GamerThot Anon

Chapters

Chapter 1 - Debut
Chapter 2 - The Clash
Chapter 3 - An Offer
Chapter 4 - Meeting the Team
Chapter 5 - Plus One

Chapter 1 - Debut

Thou art Anon.
You've been planning this for a long time...
It took months of effort to get yourself in shape. You blame all this sugar in the food. Seriously, these little poners consume so much sugar it makes you look for an insulin pen subconsciously.
Having to fight off mares that got too frisky didn't hurt your figure either. It did reward you with constant paranoia, though.

You're dressed in a dressing gown with a cutesy pattern. You hate every square inch of the thing, but if your hunch is right, it will earn you a truckload of bits today.
Something to do with more clothing being lewd. You made EXTRA sure that nothing about clothing was in the rules.
You sit down and double check and then triple check your streaming setup. These computers may be powered by magic but they're pretty close to what you're used to. You could swear there was some alternate-universe correlation at play here.
You inhale, and press that 'Go Live' button. It's showtime, bitches.

Things start out slowly.
You keep spewing out cutesy nonsense for a dozen or so viewers. Gotta pump these numbers up, these are rookie numbers!
You've been doing pre-stream talks for a better part of an hour now, waiting for viewer count to hit that critical mass you've calculated.
Streaming no games on a game streaming platform is walking on very thin ice, but since mods are all mares, and you've got a cute face, you can expect some leniency.
Besides, you entertain chat with game-related things, mainly giving them an illusion that they can pick a game for you to play, listing off some casual games.
Little do they know, you've scripted this entire day.

"So, chat, which game should we try out of these?"

TotalyNotAChangeling: kitchen
BtnSm4sh: Sammich construction 4000 II: Sammich harder!

Cute.
Good thing you've mastered the ancient art of giving precisely zero fucks.
But since they want a colty display, you're happy to provide, as long as views go up.

"Ooh, I think my hair is dry enough~"

You undo the towel on your head. Normally, your hair would be a greasy, sticky mess, but since you had to pander to your audience now, you had to change that. Growing long hair and using girly shampoos felt gay as fuck, but the end goal was well worth it.
Luscious hair spills forth. You kick your head back and let it settle. Getting that move just right took some practice, but practice makes perfect and you nail it.
Now THAT has got their attention.
To warm audience up, you boot up the local equivalent of a casual game. Another goddamn match-three. Ugh. This game has a skill ceiling so low that you could swear you don't even perceive the game board after the first minute of the so-called gameplay. On the bright side, you couldn't give yourself away with this game even if you tried.
You look at viewer count more than at the actual game, it grows in leaps and spurts. Great, means it is the time for the main course!
After finishing another round on complete auto-pilot, you nod to the camera.

"I've recently got a new game, and wanted to give it a try."

You mock confusion as you look around the fancy shelves of the room. They're stuffed with cute stuff that'd induce an hour-long projectile vomiting session from you previously. But not today.
You come closer, and reach for the highest shelf, standing just on your tip-toes. By your calculations, your dressing gown should be raised just enough just to expose the camera to a small piece of...

L3monD3mon: Sweet Luna!
P3culiarD1amond: How s-scandalous!

Why yes. Those are striped thigh-highs socks. Exactly the type that riles up mares like no tomorrow.
You still remember the look of the mare you commissioned these off. Yuck.
Deciding to end this little show before mods show up, you finally grip the box and return to your streaming setup.

"One of my friends recommended this game to me."

You wave a fancy box of Dark Snuggles towards the camera, making sure it clearly catches the box art and the name.

"Said it's fun but it might be a little hard."

You put your index finger to your lips in a cutesy display of slight confusion. Internally, you have to fight the revulsion of this act.

"Let's try this one, chat. Even if it's a bit difficult, I'm going to try my best."

Collective equivalent of "Ooooh" and cheeky encouragement spill forth in tidal wave from chat. Viewer count already increased threefold from your stocking stunt and it just keeps rocketing up.
Bait taken successfully, hook, line and sinker.
You boot it up, feigning complete ignorance.

"So chat, what character should I make?"

After a bit of back and forth, you end up with a rather sub-optimal initial build. It's interesting just how many white-knighting mares flooded in trying to 'protect the precious colt'. You expected the vast majority to be mischievous and suggest trash builds for their sadistic enjoyment. You even had to deliberately ignore some obviously good advice, just to stir up some controversy in chat and drive the perceived stakes higher.
This alternate-universe game sure takes its sweet time to kick into high gear. You decide to spice things up a bit.
You allow your character to take some hits. You hide your smirk and try to look slightly annoyed as chat is booming with numerous permutations of "Colts can't game".
That's exactly what you want to happen. Just as your health drops low enough for the next hit to be fatal, or in terms of this game, knock-out, you riposte and counter-boop your enemy. And then another one. The last one you roll around and backboop into abyss, all in the span of a handful of seconds. Environmental hazards: They never get old!
Just like that, chat grinds to a halt. And then it explodes, lines whizzing by in a blur.

L3monD3mon: I found my new horsebando!
TotalyNotAChangeling: what in the buck was that!?!??
MedialRing: See? Colts CAN game!
TwilitBandit: omc omc omc
BtnSm4sh: nice save. FOR A COLT

It's getting harder and harder not to crack a toothy, smug smile.
They have NO idea who they're dealing with.

You are a product of almost two decades of unrelenting gaming; twitch reflexes approaching those of a Quake god; honed strategic and tactical thinking of an RTS veteran mushed up into explosive combination with a penchant to finding every little glitch, loophole and underhanded trick to exploit and abuse; and as a bowling-ball-sized cherry on top there's your pure, unadulterated determination of a nutjob completionist who leaves no achievement behind and never -EVER- backs down from a challenge.
So far, no game you've sunk your teeth into walked away unbeaten. And you intend to keep it that way.

Nobody expects the local equivalent of a Twitch thot to have actual skill, and you're going to milk that HARD.
Rest of the day goes by without much of an incident - you didn't even run into any bosses yet. Which is strange for Souls-likes. Snuggles-likes?

Looks like it's time to actually finish up the streaming. Time sure flies when you're having fun. Especially at the expense of tryhards who take you for another pretty-face colt trying to be hip.
So before wrapping up the stream you drop some obvious hints that your upcoming night stream is going to be more... intense. Predictably, chat goes into frenzy.

You looked into how streaming works in this world. Night streams are typically more risque with their content, and that's where most colt-thots reside. And it's time for them to make space for someone can do more than put on a pretty face and shake their flanks.

You turn off the camera and finally allow the widest smirk to crawl onto your face. Friggin' amateurs.
You then check how much you've earned and your eyebrows nearly slap the ceiling. You're rolling in bits now.
Still nowhere near your actual goal, but it's a very good start.
You've just found oil, and that oil is...
Thirsty, thirsty mares.

After taking a break and just inhaling food you're ready for a late-night stream.
You barely started the stream and mares are already bickering in chat, impatient for what you have in store for them.

"It's getting a bit hot here"

You start taking off that unbearably cute dressing gown.
Under the dressing gown there's a long t-shirt that's deliberately one size too small to show off the sick gainz you worked so hard for.
No slut-socks this time, you decided to play it safe.

L3monD3mon: *heavy breathing*
Applejack01: Howdy! So 'dis is doo-hickey Twilight can't stop talkin' 'bout?
BtnSm4sh: Shut up, MudTeats Mc.Country!
Applejack01: Hay, dont'cha go tellin' me what ta' do!
TotalyNotAChangeling: why do you keep typing out your country-isms???
Applejack01: Ah'm nawt sure what you're gettin' at...

You 'accidentally' swipe the Dark Snuggles box off the table.

"Whoops, clumsy me!"

Time to kiss the remains of your dignity goodbye.
You stand up and bend down, 'accidentally' letting your t-shirt slide off your butt, which is to say, barely covered by your tight undergarments. A deliberately wide stance gives the camera a very opportune view at your admittedly sizable package.
What can you say, you had an entire generation of Twitch thots to learn from on topic of how to slut it up. Who would've thunk you'd need that knowledge someday?
Not you, that's for sure.

TwilitBandit: Dat Gluteus maximus!
xXM00n_DanceXx: By Celestia's bountiful teats! That colt is packing!
L3monD3mon: how much for that ball bra, my dearest horsebando?
TotalyNotAChangeling: daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaamn
MedialRing: Mods?

You feign innocence as you restore the box to its rightful place and pull your shirt down with a cute blush.
That is -amazingly- enough to convince your viewers that it was completely unintended on your part, and mares all turned on a single stallion that requested administrative intervention.
You can barely believe your eyes. Every single one of them is thinking with their clits right now.
It isn't long until he's chased off. It feels a little weird to be desired more than a professional colt-thot.
Once that colt-thot and by extension one of your competitors leaves, you reward your audience by 'warming up' to them.
Playful comment here, salacious remark there.
Lucky shot of your undergarments when you readjust in the seat.
Gotta crank up the heat, keep up the thirst.
These mares donate like they're ordering one-way tickets to pound-town.
You're getting into this at this point, dropping opportunities for chat to make crude jokes.

"Where was nearest the resting point? I need to take a load off and improve my encumbrance rating if I want to remain nimble..."

L3monD3mon: I will take your load any day of the week, sugar cheeks
TotalyNotAChangeling: you can be nimble in my bed~~ <3
Applejack01: 'Dis is no way to treat a colt, y'all!

All according to the plan...
Ideally you want to train them to chase out other colts that will surely crop up and try to stir shit up to preserve their own slutty status-quo. Too bad. There's a new Alpha-thot in town.
So you gotta cement the idea that colt-thots in chat equals no fun sexy times for viewers.
Oh shit, you almost forgot to fake the lack of skill.
Thankfully viewers are too busy contemplating your appearance to notice.

Applejack01: Altho' I hafta admit, ah'm finding 'is build... attractive.
LyricalSatirical: Sweet Luna, I bet horn-job with his graspers would feel *AMAZING*
xXM00n_DanceXx: Preach it, sister!
TotalyNotAChangeling: oh manure queen is coming brb

You are Queen Chrysalis and you just busted one of your secretary drones slacking off and watching gaming streams.
Normally you'd dish out harsh punishment for that, but you're currently too distracted by the stream to notice her limply wriggling out of your grip and disappearing in the dark.
Your eyes focus on familiar landscapes of enormous castles covered in moss. You lean in and begin typing.

TotalyNotAChangeling: My-my, playing Dark Snuggles... Aren't we cocky?..

Chat explodes at your message. Darn thirsty mares whiteknighting again.
Your smirk grows wider. You know what's coming right after the next corner. This colt's tears are going to be de-lish. Friggin fake gamers.
...Even though he does look kinda cute.

You find yourself to be Anon again.
You're in an obviously boss-fight-sized cliff area overhanging an epic vista. You remind yourself to at least act a bit surprised when the boss emerges.

"Uh-oh, here comes the trouble!"

There she goes, by the way. Giant armored pone. Figures. Let's observe the pattern.
This is almost insulting. These alternate-reality pony versions of games you're familiar with are not only mellow as fuck, they're too damn easy.
Tells are obvious and windups are so long that it almost throws off your timings.
Almost.
But in a minute you've got this down.
Sidestep, roll, riposte, punish, dodge, repeat.
You take a particularly long windup animation to check out the chat. Apparently mares are in hysterics.
Let's give them a bit more of an entertaining show...
You kite the boss to just the right position and get ready.

You are Queen Chrysalis, practically glued to the crystalline screen.
You can't believe your eyes.
The colt just bucked the Unnamed Guardian off the cliff as a finisher.
What.
That damned boss took you almost two weeks to nail down!
That colt. That fatherbucking colt.
You refocus on the screen with doubled attention. You'll never admit it to anyone but Dark Snuggles has kicked your flanks pretty hard and seeing it utterly broken brought utter glee to your blackened soul.
...and unexplained warmth to your nethers...

Meanwhile, on screen, Anon declares,

"Alright, boss is down, so let's clean out the fodder, shall we?"

He then gives the camera a veeery nasty smile.
Oh my!

"These elite guards are easy, just roll around, and backsta- backbuck them. Works first time, every time."

He takes on a confident, almost predatory look.
Oh Hive, where's your royal handkerchief?
You wipe off your forehead. You heard that colt streamers liked to entertain their audience in more way than one, but this...
The ape leans forward in a threatening posture and flashes his canines in a wicked grin.
A mob's body goes limp in his character's hooves, booped mercilessly.

"Shhhhh, no tears, only dreams now."

Your trembling hoof slips off the keyboard and gingerly moves itself lower and lower before you're able to catch yourself.
His grin reaches maximum width and then just keeps going, he's now showing off all of his pearly whites.
He's down to almost a whisper as another knocked out mob slips from his character's hold and hits the ground.

"Shhh, shhh. It's okay. It's all going to be over soon..."

Damn.
As if you weren't turned on enough already, your arousal reaches a new level and you find yourself winking. Aroused and a bit... scared? Scaroused?
You can't pin it exactly, but you for sure are sopping wet.
What was the name of this channel again?

You are Anon once again, eyeing the chat tentatively.
It isn't moving at all. Fuck. You probably overdid the predator-play thing. Damn.
You were hoping to nail that femme-fatale note. After all, this is a late-night stream and content could afford to be more... risque.
You decided to roll with predator fetish for two reasons, first, it looked like one of the fetishes that is widespread enough to build a fanbase on, yet not omnipresent to be mentioned in the streaming site's rules, and second - you knew for absolute sure that colt-thots that were already making mad dosh here every night here would be scared shitless by this, let alone be able to fill the niche themselves.
You sigh internally. Hopefully this won't ruin the subscriber amount. You NEED that money.
Just as you resign to being a failure, donations start rolling in. A considerable amount of them have strangely... bug-themed messages attached.
Chat is less insect-invaded, but it is also absolutely, positively losing the last remnants of its shit.

TwilitBandit: Dear Diary, today I discovered something new about myself...
P3culiarD1amond: You and me both, Darling! Mmmm, assertive, Momma likes! Show me these canines!
L3monD3mon: HNNNG, my dearest horsebando sure knows how to please his mare...
BtnSm4sh: I love me a colt who needs to be TAMED

However, not everyone seems to be happy with your... performance.
Some gamer mare is losing her shit in the chat, and not in a good way. Not something you've planned for, but it could be a great opportunity to boost your views.

Born2Win: The jig is up! Nobody plays Dark Snuggles that well on their first run!

Bitch, please.

Born2Win: I don't know how much you practiced, but I bet you paid for lessons. No way this is the first time you see this game, you SLUT and PATHETIC EXCUSE FOR A GAMER!
L3monD3mon: Mare, ur cruisin' for a bruisin'!

So buttmad, that bitch.
Wait, you recognize that avatar. It's Winner Podium, one of the leading streamers in competitive gaming.
Remembering how her stupid butt-tattoo is this winner stair thing, you know exactly how to deal with this.

"If you think that this is hard, then I guess you'll have to..."

You lean in onto the microphone, savoring that pause.

"...Step up your game."

You're more than happy to hit that envious sack of shit where it hurts. Barely-coherent obscenities that emanate from her mean only one thing.
Time to move in for the kill.

"Or perhaps, you want..."

Theatrics, theatrics...

"...a duel?"

Author's Note

One of my older works, adapted from greentext form
Special thanks goes out to shinybob606 for finding numerous errors my ADHD ass missed. :heart:

Chapter 2 - The Clash

You are anon Anon, sleepy in your bed.
You glance at the clock.
Thankfully you have like 5 more minutes to laze about before it's time for you to get up and get started on your Big Day.
You use that time to stretch and rub the sleep out of your eyes.
Today was the day. The day of your duel with Winner Podium aka Born2Win, a competitive streamer. Your latest catch.
If you want to get under a competitive player's skin, just insult their skill and challenge them a 1v1 duel. Easy as pie.
Do it in front of an audience and they will have no choice but take you up on that offer.
Hell, they will go to ridiculous lengths to actually duel you!
What Winner Podium doesn't know is that by doing this she'll be handing you her entire viewer base on a silver platter.

Jumping off the bed in a fluid motion you head into your streaming room. It is, however, not yet the time for streaming.
Born2Win's game of choice for the duel was Thaumic Tournament.
You're a bit surprised that it wasn't Dark Snuggles, but you don't mind - shooters *are* your forte, after all. Tactical, arena, twitch, milsims - doesn't matter.

C0mpound_EY3: And this is why bug pussy is strictly superior!
TotalyNotAChangeling: holy tartarus, you gals are early today, it's like 2 more hours before stream starts!
C0mpound_EY3: Speaking of - my sister wanted to watch this stream but dozed off. Brb, giving her a cunt-punt...
L3monD3mon: I'll always be there for my precious horsebando!
BtnSm4sh: Eh, i've got nothing better to do anyway...

Despite its name Thaumic Tournament was closer to Quake III Arena in dynamics.
You give free-for-all mode a whirl with bots on highest difficulty, trying to get used to mechanics.
So weapons are spells, health is endurance, armor is spellbound armor. Huh. Ok.
Strangely enough, most spells are not hitscan, outside of the most basic beam one and a stand-in for railgun.
At least frags are still called frags, even though game's term for death is 'knock-out'. Silly poners cannot into violence!
Still, you can already tell that you're going to trip all over the terminology.

For the better part of a round lower player height was throwing your aim off, but you're nothing if not adaptable.
You wisely decide to practice until that lazy shit Born2Win shows her muzzle.
She'll be in for a big surprise today!
She seems to be the type that takes games way too seriously, and that's coming from YOU of all people. Annoying these types always results in hilarity.
And you just so happen to have a certain playstyle that was often referred to as 'extremely annoying'. It tended to throw people off their game.
What do you know, impotent rage is *perfect* for pumping views.
You smile wide and pick the silliest, most obnoxious player model the game has.
And thus today, Annoying is the name of the game.

You are Born2Win.
You've picked the map where you'll stomp this pretty cute face into tears of defeat.
TTSM04: Overgrown Archive.
Deceptively small level, perfect for 1v1s.
You can already see mares going mad in the chat for challenging a colt. Pfft! It was him who challenged you, not the other way around!
You boot game up and stomp some pubbies to get in the groove.
After few rounds and a lot of frustration taken out on unrelated players, you feel a bit calmer.
It was almost time to get this show on the road.

You are Anon again, and oh shit, you almost overestimated your ability to prettify yourself!
You barely manage to lay down finishing touches and slip into skimpy clothing in time for duel stream.
You appear on stream to chants of the chat that devolve into thundering roar upon seeing you.
After joining videochat with Born, you nod to her, indicating that you are ready.
She's too busy to reciprocate, though. Looks like she's fumbling with setting up a server for the duel, giving you a small breather.
That's great, she's putting herself under EVEN MORE scrutiny.
You just know that all players worth their salt will watch her like hawks so that Born doesn't try anything stupid with the server console.
However, her being the host also means you'll get latency disadvantage, but it barely matters with high-speed connection and almost complete lack of hitscan weapons.
So it's not a big deal, but you remember the times when people would go as far as requesting duels to be held on official or unaffiliated third-party servers that would have equally shitty ping for both of players. Dueling code was some serious stuff back then.
Oh, looks like she finally figured out the server.

BtnSm4sh: IT BEGINS!
TwilitBandit: Girls, I've got a bad feeling about it. Unnamed may be really good at Dark Snuggles, but the multiplayer match, let alone against a competitive player is a whole different beast!
xXM00n_DanceXx: I wouldn't be so rash with assumptions...
FlareSlayer: Hah! If a colt wants to get rekt, I say - let him! :popcorn:
TotalyNotAChangeling: you clearly haven't been on the last stream
S1mple_3YE: Wait this isn't Dark Snuggles
L3monD3mon: Go Unnamed! I believe in you!

Camera does a fly-through of the level as the round preparation timer is ticking down.
You don't know this map - there simply wasn't any time to learn each and every one out of truly massive selection provided by Thaumic Tournament.
The map itself is set in some abandoned and decrepit castle. Crumbling walls are lined with bookshelves, vines descend from the ceiling and the morning sun shines gently through giant holes in the building.
Some particularly big openings allow you to observe endless lush forest below. You have to admit, the detailing is superb - way nicer than Q3 maps, that's for sure.
You feel like you might return to this game more than once.
Finally, timer reaches zero.
Showtime, bitches!

You scramble from your spawn point, mentally building the map of the level and location of any and all items you meet.
You have to make conscious effort to avoid bunnyhopping - that movement technique is practically ingrained into your cerebellum at this point.
So far this map is really stingy with wea- spells. You take a note of elevated platform, several jump-pads and what looks like mega spellbound armor pickup chilling in a spot that's just asking for crossfire.
Talking about crossfire, you're taking fire!
It's Born, bombarding you with blast spells from elevated platform, making use of her height advantage. Normally you'd do your fake-out routine and bait shots only to avoid them at the last second, but you're caught in a really bad spot.
She's the one to earn first blood. You'll let her have this little victory.
For now.

"Ha! You messed with wrong mare, Unnamed! I won't go easy on you 'cause you're a colt!"

You just smile at her.

FlareSlayer: HA!
S1mple_3YE: Aw, mare! My sis' told me that this colt kicks flanks...
L3monD3mon: Just you bucking wait!

Part of the chat is trying to cheer you up. Aw, that's so sweet! Not that you need it, but it's still sweet.
Born continues to dominate platform hogging the only high-tier weapon on the map.
Camping in a Quake-like game? What is this, amateur hour?
Quake's about moving fast and kicking ass!
You pester her with potshots, appearing from unexpected angles and generally being a total nuisance.
You could technically just jump over there and nab the weapon, but you want to play it safe. Annoyingly safe.
Once you whittle down her HP, er, endurance, she'll be on her way to health pickups.
That's when you strike!

You are Born2Win, and, mare, are you annoyed at this colt's cowardly tactics!
Sure, you had concussive blast spell all to yourself, but instead of coming at you to try and take it away like a real mare would, he took occasional shots at you and then hid his cowardly colt flank from your righteous vengeance!
What was worse, your viewers didn't even boo him for such show of complete un-sportsmareship! Had he been a mare, they'd get on his case in an instant!
These occasional but annoyingly accurate shots have been adding up for a while and you'd best find closest endurance pickup. There should be a 25 in lower gallery somewhere...
You speed down the long corridor towards endurance bonus, but then all of a sudden that colt jumps through it and starts filling the corridor with spreadshot spark spells!
You're already low on endurance, and there is no Luna-damned escape from all these sparks bouncing around in a tight space!

"One-one"

Having said only that, Unnamed barrels down the corridor, over your knocked-out body and steals your spell, the bastard.

"DANG IT!"

S1mple_3YE: OK, color me interested!
FlareSlayer: That was some nasty ambush, alright!
C0mpound_EY3: See, told ya, sis!

You are Anon and boy, your blood is pumping!
Giving you a rocket-launcher, or, to be precise, its alternative-universe cousin, the concussive blast spell, was a biiiiig mistake.
You smile at the camera again, this time with teeth.
You've always had a raging hard-on for rocket trickshots.
Railgun is good and all, but you love fragging IN STYLE!

From this point, tables turn. Born is on the run and you're the pursuer that breathes down her neck, rocket-launcher ready. Well, magical equivalent of.
You can certainly say that you have solid grasp on Born2Win's skill ceiling. There was no bunnyhopping, barely any tactics and her aim could use some work.
If all competitive players are like that, then boy, you sure have some news for them...
You catch her in the open, give her a concussive blast off and then seal the deal with mid-air shot. Standard practice in Q3 and many other arena shooters.

FlareSlayer: Damn, daughter.
BtnSm4sh: That's horseapples! How?!
xXM00n_DanceXx: That's a thing called skill, you might want to try it.

Oh, they're impressed with the previous trickshot? It wasn't even anything special!
You can't help but wonder what they'll have to say about something more involved...
You chase Born2Win into a familiar tight corridor, sending two blasts her way. First blast lands at her feet and launches her into the ceiling.
That's where the second blast catches her and launches her back into the floor with tremendous velocity. She crumples down like paper.

"LUNA-DAMNED CHEEKY SLUT!"

Can you make her buttmad enough to ragequit?..
Anyway, it was a pointless trick, but since you're way too invested in the game to commentate or spare the chat more than an occasional glance, you might as well put on a show.
Huh? Neat, the game actually gave you a point for what you did, despite it being a fall damage that finished Born off.
Not that you needed that point that badly. There was more where that rocket trick came from.
When it comes to rocketlaunchers, you got a deck-worth of aces up your sleeves!
You give camera a full-on wicked predatory smile.

C0mpound_EY3: Unf!
S1mple_3YE: B-by the Queen!
BtnSm4sh: shes so mad, lmfo

You learned that flipping between cute colty and assertive predatory modes gives bug mares mad hots. They're also seemingly into teeth display.
It's a strange crowd - they barely posted in chat last stream, yet they made up almost 20% of yesterday's donations, so you decided that you might indulge them a bit. Or more than a bit.
And now they're coming out of woodwork. Hopefully this won't bite you in the ass.

You are none other than Moon Dancer.
Relaxing in your mare cave, stretched out in a bean bag chair and watching your new favorite colt streamer.
He's got a cute face.
And a cuter package...
Your gaze wanders off the general carnage happening on the screen and to the feed of Unnamed's camera.
He's the image of fervor of the chase, unblinking stare tracing every motion on the screen, and muscled hands performing dance of dishing out punishment.
You wish he held you in those big, muscular hands, before holding you down against bed as you flag and... Unf!
You readjust your position to avoid smearing your bean bag chair with your incidental excitement.
While your body relaxes, you reach for another bag of snacks, while your eyes stay glued to the screen and your mind races.
This colt is different. Not only he's been a good workout for your hooves, he's also a good workout for your brain.
You pride yourself on knowing just about anything about games and gaming in general.
You are often referred to as ultimate authority when it comes to settling disputes on obscure game trivia.
You knew every tournament, major open- and closed-doors event in the community.
Tartarus, several forums lauded you as omniscient demigod of gaming, which you admit, did tickle your ego a bit.
And what you're seeing here is uncharted territory for you. Different tactics, tricks and maneuvers you haven't seen before.
All of this done by a mysterious exotic colt, no less.
Which, to be honest, is quite a thrill for you.
It's hard to guess the intent of some of things he does, or how exactly he pulls off certain feats.
Just keeping up is a hard task in itself! The match has gotten to a point that it's difficult to decipher all the action going on without slowing down the footage.
Like just now - screen is almost entirely occupied by sparkling and glowing spells flying and going off. You can barely make out contours of Born's unconscious body being launched from this mess.
Seriously, this is some A-grade Thaumic Tournament flank-slappage, and lesser mares already gush all over chat.
But not you. You know how to keep your emotions in check.
That thought makes treacherous hoof retreat from your loins. How long has it been there?
Anyway, you know just the pony who would be interested in this level of play.
She's also going to be your key to solving this colt's mystery.

You are Anon again.
Born2Win resists fiercely and actually starts putting up a fight! She even managed to steal super spellbound armor and concussive blast spell right from under your nose!
It suddenly hits you that she's not shooting at your legs. She's aiming for your torso. You mentally facepalm at that.
Instead of turning tail, you get ballsy and just whittle her down with constant stream of blasts interspersed with beams and spreadshot sparks, all while easily dodging her blasts.
At this point you're in doubt. Is she REALLY a competitive player? Maybe she competes in some other game?
With a precise blast aimed at her feet, you send Born airborne and off the elevated platform.
With a flick of hand you send second rocke- concussive blast on its way and leave to pick up some items.

You are Born2Win, airborne.

"Where are you going, bastard? We're not done here!"

The colt just left the platform. His last shot wasn't even aimed at you.
Wait, you're falling down on the floor and incoming blast is aimed right at your landi-

"Oh, HORSEAPPLES!"

Inexplicably, you are Anon again, and you've snagged the items you wanted.
You note message in killfeed signifying Born's unsuccessful landing.
Immediately, you turn to unassuming patch of cobblestone floor and just spam blasts there.
There are only four spawns in this arena, and thus you're running 1-in-4 chance to get a free frag.

"EXCELLENT!"

There it goes. High level play is not only skill, but a bit of luck too.
You've got to admit, they at the very least got The Announcer right - hammy and badass, the way it SHOULD sound. Even though it was a mare's voice it still would fit any number of arena shooters back home perfectly.

xXM00n_DanceXx: Buck me sideways, that's the first time I see an Excellent in a 1v1 match!
TotalyNotAChangeling: what's an excellent?
BtnSm4sh: 2 frags in 2 seconds
BestQueen: Oh great, we got noobs in chat. Shoo!
TwilitBandit: Scoring two knock-outs within two seconds of each other, it's not that hard to achieve in Free-For-All with high player count, but nigh-impossible in a 1 versus 1 duel for reasons that should be obvious.
Lunacy_Instigator: We have been clued in to massive quantities of metaphorical flank-spanking on this channel. We are intrigued and wish to see more!

Oh fuck! It's got to be Luna!
She 'secretly' runs and sponsors several biggest gaming tournaments.
She uses a stage name for that but with her being an alicorn, it's kind of an open secret.
Having her blessing would put your channel in the limelight for a looooong time.
And that obviously equals money. Loadsa money!
Pandering mode: 100%
You reach to box of fetish-gear you had foresight to install just outside of camera's FOV and rummage around.
There it is! You whip out ported, studded paddle and playfully wave it around with mischievous smile and suggestive eyebrow wiggle.

"Did somepony order extra-large serving of flank-spanking?"

You check the second monitor - after a small delay, Winner's muzzle turns beet red and she looks slightly disgusted, all the while her tuft gets bigger and fuzzier.
If that isn't the mare equivalent of "Boner, no! Boner, why?!" then you don't know what is.
Choking the chuckle, you give camera a lecherous look.

BestQueen: Oh my~
P3culiarD1amond: Mare, no matter what I do I just can't coax colts into using one of these. :sadtimes:
Applejack01: Ah'm nawt sure 'bout them paddles... Hey, Unnamed, you don't 'appen to be any good wit' rope?
P3culiarD1amond: Darling, please tell me you at least did boil the rope! Otherwise it would be rough and irritating and that would destroy the mood completely!
Applejack01: Well... Ah'm jus' gonna say that country mares make do!

Meanwhile, your fussing about and pandering nets Born2Win a free frag at your expense.
It's not a big deal.

"Your grand spanking order is en route!"

Time to abuse your headphones to fullest extent.
You spin around, pinpointing rough direction of sound of hooves against cobblestone, and pre-firing rocket there.
Blam! Source of sound rapidly changes its direction. You smirk, position yourself just right, take careful aim at the second exit and count down.
Right about... now.
You fire a rocke- a concussive blast, and immediately turn the corner to stock up on supplies.
Message in killfeed secures the fact that B2W just ate that projectile with her face. Your score is 10-2 now. You hit the voicechat button.

"Know your place, trash!"

You are Queen Chrysalis.
Your hooves were working non-stop for the past 10 minutes as you can't take your eyes off the screen.
That sheer drive to dominate...
U-unf!~

You are Born2Win, and you're getting wrecked!
Respawning after your last incident you comb the level in search of this lucky bastard.
You're sure you saw familiar piece of flank flash behind that very corner. Faint memory flashes before you eat another concussive blast and get finished off with basic bastard beam spell.

"DAMN IT!"

Chat explodes into laughter and condescending emotes. Not helping.
You respawn nearby and break into sprint.
Remembering what happened last two times, you screech to a halt, and concussive blast whizzes past you and into the wall, only catching you with minor blast damage.

"I'm onto your tricks, colt!"

You needed to stock up on spells and spellbound armor before facing off that cocky little shit.
You glance to the chat - it has been nothing but trash-talk this entire duel. Friggin' clit-for-brains idiots.

You are Anon, the one and only.
You notice lack of items and bumrush attacks from Born.
Oh, she wants to play item-control? Fine by you.
You start moving around arena in complicated orbits. You don't even think about your path, it comes to you naturally.
In one rocketjum- concussive blast jump you cross arena and snag 200 spellbound armor right from under Born's nose
She scrambles for cover, as you pelt her with rapid fire beams.
Instead of following her, you check on your internal clock: yes, the concussive blast spell should respawn in a few seconds, time to pick it up and deny her the sole high-end weapon of this level.

xXM00n_DanceXx: Look at this! He's using self-damage to both move fast AND deny Born endurance and armor pickups!
TwilitBandit: OMC, that's one devious strategy...
P3culiarD1amond: And he sticks the landing!
FlareSlayer: How can we even be sure that the stream is coming from him and not some high class player?!

You are Born2Win, and where did all the items go?
It's like the level has been cleaned out, no matter where you go, there's absolutely nothing for you to pick up!
Looks like your plan to stock up and dish out is down and out. It's somehow this colt's doing, you just know it.
There he is!
He rapidly approaches you in wildly winding jumps. Not only that manner of movement is weird, it is incredibly fast!
He's upon you in an instant!
Anon's fancy player model keeps hopping across your screen as you desperately swivel around trying to catch the bastard in your sights, but every time you think you lock on, he jumps away at the last moment!
You noticed your endurance draining too late.

"HUMILIATION!"

Did he?..
Did he just punch you out with a hoof? And on a winning frag, no less!

"FATHERBU-"

Somewhere far away certain bug Queen tensed up and straightened out in her chair.
Her tongue lolled out as her eyes rolled back, and, with few body twitches and gasps, she painted her seat with slightly green royal goop.

BtnSm4sh: HA! Booped into obedience!
S1mple_3YE: I'd let him boop me into obedience if you know what I'm saying.
C0mpound_EY3: Hooves off, sis! I saw him first!
L3monD3mon: Get your bug butts outta here, he's MY HORSEBANDO!

Once again, you are Anon, watching Winner's cam feed intently.
You just couldn't resist the temptation to whip out your bunnyhopping prowess.
Plus rubbing in that final melee kill. Knockout. Whatever.
You can see her throwing her headphones down and stomping hard on them. Ouch.
You feel bad for doing this to her, but she DID call you a fake gamer and a slut...
Bitch got served what she deserved.
All you have to do is secure your new viewers, who were your actual primary goal all this time.
You address the camera.

"This game is fun! I like it!"

And to twist the knife...

"Might play it on some following streams, what do you think, chat?"

BtnSm4sh: BUCK. YES.
Lunacy_Instigator: It would be splendid!
TwilitBandit: More games would be nice but please please please don't abandon Dark Snuggles.
FlareSlayer: I'll be watching you on the off chance this WASN'T a fluke. Which it probably was!

You're quick to reassure chat that you won't drop your ongoing Dark Snuggles playthrough.
Not only it's a bad form for streamer, the game is actually much more than just a parallel universe Dark Souls doppelganger. It may be mellow but you really dig the atmosphere.
Besides, the duel lasted for only what, thirty minutes? There's an entire day ahead of you!
You switch your gears to try something different.

"In fact, I'll be picking up our Dark Snuggles where we left off last time - unless Born wants a rematch?.."

You give Winner Podium a meaningful look through the camera.
Her turning off the videocall is only confirmation you need.

Grinning, you launch Dark Snuggles, eager to get back into it.
You turn it up to maximum comfy, adopting slower and more methodical gameplay as you explore new areas in thorough manner and allowing yourself and your viewers to sink into the atmosphere of bleak, yet oddly beautiful world.
You keep the interaction cozy as well, discussing interesting plot points you piece together with chat from descriptions of items and ramblings of an occasional lunatic NPC.
Chat seems to love it, especially since you try to make up for lack of interaction during the match.
Of course you still throw in a few of your trademark salacious comments every now and then, and sometimes an odd flex or two of your peculiar pectorals, but your focus is on the atmosphere first and foremost.
These games just aren't supposed to be speed-ran the first time around. Besides it's really fun to take your time learning the game, searching for secrets and ruminating on the mysteries it presents.

"That's the thing, we do know that all kingdoms of Colthran have fallen - I mean, it's obvious - but we don't know *why*.

We've got some leads - demonic incursion, Eternal Moss gnawing on the place and of course there's this whole Crystal Spire Conspiracy we've been hinted for a while..."

TwilitBandit: M00n, I know what you're thinking but - no spoiling!
xXM00n_DanceXx: My lips are sealed. I can't wait for when he reaches THAT part, though.
TwilitBandit: Yeah, no kidding! I'm pretty giddy myself!

Resisting the temptation to spoil something?
That is... really considerate of them. On top of them trying to be the voice of reason pretty much every time you seem them in chat, you might want to promote these two to mods on your channel later.
So far prospect of comfy streams look really promising. Paying more attention to chat attracted more donations. Neat!
You had a hunch that there's untapped potential in running a relaxing stream that helps mares unwind after a long and hard work day.
After all, you don't want to exclusively capitalize on pure sluttiness, but neither you are keen on watering it down too much.
The way you see it, most of your viewers come for flanks and stay for skills. The perfect combo.
In this rhythm, hours really fly by.
More careful exploration allowed you to rack up various new semi-secret booping implements - you particularly enjoy dual-wielded, power-stanced backscratchers and their quick, vicious moveset.
You thought that some of Dark Souls movesets were intricate, but quadrupedal animations of this game are on the whole different level, complexity-wise.
And all the magic- oh, would you look at that, it's evening already!
You wrap up the stream and slip into more mundane clothes. Wearing revealing clothes feels... interesting but you'd rather not do it more than strictly necessary.

Leaving the streaming room through small corridor you've turned into noise-canceling 'airlock', you're stopped in your tracks by the sight of unexpected guest letting off cute quiet snores on your disheveled bed.
That's right, you completely forgot: Fluttershy's visit was today! Oops!
She's curled up in a circle with her muzzle nuzzled in her side.
Probably fell asleep waiting for you to be done with your 'job'.
You have her thinking you're doing some sort of voice recording work as a hobby-with-profit. Which is technically not a total lie.
You lay down on your bed carefully beside her.
As you trace her side with your hand you feel certain tension in her as well as occasional stir. Her sleep is troubled.
In fact, you know exactly what's troubling her.
You pull yellow pegasus closer, hugging her tight and feeling as her sleep-shudders subside. Planting a goodnight kiss on your little spoon, you smile to yourself as you drift off to sleep.
That dream veterinary clinic of hers will be funded on time.
Your clandestine help is probably going to take form of a generous anonymous (har-har) donation to charity fundraiser you convinced her to set up.
And she'll be happy and none-the-wiser to your involvement.

Chapter 3 - An Offer

You are Anon, asleep and cuddling in bed with Flutters.
You wake up to her lovingly nuzzling your face.
You smile at her gentle ministrations and nuzzle her right back, pulling her closer and taking great care not to squish her sensitive wings.
Sharing a hug, you bask in each other's warmth for a while.
Fluttershy lets out a cute little yawn and you help her get out of bed after a quick peck on her cheek.
Lazy mornings are best mornings.
You jump out of bed, feeling like you can bench-press a mountain or two.

You've met Fluttershy in truly bizarre circumstances involving a bent spork, daring escape of a severely spooked boa constrictor, a train car worth of faulty magic fireworks doused in creosote and a whole load of gym equipment.
You were just lifting your stress and worries away in one of these prissy stallion gyms where all the good equipment had a thick layer of dust, when that conundrum happened.

That fateful evening Flutters mistook you for some sort of rare animal caught in the midst of chaos she caused indirectly.
Can't blame her, at that point you probably wouldn't recognize yourself either under all that debris and power-lifting plates and racks, reeking of railroad.
She flung weight plates away that were easily twice her own weight, while cooing comforting things, trying to calm down what she was thought a hurt animal stuck beneath a pile of metal.
Needless to say you were a bit puzzled by that predicament. Once you were sure nothing was broken you pushed through the metallic menagerie and stood tall and proud, towering over yellow mare half-covered in creosote.
After realizing that the one she was calling a 'poor dear sweetheart' and other names you would call a pet was actually a stallion, she did the only thing she could do.

She had a panic attack.

And sad, distressed, crying poners are your ultimate Achilles heel.
Sight of shuddering and whimpering tiny figure on the floor awakened something primal in you.
You descended on her and scooped her up, holding her tightly against your chest.
You told her that it's going to be alright, that you hold no grudge and a pretty pony like her deserves better than be this sad.
You administered nuzzles, headpats and bellyrubs without any plan, rhyme or reason, going purely with the feeling of your gut.
Her whimpers subsided and a tiny bit of hope started glimmering in her huge, teary eyes.

"Won't you l-laugh and c-chase me away for showing we-weakness?"

You balked at the question.

"...Why would I do that? What kind of heartless bastard you take me for?"

You planted an affirmative kiss right on her snootle. You had no idea why you did that but it felt like the right thing to do.
She viciously blushed up a storm while trying to cover her face with hooves.

"Come on, let's get that creosote out of your mane..."

Ever since that you started seeing each other.
Having a mare genuinely care for you instead of trying to get into your pants was almost a surreal experience...
...But it felt nice not having to keep your guard permanently up.
It felt even nicer to return that care to Fluttershy, encourage her in her endeavors and cuddle the stress right out of her tiny yellow body.
Though, you learned not to pick her up in public anymore since it was highly embarrassing for her.
In privacy of your apartment, however, upsies were dispensed at a whim...
Alluring smell of cooking food brings you out of a daydream and into your kitchen to lend her a hand and a hug.
You may be a terrible cook, but you sure do know your way around a knife. These veggies never stood a chance.
With two of you, breakfast is cooked in no time.

You both dig into the freshly-made balanced breakfast. It's such luck that your marefriend can really cook!
Other mares wouldn't touch cutlery, let alone cookware with a ten foot pole.
But that's the main thing about Flutters - she's not like the other mares. She's shy, quiet and possibly the most unmarely mare there is, which is why she catches flak all the time.
And said other mares can insist that cooking is 'emaresculating' and 'for colts only' all they want - Fluttershy's cooking is to die for!
And you will not cease to remind her of this fact.
Not in these terms though, don't want to spook the feathers off the timid widdle pegasus.
And you should know - you've been taken to a fair share of increasingly expensive restaurants by high-class "gentle-mares" attempting to woo you while you still were finding your feet in this city.
Not a single one of these pretentiously bland barf-o-toriums can even hope to compare to finger-licking goodness that is Fluttershy's cooking.
Maybe colts were right and there's something special to food being made with love...
And if any of other mares will ever give her any grief about it within your earshot you won't be hesitant to bring out your rolled-up whapping newspaper.
Her pancakes are divine!
Divine, I say!

You are yellow and mellow, that must mean that you are Fluttershy, blushing at Anon's appraisal of your cooking.
It's just a skill you've picked up when learning how to care for animals...
Yes, it's as unmarely as it gets, but poor, hungry little critters need their meals!
Had you admitted this to any other stallion, you would've been laughed out, or maybe even chased out of the kitchen! But with your Anonymous, it's a whole different story!
Just listening to his compliments makes you all warm and fuzzy inside.
O-oh my!
Mare, he sure can put away entire plates like it's nothing!
Well, he's very big for a stallion.
Which means all the more cuddling for you! Yay!
Despite everything you still can't bring yourself to mare up, fluff your tuft and mark him with your scent.
He's just so... pure!
In a few minutes you'll be off to a dusty construction site - checking in with the progress of construction crew.
After that you'll have entire day to yourselves.
Having a supportive and cuddly stallion like that sounds like a dream come true.
Words can't describe the relief you feel when you wake up in the morning and see that he's really there.

You are Written In Triplicate, a royal advisor, and you are not having a good day.
Table carved from a single piece of pristine white marble whizzes past your head and crashes into a wall, shattering into thousands of pieces.
You wince and fix your glasses.

"Princess, unfortunately there's nothing we can do..."

On the opposite end of the room, Princess Luna is fuming with barely-contained rage.

"I know full well how prestigious victory at international event would be for Equestria, even if brought by a colt-"

You jump as Luna stomps the floor at your comment. Spiderweb of cracks appears in granite under her hoof, hinting that you're on very thin ice here.
You gulp and continue.

"And yet current rules do not allow a colt to participate. I've checked in with lawyers three times and they say that rules are very clear on the matter..."

Luna's frown grows. Your explanation sputters out.

"We are sure this is our Sister's doing! The rusemare she is!"

Her expression brightens a bit, and she trots towards the exit doors.

"But perhaps there is another way..."

You exhale with a relief. Looks like all mares who bet on Luna having your head for this will have to pay up.
And living, keeping on living is also sweet.

Thou art Anon once again.
Once Flutters is gone, you spend rest of the morning secretly toiling away at accounting books.
And by that you mean wrestling with electronic accounting spreadsheet program you've got going on this crazy magitech computer.
You already made Excel your bitch during your MMO phase, you can do it again!
Numbers fill the screen as you check and re-check your calculations.
One single donation won't make it all right.
Not even close.
Fluttershy might be kindest being in the world, but unfortunately the poor dear never had a head for business. She may have had the money to build the clinic but actually running it and staffing it with professional medical specialists clearly escaped her calculations.
That and her insistence on keeping entire service free of charge made the whole thing clearly unsustainable.
And you would be happy to help with balancing the accounts, even drumming up a charity initiative to fund this noble endeavor of hers, but...
She just wouldn't listen.
This stupid "mare has to do it herself" mindset wouldn't allow her to take any help from you.
She had already been teased and bullied for being "unmarely" her entire life and this was her last outlet for feeling better about herself.
You just couldn't take it away from her.

All of this led to you helping her in your own, roundabout and fucked up way.
To be fair, the entire scheme was so outlandish that you both had full plausible deniability and even if word got out, you could always just play the "cute colt loves caring about cute animals" card.
For all Flutters currently knew, you had a voice-acting job with long hours that required absolute quiet during the recording.
You barely avoided the whole I-should-pay-for-my-colt's-needs debacle by insisting that it was your dream job and you're doing it as a way to channel your creativity.
Many a bullet was narrowly dodged that day.
If anything, you made sure to-

*FWAMP!*

You jump and grab your hidden battle-ready slipper.
Oh it's just mail. You can never get used to these magical letterboxes. Not that you get much mail correspondence anyhow.
Hold up, it's Royal summons.
You break a very fancy seal on the envelope and get to reading.

"Dearest Anonymous, We invite thee to partake in..."

Royal 'We', ye olde speak... it has to be Luna!
Still, she could've invited you through some online platform like a normal per- pony, instead of going FBI on your ass.
You tear through her old-timey words with considerable effort. All you can make out of this is that Luna wants to make some sort of deal and she wants you in the castle NOW.
Dang, maybe you've pandered a little too hard last evening...
And your cuddly happy time with Fluttershy will have to wait, too.
You jot a quick note for her, immediately forming an elaborate story of half-truths designed to avoid having her worrying out of her mind, and head off to castle grounds.

Guards eye you suspiciously but the sight of Royal summons papers changes their attitude in an instant.
You've got to admit, you take a special kind of enjoyment in how the mere glimpse of that paper wipes the smug 'what do we have here' look from guardsmares' muzzles.
It gets a little less exciting as you get deeper in the castle and start seeing more stallion guards. They just nod understandingly and let you through.
Hold up. Is it just you or the more you head inside, the skimpier the armor on guards gets? Whatever, must be your imagination from lewding it up too hard all the freakin' time.
Another one of sharp turns in castle's nonsensical layout brings you face-to-muzzle with Princess Luna.

"Anonymous! We've been looking for you!"

Wow, she's tall in person, er, pony, almost as tall as you are! If you count horn, that is.
And photos did not do her mane any justice, it's like a window into the starry sky, except the window is ethereal cloud waving in non-existent wind.
Oh fuck, stop staring into her screensaver mane! How are you supposed to greet royalty, again?!
Brain comes up blank, so you default to a small polite bow and "Greetings, Princess."
Your long hair slips and you spend a bit of time moving these unruly keratin strands in their rightful place. This causes a small smile to appear on Luna's muzzle.
Well, at least she's not mad. Instead, Luna quickly directs you to appointed meeting room, following slightly behind you and showing you the way with her fancy magic.

You are Princess Luna, hot and bothered.
Even with his baggy pants you can easily trace contours of that chiseled butt, tempting you, beckoning your touch...
What a specimen! Wide shoulders, muscular legs and hands; Wait, was that a tiny bit of sock flashing?
Steel thyself, Luna!
If you seduce this colt, your sister wins!
No matter how discreet you're going to be about it - she'll know, and she'll poke fun at you for that for the remainder of millennium!
She's already been ribbing you mercilessly for actively promoting competitions. The filthy casual!
But competitive scene indeed does not look good. It's dominated by complacent mares and not even the slap from undignified loss at the last Marelympics did anything for them.
Needless to say, every promising colt immediately gets stomped. Mare solidarity or something...
You've been trying to stop this mess being a total clamfest on multiple occasions, but it proved to be a truly colossal task.
Your sister, however, insinuated that your sole motivation was having more colt flank at your beck and call.
She's acting as though you're blind - like you don't see how the Royal Guard stationed in palace is all stallions in skimpy armor designed to show off their flanks! Like you don't know about specific regulation against wearing ball-bras while on duty! Like you don't know how often she requests guards to 'assist her' in her royal quarters, after which poor colts emerge bow-legged and shaking...
And after all that she has the GALL to call you out on missing the old times when royal stallion harem was a thing!
How hypocritical of thee, sister!
Thine gaze drifts back to swaying hips in front of you.
Thou can look but thou can't touch...
Truly, she enjoys thine suffering!

You are Anon, and your mental 'rape imminent' alarm is going off constantly.
You can just feel Luna's gaze being affixed to your buttocks.
Normally you'd be smug about mares 'mirin your glutes gains, but this situation is a tad sinister.
You two are in a rather remote part of castle... And you haven't seen any guards for at least a minute of walking at a fast pace...
You gulp.
If the legends about alicorn horniness and strength are true, you're risking your pelvis getting ground into dust.
You would like to maybe preferably avoid that particular fate.
On that glum note you stop at big double doors, which Luna throws open with her magic for you.
The room is dominated by a giant mahogany table.
Enormous panoramic window overlooking some luscious garden fills the room with warm sunlight.
You notice two ponies - a mare and a stallion, whose business attire allows them to almost blend in with stacks of parchment and other bureaucratic implements on the table.

"So, Princess, about that loophole..."

Next half an hour passes in sea of frustrated explanations, interruptions and intense legalese being thrown back and forth between two legal experts and Luna, with you being completely ignored.
Something about possible loopholes and international laws.
Meanwhile you're pretty happy that this didn't devolve into foursome.
You'd be bored but at some point two guards entered and issued you a swanky-looking magitek laptop bearing a Equestrian flag sticker. Must be the rig needed for that deal. Or possibly your payment?
Checking out the machine makes for a nice distraction while the arguing continues. You still need to read up on how this magic hardware works - you're pretty sure these aren't integrated circuits...
You can tell that it's quite a bit more powerful than what you use at home, though.
Sudden silence and feeling of being watched makes you lift your eyes from the screen to three ponies across the table.
"So, dear Anonymous, We have a proposition for you..."

"But Princess! I'm good at *playing games*, not *teaching ponies*!"

"Nonsense! All colts are good at nursing and teaching!"

She suddenly attains the startled look of someone who let something very offensive slip.

"Unless thou art different."

Her pained grimace twisted more as she realized that her 'save' has only made it worse.
You don't really care for these remarks, for you are still baffled by the proposed deal.
Luna wants you to coach ThaumSport sportsmare team. To train them, and, if possible, bring them to your level of play.
From what you gather, Luna originally wanted you to go and kick ass at Marelympics First Person Spellslinger category, but some dumb legal thing got in the way.
Apparently colts aren't allowed to compete, and there's not enough pull in the world to pass an international bill that changes that before the upcoming Games.
Which is a total shame. Would be a good way to both test your mettle and boost viewerbase.
But teaching someone to play? Teaching's simply not your forte!
Come to think of it, you've never taught anyone how to do the things you do...
This stuff just comes to you naturally!
And all of this is exacerbated by the fact that you'd be teaching ponies, not, uh, humans.

You're not sure that you can do this at all.
In all honesty, you were expecting to get some promotion contract. To be a pretty face and curvy flank for some event.
You'd also agree to showing off your skills in case that was needed.
Heck, you'd agree to go and break faces through entirety of Marelympics, FPS, RTS, fighting games - no matter, you'd be pulling all the stops if pay was good enough. As long as it involved games.
But schooling a bunch of rowdy gamer mares? That sounded like a hard and thankless job.
And to do that in about a month? 'Cause that's exactly how much time you got till the Games start...
Wait a second.
A time limit, nigh-impossible task, and failure not being an option?..
You can feel a tidal wave of very familiar feeling rise up.
Is that a?..

IS THAT A MOTHERFUCKING CHALLENGE!?

Phew, relax, re-lax, be calm. Inhale. Exhale. You need to make a responsible decision here.
It's not the time to get into THAT mindset. Best not to get in over your head here. Inhale. Exhale. Remain calm.
You blink as Luna pushes contract toward you.
You take a look at the offered sum and it makes you reconsider.
It is a VERY charitable sum, even from the standpoint of donation-spoiled streaming thot you are.
You lift your eyes to notice change in Luna's features. She looks... pleading?
Goddamnit.

"I... I'll see what I can do, Princess."

You've been presented with a tall stack of dossiers for mares.
They have a week to confirm participation, so the stack will thin out quite a bit in a week.
Luna will then hoof-pick participants and you'll have to train them for Marelympic games, which will start in about a month.
Apparently Equestria been beaten year after year for the last decade.
It's especially bad on First Person Spellslinger front - not even a single bronze medal!
And that's where you come in.
Now you have an explicit goal.
Turn these mares into medalists, every single one.
Commencing plan.
Step one: Recon.
You spin to face Luna.

"Are there any good recordings of gameplay from previous games?"

"We thought you'd ask for that."

She waves in two royal guards hauling a bunch of media storage crystal things.
They fumble with installing those into your machine until you have to wave them off and do it yourself. That's official: the freaking USB orientation problem is universal no matter the dimension!
Guards just exchange looks. Not to be stereotypical or anything but these stallions don't know their tech at all. If a literal alien is more tech-savvy...
Finally the playback starts rolling.
Luna walks over and plops down on her haunches; watching you and the screen intently.
She doesn't seem to be putting any moves on you so you let yourself relax a little and focus on your newfound challenge.
You lean a bit to her, pointing out mistakes you see. There's so many, you have to pick most egregious ones.
Luna listens to your rapid-fire commentary with a genuine interest, only stopping to give some errands to castle servants.
Something about rearranging personnel and more paperwork.
It's not until the lunch time that she takes her leave. You use this little break to quickly raid the kitchen before going catabolic.
Gotta keep those gains, yo!

You are Written In Triplicate, still royal advisor, and this is the second time today you're fearing for your life.
You've been tasked with easing Spitfire into the news that she's going to be replaced as a royal coach for Marelympics FPS sportsmares.
Spitfire may not be as... intense as Luna, but she's an elite servicemare. It's really hard to read what's going on behind these eyes.
After you finish your long-winded legalese-laden explanation, she just nods.

"Understood."

You internally sigh with relief and leave her office.
Only to jump, startled by a loud sound of crash and glass breaking emanating from it.
You better pick up the pace.

Thou art Luna. And you are elated at the prospect of Equestria finally winning for once.
It's not like these victories had huge bearings on politics, but prestige is prestige and you get positively tired of every official and their dog rubbing your losses in. But that will change soon, you're sure of it!
And you additionally will get to enjoy the company of a very exotic colt - a feast for your eyes!
Wait. Due to this stupid wager you can't feel up that hot colt body, but who says your sister can't take this opportunity?!
Curses!
You poke your head in the meeting room just in time to catch Celestia sneakily levitating her seat towards oblivious Anonymous, who's concentrating on the screen.

"Celestia! Day Court awaits thine attendance!"

She jumps, shrinks under your gaze and then frowns.
HAHA! Not on our watch, sister!

You are Anon and you are not quite sure what Celestia sneaking up on you was all about.
You did however hear that she doesn't quite approve of the whole game competition thing.
She's probably looking for a reason to proclaim you a fraud, nullify the contract and throw you out of the castle.
Good fucking luck with that, Princess!
You may be after the money, but you're not some lazy slacker looking for a way to half-ass your job, that's for sure.
And with her amping up the pressure you'll make sure you'll perform spotlessly!
The only thing that bothers you is actual process of teaching...
Whatever.
Will worry about that later.
Jaw-dislocating yawn rocks your body. You're in for at least three more hours of match recordings analysis.

Finally the last crystal leaves it's weird brass not-USB port and you draw the bottom line.
Well, your findings are a mixed bag, really.
On one hand, pretty much all of mares competing for Equestria have good potential. Need serious work on movement and tactic but you can work with that.
On the other - you're pretty confident that there's at least two opponents that used some sort of cheats. Either that or they have ungodly accurate aim and unbelievable luck...
Do cheats even exist here?
You rub your forehead in frustration. This shit is getting more complex by the minute.
You got your work cut out for you, that's for sure.
Gotta consult with Luna.
Just as you leave you run right into none other than Celestia.
She graces you with her trademark motherly smile.
She's going to grill you for details, isn't she?
Serious posture: Online
Poker face: Online
Professionalism: Online
All Systems Nominal

Thou art Luna.
Your gut feeling was right - you find Celestia getting ready to pounce the exotic stallion again.
You push by your sister and boom at Anon.

"Anonymous! How did thine efforts fare?"

The colt perks up at your words and the sour look on Celestia's face says everything.
HAHA! The clamjam has been doubled!
Retreat into thine casual marecave and jill thine loneliness away!
As she scampers off with a harrumph, Anonymous takes you aside and quietly tells you his thoughts and his suspicions.
Latter one comes as surprise, but at the same time, it's not a big one.
You always had your doubts about the big league, but you kept them to yourself.
Loser accusing winner never looks good, after all, no matter how you put it.
You escort Anonymous out of castle before you teleport to thine study.
There's a bunch of important letters to write.
But not before you cater to your... needs.

You are Anon, power-walking through the city.
It's almost evening when you finally are back.
You glanced at the wrist-watch and now you can't help but feel bad.
Flutters must be worried sick by now. You *did* leave a note, though!
Oh, and she's long overdue for her mane brushing, too!
Mares are generally not that great when it comes to looking after themselves, but it's only exacerbated further with the weight resting on Shy's shoulders.
Opening door into your apartment, you're almost knocked over by a yellow-pink blur.

"Whoa there, 'Shy!"

She throws herself at you, locking around your neck in a tight hug.
Your jocular attitude falters a bit when you notice that she's on verge of bursting into tears.

"I was so worried!"

Goddamnit, looks like your note wasn't nearly enough.

"I was worried that some mares are going to t-take advantage of you being alone, or something bad happens and I wouldn't be there for you!"

Oh. *That*...

You're not sure how you can battle that particular fear of hers, so you just reciprocate her hug and nuzzle her mane for the time being.

"It's okay, 'Shy! I'm fine. And I've got good news!"

The worry leaves her face, replaced by demure curiosity.

"Oh?.."

"I've landed a job at the Castle. They need one of my special talents."

"That's, um- great!"

Her smile is almost apologetic.

"It feels nice doing things you're good at, you know?"

She gives you a somewhat unsure nod, but her smile becomes much more genuine.
You gently put her on the floor, and go change out of your clothes.
Once you're done, you find your marefriend sitting on the couch.
Her slouched posture is a clear tell that something is still bothering her.
Unfortunately, no amount of prodding and prying will cause her to spill the beans.
You'll just have to wait until she's ready to talk.
But that doesn't mean you can't help her...
So you pick her up, put her in your lap and begin slowly stroking her mane.
You've practically got heroin hands. Shit's irresistible to mares once they get a taste of your scritchies.
It's possible to overdose on them, too! Too much stimulation knocks ponies right out - little detail that saved your skin from frisky mares a number of times.
Her breaths slow down and become more deep. Can't have this cutie worrying over nothing.
Once 'Shy is calm enough, you pick up the mane brush and get to work.

You are Queen Chrysalis.
Attending to your royal duties.
That is, sorting all sorts of clips from your new favorite channel's streams into a very remote and very inconspicuously-named folder.
Entire grid of previews of varying degrees of salaciousness fills your screen.
Here's opportune shot of his tightly-packed package. Nice!
And here's the moment from the stream you missed - him flashing just a tiny bit of striped socks.
U-unf!~
Sudden noise of door slamming open makes you jump.
You spin around, snarling and minimizing current window. Someling will PAY for that intrusion.
The intruding drone pants heavily and all but collapses on the floor.
She barely manages to squeeze out a phrase between the pants.
But what she says alleviates your fury in an instant.

"We found him."

Author's Note

Every single chapter includes a ton of hidden and not-so-hidden references and homages to various games. Can you spot them all?

Chapter 4 - Meeting the Team

You are Anon
The week flew by in what felt like a moment.
Tomorrow, you start on your coach gig. You're not that sure about the whole shebang.
As for now, you have Fluttershy lying in your lap, reading another one of her animal care books.
Part thirteen, sixth edition. Chapter about butterflies.
There is a kind of comfortable silence in the room, only broken by an occasional ruffle of the page and soft purring of pegasus' breath.
Every once in a while you bend down to smooch her right on top of her head, causing her ears to twitch wildly for a second.
Sometimes she reciprocates with a nuzzle, giggle or playful swat of her tail.
You just can't help but shower this mare in affection.
But for some reason your ministrations begin to have the opposite effect.
Fluttershy suddenly shies away from your clumsy kiss.
Her ears pin against her skull, and she looks sorry.
And then she says something that makes your heart skip a beat.

You are Flutterbutter.
And this is getting unbearable!
Every time you finally get ready to talk, he kisses you unexpectedly, sending your carefully-picked words scattering.
This needs to be done, no matter how painful it might turn out.

"A-Anon! We n-need to t-talk. I-if that's fine with you, of course!"

There's a little pause, and you could swear that Anon stiffens a little.
He then gives your mane a small ruffle and sits you on his knees.
Your breath hitches. Mare up! Why can't you just do it?
Seeing your unmarely turmoil, he continues to stroke your back in an effort to comfort you.

"Don't worry, 'Shy. Take however much time you need. I ain't going anywhere."

You inhale.
The words nearly slip your mind again.

"I-it's about our relationship."

His expression doesn't change.

"Go on?"

"We... We n-need to find another mare."

And now he's more confused than anything.

Once again, you are Anon.
And this isn't what you expected at all.
She doesn't know. Calm down.
Banana-colored pegasus shuffles in your lap and continues meekly.

"I-i mean, m-mares who hog a, ah! A stallion all to themselves, they're-"

Memory jumps out at you.

"Looked down upon?"

"Yea..."

Fluttershy hangs her head.

"In other words, you want to start a herd?"

Her eyes shoot up, widened at your straightforwardness.

"Anon! We can't s-stay m-, m-mono!.."

This is enough of a confirmation.

Thank goodness you did your target audience research.
The whole herding thing is a bit weird - it's expected of mare to never be in monogamous relationship. Even if there's just stallion and mare it's still counted as herd, but an 'incomplete' one.
In that type of circumstance it was alpha's primary responsibility to carefully pick herdmates to introduce to husband as soon as possible.
Mares wishing to stay mono were ostracized as greedy and impudent, unwilling to look past their own interests. In case of breakup no herd would want a mare like that.
Funny. Mares would fight to be an alpha but never to steal stallion's attention all to themselves.
Now that you've gotten to the crux of the issue, you can address it properly.
And ohhh boy, it's definitely the time for some serious reassuring with consolation on the side.
You gently tilt her head to look you in the eyes, and then plant affirmative smooch right on that snootle.

"Of course I'll herd with you, Fluttershy!"

"A-anon!"

You hold her closer as she hugs you and buries her cute muzzle in your chest.
Resting your head on top of hers, you whisper sweet nothings to your adorably nervous mare.
Seeing her frown of worry melt away into a smile gives you heart-boner so hard that Mohs scale may as well be negative.
You are Anonymous and you have a problem.
You are addicted to making ponies feel good.
What can you do?
Comforting ponies is a soul-mending experience.

You find yourself to be a yellow timid pegasus mare again.
It's been a night and you still feel like your life has been turned upside down by yesterday's talk.
Fluttershy, you featherbrain, you did it again!
You barely keep yourself from facehoofing hard.
Instead of asking him if he's ready to take your relationship to the next level, you fluffed up and jumped ahead straight to herding!
But he's so sweet, it's hard on you to even think to do lewd stuff to him.
On the other hoof, maybe it was a blessing in disguise, as his words really lit up a fire in your chest.
From this day on, you're more than just a marefriend.
You are the herd's alpha and you should get used to acting like one!
Head up high! Puffing out your sizable pegasus tuft proudly!
Wings big and on display!
WHAM!

"E-EEP!"

Once you stop cowering behind your wings and mane you see that animal care book stack fell over.
Oops.

You are Anon, power-walking to the castle on a complete auto-pilot.
Avoiding mares like a boss.
You still weren't sure how in the FUCK these little poners are able to pinch your butt with a hoof, but you had numerous irrefutable proofs that they could and, in fact, would, given the opportunity.
Dang horny little horses.
Their inherent cuteness only made it worse. You'd pet the ever-loving stuffing out of each and every tiny mare you meet if they weren't hellbent on riding your dick through the floorboards.
Shame, really.
At least you'll cuddle with your marefriend today.
Heh, marefriend. Using that word still feels weird.

This time entering castle is a breeze, guards don't even ask your papers.
You're met by a pony in a pinstripe suit, walking towards you.
She's a bit on the smaller side, but not by much. Or is that just your perception being distorted from brushing with Luna all day last time?
Looking closer you see that her wings are leathery and she has slit pupils.
Her mane is wrapped in a tight bun, with two lacquered mahogany sticks protruding out of it.
And she has cute tiny secretary glasses on a chain sitting on her snout. She puts on a strict face and fixes her widdle tie before greeting you.
Christ Almighty, that's adorable!

You are Written In Triplicate, and oh Celestia, now you understand why everyone's suddenly preoccupied with this colt.
His shoulders are STUPID wide, his legs just won't quit and his torso teases you through baggy clothing that barely does anything to hide the bulging muscle!
But worst of all, was the assault on your keen thestral sense of smell...
Thick musk emanating from him makes it increasingly harder for you to concentrate on your papers. Papers that you're supposed to be reading to him.
You snap out of it and refocus on paperwork, unceremoniously shoving them in his general direction and scrambling few steps away.
Being a bureaumancer you have all these papers memorized anyway, and you better put some distance before you do something... unprofessional.
Where were you? Ah, right, explaining internal investigations and process of impounding hardware...
By Luna's moonlit teats, you haven't had a good pounding in ages!
Wait a minute...
Dammit.
Exerting supermare willpower, you turn away from the balled-up heap of turn-ons and try your best to concentrate as musk blatantly penetrates your nostrils.
Your thestral legacy is not doing you any favors right now...
Just forget it. There will be another time to get him in you.
After all, 'In' is your middle name.

You are Anon, distracted from reading your contract.
Bat mare still goes on about various terms and conditions, but that's not the source of your distraction.
What bothers you is the fact that she slowly backs into you, tail hanging to the side, her goods on display.
Her glistening marehood is winking wildly. You definitely could do without seeing that.
You sigh internally and silently move out of the way.
She jumps with a yelp of surprise when her delicate parts make contact with the cold marble of the wall.
Her cute little secretary glasses fly off her muzzle and now dangle around on a chain.
Man, that was cold in more ways than one.
What was she trying to accomplish anyway? Molest your knee?
She knows better than to verbally acknowledge this incident but deep blush on her cheeks says everything.
Shaking her head, she motions you to follow her.

The bat secretary by your side fills you in regarding certain rules specific to your new profession as you walk.
Only thing giving her away is occasional Freudian slip or two, though you're not sure about that.
Sometimes it's hard to tell the legal terms and euphemisms apart.
Was it "staffing mares" or "stuffing mares"?
To her credit, not only the rate of these incidents decreases as you go, the legalese in her explanation makes actual sense.

"Traditionally, sportsmares are referred by their callsigns, not their real names. In your case callsigns would be nicknames."

Handy, this will help you stay anonymous.
Wait, you are already Anonymous. How does that work, again?
You snap out of it just in time to catch next important tidbit of info - once teams are formed you'll be provided with dossiers for every sportsmare, so you'll know their name, but you shouldn't refer to them by it, as it's considered bad luck.
Weird, but ok.

"We got most confirmations, but ultimately, it's up to them to actually show up."

"So I won't know the exact number of members until the very start?"

"That is correct. Here are dossiers for everypony who has confirmed their participation."

You take six dossiers from her leathery wing-grasp and begin skimming through names.
Grandma_Punch, Bl4zeOfGlory, total_Ctrl...

"You may begin."

"Whu-"

Not having a chance to retort you find yourself in the room with ThaumSports FPS team and your work laptop.
Door clicks behind you.

There's an awkward pause as you observe group of sportsmares entrusted to you and they, in turn, ponder your existence.
Dang! You didn't expect Grandma_Punch, aka Punch Card to be a literal grandma! But then again, with name like that you should've guessed...
Quick headcount reveals one absentee.

You slam dossiers closed.

"Well, time waits for no mare."

Reality of their situation started to settle in and you spot several blushes and at least one glaring case of lip-biting.
Oh shit, they must be regular viewers! Crap, here come two barely-subtle growing wingboners.
Quick, you need to come up with something strong to imprint on them, before they start treating you like a slut!
Something that is so far away removed from your usual flair of sexy that they'll...

"TEN-HUT!"

Several of sportsmares start at your bellow and reflexively stand at attention. Others look confused but quickly emulate others' behavior.

"At ease."

Why the fuck did you do that? You don't know jack shit about military!
Improvisation is your only hope now. You put a stern expression on your face.

"I am your new coach, Sir Unnamed and you are to address me as such."

All mares nod. One mare cannot stop rubbing her eyes.
She looks kinda familiar.
You turn around and continue.

"You are here because you're best of the best, hoof-picked by Princess."

You load your next words with poison.

"However, *I am here* 'cause your best simply was not enough. Not up to snuff. Lacking. Mediocre at best."

Your tirade gathers a few scowls and one outburst.

"YOU!?"

You look towards the source of the disturbance.
But of course.
It's none other than the fucking Born2Win, aka Winner Podium. You knew you saw this ugly mug somewhere!
You stride closer, purposefully invading her personal space, towering over her and glaring down menacingly.
She loses her angry look and her eyes widen. She looks like she's trying to back away but something keeps her in place.

"Yes. Me. Do you want a rematch?"

There's a snicker from your right. Another target to grill. You walk away from shell-shocked Winner Podium.

"What about you, HiSCORE? Last Marelympics you almost had it in the bag. Almost."

High Score, the deep-blue pegasus bites her lip in fear and shrinks under your gaze. You drop your next words like an anvil on her head.

"But you got complacent, too cocksure of yourself and let that bug win!"

You take a few steps away from the mares and raise your pointer finger up.

"Rest of you better not think that you are somehow better than them. Did ya bring home anything? Right. Not a single medal. Not a single one!"

Turning around to face the athletes you can see that most of them contemplate the floor. Good.
Acknowledging the problem is a first step to solving it.
You stop yourself before you channel any more of Sergeant Gunnery Hartman.
These mares can and probably will suck a golf ball through a garden hose.
All while giving you that particularly sensual, half-lidded look. Eesh!

"Hardflank..."

You catch that barely audible under-the-breath whisper but choose to ignore it.
You're not a DI to smoke that mare for hours, so you'll let it slide this one time.

"I need so get a feel for how each one of you plays. Born2Win, you're up first."

Grumbling, mare takes the seat and starts adjusting game settings.
You just plug up a new crystal to your laptop.
Other mares gather behind Born and watch her screen intently.
You don't go all out on Born, but you don't have to hold back for entertainment purposes either.
It isn't even a minute in the match as their curious expressions are replaced by winces.
They can already anticipate the beatdown you're going to lay down on them.

It's been a few hours, and you're finishing up with the last match.
By this point you went through all dossiers and even started adding notes of your own on additional pages.
onebap, team's sole unicorn, drops into her gaming chair limply, but jumps as the door slams open.
It's the absentee, Bl4zeOfGlory.
Isn't Spitfire supposed to be punctual with her shtick for military-style training?
Being this late must be her way of showing disrespect.
It's ok, though. You are long out of fucks to give, so you just wave to recently-vacated seat across you.

"You're late, private. 1v1, thirty frags, random map. Show me what you got."

A hint of contempt streaks her eyes, but without saying a word she drops onto the seat and jumps into the game.
The crowd of mares is audibly cheering and you nail them with a glare.
Cheering quickly dies down.
Spitfire must be the real deal if even Grandma Punch is cracking a crooked smile...

You are Spitfire about fifteen minutes later.
You saw it coming. From the first frags.
The skill difference wasn't even unfair, it was insane. It felt like that colt was born with that game.
Here he comes.
To rub in your and other mares' losses, no doubt.
You feel hand landing on your shoulder and you lift your head, steeling your gaze to meet the inevitable.
His next words threw you a curveball.

"Wanna kick flanks as hard as I do?"

He turns his head and addresses all of you.

"I can teach you how... So the question is: Do YOU want to get better?"

He winked mischievously at you and bared his teeth in smile. Just a bit.
You blink.

"Well, do ya?"

You blink again.

"Tartarus YES, we do!"

You're drowned out in similar shouts.
This time his smile exposed all of his pearly whites.

You are Anon, heading to your work laptop.
Smiling to yourself.

"Sir Unnamed, will this be all for today?"

Question catches you a bit off guard.

"What? No! You thought the core of this exercise is me beating you over and over?"

You don't wait for their answer.

"Yes and no. After all, one of fastest ways to get better is to play against better opponents."

You load up Spitfire's crystal, and wave to her to get on the seat by you. She pales slightly.

"But it's not the only thing by far. So, buckle up, gents, we're going to have a debriefing. A match analysis if you will."

Some adjusting of magical projector later you get picture on the wall so your team of sportsmares can observe what's going on clearly.

"The key part of getting better is recognizing your mistakes and making sure not to repeat them."

You scroll forward to a certain moment and let it play.

"Those of us that are graced with an ounce of intelligence can learn from OTHER'S mistakes."

Your player characters frantically moves between flung spells, bobbing and weaving under incoming fire.

"Who can tell me what Bl4zeOfGlory is doing wrong here?"

Your sports team, as one, starts displaying confusion, puzzlement and everything in-between. Confuzzlement?
Grandma_Punch is the one to speak up first, in a surprisingly creaky voice.

"She's using slow spells on a long distance."

"That's correct, she's relying on roc-, er, concussive blast too much. Every spell fills a niche and none of them is one-size-fits-all solution."

Mares seem to be perplexed by your clothes analogy.

"You have to use the best applicable spell for your situation. Any beam spell would do better here, and Bl4ze has two!"

Spitfire looks a bit hurt over your words. Her cool demeanor with slight flair of smug and superiority is all but gone.

"But sir, this private is good with concussive blast!"

"I'm sorry, private, but you're not. But you could be!"

You switch the playback to your perspective and scroll to particularly gruesome concussion blast massacre, with dozens of unconscious ponies on the floor.

Bl4zeOfGlory's player character is thrown all around room by precision shots.

"Main thing to remember with this spell: Shoot the feet or wall nearby. Level can't dodge and splash damage will do the rest."

Grandma harrumphs.
You shrug.

"Anything else is just practice, tons of practice. Judging distance? Practice. Juggling? Practice. Mid-air shots? Practice. I'm told pegasi are naturally good with predicting motion of objects, so you-" you lightly boop Spitfire "-will be pulling these off in no time."

She grasps her muzzle with both hooves for a second but then beams at you.
Cute mare self-esteem: restored.

It's late in the evening, and every match has been dissected thoroughly.
Your notes have tripled in thickness, and further course of action becomes much clear.

"Good job for today, team! Remember, it's a long way to the top. We will be continuing tomorrow."

A chorus of groans and yawns is your only answer. Perfect. Fatigued mare won't be frisky and rowdy, and a mare that dreams of comfy bedding is better than mare that dreams of stealing your underwear.
God, you still can't forget how clueless you were to your undies disappearing during your first months here...
Friggin' horny horseburds...

Some rabble from the nearby door gets your attention.
You swing door open to your team chit-chattin'.

"What are you all still doing here?"

Spitfire stands at attention, then motions to a set of bunk beds.
"Sir, we, uh... were stationed here as a part of our ongoing contract, sir!"

Spitfire sure is enjoying the military angle.

"I see."

You turn to all of the mares to make sure you're heard loud and clear.

"Here's your next assignment. You all are to get... A good eight hours of sleep, minimum! Ten hours if you can."

In ensuing silence, pillow falls on the floor, having slipped from Winner Podium's suddenly slack jaw.
Sheesh, do you have to explain everything?

"Sleepy gamer is inefficient gamer. Healthy regiment of sleep has positive influence on mental faculties. That includes your tactical reasoning and reaction time."

Soon enough you exit the quarters to a sextet of snoring mares.
Today has been a trainwreck, no way around it.
But after tucking those ponies in, you're strangely in high spirits.
You can work with this.

Your escape from castle Canterstein is cut short by the deep-blue alicorn practically materializing from shadows.

"Splendid work, Anonymous!"

Luna leans in, her wispy mane almost grazing your shoulder.

"But perchance thou could don thine usual garments tomorrow..."

Jeez, is this what it's going to be?

"Thou hast an impressive affinity for... motivation."

She practically whispers last word into your ear, her hot breath sending shivers down your spine.
Uh-oh.
Your pelvis is saved by loud creaking of the door opening.

"Luna! I've been looking for you!"

Luna's voice transforms from sultry to monotone with a hint of contempt in an instant.

"Yes, our dearest sister?"

Not squandering such a moment of opportunity, you slip away into the night.
You still have a costume to pick up and stream to run.
Tired or sleepy, it does not matter. The show must go on.

You are Queen Chrysalis.
Skulking through dark alleys of Canterlot, practically vibrating with anticipation.
Soon, you'll obtain yourself a dream colt.
Tall, exotic and as dirty-minded as you are!
Mares in chat can only fancy themselves such an opportunity.
But you're a Queen, you can have anything you well damn please!
...
Well, except for a few things.
Like ruling the world.
A love life worth a damn.
Adequate players for your campaigns...
This of no matter.
You're not the one to squander the opportunity.
Much to your chagrin, a particularly unpleasant memory bubbles up at this thought.
Last time you jumped at the opportunity like that you really made a mess of things.
Despite your perfect plan and successful Canterlot infiltration you got love-drunk, took a swim in the Royal Aquarium and tried to seduce half the castle staff.
On top of that, you challenged Royal Sisters to a dance-off while showing off your sick break-dance moves.
They ultimately saw through your clever disguise and promptly threw you out of the castle.
Not your proudest day.
Who knew that damn Princess Can't-dance cadence?
Wait, you've got that wrong way around.
Whatever.
The much-expected visage brings smile back to your muzzle.
There could be no mistake - this tall, almost towering figure is instantly recognizable.

You are the resident hominid alien.
With newly-obtained apparel under your arm, you step into your streaming studio and turn your gaming station on.
Flutters won't be back till much later.
Time to change and run that relaxing farming sim you picked out recently.
Relaxation.
That's definitely something you could use right now.

C0mpound_EY3: So... Lately I talked my sister into turning into whatever that sexy beast Unnamed is.
LyricalSatirical: Oh damn!
xXM00n_DanceXx: Luna damn it! I knew bugs have it best when getting freaky in the bedroom!
C0mpound_EY3: You know it
TotalyNotAChangeling: mare that's dyke asb!
C0mpound_EY3: It's not dyke if she has dicc
LyricalSatirical: can I hire you bugs out or smth? Momma needs to feel those graspers on her horn!
S1mple_3YE: Sis, don't think that I forgot, you promised that it's your turn next!
xXM00n_DanceXx: Mare I don't know, Totaly is kinda right - getting railed by a mare sounds too dyke-ish for my tastes...

"I was a bit tied up with all this boring real life stuff..."

You give the camera an earnest apologetic smile.
With smile like that your viewers will forgive you anything.
However, chat's rather perplexed in regards to your costume.
You're wearing denim pants and jacket along with a straw cowboy hat.
Denim jacket's unbuttoned just enough to show off a bit of your pecs.
You give camera another one of your sweet smiles.

"It all has to do with the game we're going to be enjoying today!"

Ooooohs and aaaaahs of realization crop up in swathes.

"Which is..."

You fiddle around with a box for a bit before turning it to face the camera.
God, you love teasing chat.
"Honest Hearts Homestead!"
The boxart features a farmer mare in an outfit not too dissimilar to yours.
You'd prefer to wear denim overalls instead, but gotta stay true to original material...
If cosplay idea takes off, you expect a serious uptick in games with lewd protagonists being suggested.

Turning the box back, you read the tagline.

"Farming and... herd management simulator."

Huh. You don't recall the herding part from the time you picked this game up at the store.
Must be a coincidence.
Not wasting any more time, you jump straight in the game.
Sweet Jesus, how did they make ponies even more adorable?!
After acclimatizing to new level of cute, you can finally interact with the game, and you hit the ground running.
Farm-land is overgrown with weeds and you spend a few in-game days clearing it.
Game clearly wants to ease player into the gameplay loop, but you just wish you'd get to the farming part already.
Grumbling you make slow but sure progress, trying to entertain chat during this slog section.
As you'll admit it later, dressing as skimpy farm-boy was a huge mistake.
At first it was quiet.
You saw some viewers mentioning 'friends who are really into this sort of thing', but you didn't pay attention to that.
What caught your eye was a series of VERY salacious comments from one particular viewer.
It was that country gal you lifted farm-boy idea from.
Little did you know, her showing up was the beginning of the end.
Not even five minutes later, an avalanche of new viewers started flooding your stream.
You watch in barely contained awe and horror as chat becomes apples and apple accessories.
Just how many of apple farmers ARE there in Equestria?
As if to drive the point home, second wave of viewers pours in, consisting of other fruit-themed and sometimes even fruit-shaped nicknames.
Vegetables were soon to follow.

Amount of dirty comments: Off the charts and keeps going.
Comments promising feasts consisting solely tasty family recipes are a close second.
Reminder to self: avoid farms. You're either going to be fed to death by affectionate grandmas or country mares are going to ride you through the floor.
You pull your shit together and take it in stride, after all, influx of viewers is always good, right?
Finally your plot of land is free of weeds and trash and it's time to actually farm!
It was supposed to be a pretty short trip to the farming shop, but...
Your seemingly mundane choice of first crop to seed sparks almost a riot in the chat.

Applejack01: Ahnd ah swear to Celestia, Unnamed should 'now the blessing of the Apple.
BananaRama: apples? more liek crapples! banana gang reigns supreeeeeeeeeeeem!
SucculentFroot: Peaches! Peaches! Peaches! Peaches! Peaches! Peaches!
OuttaField: Stinkin' odd-jobs, y'all.
Potato-Potato: You absolute tuftlets! HAIL TO THE GLORY OF SPUD
brite_orang: 'hat do you 'ave 'gainst carrots, pardner?
JamPakd: Do yah lissen to yerself? Y'all don' make a lick o' sense!

You're glad you got yourself some moderators, yeesh!
But the desire to placate all of these frisky but somewhat endearingly straightforward country mares overtakes you.
You clench your teeth and buy every fruit and veggie seed once, as applicable for the current in-game season.
Terrible strategy, but it soothes ongoing rioting in chat along with you cutely spewing some nonsense about variety being the spice of life.
You get to work, murmuring a simple melody to yourself

"I've got a brand-new combine harvester and I'll give you the key..."

You are royal. You are a bug. That must mean that you are none other than Queen Chrysalis.
Also, you are mad.
Very mad.
Table-flippin' mad!
You've spent a better part of last two hours trying to get in, but to no avail.
Unnamed's apartment is locked tight, and heavily warded.
Can't teleport in, can't phase through walls either.
That unassuming wooden door can rival the toughest safe doors, and as for the windows - you'd have better chances with any of the walls.
It's practically a one-apartment fortress.
However, the reward is going to be all the sweeter for it.
You refocus on the task at hoof.
Layered protection, wards... Nothing's going in or out, except mail...
Mail, hmmm...
What if?..

You are Anon, a proud virtual farmer managing every single type of crop there is!
You hear a muffled FWAMP from another room. Must be fan mail.
Ever since you set that up you get a free game every now and then - ponies enjoy your take on their favorite games, even if you don't actually complete them.
Speaking of. On the fifteenth in-game day you find a mail in the mailbox.
It's protagonist's mother, asking why ain't she herding yet.

"Ain't that familiar?"

There's quite few of colts in the town, but there's one guy who has been fawning over your produce for awhile.
Well, more like observing it a bit too long before going his way.
You move in for the kill.
He's skittish at first, but with few right dialogue choices and a bit of homebrewed wine, and you got him in a pocket.
Well, in bed, snuggling with protagonist mare.

TwilitBandit: Wtb Unnamed makes it look so easy
xXM00n_DanceXx: Ha! Consider getting your colt end of game's tutorial! Keeping him is THE hard part...
JamPakd: Ah wish it'd be that easy! Barely any colt respects farmin' ways these days...
SucculentFroot: He cute
S1mple_3YE: Unnamed or The Husband?
SucculentFroot: Yes

With the help of a virtual stallion game starts going faster.
With some due care and careful planning, you're quick to harvest crops and cycle out those that won't survive next season.
At the moment, your in-game husband is out on the field, watching you work and doing small-time cleaning here and there.
PERFECT. OPPORTUNITY.
These peopl- ponies came here for a show, and you're going to give it to 'em!
Innuendo engine?
Full throttle.
Self-respect?
None to begin with.
Let's roll.
Forgive me moderators, for I am about to sin. Hard.

You orient your player character in front of the plow, coincidentally putting hindquarters in Husband's direct line of sight.

"Time to start plowing!"

You elicit some grunts in sync with mare as she struggles with low-tier plow as you tap away the QTE.
Man, this is soooooooo going to be used out of context...
Using high-grade growing powder should make the maize grow in no time.

"You must ensure that the lands are fertile before you plant your seed there."

Once done, you turn and head to house.

"Gotta hydrate after working up a sweat with all that intense plowing."

Using water barrel to restore endurance.

"If you wanna go again, that is. After all, it was very hot."

Meanwhile colt picks up one of your hard-earned veggies and starts trotting somewhere with it.
Not on YOUR watch!

"Where are you going? Come on, give the mare that carrot!"

Now carrot-less Husband sits down and proceeds to watch you.

"What do you want, spend the entire day watching me watching corn? Not that I object..."

Finishing your duties for the day, you look over your special patch of land, chock-full of veggies of the highest quality.

"Got to admit, sometimes your plot is just a thing to admire..."

You don't even need to look to tell that chat was plunged headfirst into an utter shitstorm.

As a surprise for everyone involved, lewdity train comes to a screeching halt once the next day hits and The Husband introduces a new herdmate.
The Mailmare.
You feel like you had a bucket of ice water dumped on you.
Not only you didn't get asked for your input, that lil' shid decided to contest you for being an alpha!
You boop her right outta the door.
Unfortunately, colt sees that and boy, is he not amused.
You spend the next night on the couch.
IN YOUR OWN DAMN HOUSE!
You clench your teeth but deal with it.
With another herdmate, you have to juggle finances, available resources, time and happiness of your herdmates.
And your presents don't seem to fill out your stallion's happiness bar as well as they used to.
A-ha. So repeated actions have diminishing returns. Gotcha.
But if this keeps on keeping on, you're going to run out of actions!
Gift shop restocks in three days, but you can't say if you got that much time.
Holy SHIT this game is nerve-wracking!

C0mpound_EY3: Did anypony clip the moment when colt puts him through the wringer? That expression - priceless!
xXM00n_DanceXx: Is that what I think it is? Is he going for MAXWHIM run?
TwilitBandit: Sure looks like it, he's off to a strong start, too!
Applejack01: The MAX-what-now??
xXM00n_DanceXx: Not using tuft to lower Husband's whimsy.
SucculentFroot: Btw, apples still suck!
TwilitBandit: Type of self-imposed difficulty run where you don't use your tuft to reset Husband's ever-increasing whimsy. Some call it tuft-less run, which is a misnomer, IMO.
Applejack01: Now don' go talk somthin' y'all gon' regret, pardner...
xXM00n_DanceXx: Aw buck here we go again

The stallion becomes rather fussy in his choice of produce for cooking, changing preference literally every day.
You're so damn happy you stuck to your stupid every-crop strategy, as you have a surplus of just about everything.
But then he starts being picky about quality, too!

"These Flawless and Excellent-grade beets are not enough for you? You want Perfect grade only?! Jeez, how picky can you get?"

The Mailmare proves to not be a complete deadweight as she chips in herd budget and entertains the colt with fancy postcards while you practically beat the produce out of earth like it owes you money.
Happiness bars fall dangerously low, but you save the situation by attending several fairs and winning prizes with your perfect-quality veggies, which cheers up entirety of herd.
At this point, you're breaking out in sweat.
You wanted a comfy and slightly lewd - well, okay, considerably lewd - evening of mindless farming, instead you're torn over choices for your virtual herd while there's YET ANOTHER civil war breaking out between earth pony clans in the chat.
This is fine.

Forgetting today's dirty little secret, you unbutton your trucker jacket and reveal a bit more than intended.
This sets off the smoldering powder keg that is your current audience.
Guess saving that for later didn't pan out.
Oh well, no point in hiding it now, so you give the camera a coy smile as you pull the jacket off, revealing stealth rope bondage you had all this time, and do some muscle flexing.
You're even kinda proud of the ropework - finally picture-perfect memory of untold gigabytes of shibari came in handy!
The chat?
Absolute. Pandemonium.

Applejack01: Hoo-wee! Dis yees mah haw!
P3culiarD1amond: Now this is tasteful rope application!
S1mple_3YE: OMQ CLIP IT NAO!
SucculentFroot: Love me a colt who has a way wit' rope!
LyricalSatirical: yessssssssss
OuttaField: you's a big 'un
TotalyNotAChangeling: by Chrysalis' humble posterior! off to a hardware store!

On the upside, the earth mares aren't at each other's throats anymore.
After this small commercial break you continue your resource juggling exercise.
The margin for error is unbelievably small, but RNGesus is smiling upon ye today and thus you scrape by, limping all the way to Hearth's Warming.
Everypony is happy, budget has grown, and it's friggin' horsechristmas, what more can one want?

"I feel like this is a good place to stop. What can I say? Definitely didn't expect the game to be this hard!"

xXM00n_DanceXx: Welp, that's a new record...
TwilitBandit: Uh, I don't think he knows
xXM00n_DanceXx: No duh! Obscure run, obscure category, you do the math.
TwilitBandit: I mean, I don't think he knows about tuft mechanic.
xXM00n_DanceXx: HE DOESN'T?! :facehoof:

After doing your long-overdue round of shout-outs, you wrap your stream up and stretch.
That was... way less relaxing than expected.
Time to go change and just... collapse on the sofa as a sack of potatoes. A perfect-grade sack of potatoes...
Vaguely mare-shaped black-and-green blur hits your chest.
Your horsemolestation prevention instincts kick in, and you drop on one knee, hook your arm under the intruder's barrel and finally leverage your height to put the unwanted guest right on her back.
Normally putting your noggin within striking distance of hooves would be a bad idea...
But no mare would hit a cute stallion, especially in his pretty face, and you abuse this fact to the full extent.
You start aggressively rubbing her belly and head, delivering circular rubs, ear scritchies, headpats and some tickling for a good measure.
She's writhing in your grasp, but you're stronger.
Little pony bodies can take only so much stimulation from your horrendous 'graspers' and she's out cold in 15 seconds flat.
Now that you look her over, it becomes evident that it's not your run-of-the-mill mare.
Sleek, black body, sick-looking horn, flowing mane and hooves full o' holes.
Yup, that's a bug.
She does look kinda cute, with wide afterglow smile making her fangs poke out just a tiny bit.
Too bad she doesn't glow green, otherwise you'd nickname her razerhorse.
You put your hands on your sides.

"Oh, what am I going to do with you?"

Looking down at your torso, you get an idea.

You are Fluttershy, and you are very, extremely... PEEVED!
It was supposed to be very quiet in Anon apartments, for sake of his recording job.
Instead it was sounds of struggle and Anon's voice.
And he sounded... angry?
Evidently, some mares got to your stallion while you were away, and they're taking advantage of him!
Filled with righteous fury, you carefully unlock door and then kick it open.

"That's it, busters!"

But the anger goes away in the next second as you observe the scene.
Chrysalis is... bound and prostrated on the floor, muzzle down and... Eep! Hindquarters up! Some sort of red ball of considerable size is squeezed between her jaws. Her legs appear to be bound together by a rope weaving through holes in her hooves in fancy patterns and knots; Her mascara is ruined and her eyes can't seem to decide between rolling back and crossing.
Anon stays over her, dressed as a farmer, holding a riding crop and a...

"HERE COMES THE LETTUCE!"

Chrysalis's half-lidded eyes shoot open, full of genuine fear.
O-oh dear.

Chapter 5 - Plus One

You are a certain alabaster unicorn seamstress.
And you are on a tight schedule, sewing the dress practically on your unusually tall and chitinous client.
Well, chitinous part isn't that unusual for you, really. Changelings are banned from transforming outside of their work duties, so accessorizing became a huge hit practically overnight.
Obviously, you were the first the meet this sudden demand. Only a seamstress of your caliber could meet this onslaught of unique accessory orders and take it in stride.
A lifetime of fashion taught you to stay on top of every fad and trend. Big cities live fast, after all.

"A-ha!"

With that you expertly finish another stitch in record time, if you do say so yourself.

"Oh darling, you're in luck! As much trust I put in Sassy, I wouldn't rely on her to complete such an order on such a short notice. Who's the lucky colt?"

Your client dreamily lids her eyes.

"Oh, he's everything I could dream of. Tall, shapely and exotic..."

She cracks her eyes open just a bit, then leans in and whispers in conspirational tone.

"And he for sure knows his way around the rope..."

"Ohohoho, oh my!~"

What a lucky mare indeed. Another stitch done.

"I do so envy you, darling. He sounds like a prime catch."

Her toothy yet warm grin grows ever wider.

"It DOES feel like a dream..."

Scissors fly all about your client, snipping anything out of place. You give the dress last once-over.

"That's all, darling! Best of luck with your date!"

Without missing a beat, the tall changeling mare all but throws a hefty bag of bits on the counter before rushing out.
You click your tongue.
A colt, ready to indulge in some of your ropey fantasies? Not far from a dream, indeed.
Talking about ropes, there was this absolutely SCANDALOUS VOD you've been coming back to...
With no new orders on the horizon, a lady might as well treat herself to some entertainment...

You are yellow, feathered Alpha of timid disposition.
That probably means you're Fluttershy.
Sitting at the table, sulking in the early morning light filtering through restaurant's windows.
And concentrating on keeping your mouth extra shut.
You're not exactly... peeved, but rather moderately upset about handling this whole situation.
Yesterday, with but a few poorly-worded phrases you had Anon believing that the bug intruder was your herdmate candidate.
He then apologized profusely to Chrysalis for starting their meeting off the wrong foot and going full 'pulp fiction' on her, whatever that meant.
You could have ended this silly misunderstanding then and there, but...
First of all, much to your shock, Anon commended the speed and boldness of your 'decision' as an Alpha of the herd.
Second of all, was puppy-eyed Chrysalis clasping her hooves together in a pleading gesture out of Anon's sight.
Royal Sisters gave her a chance, after all, and she's yet to disappoint them.

Yet.

Ah, who are you kidding? It was your passive indecisiveness again.
If it wasn't for Anon here you'd facehoof a muzzle off your face. Twice over and then some.
Ah!
Anon's hand gently strokes your back, and he gives you a soft, encouraging smile!
Fluttershy, what have you gotten yourself into?
You take a deep breath, and then another to calm yourself down.
Your eyes find a fancy clock to take your mind off your inner turmoil.
The seconds arm could be as well glued to the clock face.
Serves you right for expecting Anon to spend ages getting ready for your outing.
Somehow he managed to be done even faster than you, and he had a three-piece suit to put on!

Speaking of Anon and his wardrobe, the whole farmer get-up had you extremely confused yesterday.
But, turns out it helps him to get into the role!
You'd never expect something like that coming into play when working as a voice actor, but you can't argue with the results: he really nailed that lovable country bumpkin colt who-needs-a-guiding-hoof-in-his-life type of character!
He even recited some lines to you.
The particular line where he held up and closely inspected lettuce only to pronounce that "th' ahpples sure came out weird this season" had you in stitches.
Whoever hired him better pay well for that level of performance, otherwise you're going to stomp over to the castle, right into their little dingy office and give them a piece of your mind!

Not that you can't support your colt...

You are Chrysalis, barreling down streets of Canterlot.
What's the plan? Come on, brain, plans, you're great at those!
Oh, right.
Part one: Get yourself presentable and pronto. Check.
Part two: Secure yourself a coltfriend. You are currently here.
Some blue unicorn dashes from your path and mutters some posh curses, barely escaping your gallop.
Now here comes the question: how exactly do you do that second part?
Dang it, you'll figure it out as you go, finding that dang restaurant is more important right now!

You are Fluttershy again.
There's a huge pit forming in your stomach despite every effort Anon takes.
Inhale.
Hold.
Exhale.
Repeat.
Whatever you do, do not hide behind your mane!
This whole situation is more than ridiculous, and every part of it requires careful scrutiny.
Especially the central, chitinous part.
And scrutiny she will face, for it is your duty as the Alpha to make sure all your herdmates are compatible.
A-at least, the book said so...
Maybe it'll all blow over and she won't show up?
The second this treacherous thought crosses your mind, a familiar tall figure shows itself.
Anon turns to trace your gaze.

It's HER.
Her dress is in soothing shades of white and green. It's flowing and just... works for her.
Your own formal dress can't even hope to hold the candle to this. Horseapples.
But her garments at least mean she's serious about this entire thing. Good.
Hold up.
You're finally starting to think like an Alpha. You take a moment to cheer internally.
With a pomf, Chrysalis crashes down on her pillow seat.
How... unrefined!
Noticing your ice-cold stare, she clears her throat and greets you and Anon.
Chilling effects of your glare are immediately mitigated by none other than Anon, whose warm smile and greeting followed by a compliment addressed to her dress have her smiling coquettishly.
It pains you that you have essentially brought this on yourself.
Meanwhile the opportunity shows itself: once the orders were made, Anon has excused himself to wash his hands.
Waiting for him to turn the corner, you turn to Chrysalis.

"Don't you have a literal swarm of kids to take care of?"

"Bwah?!"

You expected a flash of anger, not a confused, wide-eyed sputter. Once she recovers from her surprise, she answers, seemingly picking her words carefully.

"That's not true at all! I mean, my subjects see me as a mother figure, but had I been busy carrying all these eggs I wouldn't get anything done, ever!"

You just raise one eyebrow skeptically.
Hive, queen, drones, all of this pointed to Chrysalis siring entire broods.

"I do attend the hatching day, but my subjects are perfectly capable of starting their own families and having offspring without any of my help!"

"Wait, does that mean that you've never..."

Chrysalis bites her lip, clearly regretting that slip-up.

"I have seduced some colts in disguise for their love in the past..."

She deflates.

"But not in my true form, no."

All of a sudden, Chrysalis narrows her eyes and moves on the offensive.

"You know, for a herd, tension between you two is so dense that you can almost cut it with a knife. Did you two even do it?"

Oh horseapples, she's got you there.
Any of the Alpha-worthy retorts you might have had at the moment are thrown to the wind.
The panic almost overtakes you, but none other than Anon speaks up. How'd he sneak up on you both like that?

"You even ask? She's a complete animal in bed! And she's blushing sooooo cutely the morning after."

He sits down beside you and pulls you close for an affectionate kiss on a noggin.
Meanwhile Chrysalis' eyes jump from you to Anon and back, as if trying to imagine the scene.
Looks like Anon's got your back!
He'd be a perfect wingmare to go colt-swoopin'!
Wait a minute...

You are Bug-butt.
And you are struggling to come up with the plan that you so recently promised yourself.
Anon's not your subject nor are you trying to seduce him in disguise.
You realize you have precisely zero idea how to act around this stallion.
Come on, Chrysalis, aren't you supposed to be THE Seduction Expert?

"Chrysalis, can you tell us more about yourself?"

Anon's question comes out of blue as much as you realize that you should've expected it.
You put your hoof to your chin in thought.

"Hmm, where do I even begin?"

Next fifteen minutes you spend explaining changelings in broad strokes.
Much to your surprise, Anon actually seems into it, clarifying various details with what you sense to be a completely genuine interest.

"Usually we feed on love in its natural form, but with the recent developments food rich in condensed love started being made to accommodate my kind's needs."

"So, what do you think, Anon?"

You have almost forgotten about that yellow pegasus.
He hums while he's cleans his fingers with napkins.
Oh goodness, he's holding her hoof now. Bracing for impact, bracing for impact!

"Good choice, Fluttershy! Maybe an exotic addition to our herd, but I'm no ordinary stallion, either!"

His lovely gentle laughter rings out.
An unusually warm elation washes over you.
Maybe it'll all work out and you'll join this herd. Is this what they call hope?
Normally you'd be deathly insulted by mere implication of having to share, but ever since you took Sisters' thrice-damned deal, you have come to accept that sometimes concessions have to be made.
At least now every 'ling is safe, well-fed and reasonably accepted among the ponykind.
And looks like this whole 'stop being evul' thing is finally starting to pay off.

"Besides, she looks adorable"

Adorable?
Did he say 'adorable'?
Your warm elation grows yet warmer.
Alpha's voice brings you back to earth.

"Anon, dear, can you pick proper desserts for all of us?"

Insidious! A stallion picking their dessert? That won't be quick, with all the fussing over calorie intake and which flavor is currently in vogue.
As soon as exotic husband-to-be is out of earshot she leans over you jabs accusatory hoof.

"I don't know what he sees in you"

"I-I can support this herd!.."

"With your subjects' bits? Tsk, that's *low*, Chrysalis!"

Ouch.

"But-"

"If you hurt Anon's feelings, so help me!"

She leans on her end of the table so hard it creaks in submission.
You blink in surprise. You didn't realize just how commanding of a presence this mare got.
It's plain scary.
And hot.
The stern look on pegasus' face softens a little.

"But the princesses saw fit to give you a second chance, so you have that going for you..."

Chrysalis, you got this.
As long as you don't buck this up.
Anon's appearance dissipates the figurative clouds above your table.
He's smiling at you specifically, precariously balancing a tray full of sugary treats.

"I didn't know which ones are love-infused so I grabbed one of each!"

You are Yellow Quiet, once again.
Chrysalis levitates trays with desserts to your table gracefully.
Her smile all but says it,

"Nice to have a magic user in a herd, isn't it?"

That would be nice, yes.
But she doesn't need to know about it.
You deflate a bit. Anon seems to have made up his mind, and Chrysalis has been on her best behavior so far.
Just look at them discussing cuisine shenanigans like old pals!
You scrunch.
The consensus is pretty much reached, you just need to come to terms with it.

Having split the bill equally, you're met with a fresh morning breeze outside.
Anonymous gives you a smile and addresses Chrysalis in his usual chipper attitude.

"Uh, so, I guess that makes it official. Welcome to our little herd!"

You interject,

"For a tryout period!"

"Yes, the compatibility is important."

He gives you another smile, even warmer this time.

"Good job, Fluttershy!"

Followed with a playful wink.

"Now, if you excuse me, I gotta go change, got a busy workday ahead of me. See you gals later."

"Sure, Anon, we've got a few things to discuss with Chrysalis..."

Waving goodbye, he turns about and strides vaguely in the direction of the apartments building.

"He has no idea, does he?"

"Not a clue."

Chrysalis turns to you in a surprise.

"Wait, you let your colt work?"

"Against my better judgment. Besides, he's no ordinary colt."

She can offer no recourse. Especially not when both of you have your eyes glued to his bouncing posterior.
Only after the eye-level eye-candy disappears around the corner you shake free from the spell.

"So, what's the deal with that cabbage?"

Color drains from Chrysalis' face

You are Anon, power-walking back home and dodging yawning mares.
Things seem to be looking up, and yet...
Your thoughts return to your recent foray into herd management simulator.
With Miss Shivering Banana being in charge she won't have any time to do actual cooking, and Chryssy didn't strike you as the enthusiast chef.
Heh, Chryssy.
Ahem.
Looks like you'll have to pick up the cooking at some point.
No matter how disastrous it can be...
With a melodic click, your apartment door is unlocked.
Focus. You have a whole team to shape into winners, and Luna doesn't seem to be making your job any easier.
Fresh memory of her hot breath on your ear and neck sends shivers down your spine.
It was a direct order, wasn't it?
You pick up the thrice-damned garments and throw 'em in the bag.
Well, you've asked for this, Princess, this one is on you.

Right on time, you throw the doors to your team's lounge open.
Commencing the operation "High-Impact Socksual Violence".
The noise brings eyes of all your charges directly to your usual streaming garments.
*FOOMP!*
A row of wingboners.
Non-pegasi would be more subtle had they not been growing progressively redder by the second.
Without saying a word, you approach.
Menacingly.
Once in front of them, you lean over offending mares with an expression of a DI about to rain hell and fury.
Their wings quiver a little as they grow even more stiff.
Fear fills their features as it becomes abundantly clear they can't fold the damn things.
Mare musk wafts fore and hits your nostrils like a baseball bat.
You bend your riding crop almost to the point of breaking.

"Out in the garden."
"And bring me the hose."

Once the horny was properly hosed down and mares were equally properly dried off, you are back in business.
God knows some of those mares could use a wash.
Some of them became quite a few shades brighter!
Now to introduce them to a new technique, where was that computer lab room?

You are tall, imposing and hole-ridden.
That must mean that you're none other than Chrysalis.
And you are pacing around your Royal quarters nervously.
Looking at the queen-shaped buggonnequin adorned in your dress, the only confirmation that these things actually happened.

Despite going over the recent events over and over and over, you have precisely zero idea what is going on.
You crash onto your Royal Couch.
No, seriously, what the BUCK was any of that?
Finally, the first generation of lings that have never known the pangs of hunger grows up, and you've almost ended up throwing that away.
You've just lost it and went horsebando-hunting!
There's no other way of putting it. You were thinking with your clit.
Yet somehow...
Somehow that did not result in a diplomatic incident like it absolutely should have.
You roll over on your luxurious couch and begin massaging your poor head as you feel all the signs of the onsetting headache.
Nothing makes sense anymore.
Instead of ravishing a colt you got your croup kicked.
Then, instead of getting your croup kicked for trying to ravish a colt you got invited to a herd.
There was some kinky ropework and terrifying veggies somewhere in there, but you seem to be blocking out that particular memory.
How did *any of that* happen?
Whatever, you're definitely not gonna look the gift horsebando in the mouth.

You are Anon, maneuvering through the sheer disarray in the castle.
Whatever is planned for today, you do not know, but the corridors are sure tuna-packed with crates, planks, precarious towers of paint buckets and other building supplies, not to mention ponies.
Did they decide to do ALL THE renovations at once all of a sudden?
Mentally you cross another corridor off your map of the castle.
Argh fuck. Looks like the only way lies through the day court room.
Just keep a complete poker face.

Thou art Princess Luna.
Celestia's been acting all busy lately, not even stealing a single glance towards the new colt.
You know better than to take her up at the face value. She's playing the long game.
Let's see how she'll keep her cool with the stakes raised...
Dodging your sister's Cake Column, you plop your royal behind on the throne.

"Casual"

"Tryhard"

Having finished your daily exchange of pleasantries, you both go quiet, concentrated on your respective screens.
Let's see if you still have your scheming game to rival Celestia...
Both of your ears pick up and turn to the doors swinging open.
That's right, and right on time, too!
Marching in striped thigh-highs, tight undergarments and a similarly tight-fitting shirt, is none other than your Anonymous.
Sportsmares entrusted to him proceed orderly in front of the human, perhaps trying too hard to not look back.
Every single other pair of eyes in the enormous room is brought to the silent procession.
At least one royal guard falls muzzle first on the floor, but you're too busy observing your sister.
She's got her eyes on the energetic colt strutting through the hall like he owns the place.
Every step's movement visibly jolts back and forth through the leg muscles, giving his exposed flanks a sensible ripple with every rise and fall.
Celestia's face did not betray a single emotion, however the piece of cake she held in magic missed her mouth completely and stained her tuft.
How delightfully embarrassing!
She sputters at your giggle and gives you a mean stare which you meet with a smug smile.
Nay, no reason to feign innocence when you have won this round.

You are Anon, having finally navigated through the maze the castle is today.
Once your charges are seated comfortably and all face you, you pick up a piece of chalk and stand in front of the blackboard.

"Today, you will learn probably the single most important part about any fast-paced First Person Spellslinger."

You give them a dramatic pause.

"Movement."

There is more than one raised pair of eyebrows.

"I will teach you to move fast, hit hard, and be gone before anyone realizes what happened."

You are a purple unicorn with a penchant for magic and anxiety, and your nerd-sense is tingling.
Somepony on the castle grounds is about to launch into a genuine nerdy rant.
The feeling rolls down your spine in a warm wave. Your breath hitches for a second.
Actually scratch that, you're sensing a full-blown nerd-out incoming.
With a wink, your body announces its much-neglected... needs.
Thank Celestia, there's a storage room with a sturdy door nearby!

You are Anon, addressing your small but captive audience.

"So what is airstrafe and why does it work?"
"We gotta start with basics. How player's desired velocity is calculated."

You draw a square, then draw two lines to split it into four smaller squares.
Then you put little drawings of direction movement keys onto each cardinal direction of graph.

"So, most games calculate desirable player velocity by summing desirable side velocity - that is, strafing left or right, and forward velocity, that is going forwards and backwards. Simple enough, right?"

Mares all nod in unison.
You connect big square's corners with diagonal lines and put down ones near each side of smaller squares.

"If each side is 1, how long is this diagonal?"
You make small adjustment denoting the right angle and observe the team.

Born2Win holds her hooves to her temples in sheer disbelief and despair. Was she a school drop-out or something?
Bl4zeOfGlory bears her typical impenetrable expression. Other mares seem just out of it.

"Square root o' two, I reckon."

What do you know, it's the Grandma_Punch who can operate basic math!

"Correct! And it's roughly equal to one-point-four-something. Why is this important?"

You nod towards the graph.

"The perpendicular velocities are summed up but often aren't clamped - this is why in some old games you're moving faster by moving diagonally! About 40% speedup!"

Gram gram nods enthusiastically - she probably remembers those times.

"Newer games clamp that."

You illustrate point by drawing a unit circle into your square and drawing a new vector that is confined to the circle.

"And that would be it... BUT! There exists a tiny oversight..."

You smile at the incoming nerd-out.

You are a certain violet nerdy magic horse.
You've been... tending to your needs for the last... however long you were in this closet.
There's one unfortunate fact, though: the magic will only get you so far.
As if on cue, your magic glow fizzles out as more and more blood is rerouted from the horn to your nether regions.
Nature cares not for your pouting, and you're left with naught but your hooves to finish what has been started.
A new ripple in the nerdiness-field sends pleasant tingles from the tip of your horn to the tip of your tail and practically magnetizes your hoof to your nethers.
Guess the research will have to wait a bit.

You are Anon again, observing six mares who still look moderately disturbed at the prospect of facing MATH in gaming.
You tap the board at the unit-circle.

"Technically, the player can use more than just eight directions to maneuver by using a controller"

With a few more swings of chalk, additional lines, arrows and letters appear on the blackboard.

"So to properly handle the movement in the direction of player's desired, uh, velocity, the game has to actually do some basic vector math."

You draw arrows, formulas, and even some excerpts from the code graciously provided by the local computer lab assistant, adorable little mare with glasses sporting lenses as thick as your thumb.
You enthusiastically explain every part of the illustration, going into detail with gusto, before moving to the next piece of the puzzle you currently present and repeating the process until it all becomes a complete picture.
Finishing up with the chalk, you step back and nod to yourself. You managed to fit the crux of the issue in a very succinct form.

Turning around, however, reveals that, well...
To say that your charges were not enthused would be an understatement.
There are mostly blank stares, but Born still holds her head and looks like she's about to start hyperventilating.

You knit your brow.
Perhaps you weren't thorough enough?

Trying to explain the intricacies of vector math and how air-strafe and wall-run work under the hood, however, causes poor mares to attain thousand-yard-stares. You could swear that you heard HiSCORE praying to Celestia about some sort of penance.
The only one holding on is Grandma_Punch, surprisingly enough.

Should you simplify it further?

You turn back to blackboard and try to explain again, this time in very simple terms, but as soon as you turn back to face the mares, their eyes instantly start glazing over.
Hold on. Is this the effect that math has on a gamer mare brain or do they stare at your tightly-packed ass every time you turn to the blackboard?
Probably both.
Whatever, you're not objecting, as long as they kick asses at the tournament in return.
Grandma still tried to stay sharp, catching your every word. Respectable.
Finally, you wipe your cryptic drawings off the blackboard.

"But this is all for nerds."

Ditching the chalk you spin around and with a pep in your step you march over to the nearest battle station, inviting mares to follow.

"What you all want and need is the practical usage of this!"

Now THAT got their attention.
You demonstrate how diagonal movement doesn't give any advantage in Thaumic Tournament.
Next is wall-run, which works, according to the player velocity readout, which prompts some cheering from the mares.
You move to airstrafing. They've already seen you bunnyhopping, so you decide to spice things up for them...
It takes a few seconds before the realization hits the sportsmares.

"No way!"

"He's... He's DOING IT SIDEWAYS!"

Making another pirouette around a particularly titanic bookshelf column, your character comes to a halt. You turn back to your team.

"This is why I wanted you all to know the theory behind this trick. It doesn't matter which cardinal direction you use - they're all sides of the same square!"

You clap your hands.

"Soo... Now you know why they say that knowledge is power. Why don't you gals try your newfound knowledge-slash-power out?"

Their eagerness in manning (horsing?) the battlestations makes you a tiny bit proud. Maybe all of this wasn't a huge mistake.

You are a purple unicorn with a distinct proclivity for books.
Soft purple glow envelops your hooves. It feels a bit tingly but on the upside, the filthy evidence of your past actions disappears with the faint fizzling.
Few seconds later you've slipped out of the closet in the most inconspicuous manner possible.
Being so attuned to intellectual matters leaves you vulnerable to ripples in the nerd-o-sphere.
You're not entirely comfortable with being aroused by these things because, well, as some online mares would put it, 'zigga das dyke asb'.
But you like to think that it was a cute geeky stallion going on a cute little rant.
If only...

"Y-Ow!"

Moondancer jumps back and holds her hooves to her muzzle, and you find yourself mirroring her motion as the pain from head-on nasal impact shoots through your skull like lightning!
You try to blink the stars out of your eyes furiously, but you're observant enough of your partner in scientific crimes.
She immediately parts one hoof from her nose with a certain degree of disgust.
Seeing your puzzled look causes small blush to appear on her cheeks.
Did she?
Oh no she didn't!

"Did you?.."

Your eyes jump from her hoof to her snootle.
Moondancer all but crumbles under your inquisitive look all the while trying to sneakily wipe offending hoof on the stone floor.
Oh no, she TOTALLY DID!

You are Winner Podium, or as you're known among your team, Born2Win, and, mare, are you bad at this.
Why can't you be like total_Ctrl, who hit the ground running and is currently garnering praise from Mr. Unnamed?
You look to your other side.
Spitfire is so into it, she's stuck out her tongue to the side and leans with her player character while being inches from her monitor.

"Having trouble, Born?"

You nearly dang jump out of your skin! How did he manage to sneak up on you?!
Sir Unnamed looks into the monitor intently as you try to show him your feeble attempts at bunnyhopping.

Your character makes a few jumps and clumsily grinds to a halt, jumping in place like a loon.
It's been like this for the past hour. You didn't improve by even an iota!
You sniffle in embarrassment, trying to force growing tears back down your tear-ducts.
Real mares don't cry, especially when they mess up.
Don't cry.
Don't cry, dammit! That'll only embarrass you further.

Sir Unknown's hand snaps you out your reverie, its gentle touch traveling down your spine.
You meet his eyes, and... he's concerned.
Not mad. Not disappointed.
Concerned.
His expression morphs into a small reassuring smile.

"Let's try this again, shall we?"

He places his exotic graspers over your forehooves, performing the movement by shifting and tilting them.
You watch as your character practically flies through the level.
With every swing, with every successive jump stallion's control becomes weaker, inviting you to take over.

"You can do this."

His sweet voice does wonders for your encouragement, not a five minutes ago you were ready to give up and now you've got a second breath!
You follow the movements on your own, eyes glued to the screen.

"Alright, keep going, keep going! You can do it, it's all in the rhythm! Wider swings, wider swings!"

His hands rest on your withers, his shirt is felt on your back and his chin barely brushes the tippy top of your mane.
It's like... It's like he's about to mount you!

"Don't get distracted, you can do it, Born, you wouldn't be here otherwise!"

Chasing away lewd thoughts you get your hooves back under fine control.
Left. Right. The timing is slightly off, but you're almost there.
You can feel the exact moment when you start building up velocity.
In few wide jumps you cross the room and only keep speeding up.

"See? See!? You can do it! Keep up the pace! Keep it up! Give me five jumps! Then give me five more!"

Sir Unnamed's energy is contagious - your teammates join in cheering you on from behind.
Five. Ten. Fifteen.
Twenty!
Before you can celebrate, your player character is snagged on a tiny piece of geometry, stopping dead in the tracks. Whoops, you weren't paying attention to where you've been going.
You look up back to your coach with a tinge of guilt.

"Yip!"

You find yourself buried in the Mr. Unnamed's hug, your muzzle pressed deep into his pectoral divide.
His scent is strange yet pleasant and with your current predicament, completely overwhelming.
You could get used to this...
It is decided. You will never bathe again.

You are Anon, tired but very happy with today's progress.
Luna checked up on you occasionally, her sudden appearances causing your pelvis to frantically look for an emergency ejection button every time.
She was all business, however. Very interested in your approach, she shared your enthusiasm about the progress.
You leave your charges abuzz with their newly-realized movement powers and go change again, getting pumped to pump some iron.
Say what you want about uptight-ness of the Canterlot Castle, but they got mean gyms.
Royal guardsmares gotta be regulars here.
You must admit, you're intrigued as to how some of these horsey lifting implements are actually used, since in your last stallion-only gym equipment went mostly untouched.
Much to your relief, this gym has everything you need for your routine and not a single soul to drool over you, so without much fuss you get down to business.
Your sweet rhythm of exertion is interrupted by a familiar voice.

"Doth Thou Even Hoist, Sister?"

You get up to look and sure enough, it's Royal Sisters.
Luna is clad in sportswear and fiddles with a considerable dumbbell, while Celestia just stands there giving her sister look of disapproval.
Maybe waltzing into Royal Gyms willy-nilly wasn't such a smart idea.
Your pelvis is terrified at the prospect of alicorn sisters double-teaming you.

You are The Solar Scourge of Cakes and Assorted Pastries, so you must be Celestia.
Your sister seems to have bested you at your own game, clam-jamming you for the umpteenth time in a row.
All the while having your conquest-to-be prancing around dressed in enough slut-wear that you're not sure how the castle hasn't succumbed to the riotous lust yet.
There's so much whimsy involved in this entire affair that The Chaos Connoisseur And The Literal Embodiment of Coltish Whimsy Discord simply must be somehow involved here.
*FWAMP!*
Postcard materializes in front of you.
You reflexively pick it up in magic and bring it closer.
It reads: "No, I'm not!"
On the front face it shows an animated view of Discord sunbathing at some remote luxurious resort, saluting you with a frilly cocktail in claw.
Figures.
It takes quite a lot of willpower not to scrunch.
You teleport to the royal kitchen to treat your frayed nerves.
However...
Yes! That's it!
Your sister is sure to over-do it with strong-hoofing the stallion into her grasp, lending him to fall squarely in your hooves.
It's practically bound to happen; you'll look like his savior and you don't even have to do anything! It's the perfect plan!
With these thoughts you dig in into today's sixth Vanilla Triple Strawberry Explosion cake.

You are Anon, and you have successfully pumped iron and avoided pumping any alicorns, surprisingly enough. Thank goodness!
Finally at your apartment, you lock the door behind you and drop off the keys.
Undressing on your way, you make your presence known to your marefriend.
You spot a bunch of desiccated fruits on the counter but shrug them off. It can wait.

The lights are dimmed and you stumble around a bit until you notice your marefriend milling about in the dark.
Fluttershy suddenly straightens out her posture, flies over and unceremoniously shoves her tuft in your face, tackling you onto the bed!

"MFFMMMFMGHHHH!~"

It smells like flowers and a blend of herbs.

"Animal in bed? That's IT, mister!"

Swiveling in place, you surface from the sea of fluff.
Fluttershy looks down at you, licking her lips in a predatory fashion.

"Is it just me or did you grow fangs?"

On a second glance, her wings are leathery and she has vertical-slit pupils.
The question makes her falter, stand up over you and inspect her teeth with a hoof.
You use this opening to give her an encouraging back-rub.
Finally she sulks a little and explains,

"There was a magical accident, and n-now... um, 'it' happens when I'm too upset, or too..."

The blush on her already rose-red cheeks deepens.

"Aroused."

She barely whispers last word, as if expecting some sort of divine retribution.
Her fangs have waned considerably.
Your belly-scritchies slowly become lazy side-scritchies before shifting to sensual back-rubs.
She lays back down on your chest, enjoying the attention.
You lean in towards her and whisper,

"You know, that's..."

Slowly but surely your hands drift to her withers.

"...pretty hot."

Her fangs did a sharp (har-har) U-turn and are getting more prominent by the minute.
Did she think you'd be scared off by a pair of fangs?
As if! Fangs or no fangs, you love that mare more than anything.
You smile and pull her into a kiss.

You are lying on the couch, cooling off after a shower and a bumpy night ride that left your bed in shambles.
You can't imagine how long she waited for this...
Your grasp on your yellow precious treasure tightens.
She reciprocates, pressing her chest against yours, her muzzle resting in the nape of your neck.
The feeling of your combined heartbeats lulls you both to sleep.

Author's Note

I have faffed about with this part for far, far, faaaar too long.
So you know about crack-shipping, but what about crack-herding?