Hit Me Baby One More Time
Author's Note
Don't be mad. Get Glad.
Please upvote if mad.
https://youtu.be/Q8xr_h3eBgM
Hit Me Baby One More Time
You sit at a booth in Sugarcube Corner and sip a mug of coffee. It's your fifth one. You probably should cut back. But whatever. You don't have a problem. You could quit whenever you want. You have the problem. Not you.
Sorry, is the fourth wall humor a bit too much right now? Shit's stressful man, and when a story is calling you out for crippling caffeine addiction, you kind of feel a bit attacked. It's all good, fam. Here's a hug. Like a story hug. Or a webcam high-five. That's cool too. We good.
Anyway, ignoring that train-wreck of a second paragraph, you drink your black tar her- er, coffee, and sigh to yourself.
"She's fucking late again," you mutter to yourself.
You probably shouldn't be surprised. You've known Lyra Heartstrings for two to three years now, depending on how you feel on a given day. She's been late for absolutely everything. It got to the point, where you began to tell her the wrong time to get to things, in hopes that her active lateness would then become moderately on time. Sadly, she's crafty, and forgets what time to show up to things. So she asks somepony else what time she should be there, as is the polite thing for a forgetful pony to do, and is late around that time.
Then, sure enough, as you glance out the window of the cafe, you see her trotting down the road. She's bundled to fight the cold in coats, scarves, and a hat with a little poof on top. You know, those stupid hats that are really cheap, and are really warm, but have a stupid little donglydoo on top. Like, you rip it out, and the entire hat falls apart, and then you gotta buy a new damn hat. Fucking hats.
But hey, the air hurts your face here, so you're hardly one to blame. Especially as the only color with enough material to make a human sized winter coat is pink. Oh well. Nobody gives you shit for it, so it checks out.
You watch as she walks up to the door, puts a hoof against it, pushes, and slams her body into the door.
"It's a Pull!" Pinkie yells from behind the counter, stocking freshly made cookies.
Lyra looks at the door carefully, then pushes with both hooves.
"It's a FUCKING PULL YA DUMBSHIT."
Lyra blinks. Then pulls the door open easily.
"Oh," she mumbles. A blush creeps on her face as she steps into the small cafe. A rosy blush covers her face as she searches for where she heard your voice. You give a casual wave with your non-coffee-cupped hand. If you waved the coffee cup around, you'd make another mess. And not the fun kind like last time.
"Hey!" she says, trotting up to the table. "Sorry I'm late. I was volunteering at the hospital and this pony had a severe ass blockage. So we have to feed him pudding and manually remove the blockage. There was a lot of pressure on my hooves to do it right."
"Okay, first," you say, trying to cut her off from saying another stupid fucking word. "You don't have to explain why you're late. Next, you don't have to lie to me. We both know you haven't been to the hospital since you choked on that glass of water."
"Well, how was I supposed to know the glass was crunchy."
You blink, then look towards Pinkie, as if she would help you out here. However, since you and Pinkie aren't close friends, she basically gives you this 'what? did I do something?' look. Go figure that you aren't immediate, die-hard friends with all of the celebrities of Equestria.
Lyra sits down and you can't help but break the fourth wall one more time.
"Lyra?"
"Yeah?"
"Okay, just being sure."
"What? Who else would I be?"
You blink. She blinks. A pony off in the distance blinks, knowingly. A shiver runs up your spine.
"Anyway, you asked me to meet you here, and you're an hour late. So what do you want?" you ask.
Lyra takes off her dorky hat and gives you a pouty lip. Her ears are frosted at the tips and droop low.
"You sound like you're angry."
"You're an hour late. I don't like when you are late to things."
"Do you have absolutely anything else to do with your life?" she asks pointedly.
"First of all, how dare you," you reply flatly. "Second, I could be taking a massive shit."
This sort of abusive exchange wasn't unusual for you and Lyra. You could almost say it was a cornerstone of your relationship with her. Friendship. Whatever. You're friends.
That said, if she was like "Hey let's bone," you'd probably already have came on the floor. Like that last time with Pinkie. Fun times.
"I know what that's like. Same," she says. "SO. Anyway. Brass tacks. I want you to hit me."
Penis activated. Request does not compute. Boner unleashed as precaution.
"Okay, what?" you ask.
"I want you to hit me. Like, really beat the shit out me."
You blink.
"Okay, so, like, if we're going to do that thing, where I get really turned on, and then there's some big twist that makes me uncomfortable, and you say some sort of pun, then I'm fucking out. Cause this is border-lining on making a joke on, like domestic abuse things, and I'm not about that."
"Can you calm your dick for, like, eight seconds?"
"Seven seconds."
"Deal. Okay, so I want you to approach me in an alley, and try to beat me up."
You remain silent, staring at your friend.
"And, like, really really try to make it convincing."
"Do I have to ask?"
"Ask what?"
"WHY?!" you bellow.
"Oh. Right, that makes sense," she whispers.
"Why do you want me to do something that seems so scummy?!" you ask.
"I've been taking self defense courses, and I want to make sure it's paying off."
A quick silence fills between you two as Lyra's usually confident and lighthearted glare sours. Not quite sours. More like fades. Her eyes move downward to the table. Her hooves fold on the table. Her posture crumbles.
"Something happened a few months ago," she whispers.
"Oh shit," you whisper.
And suddenly you feel like an asshole.
"I was in Canterlot for a quick trip to see a friend and, well. I was cornered... I yelled Fire! and somepony scared the stallion off. But still... it..."
"Hey," you say, reaching a hand out and placing it on her hooves. "You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to."
A smile briefly creeps onto her lips, then fades.
"It just," she murmurs. "It's been really hard to be alone... outside. I wait to walk by other ponies when I can. I sprint down empty streets whenever I'm alone. I'll get home in a full blown sweat just because I..."
Lyra closes her eyes and measures her words carefully. She opens her mouth and closes it once more.
"I want to prove to myself that I'm stronger than this. Will you help me, Anon?"
You smile and squeeze her hooves.
"Of course," you murmur.
Fuck. You have no idea how to fight.
The plan was simple. Follow Lyra all day to catch her a time when she least expects it. Then, spring and try to pin her down. If she says at any time "Anon, Stop" Then that's it. It's over. Then you can give her a big hug, buy her a pizza, and watch horror movies all night. It's basically a weird BSDM scene.
But now is your time. You've covered your face in pantyhose. Because it makes you feel like a criminal. You're also wearing pantyhose because fuck you gender norms.
Lyra holds a bag of trash aloft with her golden magic as she moves to toss it in a dumpster.
You center yourself.
"Let's do this," you murmur.
You charge down the alleyway, screaming at the top of your lungs the war-cry of your people. It comes out as a caffeine deprived shitlord's cross between a hiccup and a burp, but drawn out over the course of dozens of seconds. Lyra gasps and turns around. You see a moment of fear in her eyes.
Then the trash drops, but her horn keep glowing.
At this moment, you realize the major disadvantage of fighting a unicorn. You don't have magic.
You feel your leg hoisted into the air. Your whole torso swings through the air, and then you're slammed into the ground. That same war-cry moves up one whole octave as it turns into a pained screech. It sounds basically the same.
Then, you're picked up once more, and slammed again. The muscles in your body crack and your bones bruise. Yes, that's right. Your whole body is on fire with painful waves of -being slammed into the fucking ground-.
"LYRA! LYRA!"
You're slammed into the ground again.
"DIE CRIMINAL SCUM," Lyra screams.
"LYRA. IT'S ANON. STOP. PLEASE."
Your face collides with the dumpster, and you feel your whole body drop onto the ground.
You groan, feeling your whole world shatter around you. Your breath comes out in rattled gasps, as a copper taste fills your throat.
"That was WONDERFUL, Miss Heartstrings," says an unfamiliar voice.
You blink. You painfully roll to your side to see a different mare standing in the alley.
"You really think so?" Lyra asks. "It wasn't too much."
"Not at all! We'll happily lower the rates on your horn insurance."
What?
"AWESOME!"
"What?" you ask.
"Oh! Right!" Lyra says to you with a bashful smile. "I lied and made you feel bad for me so I could save bits on horn insurance."
"What the fuck, Horn insurance?"
"Oh yes!" The mare, who wears a business suit and is handing Lyra a small stack of papers. "Whenever a unicorn performs a spell, there's a good chance the spell could go horribly wrong! So for that we have horn insurance. Lyra has been with our rival company for years, but we have quite the deal for her after this wonderful display of skill."
"What?" you mutter. "Who are you."
"My name is Flow Rider, from the general unicorn's youth contract organization. And this sale will make me employee of the month."
You try to stand up, but your arm is definitely broken.
"Sorry, Anon," Lyra says signing the papers and handing them back to Flow. "But I had to do it."
"But Lyra," you ask. "Why?"
Lyra moves towards you, and sits down. She sighs and shakes her head.
"It was so hard to make ends meet. And I know that I could save fifteen percent or more on horn insurance by switching to G.U.Y.C.O."
