m so happy to see you that I needed to do this.”
“Needed? That bad of a day already?”
A low growl emerged from Anon’s throat, tickling Spitfire’s fur since he was still nuzzling her cheek. He looked away briefly, before he walked over to a nearby bench. He sat down and brought her closer to him, which she didn’t even know was possible. “Yeah. Had a bit of a run-in with Prince Blueballs.”
“Prince… who?” Spitfire asked, her eyes widened. She was trying to hold herself together, but knowing Anon even before they started being a thing, he was about to make this ten times worse.
“Oh, sorry. His royal pain-in-the-flanks. If he actually blue-balled me, I would be ticked.”
Spitfire rolled her eyes. “Careful, hon. He’s got a large horn and a lot of power—”
“I’ll shove his horn where the sun doesn’t shine if he tells me to ‘run an errand for me’ again. I’m not his civil servant, I’m a royal adviser!”
Spitfire undipped herself from her human’s grasp and scootchied herself enough to still feel comfortable in his arms. “Have you told Princess Celestia about him?”
Anon petted Spitfire’s mane rather gently. He sighed. “I did. She just said, ‘Well, my nephew is a work in progress.’ I told her that it must be permanently stuck there, as he has not changed one bit since I’ve arrived, to which she said, ‘All ponies progress differently.’” Anon huffed smoke out of his nostrils, at least, that’s what Spitfire swore she saw. “She’s way too lenient on him. Dude had something crawl up his ass and died and now his unwashed flanks are ruining my day.”
Spitfire couldn’t hold it in any longer. She laughed. She laughed hard. She felt her body take control, rolling in the human’s grasp. She nearly rolled right out of his arms, but Anon was always careful with her, even if his balancing act looked like he was attempting to introduce competitive pony see-sawing as an Equestrian sport.
It took her a bit to come down from her high she just had, but seeing Anon’s blushing face made her forcibly ground herself mentally. She nuzzled him back. “Ah—sorry… you n-nearly killed me with that, Anon.”
“Well I’ll try to avoid that next time. You almost drew a crowd over here!”
Spitfire’s eyes widened. She looked around, and saw that no pony was looking at her, but there were way more here than when she nearly crash landed. It wasn’t rush hour, was it?
She tilted her head, before hiding behind Anon’s arms. “You know, you could’ve told me to stop.”
“And not see that reaction? Fat chance. I’d rather see that twice over than feign serenity.”
His toothy grin nearly set her off, but she chose against it, simply grumbling to herself.
“Say, Spitty?”
“Hmm?”
“What did you want to do?”
Spitfire felt a fierce heat brandish its sword. It sliced a red hue across her face. “To be honest, I didn’t think that far ahead.”
Anon shook his head while also tsk-tsking at her. “Spitty, that’s not like you.”
“Oh?” Spitfire began. She raised a brow at him before wiggling the two in tandem. “And what am I like?”
“You would have stressed yourself out about this to the point of coming up with something,” Anon said, before poking her with a finger right in her chest fluff. “Now, spill. What do you have in mind?”
Spitfire felt her heart flutter just a bit. Other than him? Not a whole lot. She flew here and was winging it right now. She wouldn’t tell him that though, or the fact that Soarin’s advice was saving her tail right now.
She hummed to herself before smiling at the goof. “Can you show me around?”
“Show you around?” Anon asked as one of his brows raced up his face.
“The Wonderbolts rarely get to come here to enjoy ourselves. It’s… usually a pitstop on tour rather than a vacation spot for us.” She took a good look around. “And from what it looks like, Canterlot has a lot to offer!”
And she was right. She knew it because everything was so… compact. While it was not claustrophobia-inducing, Canterlot was dense. Each street felt like there were shops and homes surrounding them. They were all various shapes and sizes, and colors too. Each building had their own distinct character, not that she was thinking of buying a condo here. No, it was… something she hadn’t experienced in a while. She’d have had to go to Manehattan or Fillydelphia to see this, and even those places didn’t have the crossblend that Canterlot had.
She was impressed. Impressed enough to mention it.
“It does have a lot, but not a lot of stuff that a casual tourist would want to get into immediately. A lot of fashion shows and admiration of the arts. If you’re into that sort of thing, I can do that, but I think, knowing you Spitfire, I can definitely show you something else that might interest you.”
“Oh? What do you have in mind?”
Anon smiled. “Food. And lots of it. And knowing you, I think you’re thinking of the same thing.”
“Why do you say that—”
As if, on queue, her stomach growled. It almost sounded like another living pony was inside her body, screaming for help. She hoped that Anon wasn’t grossed out by that—
“Wow, you really proved my point without even saying it!”
Spitfire groaned. “Okay, so I may be a little hungry after flying from Cloudsdale.”
Anon tilted his head. “Wait, you flew all the way from Cloudsdale?”
“Is grass green?”
“Yeah. And?”
Spitfire facehooved. “I have wings for a reason, goofball.”
“Well, sorry! I just didn’t expect you to fly here just to see me. Thought you’d want to save your energy by taking the train or something.”
“Save my energy? Anon, I’m not some fragile mare. Besides, it's the off-season for the Wonderbolts. Trust me, I have plenty of energy to spend right now, and I know today I want to spend it with you. Heck, I have so much energy right now, that I’d bet I could fly circles around the entirety of Canterlot for hours and still have enough energy to walk around this place with you.”
“Really?”
Spitfire nodded. “Yep. It’s a Wonderbolt thing.”
The two stared at each other. Anon was still holding onto Spitfire, while Spitfire was laying against his arm, huddled toward his chest. Her tail was covering herself while flicking against his shoulder.
Anon cleared his throat. “You and your Wonderbolt things.” He sat her down beside him and put a hand through his hair. “Good to have, but I don’t need to imagine you using the city as a training course.”
“I’ll do it someday so you don’t have to imagine,” Spitfire challenged, nudging his side with her leg. “But alright, enough chatter. My stomach is going to perform a Wonderbolts flight routine if we keep this up.”
Anon gasped. “I didn’t know you drank Redbull, Spitty!”
“Redbull?” Spitfire asked with a raised brow. “What’s that?”
“Don’t ask. It’s a human thing.”
She didn’t like that smirk he was wearing. She gave her human an eye roll.
“Anyway, I know a joint where we can get some good grub,” Anon said as he stood up. “Wanna go?”
“Lead the way,” Spitfire replied, hopping off the bench. She unfurled her wings for a moment, then took her place by his side.
The two walked comfortably through the crowd, as Anon led Spitfire through the streets of Canterlot.
Part of her was happy. She was happy as can be, sitting in a cafe with somepony she cared about since forever. It wasn’t just her sickness talking at the time, she was… definitely head over hooves for him.
So, why was the other part of her semi-squeamish all of a sudden?
Spitfire took in a shaky, yet soft breath. The blue walls were… nice. The table was round. The seats were comfortable. Ponies were not even looking at her, or him for that matter. They were just fine. They were waiting for the waitress to come back with their food. She had ordered something that Anon recommended to her… what was it again? She blinked rapidly, forgetting what she had ordered.
Oh, right. It was because things changed. They were on a date. They were here and she wasn’t sick. And because they were on a date, her nerves were fierce, like she had stage fright like a rookie, except it was for someone she cared about and she was afraid to screw up—
Is this what love felt like?
A distinct heat made its return on her cheeks, this time being somewhat of a resident. She knew it was silly to feel this way, but part of her was so… out of it. She wanted to not feel so jittery, but here she was, feeling like she was about to pop off this barrel they call a seat and crawl back into Anon’s embrace.
Now she knew why Fleetfoot was all over Soarin this morning.
“Hey, Spitfire?”
She gasped and looked at Anon. “Y-Yeah?”
“You good?”
“Peachy,” Spitfire replied lamely, feeling her ears splay against her head.
Spitfire saw Anon purse his lips. He leaned forward, a smirk worming its way onto his face. “That didn’t sound peachy. Sounded more like you’re trying to not pop out of your seat.”
“How did you—”
“I think I’m the only one who has figured out your tells this early on.”
“Early on?” Spitfire raised a brow. Her ears perked up. “We’ve been friends for a few months, Anon.”
“Goes to show how good I am at reading you,” Anon said. He took a sip of his water and licked his lips. “Aren’t I lucky that I’ve been promoted?”
“Don’t get too cocky,” Spitfire warned. She could feel the grin on her face, and it was definitely betraying her right now. “You’re only closing in on the promotion.”
“Guess I’ll get there after you eat that risotto I recommended to you.”
That’s what he recommended to her! Her tail swished just thinking of it.
“Maybe,” Spitfire muttered, before licking her lips. “I can’t believe I actually ran into you outside the castle. Are you sure you don’t have to be back in for work?”
“Lucky for you, Princess Celestia was generous with my time off.”
“Guess I am lucky. But what spurred her to give you time off?”
“She knew I was frustrated after my last meeting with him, to put it lightly,” Anon said with a growl. He took a rather greedy sip of water and then snorted when he realized he was now out of water. He then turned his attention to his silverware, and started playing with his fork. “I think she got the memo that I needed a long walk to clear my head. Although, she probably didn’t expect me to run into you.”
She giggled behind her hoof. “Glad she didn’t, although a long walk and a day off are two different things, Anon.”
“Just like adoring and complimenting, I know.” He flicked his finger against his now empty glass of water, making it clangggg. He snorted. “She’ll understand, Spitty. Actually, she might be pretty curious about you now that you and I are this close.”
“Curious how?”
“Come on, us hanging out here? This isn’t exactly where we would normally be.”
He was right. Spitfire knew he was right. “I hate that you’re right. This is a bit more… of a classy hole-in-the-wall.”
“Right?” Anon tapped his hand on the table. “Man, did our waitress fall into the sink or something? We didn’t order too much, did we—”
“Sorry for the wait!”
Spitfire turned around to see the waitress in question. Her mane was thankfully not the result of submerging her head in water. She had light brown fur, and a more darker shade of brown for a mane. Her green eyes were piercing, though, if Anon’s reaction to her looking his way had anything to do with him glancing over at Spitfire instead.
“The cooks in the back were having a hay day with the stove. That thing is moodier than Prince Blueblood, let me tell you.” She spotted Anon’s empty glass and smiled. “Also, lucky for you, Anon, I don’t fall into sinks,” she said proudly, setting the big platter filled with food to an empty table beside them.
“That’s Swift Bet’s job?”
“That and losing money,” the mare said with a giggle. She quickly plucked the empty glass and set it on the same empty table. She turned to Spitfire and smiled. “Surprised to see you be his stunt double, Miss Spitfire.”
Before Spitfire could respond, her date decided to jump in instead, “It’s a Wonderbolts thing. She gets paid extra if I get the next—oof!”
Spitfire bapped the silly human with her wing. “You’re not lucky enough to dodge my wing, Anon.” She snickered at Anon’s dismay, his hand rubbing where she hit him on his shoulder. “Looks like he’s now my stunt double.”
The mare laughed. What was her name again? Spitfire couldn’t tell, her name tag that was clipped to her chest fur had ink that was completely smudged, making the writing illegible.
“Good swing, Spitfire. Glad you’re the pony that decided to reel him in.”
“Somebody has to,” Spitfire replied with a smirk, before letting it turn into a smile. “But he has me too, so it’s a fair deal.”
“Damn straight. You better recognize!”
They all looked at each other, before laughing. The waitress slid over their food, the risotto still providing all the warmth in the world in Spitfire’s nostrils, meanwhile the salmon that Anon got looked like it was good… and about to escape his plate.
“Enjoy your food! If you need anything else, let me know and I’ll be right over.”
Spitfire and Anon thanked her, before she walked away, leaving the two alone to themselves. The two shared a brief smile, before digging in.
No more words needed to be said, not when Spitfire’s stomach was going to claw its way out if she didn’t devour her food right this second.
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Vouch for the naked guy with the stick. His name is Anon.
*Click* Noice
I feel like the people who like this story also think that Kyle Rittenhouse was innocent.
On another note, great story bro.
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...But yeah, I like this fic. Keep up the good work!
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....*clicks "save image as..."*
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Why would you post this during pride month?
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Luv u bby
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please uncar me
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(edit: this is why you two are my friends wtf, Famous)
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Remember this crackhead? Love you.pbs.twimg.com/media/D4Kk87CWkAAmb-S.jpg
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If you insist.
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What the hell is going on in here?
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This is common on my fics because my friends love shitposting on my stories.
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Glad you enjoyed the fic thus far!
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Neither, a random fire particle from the background
Anyways, this is certainly a first chapter.
I like first chapters
Anyways
helo this story is good can you give me story please I like story I much appreciate it if you give tory to me thank you for shopping at victories secret
Redbull gives you wiiiiiiiiiiiings
This comment section is chaos and I love it.
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I mean...I like this story...and well...
Loving the dynamic between Anon and Spitfire.
Gotta enjoy the humor here
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You mad about it? Must be to be bringing it up several years after the fact. I wish you well in your growth and healing.