Being accepted into the Canterlot royal guard was perhaps the most formative moment in your otherwise rather uneventful life.
As a guard, it is your undying duty to remain loyal and stalwart to the two royal princesses.
If they tell you to jump, you do so. If they told you to throw yourself onto your sword, you would not hesitate for a moment. If they asked you to put your life on the line and fight in a war, you would be there on the battlefield to charge towards an undecided fate.
This, though? This is something different.
“The first one to make their guard flinch wins.” Celestia announces to her sister, who simply pouts and offers a petulant hoof stomp in response.
“Must you keep repeating yourself? We are not a cheater!”
“Your track record with chess says otherwise.” The older sister returns, wielding a snarky smirk and turning on her hooves to acquaint you with her royal rump.
The thing is imposing just to look at—two bulging hillocks of flesh that carry enough bulk to knock a pony’s head clean off. With every pendulum-swing of her lustrous tail you’re allowed a quick peek at the royal privates, and with that peek comes a little waft of their smell.
Celestia doesn’t wash often. Really, why should she? She’s queen bitch, and she knows she can do what she wants. If a subject of hers even dared to jest about the swampish smell constantly steaming from her filth-tarnished tush they would face swift, punitive consequences.
You have had your own personal experiences with Celestia’s slovenly ways... you will never forget the day you were scheduled for laundry duty, and had to escort a pair of the princess’ used panties to the incineration room to be destroyed; they had been patterned with so many skid marks that at first you had believed they were a part of the original design.
Luna, on the other hoof, is not packing nearly as much back there as her sister. For just a moment you find it ironic that the sun, in this case, so noticeably eclipses the moon.
You share a weary half-glance with the guard stationed beside you. This sort of behavior is not uncommon for the sisters, though when they gather you together to solve one of their little sisterly disputes, you know you can never be in for an enjoyable experience.
Celestia peers back at you and the soft, mischievous tone with which she was just addressing her sister quickly hardens into a strict and solemn disposition.
“I should hope I don’t have to remind you of your duties. When you are standing guard, you are to remain as stoic as the statues decorating the castle gardens. One movement and you will be dismissed from service without hesitation.”
Her sternness falls away again, though. This time it is replaced by a pained grimace that seizes her complexion.
Like the roll of thunder that portends a storm, her great royal guts gurgle and plash with marked aggression.
Your worry turns to horror as she lifts her tail and the greasy tailhole beneath blossoms and puckers against the air.
You feel sweat run across your brow and suddenly, all hell breaks loose.
The gas pours out of her with the force and humidity of a tropical cyclone.
It is so forceful that your mane flutters in the breeze. It is so warm you boil inside your armor, and so loud that the brass plates girding your body ring out with her fart’s frequency for a couple of seconds after it ends.
She blows an unburdening breath through horsey lips while her sister looks over with awe and unease.
You were so wrapped up in the force of her fart you forgot about the smell.
The moment it hits you, it ensures you’ll never forget about it again.
You catch a groan of anguish in your throat as it completely overwhelms both you and the guard to your left.
“Ugh! Sister! That is just revolting! You might have warned us our nostrils would be under such vicious attack! We might have brought a clothes peg!”
As Luna chokes on the fumes Celestia’s spirits lighten with a little prideful giggle.
“It’s your fault. It’s that diet you’ve put me on. I did tell you that vegetables don’t agree with me!”
The stench is vegetal in some disgusting way—like a heap of week-old broccoli and poorly-digested cabbage. It’s foul enough to almost break your resolve.
“Oh, goodness!” Celestia laughs as she catches the backdraught. It’s so bad that even she has to hold a hoof to her muzzle—a luxury you can only dream of right now.
“That asparagus went right through me.”
Another sound tears through the room, though this time it’s coming from the smaller princess.
Luna grunts and looses a loud firecracker fart; a cluster of aggressively wet pops that burst out of her like the round of a rotary canon.
“Oohf. Are you alright, Luna? That one sounded painful.”
“It was.” She mutters under her breath, and rubs her sweaty butthole against her guard’s snout to soothe it.
The smell hasn’t reached you yet, but you can tell by the sudden palpable distress capturing the other guard’s features that it’s a bad one.
Only seconds later it impacts you and your muscles weaken for a moment.
As sour and pungent as freshly-cut onions and as rancid as sour cream that’s just a little too sour.
Your nostrils drip. Your eyes are stinging. Every impulse is screaming at you to cover your face or move away, but you know that you can’t.
It’s instilled in you to follow orders, and that’s just what you intend to do.
“Holy me, Luna!”
Celestia’s nostrils flare and she waves at the air in front of her face.
“...and you tell me I need to change MY diet!”
You notice a kind of gurgling sound. At first, you’re worried it’s Celestia’s stomach preparing another blast for you, but you soon gather that the sound is coming from the guard stood so steadfast beside you.
She’s really struggling, trembling very slightly in place and groaning into the back of her throat.
“Does that count?” Luna looks to her sister, who shakes her head.
“Not unless she moves.”
Any thoughts you might have are jarringly interrupted by a deafening fanfare from a few inches in front of you.
Celestia watches you as she eases this long growling one out: she’s really trying to get a reaction.
She lets it whisper away into nothing and tries another tactic; moving her rear right up against your face and forcing out a succession of boisterously powerful booms.
FRAAAT! BRRRAAAP! BRRRRMPH!
Her sister soon joins in, unloading a volley of drumfire squeakers at her own guard.
Pretty soon the princesses are engaged in a violently competitive backwards and forwards; Celestia stirs the air with a suffocating flatus thunder-crack and Luna promptly responds with a bubbling wet bum-burner.
The combined efforts of both the flatulent alicorns result in a cacophony of bubbles, croaks, rumbles and roars so noisy that you swear it’s permanently damaging your hearing.
If that wasn’t enough, the stench that coalesces in the thickening air is enough to down an Ursa Major. The rotten oniony aroma of Luna’s farts couple with the moist verdant miasma of her sibling’s to form something truly ungodly.
Your lungs burn for fresh air, your muscles tremble and your brain is bleached green and yellow.
You try to take shallow breaths but that only makes you dizzier (the fumes are already making you dizzy enough).
You don’t know how much longer you can hold out. You’re so close to just...
The crash of armor collapsing to the floor alerts all three of you.
It surprises Luna so much that her current fart tightens into a shocked squeal and cuts short.
The guard - the poor, poor soul - garrisoned beside you has fallen in an unconscious heap on the floor.
“Ha! How’s that for cheating?!”
Celestia huffs, leaves you with one final honk of gas and sulkily marches off down the corridor.
You will never get this smell out of your uniform.
