What You Can't Tell Anypony Else, or Rumble's Reluctance

Chapters

I
II
III
IV
V
VI
VII
VIII
IX
X

I

If there was any world record in clock-staring, Rumble was quite sure that he had earned it.

The hard, highly polished faux-wood of the desk had been making his backside sore for about the past hour, his usually slicked-back mane now erratic, strings of it hanging down over his forehead. At least that year was better than the previous, as the schoolhouse only recently had gas heating installed. The winter before, Rumble was certain he’d freeze to death in the one-room place where he was bored to tears on an annual basis. Now he was mostly worried about getting boiled alive. Rumble put out his wings and gently fanned them through the air, an attempt to cool him down, but all he managed to do was to make it seem hotter every time he pulled them back again.

Rumble closed his icy blue eyes, as if he could telepathically will the clock to move faster. Maybe he could. Most likely not, but it was worth a shot. Anything to get out of the domain of an overenthusiastic heater, that turned his surroundings into a prepubescent boiler room. On the bright side of things, the heat, as uncomfortable as it was, was like a smothering blanket, and Rumble almost felt like curling up in it and falling asleep. It certainly would make the time go by faster, he mused sullenly, his chin planted on top of a hoof in an expression of total apathy.

Rumble felt a tap on his shoulder, and turned around to see Dinky Doo Hooves slipping a note in his feathers. Grabbing it in his mouth, he put it on his desk, unfurled it and bega-

A ruler smacked onto the desk, causing Rumble to cry out and jump up, and the ponies around him to giggle. Ms. Cheerilee stood over Rumble, an eyebrow cocked upwards and her head tilted towards him, a ruler clenched between her teeth.

“Are you alright, Rumble?”

Rumble glanced at the note he’d been handed, and swiftly moved to try and hide it.

“Rumble!”

Rumble stared up blankly at Cheerilee, who has a disapproving glint to her eyes.

“Have you been paying attention to any of the material we’ve been going over today?”

“Naaah,” he slurred, dumbly, half-awake, and he shut his eyes again, just for a moment, so that he could get his bearings. “I’m sorry, Miss Cheeril-“

“Rumble.” She sighed, and eyed him with no small degree of disdain. “What is that thing in your hooves?!”

“Uhh, well…” Rumble started to rub the back of his neck, searching every corner of his brain. “Uhh, it’s a note.”

A few titters escaped from a few different lips, a couple of ooos from a few of his classmates.

“Rumble, what’s our policy on notes in this schoolhouse?”

“Uhhhhm…”

“See me after class, Rumble.”

She ignored the long, droning “ooooo” that the class let out, instead turning back to the board and the lesson. After he was certain that he’d lost the heat (metaphorically, as literally it was more problematic to try and do so) he picked up the note where it had drifted to the floor and began to read.

Meet us after school. Tree house, Sweet Apple Acres, ASAP. Tell nopony.

CMC

There was no proper reaction but to blink. Who was this CMC? Why were they so keen on meeting him? Why the secrecy? Was it those three Blank Flank fillies? They called themselves something, like the Cookie Maim Crunch-Raiders or something. His interest was piqued, for certain. Rumble stared at the clock and started willing the minutes away again. Slowly. For every minute that passed brought the meaning of the secret meeting closer.

The talk with Cheerilee had been the standard, crappy fare Rumble was used to. It was an exasperated evaluation of his life as a student. Rumble had failed a series of quizzes, had not completed about a week’s worth of homework, his grades were rapidly dropping and Cheerilee wasn’t sure if he could raise them by the end of the winter semester, blah blah blah. Rumble did what he usually did. He looked Miss Cheerilee in the eyes, zoned out, and nodded constantly. It was enough to satiate her need to express her frustration with his poor scholar skills.

The snow was falling, gently, white flakes wavering in the breeze, and most of the other students had made themselves quite scarce at this point, so Rumble was left to his own introspection. His mind wandered to his callers.

The Blank Flanks. That was the name the rest of the school called them, even other “blank flanks” like himself. Some sort of three-person club, the foil to the Crusts. The Crusts, Rumble knew like the back of his hoof. Diamond Tiara and Silver Spoon. Beautiful, talented, and overall, horrible, horrible ponies to spend too much time around, self-obsessed and destructive to anypony who they found distasteful. The Blank Flanks, now, he was familiar with. Their misadventures were well documented in the Equestria Daily archives. They weren’t bad ponies like the Crusts, only troublemakers.

Their names escaped him.

There was a pegasus. Scuttlebucket? Maybe that was it. There was a unicorn, Sweaty Ball or something, really a distasteful name when you thought about it. There was an earth pony, Appleblossom, maybe, perhaps? Rumble shook his head. Whatever. Their names would become apparent enough as the meeting went on. Rumble didn’t particularly care about what Thunderlane thought if he came home late, and he didn’t particularly care if Thunderlane freaked out. It was likely that his older brother was out with some mares like usual. They would hog the game room a lot and make a lot of noise, so that Rumble couldn’t sleep, and whenever he went down to ask them to be quiet, Thunderlane would give him a cross look and send him back up. It was maddening. As far as Rumble figured, Thunderlane could go suck it.

And there he was. His destination.

A small bell went off as Rumble entered the clubhouse. Anyone who would have a club meeting in the dead of winter in this place was absolutely insane. There was no heating, and the addition of a draft sneaking in between the cracks in the walls and floor made it seem even colder than the world outside. The room was relatively dark, lit only by the sunlight outside, which was dulled by the grey, cloudy skies. Rumble had to peer to look inside, narrowing his eyes and furrowing his brow, hoping his eyes would adjust to the light levels soon enough.

“Hello?”

His voice cracked on the last syllable, ringing out through the small space, and the floorboards creaked underneath his hooves.

“Is anypony here? I’m sorry I’m late, I got caught up in stu-“

“Hey.”

Rumble whirled around. There was Scuttlebucket, but the other two seemed awfully absent, and she had a look on her face that would have killed lesser ponies. It was disconcerting to the colt, and he looked away from her.

“I’m sorry I’m-“

“Do you know how long I’ve had to wait here? It’s freakin’ cold out!”

“I’m sorry-“

Scooterfood scoffed. “Yeah, not yet, buddy, but you’re gonna be.”

Scampalon started approaching, and Rumble took note of the rather hostile glint in her eyes. He backed away, slowly, but she kept the distance, as if they were fencing, matching every one of his backwards steps with an equally sized forwards one.

“I-I-I-I’m sorry?...”

Scatagoo gave him a smirk. “I just wanna take what I want from you.”

Rumble noticed her hips swaying, her eyes half-shut in a way that he didn’t recognize, equal parts warm and threatening. He gasped as his flank bumped against the wooden wall on the further side of the room, cold and rough to the touch, and he realized with horror that he didn’t have anywhere else to go. He’d heard stories about bullies who’d sucker kids into someplace secluded and then beat them up. His eyes went wide with realization, and he internally cursed himself for his naivety.

His back went up against the wall, pressed there by Scotalong’s proximity, and she giggled. To the already frightened Rumble, it made her even more intimidating, and he squeezed his eyes shut as she pressed her chest against his.

“What the hell’s wrong with you? This is gonna feel good!”

Rumble almost whimpered. A beating and the word “good” didn’t go together in the same sentence. It was the typical thing he’d heard of about bullies, that they twisted meanings and told lies in order to make you feel worse. She pressed further into him, nuzzling into his neck. Rumble could feel her breathing through her nostrils, hot air hitting the back of his neck, and she seemed to almost purr.

“Wh-wh-what are you doing?!”

“Shhh,” Scorchamoo murmured, pressing her lips against his neck, making Rumble cringe at the cold feeling where her lips had been. She seemed to press further into him, rubbing against his chest. Rumble wasn’t fooled. This was a trick, getting him to feel nice and cozy before she started wailing on him. He knew it. He struggled against her, but she was definitely stronger than she looked, and pressed him further into the wall. She kissed his neck again, and Rumble grimaced. And then she kissed it again.

“Stop it,” he pleaded.

Scottydoo giggled again. “Why? Don’t you like it?”

Rumble had to think for a moment. It wasn’t unpleasant, it was just unwanted; unexpected, undesired, not really thought about. All of Scottydoo’s attentions felt… Off. They felt like something Rumble hadn’t really experienced before, and didn’t want to experience. They confused him. It seemed like she wanted to beat him up, but the most she was doing that hurt a bit was pushing him into the wall, keeping him from getting away. That was all he needed to do, then. Get away and think about it for a while, if only Scanadoo would make him think about it-

Rumble cried out as Scalachoo grabbed him along his neck and wrestled him to the floor, flailing his limbs out in a poor attempt at self-defense. Scandanavoo pushed him down by the shoulders, her rear legs spread out inside of his and keeping them out, thrashing about uselessly as Rumble shouted out and squirmed underneath her. She grunted, her teeth clenched, holding him down, his wings beating meaninglessly on the floor.

“No! No! Don’t!” Rumble pleaded. “Let me go! Please!”

“Stop moving!” Scampergoo commanded, through clenched teeth. Tears were forming at the corners of Rumble’s eyes as he tried to shake her off, but Scattlewoo was firmly planted on her victim, the glint in her eyes that Rumble noticed earlier seemingly even brighter. He cried out in agony. If it was another colt, he might have fought back, but Thunderlane, as much of a douche as the guy was, had always reminded Rumble to never hit mares, even if they weren’t nice to him. Rumble thrashed about, but to no avail, and eventually, he could no longer do so. He held back his unstallionlike tears to try and save a little bit of face, and then he gasped as his assailant’s hoof traced down his body.

“I-I-I give,” Rumble sobbed, shivering weakly in the cold. “Uncle, please, just let me go…”

“Shut up,” Scuntajoo growled.

And then she touched him.

There. Where nopony was supposed to touch him. Rumble started to panic, but being held down as he was, there was nothing he could do except struggle.

“Wh-what are you doing?!”

Her hooves ran around his… What did they call it? It was a long time ago, they had a class about body parts, and it was one of the few classes Rumble decided to pay attention to, and it was there that Rumble learned that nopony was supposed to touch him there, except himself on occasion and his very special somepony. Celestia, what did they call that part? He started feeling stiff down there, his head wracked with frightening, unfamiliar sensations, the hoof rubbing against what Rumble decided was best called it roughly, slowly, as she looked down and blushed. Rumble whimpered. Not only was she touching him there, she was looking at it, too, and if the class was right, it was even worse if ponies were looking at it. He wanted to bat her hooves away, but the one pressing into his chest made it impossible.

“St-stop it! You’re not suppose to-“

“I said shut up,” Skotalkoo grunt, giving him a rough stroke. Rumble whimpered in response, laying his head back. So many feelings ran through his young head. He was humiliated and intrigued and frightened and curious all at once, and it gave him a tremendous headache. He couldn’t think, the blood seeming to flush out of his brain, and down… Down there. He couldn’t even begin to describe how he felt, and how guilty he felt for feeling it. It was a vague, cloudy feeling that Rumble couldn’t define.

“C’mon, come out of the sheath, c’mon, c’mon, c’mon…”

Sheath. That was the word they’d used to describe it. Ponies weren’t supposed to touch your sheath, but it was even worse if they touched what was inside. Sheath was bad, the thingy in the sheath was even worse. Rumble grunted. Her hooves were rough on his… Sheath. He could feel it getting stiffer, longer, stretching out, and Rumble whimpered, trying to will himself to stop. But the hoof at his sheath refused to relent.

“There we go… Wow…”

Rumble turned his head away, flustered and humiliated. He was certain she wouldn’t let him go now. Soon she’d start beating him up, and he’d be destroyed in every single way. He wouldn’t be able to escape with any dignity, but at least he should be able to escape. Or so he hoped. Rumble sobbed openly, tears streaming down his face, and Scruntlefoo, seeing this, gently stroked the colt's cheek.

“Shhhh,” she murmured, “it’s okay, Rumble, I don’t wanna hurt you…”

“J-j-j-just… Please…”

“Yeah,” Scaffletoo replied hoarsely, “I’ll help you with this, okay? You’re really cute when you’re all flustered, but not when you’re crying like that… Calm down, I’m not gonna hurt you…”

“M-M-M-M-Miss Ch-Cheerilee… She… She said that y-you can’t touch p-ponies there, b-because it’s not… It’s not…”

“Yeah, well, Miss Cheerilee said that ponies that love each other can touch each other there,” Scaatolaa replied, with a bit of sing-song that served to further Rumble’s emotional maelstrom. “And I love you, so I can touch you there, right?!”

Rumble felt something moist traveling down his unsheathed… Thing. He cringed.

“Dude, you’re even leaking that stuff dudes leak when they want it! So you want it!”

Rumble shook his head, which felt light, which pounded with distress. What was it? It wasn’t the same it, he now knew the name of that it, but this new it… There was another moistness, traveling up and down the length between his legs, and Rumble looked down. Scamperdoodle was rubbing her crotch against his, biting her lip and cooing, holding him down with both hooves now. Rumble didn’t know what to make of this. What was the filly doing? It felt so weird, Rumble just wanted it to end…

He felt her lift up her hips, freeing him slightly, and Rumble almost cried out for joy. She was letting him go!

But he felt the rough hoof grab his thing again, and he swallowed the cry before it even left. Scattlewoo looked down on him, a look on her face that he couldn’t describe, and Rumble squirmed weakly, a last act of defiance, easily deferred with the hoof on his chest.

“Ya ready, Rumble?”

Rumble shook his head feverishly.

“N-n-n-no, I just want to go… Go home, please just let me-“

He felt something hot and wet and tight slip down his thing, stopping a moment as it came along some sort of barrier, and Rumble looked down.

“What…”

She had slipped her thingy against the top of Rumbles, and was slowly stabbing his thingy into her. Rumble suddenly remembered the lesson that day.

Scruttlemuttle grunted, shifting on the head of his length, gritting her teeth, trying to push Rumble’s thingy further into her. It felt so weird, observed Rumble. It felt like a moist, wet pair of fleshy pillows that were clenched around him like a sort of peculiar clamp, squeezing at the head of his erection (another word he suddenly remembered) in a way that was needy, that spoke of desire and lust and a million other things Rumble didn’t understand.

She finally pushed it past the barrier, and cried out, pushing down hard with both hooves onto Rumble’s chest, and he was certain that she was going to break his ribs with the amount of force she exerted. Her cry seemed painful and anguished, but it also had a note of triumph, and Rumble, in his irredeemable confusion, let out a small moan. Scottlefoo looked at him dead in the face, pain in her eyes, but something else, too, and Rumble opened one eye and looked back.

“I… Hope… You… Feel… Good…” she breathed. “Because… This… Huuuuuurts…”

Scootaloo.

She went up again with a whimper, then slid down him again.

That was her name. Scootaloo. Rumble could remember her name now.

She went up, and then down again, her tongue lolling out, letting out another cry, this one sounding a bit different, something that could be perceived, but in no way was Rumble ready to interpret it.

Her name was Scootaloo. Her friends were Applebloom and Sweetie Belle. They called themselves the Cutie Mark Crusaders. He had forgotten it all because it didn’t seem to pertain to him before, but now it did.

Because he was… He was…

He was having intercourse with Scootaloo. That was the fancy word they used in class! Intercourse! It sounded sciency, like a sort of alien torture or something, and Rumble could agree with at least one aspect of that. It was torture. Scootaloo pressing into his chest, making it hard to breath, the walls of her hole crushing his length like a vice, the being held down and forced to have intercourse with Scootaloo. The physical tortures were obvious, but it was the mental tortures that really pushed Rumble about.

Scootaloo seemed to glide up and down his length now. All Rumble could do was watch her, liquid spilling out of her, over his length and dribbling onto his crotch. He wasn’t sure how this made him feel. It was humiliation, at least partially, but there was also pleasure, like hugging someone but longer, and much, much, much stronger. Rumble could feel her, but he could feel her. He could feel the shuddering of her breath, and the clenching of her walls seemed to work along with her heartbeat, and he could see the strain of her forelimbs as they crushed his lungs. His head felt light, as if he’d gotten up from a chair after lying down for a long time, and as wrong as it all felt, Rumble couldn’t help but feel a bit fascinated.

She bounced up and down on top of him, humming and moaning, her head now brought down to lie beside his, and she would occasionally nip his ear. Rumble clenched his eyes. He wanted this to be over. He wanted to go home and tell his brother. He wanted to tell his brother how she’d bare her teeth and growl in a way that made Rumble feel warm, he wanted to tell his brother how she’d forced the air from his lungs and almost made him choke, about how fast his heart went to vainly pump blood to his head and his… Thingy. He wanted to try, but fail, to describe the wet and warm and wonderful feelings as this filly skewered herself on his length, moaning and squealing and pushing down on his chest, and he wanted to ask if this was normal, if this was okay, if this was acceptable, and if the answer was no…

Rumble clenched his eyes. There was something else. Scootaloo bounced faster, and Rumble felt funny. His length got more sensitive. He could feel all of the juices and the ridges and the clenching of Scootaloo’s tunnel, he could feel the cold air hit the organ as she went up, and the heat and warmth and tightness when she went down. It was tight tightness, like a Chineighse hoof trap, clenching more and more, her moans getting loader, her bouncing getting faster-

She cried out his name, and a splash of liquid hit his crotch and covered it, and Rumble simply let go.

There was a small spurt, a bit of liquid, almost as if Rumble was peeing into her, but it was different. Waves after wave of pleasure seemed to wrack Rumble’s body, but he didn’t have the air for it, Scootaloo pressing down into his lungs, and Rumble flailed about, pleading for air, but she stayed on him, pushing into him, and just as black seemed to enter the corners of his vision, Scootaloo finally let go, and Rumble laid back, breathless.

How could he describe it?

Was it violating? Was it humiliating? Was it terrifying?

Yes.

Did he have a good time?

Rumble was still working on that one. He was sitting on his haunches, looking out at the evening sun from the window in his room, lost in his own thought.

What was that thing that Miss Cheerilee had called what Scootaloo did to him? There was a word for it. Rumble didn’t know it. All he knew was, when he left, Scootaloo had told him that he couldn’t tell anyone about what they had done that afternoon underneath threat of a serious beat-down. Which meant that Rumble had to come up with an excuse, and Rumble knew that his excuse bank wasn’t very exhaustive.

There was a knock at his door, and Thunderlane poked his head in.

“Hey, dude, why’d you come home so late?”

Rumble shook his head out of his own reverie, and sighed.

“Miss Cheerilee kept me after school again.”

Thunderlane gave a sigh of his own, and slowly trotted into the room.

“You wanna talk about it, dude?”

Of course Rumble wanted to talk about it. He wanted to say how awful it felt, and how good it felt, how it made him fearful to ever see Scootaloo again, and yet how it made him look forward to it, how it made his head hurt and his lower parts… Tingle, kind of. Some weird feeling of sorts down there. But the last person he would ever want to talk about it to would be his douchebag brother. Rumble gave a huff, and shook his head.

“Nah.”

Thunderlane tilted his own cranium, raising an eyebrow.

“Dude, have you been crying?”

“Go away.”

Thunderlane almost said something, but decided it was best to leave Rumble alone.

And so he did, and Rumble was left to his own thoughts.

II

He didn’t want to go to school.

Rumble had several reasons. One, it was Friday. Nopony ever wanted to go to school on Friday. Two, he would have to deal with Miss Cheerilee being on his case. Three, Scootaloo.

Just… Scootaloo.

Try as he might have, Rumble couldn’t get Scootaloo out of his head. He had nightmares, no, dreams, no, nightmares, he didn’t know what they were. They were experiences somewhat like the one she’d subjected him to. That same storm of emotions and physical actions. He woke up… Unsheathed. There had to be a better turn of phrase for that particular condition, but Rumble wasn’t interested. It felt so wrong to think about… Intercourse. But it couldn’t be helped.

Rumble couldn’t play sick. He’d done it many times before, and his brother was aware of every tactic he used. It got to the point where, even if he was legitimately sick, Rumble would be sent to school regardless of how he looked or claimed to feel.

But he felt sick. But it was a nice sick. Rumble couldn’t put his hoof on it. His brain felt like it was ripping apart at the multitudes of mental seams, noodles of knowledge oozing out of his ears, turning into mush as if he spent all day playing video games. He turned in his bed, the sheets damp from the sweat and tears he had expelled all night the night before.

Scootaloo.

It was always her face. Contorted in that bizarre expression. Pushing down on his chest, forcing the air out of his lungs. Forcing his lungs out of his chest. Pushing into his chest cavity, touching him in places she knew she shouldn’t. Taking his erection in her hooves and stroking it, crushing it, holding it, taking it off and playing with it, holding it inside of her.

She said she loved him. Rumble wasn’t sure what was so loving about what she had done to him. Maybe that was her way of showing love. He shuddered to imagine what the other Cutie Mark Crusaders had to go through-

“Hey! Dude! Get your ass outta bed! Go time! Up up up up up!”

Thunderlane clapped his hooves for emphasis, practically pushing Rumble out of bed.

“Dude, it’s seven-forty-five, you don’t have time to shower or anything! Just grab a muffin and get the heck out of here, I don’t want to get another late notice-“

“Shut up,” Rumble muttered, willing himself up and down the stairs, solemnly.

Thunderlane followed, and Rumble knew that he could notice his sullen, slow pace. He gave Rumble’s flank a nudge with his head.

It had a bit too much proximity.

Rumble jumped, giving out a yelp, and rushed off down the stairs, ignoring the muffins, ignoring the fact that Cloudchaser was in the kitchen again, ignoring packing a lunch, just running out the door, occasionally hopping up and gliding a bit on his petite wings. No. Nopony was ever going to touch him anywhere near there again. Ever again. That entire experience was so confusing, so painful, so crushing. Rumble wasn’t sure what would happen if it happened again, and he wasn’t keen to find out.

And back at the house, Thunderlane tilted his head in an expression of complete confusion.

He arrived at school twenty minutes late. By his standards, relatively on time.

By Cheerilee’s standards, a mark off, a possible detention, and a five-minute speech about the importance of being punctual.

“Punctuality is much appreciated in the real world, children. One day, you might not get off so easily if you arrive late to something…”

Rumble tuned out after that, jumping into a seat that wasn’t his own, at the back of the room, out of sight from Scootaloo. That was important. If he could go the entire day without seeing Scootaloo, he wouldn’t have to worry about being jumped and… Forced into intercourse again. He couldn’t stop thinking about it, especially the explosive feeling he felt before. Rumble figured he must have peed a little bit in her. He couldn’t imagine how weird that must have felt on her end, and it almost drove him to apologize.

But apologizing meant seeing Scootaloo again, and seeing Scootaloo… Rumble wasn’t sure what would happen. Rumble didn’t want to know what happened. He just wanted to survive today.

Why couldn’t he stop thinking about it?

No, seriously, why?

The bell rang for recess, and Rumble almost jumped up in his seat, broken from his reverie of erections and intercourse and Scootaloo and all of these things mixed together, and his feelings of simultaneous dread and confused anticipation. He hopped out of his seat, barely registering Miss Cheerilee’s “you can serve your detention after school, Rumble” and shuffling out the door, trotting along slowly instead of rushing out like his classmates, soaking himself back into his own thoughts.

Rape. Wasn’t that the word? Scootaloo raped him. Which was weird. Miss Cheerilee never said boys could be raped by girls. She just told them to watch out for shifty-looking ponies, to always be near an adult when they were at school. Shifty looking ponies would offer them things like candy or piggyback rides, Miss Cheerilee said. If they did this, they should tell an adult. Rumble could remember, or maybe his brain was just making it up, but most likely he could remember Peppermint Twist asking what would happen if they took the candy or the piggyback ride. Miss Cheerilee had a look of horror on her face as she told them, with the utmost seriousness and sincerity that was much unlike her normal classroom demeanor.

“Bad things.”

So rape was a bad thing, right?

Then why did he enjoy it?

No, Rumble didn’t enjoy it. He’d felt pleasure, but he didn’t enjoy it. He didn’t have a choice. Scootaloo overtook him. She pushed him over and raped him. She didn’t offer any candy or piggyback rides. She wasn’t a shifty-eyed, scary-looking old donkey with a trenchcoat and a fedora. She was a filly. And she raped him. She didn’t offer anything, or try to tempt him. She just pushed him down and did what she liked.

Maybe that wasn’t rape, Rumble mused, sitting on the swings, swinging gently back and forth with his wings powering the movement. It was intercourse, right? If Rumble thought really hard, he could remember Dischoovery Channel specials that mentioned a few neat, scientificky words. Like dominant, and mating, and prehensile (something Rumble wished his tail was). Maybe that was the way it was supposed to be-

“Hey, Rumble.”

There she was. Rumble froze.

He had failed his first task. Scootaloo was gently swinging beside him, giving him a small smile, as if nothing had ever happened the day before, and that this was a normal conversation. Rumble wasn’t sure what to say. He clammed up, his wings frozen, his eyes searching for an escape. He couldn’t find one that Scootaloo wasn’t aptly capable of chasing him through. Diamond Tiara and Silver Spoon had set up some sort of impromptu Crust tea party in the jungle gym, shouting at some of the colts as they climbed up and around it, and they stuck their tongues out in response. That was normal colt and filly interaction. The afternoon before…

Rumble’s stomach grumbled. Oh, right, it was lunchtime. He forgot to pack a lunch. There was one excu-

Scootaloo held out a shiny red apple.

Oh no.

“You don’t have a lunch, don’t ya? Here, take this. I’m not much of an apple filly.”

No.

Rumble steeled his will.

No.

It was an obvious trap. Maybe she’d grab his hoof and pull him into the bushes and rape him again.

No.

Rumble took the apple.

Okay.

He bit down into it. It tasted like an apple.

“Ya like it? Applebloom snagged it out of the Apple Acre’s harvest. It’s super-fresh! They picked it only yesterday!”

Rumble nodded, although a shrug would have been a more accurate reaction. It was an apple, it tasted like an apple. It was low on his list of important things. The highest thing at that moment was getting the heck away from the filly who had raped him, but that wasn’t so possible, so his best bet was to try and zone out. Scootaloo sat on the swing next to him, still looking at him and smiling at him.

“You know, you’re really cute when you zone out like that.”

Rumble took another bite from the apple that tasted like an apple, trying to remind himself not to respond.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Scootaloo affirmed. “It’s what got me interested in you.”

“Uh-huh.”

Scootaloo sighed, looking away, and Rumble could swear that she was blushing. His eyes must have ben playing tricks. Rapists didn’t blush. The video showed them snickering and rubbing their hooves together and plotting and selling drugs and being eeeeeviiiiil. Rapists were evil. Scootaloo wasn’t evil, but she was a rapist, so she was evil.

Rumble’s head hurt.

“Uh-huh,” Scootaloo echoed. “You looked so calm. You looked so goshdarned cute. You weren’t like those guys,” she said, pointing a hoof towards the current harassers of the Crusts, “You weren’t this wild, gung-ho… boy who wanted to play soldier. You were calm. You were cool. You’re cool, Rumble.”

Rumble’s head hurt, so all he could do was rub a hoof against the back of his neck.

“Th… Thanks.”

“And you’re really cute when you’re flustered.”

There was heat in Rumble’s cheeks.

“Ummm… Okay.”

Scootaloo sighed, looking ahead at the Crusts again, her eyes traveling over the playground.

“Look… Rumble.”

Rumble hummed an affirmation that he was listening, although he really wasn’t.

“I’m sorry.”

Rumble was listening.

“I shouldn’t have done what I did to you. I was scared. It was… Okay, Rumble, I’m gonna tell you something. Mares… Fillies…”

She was acting like this was uncomfortable. It probably was. She was talking about raping him, after all. Nopony else was listening in, but it had to be awkward.

“Okay, so I felt really weird like two or three days ago. I went to train with Rainbow Dash, and she noticed that I was acting all weird. So she took me aside and asked me if my mom had told me about the heat cycle. She hadn’t. So Rainbow told me. All about it. All the weird things mares feel like they need to do when they’re in heat. She told me I was an early bloomer, or something, and she seemed really impressed with that, because she told me she was an early bloomer too, and that Spitfire had been an early bloomer, and that a lot of the great Pegasi flyers had been early bloomers too, and that it wasn’t anything to be ashamed of, because soon Sweetie Belle and Applebloom would start having heat cycles too.”

Rumble winced. Scootaloo overtaking him was bad enough. He might have to move out of town when Sweetie Belle and Applebloom started having heat cycles, too.

“So I didn’t know what to do. But then I saw you, and then I just… I just let my body tell me what I needed and I did what I needed to get that. Do you understand, Rumble?”

Rumble nodded. He didn’t, but then again, he always nodded when he wanted a conversation to end quickly.

“I love you, Rumble, and I know you love me too, because your thingy got big when we were doing it. And if you ever want to do it again, well…”

Rumble finished the apple.

Then he barfed.

The rest of the day, Rumble stayed in Nurse Redheart’s office in downtown Ponyville, a mere block away from the schoolhouse. She checked him over, took a few samples for some tests, and came back and told Thunderlane that it was fine.

“Well, I think he’s going to be okay, Mister Thunderlane…”

“Just Thunderlane, Nurse,” his brother responded with a smile. Rumble knew that smile. Thunderlane was making a douchebag move. Rumble hated douchebag moves, and thankfully, it seemed Nurse Redheart was equally apt at detecting such things.

“I ran all of the tests for viruses and flus, Mister Thunderlane, and nothing came up positive. Your brother is far from sick. He’s got healthy levels of all the necessary vitamins. Nothing seems to suggest abnormal rates of growth or any sort of physical condition.”

“Just Thunderlane, Nurse. Yeah, well, I keep him well fed,” Thunderlane said, still smiling. Nurse Redheart treated him to a cold gaze.

“Well, I suppose Rumble here just had a stressful day, Mister Thunderlane. I’m no foal psychologist, but I’ve had ponies in here who’ve just cracked and had to do something to let go of all of that built-up anxiety. Even here in Ponyville, there’s a lot of pressure from peers and teachers to succeed, and it must have finally gotten to Rumble here.”

“Just Thunderlane, Nurse.”

Nurse Redheart ignored Thunderlane again. Internally, Rumble praised her. Externally, he looked at her hopefully.

“So I’m gonna be okay?”

“Oh, absolutely, dearie,” Nurse Redheart affirmed. “Just be sure to get plenty of rest and keep up with your studies. Drink lots of fluids, water especially. If your pee is clear, that’s good.”

Pee.

Clear pee.

Peeing into Scootaloo.

Rumble retched again, Redheart stepping back, Thunderlane incapable of getting out of the way of the brown spew of bile, saliva, and partially-digested apple chunks. A little bit of the vomit had gone up Rumble’s nose, and he sniffled as the gagging and choking stopped. Nurse Redheart grabbed a tissue in her hooves and held it up to Rumble’s nose, and he blew into it with much gusto. Thunderlane had a look of shock on his face that Rumble reveled in.

“Oh, shucks! I’ll get something to wipe you off, Mister Thunderla-“

“Just Thunderlane, Nurse.”

Nurse Redheart glared daggers at him. She trotted towards him, backing him into the corner like a dog hounding a fox.

“I demand that you return my favor of treating you professionally, Mister Thunderlane. I am not ‘Nurse’. I am not some second-rate whore in a costume. I am not a toy, I am not a fantasy, and I am appalled at the complete and total lack of respect you seem to have for me as a trained professional! I am a trained professional! You will call me Nurse Redheart, as you would call a trained! Damned! Professional! Is that clear?!”

Thunderlane couldn’t protest. Nurse Redheart threw a box of tissues at him.

“There’s a bathroom down the hall. Go clean yourself up, you feckless pig!”

She moved out of his way, and Thunderlane bolted out of the room, running for the bathroom, and Nurse Redheart gave a smirk.

If only she was aware of what her actions towards Thunderlane reminded Rumble of. Because when she turned to face her patient again, Rumble had vomited a third time.

He was done vomiting.

He was home, and he had tested it by talking to himself in the bathroom.

“Scootaloo would do it again if I asked.”

He didn’t retch, he didn’t gag, he didn’t vomit. It was done. It must have been the public nature of things. It must have been that he was surrounded by other ponies. Maybe that was it.

Scootaloo.

Peeing into Scootaloo.

Thunderlane was out on a date with Flitter and Cloudchaser. At the same time. He bragged constantly about dating them at the same time. Rumble almost growled. His brother was a douchebag. He deserved to get yelled at and vomited on. He would take mares out on dates. Any mare, any time. He would just go. It didn’t matter if they weren’t Flitter and Cloudchaser. Thunderlane simply went out with anyone, and Rumble had gotten the vague idea that he would sometimes bring them home and have intercourse with them.

Maybe Thunderlane raped his dates. Rumble wouldn’t have been surprised. Thunderlane was a douchebag, and Rumble hated him. It wouldn’t surprise him if Thunderlane did evil things like that, because he wouldn’t put it past his brother to be evil.

He needed to know more about intercourse. He needed to know if Scootaloo had raped him or not. Thunderlane would know, but he would never tell Thunderlane. Ever. Scootaloo would beat him up if he told anypony.

He didn’t know where to look. Rumble left the bathroom, and went to the big window in the living room, where he sat on his hauches and stared at the stars above. They twinkled and gleamed, as if there was hope in them, as if there was purpose in them. Rumble felt like empty space, like a big, black sky. He was empty. He felt meaningless. Scootaloo had raped him, or maybe she didn’t, or maybe she did. It made his head hurt.

All Rumble wanted was a direction. Was a purpose. Was a way to go, a way to figure out how he felt.

It hit him.

Rumble turned around from the window and rushed down to the game room.

He remembered an incident he had about a year ago with his brother.

Rumble had done something bad. Whatever it was was irrelevant at that point when he was remembering it. When he did this bad thing, Thunderlane had decided to punish Rumble by hiding all of the video games for the weekend. Rumble had begged and pleaded to get them back, as he was a part of a clan in Equestrian Warfare, and they were having a big match that weekend. Thunderlane declined all of the protests, even mocked a few of them, like the douchebag he was.

When Thunderlane had gone out with his date that weekend, who, if Rumble remembered correctly, was Dinky’s mom, Rumble scoured the game room. He opened up every cabinet, looked underneath the couch, under the beanbags, between the seats, behind the television. Rumble looked for that Equestrian Warfare disc in a manner that would have made Sherclop Holmes eat his funny hat. And he had found nothing.

Well, he almost found nothing.

He was balanced on top of several boxes, looking on top of the cabinet, when he saw what must have been multitudes of disk cases. He recognized a few cannibalized Ponystation cases, and deduced that Thunderlane had hidden his video games up on top of the cabinet!

“Bite me, Sherclop Holmes,” Rumble giggled, as he grabbed the first stack of cases and hopped down from the boxes, floating down with his wings and looking them over.

He had never seen games anything like this. The titles were weird. Seven Sucking Sirens, Vote for Class Ass, Celestia and Luna’s Dirty Doings, Crotchboob Kingdom, Apple Buckin’ n’ Fuckin’, Mares Gone Googoo…

It occurred to him that these weren’t games. These were movies. They looked weird. They had mares on the covers that were sticking their butts out and wearing weird costumes that didn’t seem to fit right, looking out of the cover and , seemingly, at Rumble, in a way that made him feel a bit tingly and weird. Rumble sat on his hauches. He could have put the weird movies back and looked in the other stacks for his game, which at this point, he had forgotten the name of in the face of such intriguing titles such as Apple Buckin’ and Fuckin’ (especially the word “fucking”, what did that word mean?). But something seemed to nag at him, the mares staring out of the cover seeming to talk to him, seeming to ask, “do you want to watch us?”

“Couldn’t hurt,” Rumble said dismissively. He popped the disk into the tray and went to go sit on the sofa.

Five minutes in, he wasn’t really sure what all the fuss had been about. All it had been were weird camera angles that seemed to accentuate bits of mares that Rumble knew he wasn’t supposed to look at, and despite it being a movie, Rumble could tell he was blushing. And it made him feel tingly. Rumble couldn’t figure out the feeling. The music sounded cheap and silly, to the point that Rumble was half-tempted to mute the movie, and the mare had a better face on the cover, although she was still sort of pretty.

He remembered the dialogue that had started the bit that was really interesting. Up until Scootaloo had overpowered him, this was what he would wake up feeling sweaty about.

“So is it true that you zebras are gifted magicians?”

“Yeah,” affirmed the zebra on screen.

“What do you say you show me a magic trick?” the mare inquired, giving the zebra a look that made Rumble feel tingly again.

“Mmmm,” the zebra cooed, “I’ll show you more than that, babe…”

“WHAT THE FUCK, RUMBLE?!”

At that point, Rumble had been so wrapped up in the movie that he forgot that Thunderlane was going to come home, and he forgot when Thunderlane was going to come home. Rumble yelped, and jumped off of the sofa, gliding up to the TV cabinet and turning off the Ponystation, but it was too late. Thunderlane had seen what Rumble was watching.

“Th-Th-Th-Thunderlane-“

“What the fuck do you think you’re fucking doing?! Where did you find that fucking movie?!”

“I-I-I-I-I-I-I…”

“You know what?! No! Fuck it! Nevermind! I’ll just move them again! Fuckin’ Derpy had to go home and take care of that bastard fucking kid of hers! And now I have to deal with you…”

Rumble gulped, and raised his hooves up. Thunderlane sighed loudly, and gave a growl.

“Don’t be such a fucking drama queen, Rumble! I’ve never laid a hoof on you, and I told mom and dad I wouldn’t ever, but don’t make me fucking start now! Go to bed!”

“But-“

“Now!”

Now Rumble practically soared down the stairs, opting to hop off the top of them and glide down with his wings. He bolted into the family room, flew up to the same level as the top of the cabinet, and praised the Goddesses for his douchebag brother’s complete and total lack of creativity.

The movies were still there.

Rumble could hardly contain his excitement. If those movies were what he thought they were, then they’d be full of all sorts of knowledge. Scootaloo might have raped him, but Rumble would be able to see what real intercourse was like, and maybe then, he’d feel normal. He took down the stack of movies again, the feeling of nostalgia warming over him, adding to the adrenaline pumping through his viens. He just had to look over the titles again.

The titles. They made him feel tingly. Rumble’s eyes ran them over almost hungrily. The stack was different, as if Thunderlane had resorted them, and in the back of his head Rumble noted that it was very likely that he had. The titles were weird and exotic. Firefly’s Fiery Flight of Fancy, Mare-Do-Well and the Warrior’s Wazoo, Changing Times with Changling Babes, Daring Doo's Tendril Terror!… Rumble’s mind spun with the possibilities. He picked the second one, one with a spandex-clad mare on the front, as she looked the most inoffensively pretty, although Rumble couldn’t help but let his eyes trail over her rear. It made him feel tingly.

He was going to see real intercourse, he thought excitedly as he hopped onto the sofa. He wouldn’t be able to forget about Scootaloo holding him down and forcing him to have intercourse with her. He probably wouldn’t ever be able to forget that. But maybe seeing actual intercourse between professional actors would show him how it should have been. It would make him feel normal.

Wait.

Rumble tilted his head. There was a hole in his plan, he knew it. There was a hole. Something felt off about it. It sounded much, much, much better in his head.

Wait, how was this going to work?

Rumble laid on his back, watching the movie, ignoring the terrible music again, instead focusing on the film. A mare in a spandex costume and a masquerade mask, looking out over a clearly painted city, the music probably put in post-production so that the sound that the fan that blew her cape behind her could be drowned out. The camera zoomed in on her luscious flank, the round, squeezable shape accentuated by how tightly the spandex suit clung to it-

Rumble realized something.

He was thinking of Scootaloo.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to work.

In a few minutes, the scene had transitioned to the inside of a warehouse. The Mare-Do-Well entered from the right.
“Stop right there, criminal scum!” she shouted in bored-seeming monotone, directing her cry towards three zebras that were in the foreground.

“Ah, hell naw, It’s the Mare-Do-Well!” cried one of them.

“We’re fucked!” doomsaid another.

“Like you wouldn’t believe,” the third noted.

“I would expect you boys to be causing trouble again!” the Mare-Do-Well decreed, approaching them threateningly.

In his mind, Scootaloo was in that costume, and she was approaching Rumble that way. Rumble felt himself starting to unsheath. He looked down in a mixture of horror and curiousity, watching the little sheath stretch out and issue forth a small, hard, black bit of flesh, gray spots mottled on the bottom. Rumble had never… Examined it like this before. It grew out a little bit more, and Rumble touched it with a hoof.

He gasped.

“Please, Mare-Do-Well, we won’t ever do it again!”

“Yeah? And what can you do to prove it?”

“What do you want?!”

Mare-Do-Well smirked.

Rumble turned off the Ponystation.

No. It wasn’t working. If anything, it felt very much like that afternoon. Rumble felt like he needed a bath. He looked down, and his erection was still there, throbbing gently. It wasn’t much bigger than his hooves put on top of one another. Rumble forced himself to look away. There were too many emotions he associated with it.

No, he told himself, his head hanging low as he went back up to his room. No, there was no such thing as good intercourse. Scootaloo had ruined it all by raping him. Nothing could take away that shame. Nothing could take away that pain. He had been forced down and forced to take her. He had protested, but he didn’t protest hard enough. Maybe he should have hit her. It didn’t matter now. His thought process was a mess. He wasn’t even sure how he came up with the smutty movie idea. It was a crummy idea. Such images would only serve to further sear into his brain the images of the afternoon before. He should have never gone to school. He should have escaped from Scootaloo on the playground. He shouldn’t have barfed and seen his brother get yelled at by Nurse Redheart and barfed again. He should have just stayed at home, in bed, alone. Like he was about to now.

Rumble laid in his bed, his eyes gently shut, his length still throbbing.

“Go away,” he told it.

It didn’t.

Rumble touched it again, and images of Scootaloo flashed through his head again. He gasped, his hoof hovering over the object between his legs, hesitating.

Scootaloo.

Scootaloo was pretty.

She had a nice shade of orange fur. Her hair was messy, yeah, but it was a sort of messy that looked cool. She was kinda cute when she jumped into the air and her wings would buzz. Some ponies called her the chicken girl. Chickens were cute. Scootaloo was pretty. Rumble would close his eyes, and all he could see would be Scootaloo.

Scootaloo in the Mare-Do-Well costume, accentuating her flank. Scootaloo holding him down and forcing herself on him. Scootaloo asking him to show her a magic trick.

Rumble touched his length again. He winced. But it felt good.

Touching his length felt good.

Scootaloo had rubbed it. Rumble started rubbing it. That felt good, too. A little drop of something oozed out of the tip, and when Rumble accidentally ran that over his length, his eyes opened wide.

That felt even better.

Rumble started rubbing his length in earnest. Scootaloo holding him down and forcing herself on him, asking him to perform a magic trick while she was dressed in the Mare-Do-Well costume, accentuating her flank. Her hooves pushing the air out of his lungs, forcing him to take shallow breathes as she bounced up and down on top of him, humming and moaning and squealing. Rumble wasn’t Rumble. Rumble was a zebra, the stripes in his fur running up his length, and those stripes went up into Scootaloo, and she leaned down and rested her head beside his as she bounced up and down on top of him.

Scootaloo.

Scootaloo.

“Scootaloo…”

Rumble couldn’t get her out of his head. She had jammed herself into it, her hips a hammer and Rumble’s mind a hapless nail. He had been ashamed when she had jumped him. Now he felt… Different. Now, as Rumble rubbed his rod, he ruminated about rutting Scootaloo again. She was a rapist, but she wasn’t evil. Even though rapists were evil. So she wasn’t a rapist. But what was she? She wasn’t a superhero, although Rumble could imagine her in the costume, her bouncing up and down, as his length dribbled and he pleasured himself. He took pleasure in it. He grunted and groaned as he touched it.

It was wrong. But it felt fantastic. Bad guys in movies always talked about how evil felt so good. Rumble understood now.

Scootaloo was a supervillain. And Rumble was her hapless minion.

He imagined her in those final moments of the intercourse again. She squealed his name, jammed her hips down, and cried out in ecstasy, and Rumble couldn’t take any more.

He let go again. A spurt of some off-white liquid issued from his length, and Rumble groaned. It felt so good. It wasn’t like peeing at all. It was like a thousand cuddles and a hundred birthday gifts wrapped into one feeling and gushing out of his length. Rumble shook as he issued another spurt, and then another. After the fourth one, Rumble had stopped, but his heart still felt like it was beating out of his chest, the good feeling still sparked around in his head.

He felt tired. He imagined Scootaloo leaning down and putting her chest against his. He imagined her kissing him. Only a week ago, Rumble would have (metaphorically) barfed at the idea of kissing, but now he welcomed it. Now he wanted it.
He wanted Scootaloo.

Rumble’s sheets were soaked from where he had squirted the off-white stuff. He simply rolled away from the damp part of the sheets, resting his head on the other side of the bed. In minutes, he was dozing.

He dreamed of Scootaloo.

He wanted to see her again.

III

Rumble couldn’t bring himself to ask.

He didn’t know why. He’d actually gotten up on time, so that he wouldn’t have to deal with Thunderlane. He took a quick, hot shower, making sure to wash up at least twice as much. When he was sure he was clean, Rumble hopped and glided down the stairs, nabbed an oat scone for breakfast, and ran out of the door. He alternated his fast, youthful gallop with occasional leaps and bounds, spreading his wings out and gaining distance, and when he hit the ground again he was forced to run even faster due to his momentum. He reached the schoolhouse ten minutes before the school day started, when everypony was still outside, chucking snowballs or gossip about the playground in equal measures.

He leaned against a wall of the schoolhouse, his eyes on her.

Scootaloo was a sight to behold. She wore a plaid scarf, the alternating pattern of green and red on blue breaking up her orange coat and framing the things Rumble tool an interest in. Her face had a miniature version of the taut, powerful look that athletes bore, the cold bringing a slight tinge of red to her cheeks that made Rumble feel warm inside. Her body was the same, a trail version of what would come in the following years, the promise of a strong, lithe, incredible mare, for now a foal who if not for her color was fairly indistinct from other foals at first glance. Rumble felt his eyes invariably drawn to her flank, the reflex born out of what he wanted to ask her, but he turned them away, as if somepony would notice him looking. As if she would notice him looking.

All he had to do was ask. All he had to do was walk up to her, take her aside and away from the other ponies, and ask her. All he had to do was ask, and she would do it. She’d push him down, hold him down, tell him that she loved him and that he loved her, and then they would have sex again. Thinking of this new word made Rumble tingle. It was easier to say than intercourse, a smaller mouthful for an equal thing. He’d actually learned a plethora of new words from Thunderlane’s stash of what he now knew was called porn, but was unsure of how many of these new words he could use around anyone besides Scootaloo.

He couldn’t bring himself to ask.

She was right there, only a couple dozen yards away, but Rumble didn’t know how to approach. It had sounded much better in his head over the weekend. Then again, he spent most of that weekend preparing for what would come after he asked, soaking his sheets with repeated blasts of stuff that wasn’t pee but came from the same place. He had to double his washing in the shower, he would either be so or feel so filthy when he was done. Rumble shook his head, trying to clear it of these idle introspections, and focus at the task at hand, but it wasn’t so easy.

All he could imagine was Scootaloo. Scootaloo in the Mare-do-well costume, pushing him over and tying up his forehooves, whispering that he was under arrest, then turning him over and using her mouth and hooves on his length, licking it, suckling it, teasing it, until it was unsheathed. She would clamber up his body, kissing up his belly and his chest, giving his neck a few small licks before her face would connect with his in a loving embrace, lips locked together. She would raise up her hips and slowly lower herself onto his length, and-

The bell rang, and Rumble’s introspection ended as the class collectively wandered from the blisteringly cold outdoors to the sauna-esque schoolhouse.

Rumble cursed himself, and followed his classmates.

“Good to see you made it on time today, Rumble,” Miss Cheerilee noted innocently, although this didn’t stop the rest of the class from bursting out into a chorus of laughing voices. Rumble ignored them all, his introspection being too great, merely muttering a reply of acknowledgement to his teacher and taking his normal seat.

He screwed it up. All that preparation. All that knowledge he tried to accumulate in order to make up for his complete and total lack of experience. He had thrown it away because he was afraid. It wouldn’t have been so bad if Rumble knew what he was afraid of, but he didn’t know at all. Something was nagging at the back of his head. Something told him that what he wanted to do with Scootaloo was wrong, that it would end in disaster.

The nagging had been there all weekend. It had talked to him in between the movies he managed to steal away and watch, between the sessions of self-pleasuring, between the idle thoughts of Scootaloo holding him, kissing him, having sex with him. It said that he didn’t love her. It said that she had raped him, that she obviously had issues, that Rumble had every right to go tell Miss Cheerilee. It was nagging him right then, in fact, telling him to talk to Miss Cheerilee after class, telling him to tell her everything.

And just as he had done during the weekend, Rumble ignored it, grunting in frustration and holding his head in his hooves.
It wasn’t fair.

Thunderlane knew what he wanted. Thunderlane took what he wanted from mares. He had more than mere ideas of what worked to please himself and a mare, he had experience. He’d been with more mares than he probably could care to remember. He’d probably even raped his fair share of them. Rumble almost let out a growl in the middle of class, thinking of his brother, thinking of how Thunderlane had everything going for him, thinking of how it wasn’t fair.

Why couldn’t his life had been like a video game or a TV show or a movie? Why did the bad guys always have the advantages? Thunderlane, the douchebag brother, had sexual experience beyond anything that Rumble would ever have, and Scootaloo was a rapist who had managed to claw her way into his head, who had changed everything in a matter of days. Why did they win?

Rumble let out a groan, and he allowed his head to thump against his desk. He didn’t care anymore. He was a creature of desire, and he had denied himself that desire. No more. If Scootaloo could take what she wanted from him, then he could take what he wanted from Scootaloo, couldn’t he? If Scootaloo could force him down and force him into sex, then-

“Rumble?”

Miss Cheerilee’s voice had a tinge of concern, and Rumble tilted his head up.

“Huh?”

“Rumble, are you all right? You seemed very sick on Friday. Do you feel okay right now?”

He could feel the sixty eyes from the thirty other foals in the class, burning into him, judging him, either inadvertently or intentionally. He was used to it. Whether that was scary or comforting to him was a mystery, one that Rumble had decided to log into the back of his head.

The rest of his head was full of Scootaloo.

Scootaloo in the Mare-do-well costu-

“Rumble!”

“Huh?! Wha…”

“Rumble, do you feel well enough to be in class today? You seem sort of… Spaced out. Is everything all right?...”

He had another chance.

Rumble cursed himself. He had another chance! He knew how he could ask Scootaloo! He knew how he could experience it all again! All he had to do was ask! And he had another chance!

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

His monotone response brought out a few titters from his classmates. Miss Cheerilee’s shoulders raised in the international sign of dismissal.

“Alrighty then, class, turn to page…”

He tuned out Miss Cheerilee and switched his focus to the task at hand. His desk squeaked open as he pulled out a notebook and a pencil, holding the writing implement in his mouth, and laying the notebook on his desk. Rumble squinted, and, with deft movements of his lips, tongue and teeth, wrote.

Dear Scootaloo,

I want to see you again can you? After school at my house. Thunderlane wont be around, probably off fuking some mare.

Rumbl

He smiled. There was another new word that his brothers movies had taught him. Rumble gently dropped the pencil from his mouth, and glued his eyes to the clock, waiting for the lunch bell.

It came seemingly from nowhere, Rumble lost in reveries of Scootaloo and Mare-do-well costumes and cheesy music. The sharp, metallic clanging resonated through the air viciously, banging against either side of the bell and ringing in Rumble’s head. He shuffled out with the rest of the schoolfillies, for once not lingering in the too-hot classroom, for once matching their pace. Because today was a special day. He had hyped this up in his mind, he had chickened out before, but now, all Rumble could think of was his plan of attack.

The first step. The approach. Rumble would be casual. He’d glide up to Scootaloo and look her in her wondrous magenta eyes. The second step. The delivery. With subtlety and yet a suave air, Rumble would hand her the note. The third step. Fuck. After school, at his house. He would fuck her, not the other way around. He would be in control. He would be able to understand the experience this time. This time it would be Scootaloo at his mercy, for he had knowledge, the ultimate superweapon. It was like a super-big ray gun pointed directly at her face.

Step One went swimmingly. Rumble spread his wings as soon as he had breached into the outdoors and took a flying leap off of the stairs leading to the door. He floated gently around, taking a shallow turn that made him curve back towards the playground, one wing dipped towards the ground. When his hooves hit the powdery snow, though, Rumble stumbled slightly, but was able to recollect his footing before he tripped over himself, and more importantly, before anypony noticed.
Unfortunately, though, Step Two proved to be a bit of a challenge.

Scootaloo was in a rough triangle between herself and her two friends, whose names Rumble had not obsessively repeated in his brain for a weekend and thus escaped him. Appleblossom and Swarthy Gel? It was irrelevant, as Rumble was hoping he could have gotten Scootaloo alone, and if he were to give the note to her now, Rumble didn’t know what she would do with it. Would she read it aloud for them both to hear? Then that would be the same as a confession. Rumble suddenly remembered Scootaloo’s threat as he left their clubhouse the previous Thursday…

No. He didn’t want to get beaten up. He didn’t want to get beaten up, then forced to the ground and forced into fucking again. No. That wasn’t the plan.

Maybe she would take the note and not read it, knowing what it was. Then Applebleam and Swimming Well would ask her what it was, and Scootaloo might be forced to lie, but maybe her friends would see through that and insist that she tell them what it was, and then they’d get into a big fight about it, and then they wouldn’t be friends anymore and… And Scootaloo would push him over and rape him again, she would take out his anger and frustration on him again.

No. He didn’t want to get beaten up. He didn’t want to get beaten up, then forced to the ground and forced into fucking again. No. That wasn’t the plan.

Rumble suddenly realized how little he knew about Scootaloo. She was a Cutie Mare Repainter, she was a big fan of the captain of the Weather Team, Rainbow Dash, and she had raped him last Thursday. Outside of that, Rumble had nothing. Oh wait, and that she loved him and thought he was cute. And Rumble thought she was cute in return, but...

Did he love her?

She had forced herself into his head, sure. He would touch himself to the thought of her, absolutely. But did he love her? Did he really want to be around her more? Did he want to grow old and die with her by his side the whole time? Wasn’t that what love was? She was cute, but was she worth loving? What was Rumble even looking for in love? Did he want someone doting like Mister Cake’s wife, or did he want someone more willing to let him be who he was like Cloudchaser and Thunderlane? Rumble shook his head. No. He didn’t want to be like Thunderlane.

Then why did he want to fuck Scootaloo?

Fuck. He repeated the word again and again in his head. It sounded funny. It sounded dirty, and Rumble knew it was dirty, which made the novelty of saying it even better. Fuck. He hadn’t said the word a whole lot, had he? He mumbled it.

“Fuck.”

It felt good. It was a word that started on the lips, then moved back into the throat, and it felt good. It was a word that tasted like chocolate, no, licorice. Bitter and nasty and o-so-good all at the same time. Fuck. It was a versatile word. When Thunderlane got mad, he would use several different versions of it. Fuck, fucking, fucked, fuckery, fuckaroo, fuckaluckadingdong.

It was during this vulgar reverie into the curse that Diamond Tiara and Silver Spoon, the Crusts, had snuck up behind Rumble, and noticed his mumbling, glazed-eyed gazing, hesitating form. Tiara wasted no time in letting loose a cackling laugh that broke Rumble’s reverie.

“Oooh, look at this, Silver Spoon, it’s a blank-flank loser!”

Silver Spoon snickered. “Yeah, a loser!”

Rumble ignored them, which only seemed to fuel their sadistic giggles.

“What’s that he has in his stupid baby feathers?” Diamond taunted, snatching away the note.

The note.

“Hey! Give that back!” Rumble cried out, but Silver Spoon stepped in front of him, tripping him over and making him fall on his face. Rumble cried out in pain, multicolored stars shooting across his vision.

“I think I know what it is! It’s a ooey-gooey love note to one of those three blank-flank looooosers! Little Stumble here’s a cootie magnet!”

“Ewww!” Silver Spoon giggled maliciously, pushing down Rumble’s head into the snow, while his body flailed about above the cold powder surrounding his chin. Her weight on his head felt like it was going to crush that particularily important extremity, and only served to fuel his flailing.

“He’s got a crush on one of those losers, because he’s a loser!”

Rumble thoughts raced like a Wonderbolts derby. Diamond Tiara clearly shared Thunderlane’s complete lack of creativity and incapability of polite thought. Silver Spoon was going to crush his head like a walnut. Thunderlane would say something to someone who would dare insult him that was at the tip of Rumble’s tongue…

“Well, I guess maybe we shouldn’t let this loser embarrass himself…” Diamond Tiara’s voice was dangerously low. Rumble looked up, tears of anger in his eyes.

“Yeah,” Silver Spoon agreed, nodding in mock empathy.

Diamond Tiara lifted her nose into the air, her eyes closed, Rumble’s only hope at ever understanding himself or his feelings for Scootaloo held between her forehooves. She held out the document with much ceremony, slowly, wavering the piece of slightly crumpled paper not far above Rumble’s head, pieces of the frayed edges wavering slightly in the winter breeze. He tried to push Silver Spoon’s hoof off of his head, but to no avail, and she pushed his cranium down, cruelly and slowly punching into his skull. Rumble gave a mangled cry of simultaneous pain, fear and anger.

They didn’t understand. They didn’t know how important this was to him. They didn’t know the pain that he had felt the last Thursday, the guilt that he had felt on Friday, the trepidation and humiliation and anticipation that had filled the weekend. They wanted to make him pay for his hesitation now, on Monday, not because they knew, but simply because they could.

He remembered the phrase that Thunderlane liked to use, just as Diamond Tiara pulled apart her hooves, and with it, the note. It exploded from his mouth like a gunpowder keg. It was a burst of everything that Rumble felt then, that he had felt for the past week, that he had felt for the years that he had to live with his asshole of a brother.

“Fuck you!”

And the playground fell silent.

Rumble felt the immense pressure lift off of his head, the soft crunching of a filly backing away from him, her jaw wide open. As he lifted his head, he got a strange, fuzzy feeling. Sixty pairs of eyes, now glued to him. Fifty-eight of them were filled with shock and awe. They had never heard this word before, but had been warned about the dreaded “F-word”, and now, here was a colt who had shouted it out underneath the jungle gym, tears gently flowing from his eyes as they coldly stared into the eyes of Diamond Tiara.

There was shock in her eyes, but also unspoken rage. Her voice snapped in a sadistic tone.

“What… did you just say… to me?”

“Fuck. You.”

Rumble smiled through his tears, the sheer indignation on Diamond Tiara’s face bringing him an immense satisfaction. Nowhere near the satisfaction of his self-touching sessions, and it certainly didn’t help the craving, but it distracted him from it. It felt good. Diamond Tiara was not a good pony. Anyone who could be compared to Thunderlane was not a good pony. And they deserved every curse, every bad word, every slander that could be attributed to them. Today, the Crusts had made a very poor choice in victim indeed. Nothing was scarier than a confused, horny, socially inept colt being denied what had been offered to him, especially one who hadn’t necessarily had the greatest week ever.

“No one,” Diamond Tiara said slowly, “has ever dared to-“

“Fuck you!” Rumble repeated, causing gasps and murmurs in the crowd of fillies and colts that began to surround the two.

“Fuck you. Fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you…”

Rumble approached her slowly, and Diamond Tiara’s eyes of indignation soon showed a different glint, that of fear. They weren’t supposed to fight back. She began to back up, but Rumble matched her step by step, repeating the curse again and again. Silver Spoon had disappeared into the ring.

“Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you…”

“Stop saying that!”

“Fuck! You!”

Then a new voice called out, an older one, it’s tone shocked and appalled.

“Rumble!”

It was Miss Cheerilee. Her face had fallen, and the crowd immediately began to disperse. Cheerilee grabbed a bell that was at her overcoat’s pocket, and its ringing caused some of those closer to her to cover their ears.

“Children! Recess is over early. Please go inside. Except for you, Rumble. I need to talk to you.”

As marked by the collective groan of the rest of the foals, the high was over.

Realization hit Rumble like a freight train, and his ears flopped down in a sign of complete and utter humiliation. The dirty looks from his classmates as they shuffled into the schoolhouse seemed to rend into his heart and head like arrows. Desperately, he searched the crowd for Scootaloo, but to no avail.

He had failed. And now he was to pay further for his failure.

Cheerilee and Rumble had sat on their haunches on the steps leading up to the schoolhouse, side by side. Things were silent for a minute.

Rumble had buried his face in his forehooves. Not only had he failed to talk to Scootaloo for intercourse, but he had been publicly humiliated. Scootaloo truly was the supervillain. Rumble wasn’t cut out for this sort of stuff. He wasn’t a plotter or a thinker, he couldn’t execute a plan. Rumble was, for all intents and purposes, a minion. And in the movies, the bad guy's minions never did anything right. They were dumb, ineffectuate, only good at one thing, and that was evil. The only difference was, Rumble wasn’t evil.

He wasn’t evil. Just stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

Miss Cheerilee finally spoke, breaking Rumble out of his self-pitying reverie.

“What’s going on, Rumble?”

Rumble shrugged, taking his moist hooves away from his dampened face.

“I’m sitting here with you.”

Cheerilee gave a small laugh, and gave a remarkably calm reply.

“Yes, but you know what I mean, Rumble.”

She wasn’t mad. That was the scariest part to Rumble. Maybe she’d seen this before. Maybe she knew. Maybe other colts had been raped and she’d seen it. Maybe she was a rapist like Scootaloo. But Miss Cheerilee wasn’t evil, simply not worth talking to. Rumble shook his head. The world was so hard to see in black and white when everyone was shades of gray.

“Uhm… What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Miss Cheerilee said, “That you have a lot to worry about. You live with your brother, no parents as far as I know…”

“Um, they’re missionaries, Miss Cheerilee. Bringing electricity and water and all that stuff to poor ponies. They went to Zebrica last year and haven’t come back yet.”

Miss Cheerilee breathed out, seemingly in relief. “Oh, how wonderful. I mean, it’s not wonderful that they’re away and you have to live with your brother, but I mean, they’re not…” She shook her head. “I have a few other students who have a bit more… Tragedy to that aspect of their lives. I shouldn’t have made such assumptions.”

Rumble was listening to Cheerilee for once. Her voice was familiar. He couldn’t put his hoof on it, but the tone sounded very similar to something else he had heard. Perhaps it was his mother. It had a motherly tinge to it. No. It wasn’t that… She sighed, and Rumble listened again, hoping to pick up on what made her voice so familiar.

“Anyways, Rumble, you don’t have terrible grades, but you were doing much better earlier in the year. When you transferred from Cloudsdale, you seemed to handle the transition well. I’m really shocked that you didn’t keep up after that. So that has to be frustrating.”

Rumble closed his eyes, still listening, trying to imagine various tonalities and voices she may have undertaken over the years, trying to find a match in his limited mental backlog.

“I know Diamond Tiara and Silver Spoon say plenty of awful things to ponies, but I had hoped that they would be able to keep it off-campus at the least. I trust they were taunting you?”

Rumble nodded, still trying to piece together Miss Cheerilee’s voice.

“I’m sorry. I had hoped that they would have been more civil after the last time I took them aside.”

“It’s okay,” he murmured, hoping to spur Cheerilee on, although he knew that she most likely had more to say anyways. She gave another hefty sigh, and Rumble knew that the warming process was now over.

“But still, Rumble, that doesn’t excuse you using that sort of language, and it especially doesn’t excuse you from using it towards another student, and it especially doesn’t excuse you from using it towards a filly. Might I ask where you learned that word?”

Rumble panicked for a blip of a second, but before Cheerilee could notice, he had found a solution. He had to suppress a smirk at his half-truth, knowing full well what it would entail.

“Thunderlane. My brother.”

Might as well slap it onto him.

“I see. I might have to have a word with him. Like I am with you. Rumble, are you aware of just how rude and disrespectful the F-word is?”

Rumble decided that it would be in his best interests to lie. He shook his head. Her voice, still oddly familiar, gave an exasperated tone.

“Well, Rumble, it’s a very crude word. It’s dirty, awful slang. It’s the sort of thing you would say to… Well, it isn’t acceptable to say it to anything. Not merely anypony, Rumble. Anything. I know Diamond Tiara is a pain, but she most certainly didn’t deserve that sort of complete and total disrespect.”

Rumble couldn’t hold back a snort. Miss Cheerilee’s features were still soft, and her voice still calm, although with a small tint of disapproval.

“Rumble…”

“Well, she doesn’t give me any respect, why should I give her any?”

“Because, Rumble, you should be the better pony. You don’t have to go down to her level or, as you did today, lower. You should be able to accept the fact that Diamond Tiara and Silver Spoon have a very poor way of expressing their frustrations.”

She blew out. “I’m technically not supposed to talk about this, but Silver Spoon… She had a few issues at home with her father. Social Services found out, and he called the police, and it was all a big mess. Do you remember that, Rumble? I had to have a class about the birds and the bees…” Cheerilee shuddered, and not from the cold. “Diamond Tiara is scared that she won’t be able to see her friend anymore. So it’s quite likely, Rumble, that she’s simply lashing out. Wouldn’t you feel awful if you were going to lose one of your friends?”

Rumble looked away from Miss Cheerilee. “I don’t…”

“Oh, Rumble, I’m so sorry.”

“Well, I don’t know. I mean, I talk to a few ponies…”

He deigned not to tell Cheerilee about Scootaloo. She would definitely beat him up if the police had to be called, or she told Social Services. Rumble shuddered at the thought of the fedora-and-suit wearing Pegasus. Social Services was mild-mannered, stone cold. Rumble couldn’t imagine what scary places such a creepy pony would take Scootaloo. She might have raped him, but he was her loyal minion, and he wouldn’t ever deign to betray her…

“Well, Rumble, maybe you should join one of the after-school clubs. I know bowling is doing well, I think Coach Sobchak would like you…”

Rumble almost put a hoof on her voice. That same fake enthusiasm, that same nervous energy. He had heard it somewhere, but he couldn’t remember.

“I don’t know how to bowl.”

“Oh, it’s easy! And Coach Sobchak is really good at it! And you would make some friends... I digress. Rumble. You understand that it’s wrong to say things like the F-word?”

“Yeah,” Rumble said dismissively. Cheerilee clucked her tongue, and tapped his shoulder with a hoof.

“Rumble, look me in the eyes and say that.”

He turned his head, looked into her eyes, and it clicked.

The sultry, dominative voice. The fake enthusiasm. The Mare-do-well costume. Not on Scootaloo. On her. She was…

“Y-y-y-y-y-y-y-yes, Miss Cheerilee.”

“Rumble, what’s wrong? You look pale…”

“I-it’s nothing, maam!”

Rumble shot up the stairs, and Miss Cheerilee hopped up, looking behind her before following him.

“You can go back to class, Rumble. I’m glad we had this talk.”

Rumble shot into class faster than ever before. Miss Cheerilee clucked her tongue as she trotted after him.

“Weird kid,” she muttered with a hint of a laugh around it, but Rumble did not hear her say so.

Cheerilee was in Thunderlane’s porn movies.

Rumble paced around his room, his eyes still widened slightly by the realization. It was the costume and the youth that had hidden her from recognition, but now Rumble could see her, bright as day. Cheerilee was in Thunderlane’s porn movies.
She had taken him aside and reprimanded him for using the word fuck, when she had let it stream out of her mouth while a pair of zebras mounted her on either side, their massive lengths smashing into her hips. Rumble’s shock was so much that he didn’t feel so much indignation about it as he did fascination. The movie didn’t look too old. Miss Cheerilee had made quite the turnaround.

His length began to unravel, and Rumble conceded to it, hopping onto his bed and flipping onto his back, taking the bit of flesh in his hoof. He didn’t try to suppress it anymore. Instead, he allowed it to call to him, he allowed it to take control. He was merely a conduit, a slave to himself. It would be pathetic if it didn’t feel so goo-

The front door creaked as it opened, and Rumble groaned in dissatisfied frustration. Great. Thunderlane was back. Now his length would ache and throb for the next few hours, and Rumble would have to hide it from his douchebag of a brother, lest he be mocked or worse, asked about it. The last thing Rumble needed was a sex talk from an asshole. The hooves seemed to gently tap upstairs, and Rumble expected his brother to rush into his room and play the terrible music another one of his girlfriends gave him.

Instead, his door opened, and Rumble cried out in fear and shock, turning over to hide his arousal.

There she was.

Scootaloo.

Smirking.

“Hey, Rumble.”

“What are you doing in my house?!”

“Hey, calm down, dude,” Scootaloo said, gently. “After school, I found the note that Diamond Bitch was tearing up. Well, half of it, at least, but it got the message across.”

“B-b-but you-“

“Yeah,” Scootaloo conceded, “I just came in. You probably should lock your door when you come home.”

“Y-yeah,” Rumble stammered. “But my brother… He yelled at me a bit ‘cause I locked him out one time…”

Scootaloo hopped up onto his bed, and Rumble stayed still, hesitation in every movement.

“You poor thing,” she said, her voice soft as clouds. “He sounds like a real jerk.”

Rumble gave a nervous laugh. “I prefer the term douchebag, heh…”

They looked at each other in the eyes, although Rumble was trying to look away as much as possible. For a minute, all they did was looked at each other, examining one another, blushing, occasionally reaching out with a forelimb, but chickening out and pulling it back before the other party could react.

Rumble broke the silence.

“Sooo…”

Scootaloo’s ears perked up. “Yeah?”

“I dunno, I just… I mean, did you really mean it?”

“Yeah.”

“Like… Really? You’d…”

“Yeah. Rumble… Look, I think it was a lot for you to take at once, so this time we’ll do it your way. I’ll do what you want, rather than I’ll take what I want, and believe me, I want it, but I love you…”

“Do you mean it?”

Scootaloo tilted her head. “Yeah, Rumble, obviously! I wouldn’t have jumped your bones if I didn’t love you…”

“Okay,” Rumble said, even though it wasn’t, because he wasn’t sure if he loved Scootaloo back. But in any case, he was going to do it again. Intercourse. Fucking. With Scootaloo. Rumble could hardly believe it. He bit the inside of his lip, and tasting copper, decided that it was true. He hadn’t failed. Excitement coursed through his veins in an almost cruelly literal sense, his flesh stiffening and lengthening, his mind aglow with the many hundreds of things that he wanted to do. Scootaloo slithered closer to him, and gave him a small peck on the cheek, which immediately flushed with heat in response.

If he didn’t love her, he was very good at not showing it, at the least.

“What do you wanna do?” Scootaloo whispered in his ear, her head nuzzling against his neck, pushing into him almost insistently like a cat against an idle hoof.

“I… Uhm… I…”

Rumble was unsure of himself. He’d never been in charge of the situation like this before.

“Uhm… Can you…”

His brain was full of things he wanted Scootaloo to do, and he picked the first one.

“Can you use… Use your mouth? And like your tongue and stuff?”

Scootaloo grimaced. “My mouth?”

“Yeah, uhm… Here…”

Rumble turned on his side and displayed himself, and Scootaloo’s face turned a wonderful shade of pink upon seeing his erection. She nuzzled into his neck again, her gaze curious in nature.

“Like… Lick your dick?”

New word.

“Yeah, yeah, uhm, please…”

Scootaloo sighed, pressing her chest against his, her nose mere centimeters away from his own, looking deeply into his blue eyes with her magenta ones. Rumble noticed that she was breathing more shallow.

“Well… Okay, but you have to lick me too, okay?”

Rumble nodded rapidly. He’d seen this before. But he’d never done it. His chest felt light, anticipation welling up inside of him. Scootaloo got up, turned around, and laid perpendicular to Rumble again, only this time with her legs cradling his neck. His nose was immediately filled with the scent that had pervaded into his brain the previous Thursday, and Rumble’s eyes widened as he gazed upon what laid nestled between Scootaloo’s legs. A small, pinkish slit of flesh, the orange fur around it already slightly dampened.

Rumble closed his eyes. It wasn’t that he wished to avoid the spectacle of Scootaloo’s slit, it was that he could feel her moist, warm breath on his length. His dick, she had called it. It sounded better. Dirtier. He had heard it a few times in the porn movies but it had failed to register until now. Until Scootaloo said it.

She was hesitating.

“Uh, Scootaloo…”

“Yeah! Yeah, I’ll get there, just hold your horses…”

“Scootaloo, please…”

Scootaloo grunted, and gave Rumble an aggressive lick down the length of his shaft. He gasped in response, his length twitching, the rest of his body becoming irrelevant. No words could have described it. It was definitely better than his hooves.
“Huh,” Scootaloo breathed, giving it another lick, this one gentler, Rumble barely repressing the moan that it generated.

“Huh, actually, it doesn’t taste bad…”

“Wh-what’s it like?” Rumble almost regretted asking, but he felt as if he needed to know. He didn’t want to do anything with Scootaloo she didn’t like.

“It’s… Salty. Sorta. And sweaty…”

“Th-that doesn’t sound like it tastes so gooooooooh…”

As he spoke, Scootaloo gave him another lick, and this time giggled at his response.

“Does it feel good? Nah, nevermind, I know that it does.”

“Y-yeah…”

Scootaloo started licking him again, lapping at his length, her tongue traveling up and down the organ. To Rumble, it was breathtaking. The warmth and wetness was much like her fillyhood, but it wasn’t clenching or desperate. It was relaxed, slow, caring. The texture was rough, yet slick, her tongue slathering saliva over the entirety of his… Dick. Rumble laid his head against her rear thigh like a pillow, and let her lick to her hearts content, as if his erection was a salt-and-sweat-and-excrement-flavored lollipop. Rumble felt his entire body loosen as she continued, his eyes closing in contentment.

But she stopped. Rumble suppressed a groan, gently moving his hips in a primitive, instinctive gesture of insistence, but Scootaloo didn’t lick.

“C’mon, Rumble, return the favor…”

Of course.

Rumble opened his eyes slightly, and gazed at the slot of pink flesh again. It was winking, even more damp than it was before, and Scootaloo rotated her hips a bit every now and then, perhaps unintentionally, making Rumble’s eyes roll around to follow it.

Here went nothing.

Rumble leaned his head forward, feeling Scootaloo shiver as his nose brushed against the organ, and immediately come back soaked in juices. He stuck his tongue out, tentatively, Scootaloo’s shivering growing more vigorous, and, with caution, he tracked his tongue against it, the first that he had touched it in four days.

“Aaaah…”

Rumble took it as a positive, and licked it again, eliciting another soft moan from Scootaloo. His ears drank in the noise like fine wine, making him lightheaded. He was pleasuring her. He was making Scootaloo happy. His heart fluttered in a small burst of something Rumble hadn’t felt in a while. Self-confidence. Oh, how he missed it.

“Ahn, Rumble, how does it… Ah, how does it taste?...”

Rumble gave her a big, long, lingering lick, trying to get as much of her liquid arousal as possible, making her squeal and push her hips back into the licking. He pulled away, licking his lips, which only served to spread more of Scootaloo’s wetness along them.

“I… Uhm, I don’t know… It tastes weird…”

Scootaloo grunted, and stuck her rear into Rumble’s face, making him blush further. No words had to be spoken- the command had been given entirely through action. Rumble closed his eyes and ran his tongue over Scootaloo’s fillyhood, and the juices soon began to flow over his tongue, Scootaloo making small mewling noises. She began to lick his length again, and Rumble groaned into her slit.

By the minute, Rumble found the experience more and more heavenly. Sometimes he would give Scootaloo an especially hefty lick, and she would squeal through it, her wings buzzing excitedly like those of a hummingbird. Rumble’s wings, erstwhile, had gone stiff, pointing straight out, as rigid as his dick or whatever Scootaloo wanted to call it. Rumble’s eyes closed gently. He could die then and be happy, a filly licking his length, mewling and squealing as he lapped up her flowing juices straight from the source.

She had stopped licking. Rumble was about to ask why she had when he felt something else.

It was warm, and wet, and moist, and hot air seemed to flow up from it. Rumble didn’t glance down, but he knew what was happening. It was confirmed when he felt her suddenly begin to suck on the head of his erection. If the previous lickings were heaven, Rumble had now found a heaven above heaven. His head felt light, his mind clouded by lust and love and the smell of Scootaloo’s juices, and Rumble felt the familiar tingly sensation.

“Scootalooooo…”

Scootaloo gave a muffled hum of acknowledgement, which vibrated down Rumble’s shaft and, seemingly, into the very core of his being, and that was all it took.

Rumble’s length throbbed, then spluttered into Scootaloo’s awaiting mouth, pulse after pulse gently shooting into her maw, and Scootaloo sucked it up as if Rumble’s length was a thick, meaty straw. After the fourth pulse, Rumble’s dick began to soften and retreat into it’s sheath, and Scootaloo let out a breath.

“Wow…”

“Yeah…”

The door creaked open, and the pair froze.

“Rumble! Hey! I’m back!”

“You have a kid?”

The other voice was unfamiliar to Rumble’s ears, but he saw Scootaloo’s eyes open slightly. “Shit,” she muttered, hopping down and rushing for his window.

“My brother,” Thunderlane explained to the mystery voice. “I’m watching him for my parents.”

“Oh. Yeah, I’ve got a kid too that isn’t mine. My sister’s daughter.”

“Shit, shit, shit! Why is she here?!”

Scootaloo unlocked the hatches and pushed open the window, glancing back at Rumble, who was still somewhat lost in orgasmic reverie. She smiled, using a forehoof to wipe a bit of Rumble’s goo from her mouth before she started to clamber out, grabbing a drainage pipe.

“I’ll see you at school, okay?”

And thus she was gone, and Rumble was left alone.

That night, as the noises of Thunderlane and his mystery mare died down, Rumble fantasized.

Cheerilee. Scootaloo. Both in the Mare-do-well costume. Licking his length, kissing it. Feeling it.

But unlike Scootaloo, this would never happen.

But he still wanted it.

IV

There are things that you can shut your eyes to stop seeing, or cover your ears to stop hearing.

Scootaloo couldn’t shut it out.

Her aunt had brought a coltfriend over that weekend.

They did it.

Not in front of her, of course, that would be just weird.

But she saw them.

They did it more than once.

They were both acting weird.

They both smelled like liquor, and it made Scootaloo grimace.

They did it in the kitchen, and her aunt had shooed her out with a few slow, slurred curses when she went in to get a snack.

They did it in the living room, and Scootaloo watched from the staircase, silent, but giggling at her aunt’s obviously fake enjoyment.

Her aunt bounced on top of him, crying out constantly, his length slipping into her constantly, and Scootaloo shook her head in disappointment. Her aunt’s coltfriend was pitiful. Rumble wasn’t even a full-grown colt and he was bigger than he was. There was no way her aunt was enjoying this as much as the outcries and profanity made it out to be. Then again, she smelled like liquor. Her aunt acted so dumb when she smelled like liquor.

Not that she wasn’t dumb already.

There are things that you can shut your eyes to stop seeing, or cover your ears to stop hearing.

Thankfully, Scootaloo was self-sufficient for the most part.

She could feed herself, wash herself, dress herself in situations a pony needed to dress.

She did her homework, and had learned a few ways to check it herself.

She got decent grades.

Rumble.

Poor Rumble was sick on Friday, and Scootaloo couldn’t suppress the guilt that arose from that fact.

He was sick of her.

He was sick because of her.

That hurt.

It hurt more than when she had gone down on him. She hadn’t expected it to feel so incredibly painful. It felt exactly how it looked, Scootaloo stabbing herself with Rumble’s length. Then it started to feel good. Fantastically good. Scootaloo had never felt anything so carnally pleasurable before. The idle rubbing she had undertaken before was nothing in comparison to that adorable colt plunging himself into her, rubbing against her insides again and again. She resolved that she would kiss him next time instead of throwing him out of the clubhouse and threatening him with a beat-down should he tell anyone.

He wouldn’t tell anyone.

He liked it too.

She knew he did.

There are things that you can shut your eyes to stop seeing, or cover your ears to stop hearing.

She certainly hadn’t told anyone.

Social Services would come again if she did.

That useless bastard.

He did come in on occasion. He was what auntie would call “legally obligated” to do a check-up every two months. At which point she would spend the week sobering up, she would clean the house for once, and she would make it look as if she actually cared what Scootaloo did. Then once he left, Scootaloo would hear the familiar gasp of a bottle being opened, and her aunt would once again drown herself in alcohol and her own nothingness.

Scootaloo had one job.

When Social Services asked her questions, she would always say “yes” to the good things, “no” to the bad things, and “Auntie loves me” when appropriate.

Sometimes Social Services would do it with her aunt, especially when she forgot something, or when Scootaloo said the wrong thing.

There are things that you can shut your eyes to stop seeing, or cover your ears to stop hearing.

At least her aunt didn’t get mad at her.

She just didn’t care.

Scootaloo was alone.

Not really.

She had Rumble now.

She had taken Rumble, she had made him hers. She loved him and, by extension, he loved her. It was that little lie that kept her going. Besides, even if he didn’t love her- which he didn’t, he didn’t didn’t love her- he liked her. He thought she was a friend. And even if she didn’t have Rumble, she still had Sweetie Belle and Applebloom, although those two probably wouldn’t like it if she held them down and did it with them.

What if.

It wouldn’t be the same.

There are things that you can shut your eyes to stop seeing, or cover your ears to stop hearing.

Maybe it worked.

Vinyl Scratch had a marefriend.

And Lyra and Bonbon hung out more than friends did.

Though Scootaloo hung out with her friends a lot too, and they never did it.

And she never hung out with Rumble.

Scootaloo decided right then and there that she and Rumble should get together and just hang out. Get to know one another. No doing it. Just being together. Couple stuff. Oddly, the thought didn’t make her retch, as it would have a mere year, no, a mere month ago. A couple in love. Scootaloo sighed.

They would have milkshakes at Sugarcube Corner on Friday.

The colt gave a groan, and Scootaloo’s aunts started shouting slurred swears at him.

There are things that you can shut your eyes to stop seeing, or cover your ears to stop hearing.

Scootaloo couldn’t shut it out.

“You fucking moron,” Auntie cried slowly, methodically. “You came inside. I told ya to pull it out.”

Her coltfriend stammered something about how he was sorry.

Auntie started crying.

Pathetic.

In a few minutes they had fallen asleep, in each other's embrace, smelling of alcohol and tears and love that wasn’t really love. Scootaloo knew what love was. Love was Rumble. Warmth and goodness humility and kindness, with a little bit… Okay, a good amount of sex at the moment, but that would change. She knew it.

If only she could ask Rainbow Dash about it.

Though she heard that Rainbow had a marefriend.

It wouldn’t be the same.

There are things that you can shut your eyes to stop seeing, or cover your ears to stop hearing.

Scootaloo couldn’t shut Rumble out.

Good.

There are things that you can shut your eyes to stop seeing, or cover your ears to stop hearing.

None of those things involved Rainbow Dash.

Her blazing, high and yet gravel-tinted voice seemed to ring out around the hills, the morning winter fog gently wafting around the chromatically unmatched pegasus, her breath coming out rhythmically, made visible by puffs of steam out of her nostrils, as if she was a steam train.

They were running in place.

Rainbow Dash said it was good warmup, good for cardio.

Maybe it was, because Scootaloo’s heart felt like it was going to burst out of her chest, or maybe she had been watching too many sci-fi horror movies late at night.

Scootaloo believed that it was true, because Rainbow Dash had said it, and there was absolutely no reason for her to lie.
Rainbow Dash had told her about the heat cycle. She had blown a small tuft of her multicolored mane away from her face as she spoke. “Scootaloo,” she had said, “there’s a lot of boring stuff about hormones and stuff they tell ya in class, so I’m just gonna say it like it is. Once every three months or so, a mare gets the notion that she’s gotta mate, and that she’s gotta have a baby. So she loses it. She starts acting all weird, like you are right now. Her tail flitters, her marehood winks, she waves her tail at boys and stuff like that. Either she mates, or three weeks later everything balances out again. Promise me you’ll only do the latter, k? Because you’re waaaay too young for the former.”

If only she knew.

There are things that you can shut your eyes to stop seeing, or cover your ears to stop hearing.

Rainbow Dash was smiling as Scootaloo and she ran in place.

Her teeth were like rows of big, white sugarcubes, glistening in the sun even in the cloudy winter weather, practically glowing. Scootaloo returned her look with panting.

She was tired, but she didn’t want to look like it was so.

That wouldn’t look good to Rainbow Dash.

There are things that you can shut your eyes to stop seeing, or cover your ears to stop hearing.

“You look better, kid,” she said.

“Thanks,” Scootaloo quickly noted, the cold air causing the word to take the form of smoke.

“No really. Last week you were pretty much dead on your feet out here, you were so deep in that heat cycle. First one’s always the worst, lemme tell ya that. I’m really surprised you got over it that quick. My parents had to lock me up in my room for a week to keep me from rutting the closest boy. Oh, man, he was a cutie…”

Rainbow Dash was going on a tangent again.

She described the boy.

Light blue Mohawk mane.

Gray coat.

Handsome yellow eyes.

Sounded like Rumble’s brother.

The douchebag.

Rumble.

There are things that you can shut your eyes to stop seeing, or cover your ears to stop hearing.

Scootaloo loved Rumble.

Rumble loved Scootaloo?

“Scootaloo?”

Rainbow Dash’s face became concerned. “Scootaloo? You okay?” Scootaloo nodded her reply, but Dash looked unconvinced. She was brash and forward, Rainbow Dash, but she wasn’t stupid. “You lost your step a bit there.”

“ I'm fine,” Scootaloo replied breathily.

It wasn’t true.

There are things that you can shut your eyes to stop seeing, or cover your ears to stop hearing.

Rumble.

Rumble was incredible. He was adorable and yet hot at the same time, a handsome young colt who clearly didn’t know what he wanted, except for one thing. He wanted Scootaloo. She knew, because he got hard whenever she was around. Or at least, both times when they did it. Her thoughts traveled to the previous day. She wanted to taste him again. It tasted musky, sweaty, loving.

“Kid!”

“What?”

“You’re really slowing down. Are you sure you’re okay? I’m not running ya too hard?”

“No, I’m fine,” Scootaloo breathed out.

“No, you’re not. C’mon, let’s take a break.”

“No-“

“Look, kid, I’m two things,” Rainbow Dash said, her tone far more serious than her average squeaky, tomboyish enthusiasm. “I’m your sister for one, and your trainer for the other. And I’m a pretty damn good trainer, so you should really listen to me when I say stop.”

But they hadn’t even done wing exercises yet.

“But I haven’t even done wing exercises yet,” Scootaloo protested breathily.

“We’ll do ‘em after lunch. C’mon. Clopvers sound good? Get ya some good carbs in the frozen yogurt,” Rainbow Dash posited. Scootaloo nodded unenthusiastically. Yogurt was good, but it was nothing compared to the world’s most adorable colt groaning softly as he released salty love jam into her mouth. She could taste it then, musky, lust-filled, wonderful, and could almost feel it in her tunnel, where he had deposited it the first time they did it. Next time, he’d do that again. But not after they hanged out.

There are things that you can shut your eyes to stop seeing, or cover your ears to stop hearing.

“Maybe you’re not outta heat yet,” Rainbow Dash queried.

“No, no, I’m good,” Scootaloo muttered.

“Ya sure?”

“Yeah.”

“Alright.”

Rainbow Dash took her charge around the shoulders, and began leading her from the hills.

“Ya sure?”

“Yeah, I said I was sure,” Scootaloo snapped, and Rainbow Dash took her hoof away from her shoulders. Scootaloo’s eyes immediately widened as her outburst faded, and she realized who she had just yelled at, and immediately began apologizing, profusely. “I’m sorry,” she said, the fear of losing her hero rising, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry-“

There are things that you can shut your eyes to stop seeing, or cover your ears to stop hearing.

“Kid, it’s okay, seriously, we’re cool.”

“Alright.”

“Just chill out, it’s okay.”

“Alright.”

Rainbow Dash let out a huff.

“Man, walking’s too slow. C’mon, hop up, I’ll fly ya over.”

“Alright.”

Scootaloo didn’t say another word until they reached Clopvers.

There are things that you can shut your eyes to stop seeing, or cover your ears to stop hearing.

“Scootaloo, if somethin’s wrong, you can talk to me about it.”

She sighed.

“You wouldn’t understand.”

There are things that you can shut your eyes to stop seeing, or cover your ears to stop hearing.

Scootaloo picked at the yogurt.

It was chocolate, with sprinkles and candy pieces.

Rainbow Dash had rainbow sherbet.

There are things that you can shut your eyes to stop seeing, or cover your ears to stop hearing.

Subtlety was not a skill of hers.

“Kid, you better spit it out soon, or you’re gonna wear that frown all day, and believe me, I’m just as miserable as you are when you’re miserable.”

“I’m not miserable, Dashie! I’m just…”

There are things that you can shut your eyes to stop seeing, or cover your ears to stop hearing.

“Just what?”

Scootaloo glanced about, feeling cold.

“Kid, you’re sweating. Eat that yogurt, it’ll cool ya down.”

There are things that you can shut your eyes to stop seeing, or cover your ears to stop hearing.

“Dash, I…”

Rainbow Dash gave a small laugh and shook her head.

There are things that you can shut your eyes to stop seeing, or cover your ears to stop hearing.

“Go on, kiddo, I’m listening.”

“I… I think I should tell you later, I mean…”

There are things that you can shut your eyes to stop seeing, or cover your ears to stop hearing.

“Ya gonna ask me about the heat cycle again?”

“I… Sort of…”

There are things that you can shut your eyes to stop seeing, or cover your ears to stop hearing.

“I told you all I know, kid, I swear.”

There are things that you can shut your eyes to stop seeing, or cover your ears to stop hearing.

Scootaloo began to stammer.

There are things that you can shut your eyes to stop seeing, or cover your ears to stop hearing.

“I… I should… I mean, I…”

There are things that you can shut your eyes to stop seeing, or cover your ears to stop hearing.

There are things that you can shut your eyes to stop seeing, or cover your ears to stop hearing.

Shut your eyes to stop seeing, or cover your ears to stop hearing.

Shut your eyes to stop seeing, or cover your ears to stop hearing.

Shut your eyes, cover your ears.

Shut your eyes, cover your ears.

Eyes.

Rumble’s ice-blue eyes, piercing her breast and peering into her soul with an innocent curiosity, the pupils huge, almost dog-like, a pair of black holes sucking in all of her love and endearment, bringing her closer to him, closer to him, their lips only brushing against one another, she takes the initiative as usual and pushes through their near-kiss towards the ground, his length grinds up against her glistening slit, she raises her hips and plunges down and begins bouncing, bouncing, bouncing, and she’s so full of warmth and pleasure as he spears into her again and again and again, and they climax simultaneously, and she rolls off of him and back into his forelimbs as he holds her close in an eternal embrace, and the entire time, their eyes never leave one another.

There are things that you can shut your eyes to stop seeing, or cover your ears to stop hearing.

“I need to go.”

So she went.

She left the booth she and Dash had sat in and just ran out the door, snow gently falling around her.

Dash followed.

But she didn’t stop her.

She didn’t mean to.

She just followed.

That was worse, because it meant that she didn’t mean to stop her.

She wanted to see where Scootaloo would go.

So she went.

Not home, like she thought she should have originally.

There are things that you can shut your eyes to stop seeing, or cover your ears to stop hearing.

The Everfree.

She could lose her in there.

And then, in a tumble of feathers and rainbow contrails, Rainbow Dash decided that Scootaloo had gone far enough.

She stopped her then.

Scootaloo struggled, but to no avail. Rainbow Dash had her forehooves planted firmly, but not painfully, on her tiny wings, and all that the filly could do was thrash about underneath her. Scootaloo shot her hooves up, striking at the elder pony’s gut and chest, but Rainbow Dash was a tough pony, who had survived several-hundred foot falls and high-speed collisions with nary a scratch. The hooves of a small filly bounced uselessly off of her firm, toned body, and eventually Scootaloo stopped. Rainbow took the opportunity to finally talk.

“Damn, Scoots! What the hell’s gotten into you?”

There are things that you can shut your eyes to stop seeing, or cover your ears to stop hearing.

Scootaloo held back tears.

“I can’t tell you.”

“Why not?”

Scootaloo barely held back tears.

“Because he’s not allowed to tell either.”

“…What?”

Rainbow Dash’s face betrayed no emotion, and Scootaloo felt tears drifting down her cheeks as she mumbled a response.

“Rumble.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Rumble!”

Rainbow Dash winced from the sonic outburst.

Scootaloo sobbed.

“What about…”

Her face fell.

“He didn’t.”

“N-n-no, he didn’t. I… I did-“

“He didn’t, you didn’t, neither of you did, that’s impossible, that’s just…”

Scootaloo nodded, and sobbed again, curling up underneath Rainbow Dash, who released her wings.

“He didn’t.”

It was as if repeating that again and again would have made it true, but Scootaloo nodded.

“He… I… We did.”

Rainbow Dash took a step back, and fell onto her haunches.

“No…”

Scootaloo sobbed.

“…He did?”

“We did.”

“No. No!”

Rainbow Dash shot up, and Scootaloo started to cry in earnest.

“There’s no such fucking thing as we at your age! Holy shit, when I see that kid again-“

“I went down on him!”

Rainbow Dash shook her head.

“Don’t tell yourself that, Scoots, that’s bullshit! I’m gonna have that little motherfucker’s head on a platter for this!”

“It’s true!” Scootaloo cried.

“I said don’t tell yourself that!”

“But it’s true!”

“Scootaloo…”

“It’s true! I gave him a note, and he went over to the clubhouse, and I did it with him there! H-h-he didn’t want to, but I pushed him down and I… I… I just…”

Scootaloo stopped trying to explain and just curled up and kept crying.

Rainbow Dash stopped ranting and looked at Scootaloo with a sad pair of eyes.

There are things that you can shut your eyes to stop seeing, or cover your ears to stop hearing.

“…You swear you’re telling the truth?”

Scootaloo looked up, her face streaked with tears.

“Wh… Wha?”

“You pushed him down? You…”

“Yeah.” Her voice had cracked, and Rainbow closed her eyes and looked away.

“Goddess… Because I told you.”

“Wha?”

“I shoulda just shut my mouth and not told ya anything. It wasn’t my place. Now you… Well, I dunno. Shit… Scoots, I’m so sorry, I really, really gave you the wrong idea…”

“N-no you didn’t, I mean, it hurt at first but-“

“You’re just a kid, Scootaloo! Dammit!”

Scootaloo recoiled.

“Stop being so mad…”

“…Sorry. It’s… I’m not mad at you, Scoots. I’m mad at me.”

“You shouldn’t be…”

“No, I should be, Scoots, I gave you the idea, I’m really sorry, I… Dammit.”

There are things that you can shut your eyes to stop seeing, or cover your ears to stop hearing.

Rainbow Dash crying wasn’t one of these things.

V

It takes somepony brave to admit their own mistake.

Scootaloo wasn’t brave.

She hadn’t made a mistake, either.

So she didn’t have to.

She could tell Rainbow Dash, and it almost felt better that Rainbow Dash knew, though it was probably better for herself than for Rainbow Dash.

They went back to the clearing, but not for training. Instead, Rainbow Dash was pacing back and forth, swearing constantly under her breath and trying to remain calm, something that wasn’t her forte. Scootaloo couldn’t blame her. After all, she was too young according to her mentor. But her mentor obviously didn’t know anything about love or fate. To be fair, neither did Scootaloo, but she was able to tell herself that because she knew how much Rumble liked her, that she had to respond in kind, because that was what love was, right?

It takes somepony brave to admit their own mistake.

“Scootaloo,” Rainbow Dash muttered.

“Scootaloo, Scootaloo, Scootaloo.”

She could tell that Rainbow Dash wanted to say something.

There wasn’t anything to say.

Scootaloo cleared her throat, and then looked away as Rainbow Dash’s concerned eyes burned into her.

“D-Dashie…”

The pet name.

She never called Rainbow Dash by her pet name unless it was really important, and this was really important.

It takes somepony brave to admit their own mistake.

“What do you want me to say, Scootaloo? That you’re too young for that stuff? That Rumble’s too young for that stuff? That I don’t even know where you learned… Ugh, dammit, they’re teaching that stuff younger and younger, huh? Shit… Scootaloo, just tell me what I need to tell you, because I don’t know how to help you.”

“I… I just wanted to ask you something.”

Scootaloo was sitting on her haunches in the snow, and Rainbow Dash now sat beside her, wrapping a wing over her shoulder.

She was the perfect model of sisterhood, or at least trying to be.

“Shoot, kid, nothing could surprise me anymore.”

Scootaloo looked up, eyes filled with hope and brimming with tears, even though her face was already stained from ones shed earlier.

“Promise you won’t… You won’t tell anypony.”

Rainbow Dash sighed.

“Scoots, I can’t. I gotta tell somepony who’d know how to handle this.”

“No…”

“Scoots…”

“No, you can’t,” Scootaloo pleaded. “You can’t. If you let somepony else know, they might let Social Services know, and then he might send me away-”

“Scoots, c’mon. I know the guy’s a bit weird at times but…”

It takes somepony brave to admit their own mistake.

“That’s what he’s doin’ with Silver Spoon!”

“I know, I heard, but…”

Rainbow Dash sighed. “Scootaloo, I really wanna help, but I can’t keep something like this a secret.”

“Is it bad?”

“No! No, it’s not, it’s not bad, it’s just… It’s just not supposed to happen, I guess.”

Scootaloo buried her face in Rainbow Dash’s chest, sobbing.

It takes somepony brave to admit their own mistake.

“He’ll… He’ll send me to the… Th-th-the orphanage… It’s awful there, it’s all dark and gloomy and nopony’s happy at all and the food is cold and they don’t let you go outside whenever you want and I’ve heard and read a lot of really bad things about orphanages and I don’t want to go, because as… As awful as my aunt is to live with, at least I don’t live in an orphanage…”

Rainbow held her closer, sighing again.

“Scoots…”

“I’m not gonna move from here until you promise.”

“Scoots…”

She pushed further into Dash’s chest, and the elder pegasus sighed one last time.

“Okay.”

Scootaloo’s heart finally slowed down.

She knew she could count on Rainbow Dash. Who couldn’t? She was the element of Loyalty for crying out loud! When she said it, it was set in stone, never to be changed. Rainbow Dash would never tell anypony, and it would have been like Scootaloo had never told anypony, except that she had told Rainbow Dash, but it was just somepony else who would share her secret.

It takes somepony brave to admit their own mistake.

“Really?”

“Yeah, but… Only because I don’t know who to tell anyways. I don’t think anypony I know could understand that stuff…”

Scootaloo breathed out in relief, and realized that the entire time, she had mostly held her breath.

Rainbow Dash wouldn’t tell anypony.

Rainbow Dash was the greatest sister any filly could ask for.

She started to speak softly, and she soon proved to be even better than the greatest.

“Scoots, I don’t think I ever tell ya how brave I think you are. You can’t fly, you’ve grown up without any parents, you’ve got just the worst bully on your tail and Miss Cheerilee doesn’t seem to be doing shit about it, but you’re still so strong. I think you might have me beat in pure balls just by living, Scootaloo. You go and do something like this… I would have never thought…”

Scootaloo could hear Rainbow Dash’s breathing.

It was getting heavier.

Rainbow Dash was going to cry.

“It’s okay, Dashie.”

“I’m trying to tell myself that, kid...”

It takes somepony brave to admit their own mistake.

But Scootaloo hadn’t made any mistakes so far.

Except telling herself that.

So what if she was lying to herself?

Ponies lied to themselves all the time.

Lies made up a majority of lives.

The Cakes, for instance. Their genealogy was beyond a lie. Missus Cake was a two-timing bitch who had done it with not one, but two other stallions. Everypony knew that. But it was better for Carrot to tell himself the lie that he had sired his children. It made it easier for him to sleep at night, for him to change their diapers or take them to the park or do anything for them, because it made him feel as if he was adequate to exist in some way.

It takes somepony brave to admit their own mistake.

Mister Cake wasn’t very brave at all.

And neither was Scootaloo.

Rainbow Dash could say anything, but it didn’t change anything.

Living didn’t make somepony brave, brave things made somepony brave.

Like ziplining or being a bowling pin.

The Crusaders would have to try the latter at somepoint.

It would hurt, but pain is weakness leaving the body.

Is it? Pain is a signal sent to the brain, Scootaloo knew that from the Biology unit from last year. So that means that pain isn’t weakness, it’s an alarm system that something is wrong. But that would have made her and Rumble doing it wrong, because it hurt at first, and it felt good soon after that, so pain wasn’t weakness or a warning. It was something. It was something that Scootaloo didn’t like to feel at all, that very few ponies liked to feel at all.

So that was pain.

Undefinable.

Like Rumble.

It all went back to Rumble.

She was passing by Rumble’s house at that point, lost in her own head as soon as Rainbow Dash had let her go, her face still stained with tears.

A few ponies had asked her if it was okay. Miss Hooves, the silly mailmare, for instance. Cloudchaser and Flitter had passed her by and asked too.

They wouldn’t understand.

It takes somepony brave to admit their own mistake.

Scootaloo had already told Rainbow Dash, nopony else needed to know.

So she said “fine” and they seemed content to leave her alone thusly.

And now she was standing in front of his house.

On her scooter.

She normally loved to talk about her scooter, about its die-cast construction and its masterful handling, how there weren’t many of its kind left in Equestria, but it all felt so irrelevant now.

It was a normal little place, two stories, four windows, a door raised off the ground a bit with stone steps leading up to it.
Such an ordinary house for an extraordinary colt.

And his douchebag brother.

She couldn’t believe him. He’d done two things- did it with his aunt, which was pretty much already grounds for being a pathetic, no-good loser, and not only that, but he had interrupted herself and Rumble when they were having sex themselves, but when they did it, they did it with love, not with the simplistic, animalistic idea that they were objects meant to get each other off. They were connected now. Scootaloo knew this much was true.

It takes somepony brave to admit their own mistake.

She sighed, looking into the second-story windows.

Maybe she could see him if she looked really close.

Nope.

It was worth a shot.

The house was longer than it was wide, like most houses.

Scootaloo sighed. That meant that Rumble was somewhere inside. That meant that somewhere in there, somepony was thinking of her. Somepony wanted to be with her at that moment. Scootaloo felt her chest get lighter, and something in her brain told her that she could fly, and made her wings start to buzz uselessly. She hovered a bit off of the ground, but that was as far as she could go. She didn’t want to go farther though, because were she was, she could see into Rumble’s bedroom window, and maybe, if he walked over to it, he could see her smiling and blushing at the place.

That was love.

She knew that was love.

Rumble knew that was love.

It takes somepony brave to admit their own mistake.

She almost called out his name, but caught herself at the last moment.

No, that would be weird.

Would it?

“Hey! Rumble!”

No response.

“Ruuuuumble!”

No response.

“Ruuuuuuuuuuuuuuuummmmmmbuuuullllll!”

Response.

Rumble’s adorable, gaunt little face appearing in the window. His eyes opeed slightly wider, as if he just realized something, but then returned to normal. He disappeared again into his room, but Scootaloo caught glimpses of his mane and his tail as he moved about, left and right, left and right. He appeared in the window again, and gave a nervous little wave, although his face didn’t smile, and Scootaloo’s already melted heart began to boil. He disappeared once more.

He popped out a minute later with a scarf on, shivering a bit when he first made contact with the cold winter air, and Scootaloo could barely repress a sigh.

He came out and towards her, and she tried desperately to hide the fact that she was blushing, to no avail.

So was he.

Rumble was blushing too.

Scootaloo knew he felt the same way.

“Uhm…”

“Uhm.”

“Hey, Scootaloo.”

“Hi.”

They kept their eyes away from each other.

Scootaloo didn’t want to seem creepy or selfish looking into Rumble’s icy irises.

Rumble just wasn’t sure what was happening.

It takes somepony brave to admit their own mistake.

“So, Rumble.”

“Uh-huh?”

Scootaloo tried not to look directly at him.

It wasn’t any use, she had to look.

She looked into his eyes.

They were perfect.

A pair of perfectly round, ice-blue eyes, that seemed to look into the soul with a cool sort of cold, not a calculated one, the sort of cold one might expect from a spring breeze, the cold that causes somepony to stop and breath in deeply, and then let out that breath in a sigh.

She did.

Sigh.

Subtlety was not a strong suit of hers.

“Me and the girls were gonna hang out on Friday, after school. Wanna come along?”

Rumble’s eyes widened a bit.

“A-a-all… All of you guys?”

“Yeah. Three of us. Cutie Mark Crusaders! And since you don’t have a cutie mark either, maybe you’d like to join the ranks?”

“Uhhh…”

He looked afraid.

Oh no, he looked afraid.

“Y-you don’t have to, Rumble.”

“No! No, it’s just… All three of you?”

“Yeah! C’mon, Rumble, do you think it’s uncool to hang out with girls or something?”

Scootaloo gave a nervous laugh.

Please don’t make him run away, she pleaded, please, oh please, don’t make him run away.

“No, I just… I… I mean… Can’t I just… Just hang out with you?”

Scootaloo’s heart made a leap, and she made no effort to suppress a small squeak. She lifted up her hooves to her mouth and giggled behind it. Rumble was so sweet. He loved her so much.

It takes somepony brave to admit their own mistake.

“Well, we sorta have to have the meetings every week… Twice. Every week. Not counting emergency meetings. And you’d be surprised just how many emergencies we have to have!”

“Sounds… Dangerous, can I just hang out with just you?”

Scootaloo looked away, and blushed a bit more.

The heat from her cheeks was almost painful in the cold of the late winter afternoon.

“Rumble, what if ponies start talking?...”

“Do you think it’s uncool to hang out with boys or something?”

Scootaloo looked up at Rumble, and he had a silly face on, as if he was trying to raise his eyebrows but only ended up scrunching his face together, and she giggled again, but the giggle kept growing, and growing, and soon she was laughing loudly, her voice echoing around the trees and fences and houses, and she even got a little bit off the ground, only to drop backwards into the snowbank. He was so sweet, it was almost funny.

“Rumble, haha… Oh… That was… Aaaaaahahahahahaha!”

She tried to stop, but she couldn’t. It was impossible. Rumble made it impossible, because he loved her so much. And he was willing to show it by being goofy.

“Scootaloo, it’s not funny!”

Scootaloo stopped laughing for a moment, but couldn’t stop, so she kept laughing.

She laughed because Rumble loved her so much. She laughed because he was ridiculous, because the situation they were in was ridiculous, because even though they shouldn’t have been doing it they were, because she loved him too, because she had told Rainbow Dash, because now there were three ponies obligated to keep everything secret, because if it got out, she would go to the orphanage and live in misery, which was even worse than living with her aunt and living in lesser misery, because as long as she could laugh, as long as she could still find joy in simple things, she would be okay.

It takes somepony brave to admit their own mistake.

Scootaloo was far from brave.

It wasn’t funny, but that was okay.

“Scootaloo, please, stop laughing, I’m serious!”

“I… I… Oh… I just… I… Ohohoh… Okay… Okay…”

Rumble’s ears flopped, one up, the other down, as he tilted his head.

“You okay?”

“Fine, just…”

He hopped his fence and trotted over to her in the deep snow.

His hoof touched hers as he helped her back up, and their noses brushed against each other, and Scootaloo giggled.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, I said… Yeah.”

“Okay.”

“So Friday?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.”

Then Rumble went back inside, and Scootaloo was left back to herself, and the scooter, and the snowbank, and her myriad of problems.

It takes somepony brave to admit their own mistake.

But Scootaloo hadn’t made a mistake yet.

Maybe she had.

Maybe she had made a mistake.

It wasn’t likely, since Scootaloo wasn’t brave.

It takes somepony brave to admit their own mistake.

And brave ponies sometimes make mistakes.

Scootaloo wasn’t brave, so she hadn’t made a mistake yet.

Rumble wasn’t brave, and he could never make a mistake.

Rainbow Dash was brave and had made mistakes before, and might continue to make them-

Oh.

Scootaloo was in her bed, at home, late at night, her room a mess, but what child’s isn’t? Although Rumble’s room was almost admirably clean. Just another thing to love about him. But that wasn’t the issue. The issue was, Scootaloo had realized that Rainbow Dash might make a mistake, because she was brave, and brave ponies make mistakes that they have to admit to. So what if she made the mistake of telling somepony else about her and Rumble? What if she made the mistake of forgetting that she couldn’t tell anypony? What if she decided that after telling somepony not to tell them to keep it a secret? What if the word got around? What if Social Services got wind of it?

Scootaloo’s eyes widened.

No.

No, no, no.

That meant the orphanage.

That meant being sent away to someplace dark, dreary, cold. That meant cold meals twice a day, that meant ponies with brain problems being her roommates who would threaten her and do things to her, only it wouldn’t be love, it would be sheer blindness and strange, compulsive desire. That would mean no more Rainbow Dash. No more Cheerilee. No more Applebloom or Sweetie Belle.

No more Rumble.

No.

No, no, no.

It takes somepony brave to admit their own mistake.

She wasn’t going to make one now.

It was snowing.

And the wind was cold.

But she needed to see him.

It was dark, and she was going fast, but she had a flashlight, and even though it was snowing, there was still the bluish light of the nighttime, the road the dark trail of ink in the snow.

It takes somepony brave to admit their own mistake.

But she hadn’t made any mistakes. A mistake out here, at this hour, wouldn’t be a good thing at all. At all. She could be killed in a mistake out here. But she didn’t have a choice. Not a one. She had to see him. She had to make sure he was okay with Rainbow Dash. She had to make sure that he loved her, that their love was real. She had to. She didn’t have a choice. Not a one. This wasn’t a mistake. This would never constitute a mistake. It wasn’t.

It was snowing.

And the wind was cold.

And she was going fast, snowflakes seeming to dig into her face like small crystal daggers.

But she needed to see him.

She didn’t have a choice.

She had to make sure that he was real.

His love.

His love, not him. He was obviously real.

Focus on the road.

She did.

It was hard, but she did, because she didn’t have any other choice. Take the eyes off the road, she could hit a rock, and then she would be flying for the briefest of moments, and then she would hit a tree and break all of her legs and her back, and then she would bleed out internally. It would be an awful way to go. She simply didn’t have the reinforced bone structure of a normal pegasus yet. She couldn’t afford mistakes. She wasn’t brave enough to make them.

It takes somepony brave to admit their own mistake.

It also takes somepony brave to make mistakes in the first place.

And Scootaloo hadn’t made a mistake.

She hit a rock.

She hit a rock, and her ride became wobbly, and she began to panic. Not a moment later, she hit a patch of ice, and the scooter began to bounce about on its wheels, staying on one corner, then another corner, then another, bouncing over the ice, lacking suspension to properly compensate. Scootaloo couldn’t do anything but scream in fright, adrenaline pumping through her veins, snow flying in her face as she tried desperately to regain control.

Take the eyes off the road, she could hit a rock, and then she would be flying for the briefest of moments, and then she would hit a tree and break all of her legs and her back, and then she would bleed out internally. It would be an awful way to go. She simply didn’t have the reinforced bone structure of a normal pegasus yet. She couldn’t afford mistakes. She wasn’t brave enough to make them.

She was making a mistake.

It takes somepony brave to admit their own mistake.

Scootaloo wasn’t making a mistake.

The rock made the mistake.

Or the scooter.

Not Scootaloo.

She almost fell off of her trademark transportation when it finally stopped bouncing and slipping on the ice, and she slumped over the handlebars, panting.

She didn’t make a mistake.

She still wasn’t brave.

That was okay.

Because while somepony brave will admit their mistake, a lot of brave ponies have died.

Soldiers.

Firefighters.

Policemares and Royal Gaurds.

Scootaloo wasn’t dead.

And she wasn’t brave.

Maybe she was stupid.

It didn’t matter.

It takes somepony brave to admit their own mistake.

All that mattered was getting to Rumble’s house as fast as possible.

She made it.

It was a different place in the dark.

It was short, squat, “fat” a word that came to mind in describing it’s proportions, the gray paint looking black in the complete darkness, the porchlight turned off, drowning the place in darkness.

She leaned her scooter against the gate and crept up to Rumble’s house.

It was a different place in the dark.

In the dark, she had to rely on just touch to guide her way, tracing her hoof gently along the faux-wood sidings of the house, feeling the plasticness, the cheapness, and yet in the daytime she couldn’t tell the difference, she couldn’t see past the façade. Even in the dark, she didn’t want to see past the façade. It was better living the façade, better feeling good through it, better not paying attention to it. Because as long as she lived the lie, she didn’t make mistakes. Her hoof came upon a drain pipe, and she almost let out an audible squeak of victory. But she kept it to herself.

She started to climb.

Hoof over hoof.

Not looking down, but up, at her destination.

The window.

Within, all of her problems would be fixed. Within, she could pour her heart out to her love, within, he would listen to her with his eyes open the entire time. Within, she wasn’t just another pony. She was Scootaloo. Scootaloo to Rumble. Within, she was in love, and loved by somepony in love with her. Within resided the heart and mind that she had taken for herself, in which she had made herself an indomitable fortress, in which she could love and be loved in. Within, she made no mistakes.

Nothing she had to admit to.

Nothing she had to be brave about.

It takes somepony brave to admit their own mistake.

Scootaloo wasn’t brave.

She had told her that a billion times.

Yet somehow, she felt at least brazen, stepping out onto the scaffolding and gently pushing in the windows, thanking Celestia that Rumble never bothered to close them.

Rumble had made a mistake.

How brave of him.

He looked so calm.

He looked so complacent.

It was adorable.

It was why she loved him so much.

Because of how he looked.

It was shallow now, but she knew that it ran deeper then that. Right now, she just needed security. She needed affirmation. Right now she needed Rumble more than she had even needed anything else. It wasn’t a craving or a lust. It was a pure, mechanical necessity, like food, water, shelter. It was the pure, mechanical requirement of it that had been driving her crazy.

She needed to hear it from him.

She gently, silently clambered into his bed, slipping underneath the covers with a subtlety and speed that surprised even her.

All he did was tighten his eyes slightly.

Perhaps she was agitating a nightmare.

Poor Rumble.

She knew how to make him feel better.

Her chest pushed up against his back, and she suppressed the content hum that almost escaped from her lungs, settling for a simple sigh.

It was still too much.

His eyes opened.

He gasped.

“Aaahmmmmph!”

Scootaloo threw her hooves over his mouth, shushing him, but he kept struggling against her.

“Rumble! Rumble, calm down, it’s just me!”

“Mmmmph! Mmmph! Mmmmphlmmph!”

“Rumble! Just… Shhhhh…”

Rumble kept struggling, more weakly.

“Rumble, it’s me, Scootaloo, c’mon, just… Just calm down for me, please, just for a second…”

She wrapped her rear hooves around his body, and he wriggled weakly, his breath ragged.

“You’re gonna be quiet?”

Rumble nodded.

Scootaloo cautiously took away her hoof, licking the inside of Rumble’s ear, making him turn just a bit red.

It was so cute.

“Wha… Scootaloo, what are you… What are you doing here? What time is it?! Sweet Celestia, it’s after curfew, obviously, I mean…"

“Rumble…”

How did she say this?

How did she vocalize so much doubt? Not that she had it. There was no doubt in her mind. All of the lies that she had told herself made it so that there wasn’t any doubt. There was no need for doubt. It was fact. She loved Rumble and Rumble loved her back in full. There was no other way about it. There was no debilitation on the matter. It was true. She knew it was true, because she had told herself, and she wasn’t brave enough to tell herself the truth, because the truth was a mistake, because it wasn’t true at all.

It takes somepony brave to admit their own mistake.

“Do you love me?”

“I… Wha…”

“Rumble, do you love me? Like, do you really love me? Like do you think we have… Something? We’re like connected and all of that cheesy stuff?...”

Rumble didn’t say anything.

He just breathed.

“Wha… I…”

“Rumble?”

“I… Yeah?”

“Rumble, please say ‘yes’, please, please say yes…”

“Why… Why do you need…”

She gulped.

“Rumble… I…”

It takes somepony brave to admit their own mistake.

“You… I mean, I know you… You love me, I mean, or like me or… Something… It feels nice…”

It takes somepony brave to admit their own mistake.

“Rumble, I… I did something dumb.”

It takes somepony brave to admit their own mistake.

“Wha…”

It takes somepony brave to admit their own mistake.

Scootaloo was going to be brave now.

“I… I told Rainbow Dash about us.”

Rumble didn’t say anything.

Scootaloo was on the verge of tears again.

“Are you mad? Do you still love me?”

“No…”

“Rumble, I’m really, really sorry, I… I couldn’t get out of it, she… I…”

“I-it’s okay.”

Scootaloo sniffled.

“Really?”

“Y-yeah…”

Rumble had rolled over to face her, and his chest pressed up against Scootaloos, and she could feel his rapid heartbeat against her right breast, and hoped that he could feel her rapidly accelerating heartbeat in his.

She felt something else too poking at her stomach.

She closed her eyes.

“Rumble, since I… Since I told somepony, you get to tell somepony too, okay? I won’t beat you up, I’ll never beat you up, Rumble, I was scared when I told you that, I…”

“It’s fine. I don’t have anypony I can tell.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

They laid there, just breathing, for at least another minute. Rumble had his eyes wide open, clearly confused, but at the same time holding an element of concern. Scootaloo’s eyes opened and shut slowly, batting tears away, and she wrapped her forehooves around his shoulders, holding him close, trying to tell herself all of the lies she told herself before, hoping that they weren’t lies and that the truth was lies instead.

It takes somepony brave to admit their own mistake.

Scootaloo had made sure that there would be no mistakes tonight.

“You never answered my question.”

“What question?”

“Rumble, do you love me?”

He was silent for a moment.

“…Rumble, please…”

He closed his eyes and leaned his head forward.

It happened.

Their lips connected, and Scootaloo let out a small, muffled squeak, and it all just seemed to freeze for a moment, a picture being taken in her mind, her eyes the shutters, snapping shut and pushing back, but not taking what she wanted.

He pulled away first, and he started to giggle.

Scootaloo was giggling too.

She couldn’t help it.

It takes somepony brave to admit their own mistake.

“I… Uhm… Uh… Does that answer the question?”

It didn’t.

But Scootaloo nodded, because she wanted to believe that it did.

He was still hard in between them, and Scootaloo rolled over on top of him, and his look of contentment turned to one of anxiety.

“Scootaloo-“

“Shhh, it’s okay, I still owe you from last time, remember?”

“But-“

“Shhhhh. I’ll be quiet, I promise.”

“Y-you…”

He looked away from her, tears seeming to form in his eyes.

No.

No, no, no.

“Rumble, calm down!”

He was sobbing, tears streaming down his face, his eyes closed as he shuddered with sudden emotion.

“I-I-I can’t! I… I just… I…”

“Rumble…”

She pushed her face against his, she pressed their lips together, humming into the second kiss of the night, but to no avail.
Rumble was still crying.

“Rumble, please… Just let me do this…”

“I…”

He sniffed.

“I-I-I-I can’t, I…”

“Rumble, you’re hard, you need this, I’m giving it to you… Please, let me do this…”

Rumble swallowed.

Scootaloo’s heart fluttered. The thought briefly crossed her mind that this was her fault. This was her mistake. She had taken this wonderful colt and turned him into a slave to his own desire. He didn’t have anypony but himself and her. The only thing he could rely on was his rapist, his obsession, and her obsession with him, her love for him, and hopefully his love for her. She had made him into who he was. She had made him cry.

She always told herself that making others cry was bad.

But she couldn’t tell herself that now.

Because it wasn’t anymore.

Because she wasn’t brave.

It takes somepony brave to admit their own mistake.

Rumble swallowed again.

“I… I know, Scootaloo. I… Just… Can I… I want you to be… Under me. Please.”

“Really?”

Rumble nodded, and sobbed again, and Scootaloo gave him another kiss.

“Okay. Just calm down… Just calm down…”

She rolled onto her back, and sighed.

“C’mere, Rumble…”

Rumble just sniffed and nodded again.

It was strange-feeling, him standing over her.

But it also felt right.

He was still sniffling.

Scootaloo brought a hoof up to his cheek, smiling at him.

“It’s okay, Rumble…”

“I… I just… I…”

He laid his head on her shoulder, sobbing gently into it.

“It’s… It’s all just… I just…”

Scootaloo held him close, her forelimbs around his shoulders.
“Shhhh…”

Something warm and firm poked her thigh, and she hummed slightly.

He was still sobbing.

“It’s okay, Rumble…”

“I… I can’t.”

Scootaloo let go of him slightly, wrapping her rear limbs around his waist, looking into his eyes.

“Yes you can, Rumble.”

“N-n-no, I…”

“Rumble, please. I want you to do this. For me.”

He sniffed deeply, breathing out.

“Okay.”

“You okay?”

“Mmmhmm…”

His voice sounded strained. Scootaloo held him close again.

“Just close your eyes.”

“Oh… Okay…”

He did as he was bidden.

And he slowly brought his hips forward.

He slowly brought it closer.

Closer.

Contact.

It was electric. It was euphoria personified, a single feeling, and he hadn’t even gone into her yet. Scootaloo hummed, gripping Rumble close, her mouth over his neck as she waited for him to go further. He breathed in, shakily, as if he was still that frightened colt who she had forced down almost a week ago. But that was irrelevant. That was the past. She was where she was now because they loved each other.

He entered.

Scootaloo bit down, and he gritted his teeth together.

“Nnnk…”

“S-sorry, Rumble, I…”

It was astounding just how good it was, and all he had done was stick the head in so far.

“…More, please, Rumble.”

Rumble nodded, and pushed forward.

Scootaloo stuck a hoof into her mouth to repress the squeal that threatened to rip from her throat. It was so firm, so warm, so thick, so long for his age, and it slowly advanced into her tunnel, pushing apart her flesh, sending electric pulses of pure pleasure into her brain, shockwaving out through her body, which tensed, holding him where he was.

He bottomed out, and Scootaloo hummed.

She felt full in a way, fulfilled, and yet with a growing crave for more.

Rumble seemed to rest, breathing shakily on her shoulder as she mewled helplessly under him.

“Am I… Is it any good?”

Scootaloo giggled, and nuzzled into Rumble’s neck.

“I-i-it’s just… You’re so goooood, Rumble… It’s really gooood…”

“Really?”

Scootaloo hummed again, and her muscles clenched, and another pulse of pleasure ran through her tiny body, making her coo.

“Why would I… Mmmm… Why would I… Lie to you… Ahmmmph…”

Rumble pushed his face into her neck.

She had many reasons to lie to him, mostly the same ones as she had to lie to herself.

But they were irrelevant.

It was just wonderful, how they were connected now. She could feel everything about him. The slight angle of his penetration pushing against her walls in a way that made her squeal, the vicious liquids that seeped out of her as he pushed in, and then pulled out, making small, short little thrusts, trying not to do anything too hard, or too fast, or too anything. He didn’t seem motivated to do so. Rumble simply held his head against her neck, his breath coming in small, shaky bursts, as he continued to hump her, softer than a summer sun cloud. She could feel everything about him. The many small veins on his length, pulsing with blood and arousal, the tip dragging against her tunnel, plugging into her, sending convulsive waves through her entire body, but focused at that single, seemingly small point between her legs. Her nethers where on fire, she needed more…

“R-Rumble…”

“Mmmh…”

“Rumble, go faster…”

Rumble merely nodded.

He went faster, and everything multiplied. Quiet moans turned into barely-repressed squeals of ecstasy, the shockwaves came faster, practically overwhelming her, smothering her in a blanket of pleasure that fired off in every neuron of her body at once, causing her to grip onto Rumble more tightly, in more ways than one. Her marehood clenched again and again, trying to hold Rumble’s length in place, but it refused, preferring to keep pumping itself at it’s now more confident pace. Scootaloo had to consciously remind herself to keep quiet, it was all so much, all at once…

“Mmmmmmmh…”

“R-Rumbllllle…”

“Fuck…”

He said it.

The word that he had said on the playground.

The word that had kept him out of class that day.

Scootaloo started getting concerned. Rumble’s thrusts became more forceful, his lips tracing messily over her neck, his grunts seemed more and more animalistic. She noticed for the first time how much his mane was in disarray, how his eyes no longer had a glint to them, instead resigning to a blankly lustful look, his mouth open, his breathing more steady. She could still feel the incredible pleasure, but there was something nagging her in the back of her head that something was wrong with him.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck…”

Scootaloo closed her eyes and let him do his thing. She owed him this, after all. They had been interrupted, after all.

Something was off.

“Fuck!”

He had cried out, softly, in a loud whisper, to accentuate a rather forceful thrust, which he repeated.

“Fuck!”

Again and again.

“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!...”

Scootaloo had had enough.

“Rum… Rumble… Ahh! Stop…”

He didn’t stop.

“Fuck!”

He wouldn’t stop.

“Fuck!”

He was going to take what he wanted.

All of a sudden, Scootaloo became very scared.

“R-Rumble!”

It felt good, but she wanted him to stop.

“Fuck!”

This was a mistake.

“Fuck!”

But Scootaloo wasn’t brave.

“Fuck!”

Scootaloo had made a mistake, but she wasn’t brave.

Just stupid.

“Rumble, please, please, Rumble, stommmmph!”

Rumble had stuffed a hoof into her mouth to keep her quiet, as her voice had been rising, and he looked into her eyes with a look of slight recognition, as if he had realized what he was doing.

He smiled.

A weird, half-smile, with half-lidded eyes.

Scootaloo had seen that look before.

Almost a week ago, she had worn it.

Now she was scared.

It takes somepony brave to admit their own mistake.

“Fuck…”

Scootaloo gave a muffled protest around the hoof, but it didn’t stop anything.

Rumble sped up.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck…”

It was too much. Too many electric impulses of pleasure rending into her brain. Too much fear now coursing through her, the realization of what was happening, what she had allowed to happen, what she had created, it seemed to fill her with immense shame, but also a small sense of pride, because Rumble would have refused if he didn’t love her. And he loved her.

It takes somepony brave to admit their own mistake.

Scootaloo gave a cry, unheard of around his hoof, and she let go of everything in her climax. Juices flooded around Rumble’s shaft out onto the bedsheets, and she squealed as Rumble seemed to speed up, spurred on by how tight her walls had gotten, and in mere moments, he groaned, shooting into her, his seed mixing with her juices, and it all seemed so wrong but so right at the same time, and he didn’t stop.

“Fuuuuuuuuck… Fuck… So fucking… Fuck…”

Rumble collapsed on top of Scootaloo, and he closed his eyes, taking his hoof out of her mouth.

And Scootaloo started to cry.

“I’m so sorry.”

“N-no, Rumble, it’s my…”

“No, no, Scootaloo, I… I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to…”

“Rumble, y-y-you didn’t…”

He seemed to spend the rest of the night holding her, apologizing, sometimes he was crying, sometimes she was crying, but many tears were shed that night.

And they decided it would be best to be brave and admit it.

It takes somepony brave to admit their own mistake.

It was a mistake.

It wouldn’t happen again, not this way.

It was both of their faults this time.

VI

Scootaloo had been nervous before.

It was Friday afternoon.

Two-thirty-three.

She had been thinking.

A few days ago, she had awakened at seven, like she always did by instinct.

She had to escape.

She made it.

Narrowly, but she made it.

She had heard hooves against the hallway, and made a judgement about them in miloseconds. She hopped out of bed within half of a second. The doorknob turned. She didn’t have enough time to duck out of the window. It was around a second or two away, and she had maybe a small fraction of that. Scootaloo had to repress a cry as she rolled underneath Rumble’s bed, and she held her hooves to her mouth to keep her little grunts and frightened squeals to herself as she saw the dark-gray hooves move across the floor.

“Dude, c’mon, get up, you’re not gonna get up late this time, okay?”

Rumble groaned.

Scootaloo heard the bed creak above her head.

Then it creaked again, and the dark grey hooves returned to her line of sight.

“Shit! Fuck! Goddamn! What the hell is all of this shit?! Dude, your sheets are fucking filthy!”

She closed her eyes and repressed a groan.

Barely.

It was strange, because she knew how to keep her cool.

Scootaloo had been nervous before.

“Shut uuuuup,” Rumble moaned, and Scootaloo heard a few thumps that must have been him putting pillows on top of his head.

“No. Get up, get cleaned up, get to school. 'Kay?”

“Rrrrrgh…”

“Yeah, okay. You’re okay. Don’t make yourself late, kid.”

The hooves disappeared.

Scootaloo rolled out from underneath the bed.

She used a hoof to wipe the sweat on her brow.

It was narrow, but she had seemingly sort of made it.

Rumble looked at her.

He looked away.

He didn’t cry.

That was all over the night before.

They stood there, looking at each other, silent, now equal in a way.

Or at least, Scootaloo thought so.

She thought they were equal now.

She hoped so.

Scootaloo broke the silence.

“Rumble…”

“Go away.”

“But…”

“Just go away, Scootaloo. You shouldn’t talk to me.”

She didn’t move.

“Scootaloo…”

“No.”

Rumble looked at her.

His eyes were ice. They were desperate and clear, and they let her see right through them, into his soul, and they were sharp around the edges, and dug into hers. His face was flat, fallen, expressionless and yet not, sometimes twitching, as if encouraging him to smile or frown or blink, but he couldn’t do any of those things.

Because of the night before.

Because of what he had done.

Scootaloo sighed.

“Rumble, it’s not your fault.”

“Scootaloo…”

“It’s not. It’s nopony’s fault. It just happened. It’s just what’s supposed to happen. I took what I wanted from you, you took what you wanted from me…”

“Scootaloo, I raped you!”

Scootaloo turned her head away.

“I know, but… That makes us even. You’re not a victim. I’m not a victim. We’re equal now. We’re together. We’re connected. You said so yourself, right? We’re connected.”

Rumble’s face seemed to contort a bit.

“Thunderlane might come back in here. Go away.”

“But Rumble-“

“Scootaloo, just leave me alone. Please. That’s all I want right now. I want to be alone. Just give me some time.”

Scootaloo would have cried normally, seeing his face so desperate, so pleading. Scootaloo would have begun to sob, her body shaking uncontrollably. She might have hovered up to Rumble on his bed, and kissed him, held him, snuggled into him, anything she could do to make him feel better. Make him know that she loved him. That she forgave him. That it was okay.

“Rumbl-“

“Go.”

She sniffled, turned around, and did as she was bidden.

Or not.

She stopped right beforehoof.

“Rumble…”

He was staring up at the ceiling, his face without any emotion, just a blank slate, and he wanted it to draw something, he wanted to know how to feel, and she knew that, and she remembered what it was like to feel that way, to not know how you want to feel, but now she knew exactly how she wanted to feel, she knew exactly what to say to make her mistakes seem less like mistakes and more like minor, inconsequential missteps. She knew how he felt now, and her heart ached for it.
She hopped onto the bed, and gave him a quick peck on the cheek.

She narrowly avoided the weak swat from his left hoof, but she couldn’t avoid his eyes.

They seemed to ask how she could still love him.

How she could still adore him, idolize him.

How she couldn’t be affected but what he had done.

It was pretty simple.

She had been there before.

And the next few days, Rumble didn’t come to school.

Scootaloo had been nervous before.

Two-fifty on Friday, she had never experienced it like this.

Her hooves shook uncontrollably when she wasn’t paying attention, the nerves responding to the concern deep inside of her by shivering as if she had just been pulled from an icy lake.

She became sensitive to everything, the sounds of the chalk against the board, Miss Cheerilee’s hooves patting against her big wooden desk, looking for the tests they had taken Thursday.

And it wasn’t just noise, she felt the contours of her desk like never before, her tongue could always taste something that was in her mouth but wasn’t, this metallic, tangy, tingy taste that traveled around her mouth, sometimes settling inside of her cheeks and lightly buzzing, sometimes on her tongue and swirling.

These weren’t normal nerves. These weren’t weekend training butterflies. These weren’t bad-test-grade trembles, or gossip grumbles.

Scootaloo had been nervous before.

But she had never felt this before.

She didn’t know what it was.

And when the bell rang, she jumped.

Sweetie Belle.

Applebloom.

They came over to her desk.

With paper mache gas-masks.

“Har-dee-har-har, guys.”

“Hmphalmphahummahmmmph!”

Applebloom raised her gas-mask, and Scootaloo almost bolted at the sight of her.

There was an overwhelming amount of concern and apprehension on her face.

“Ah think what Sweetie men ta say was that you’ve been actin’ up, Scoots.”

“Harmmmph!”

Sweetie Belle nodded.

“Ah mean, we’re jus trahin’ ta make ya feel better, is all. You’ve been actin’ like yer sick or somethin’. Are ya sick? Ah mean, if ya are, me n’ Sweetie can run See-Ehm-See jus fahn, an ya’ll can’t git home and rest a touch-“

“I’m fine, guys. Really.”

They wouldn’t get it.

They wouldn’t know how it felt.

They wouldn’t know the way it felt to have the most wonderful colt held up against them, holding them close to his chest, matching his breathing with theirs, his lips a mere half an inch away, and the slightest movement caused them to brush their lips against his.

They wouldn’t understand how, then and there, they could let them do whatever they wanted. They could let them do anything to them, because that was what love was. Complete surrender. They didn’t know that. They’d never know that. Even if Scootaloo decided to do something weird and freaky, and tried to make them understand, tried to hold them, kiss them, touch them, push them over and fuck them while they were down, make them understand what love meant, it wouldn’t matter.

They wouldn’t get it.

Though what they did get was that Scootaloo had started staring at the clock again.

“…Scoots?”

“Hm?! Yeah? What?”

“…Ya sure yer okay there?”

“Hmphmphlahmmph?”

Scootaloo shook her head a bit.

“Yeah, I… I just got a lot on my mind, is all.”

“So yer comin’ ta the meetin’, then?”

Scootaloo nodded.

“Mph!”

Sweetie Belle stuck out her hoof, Applebloom’s soon joining it.

Scootaloo smiled, and joined in the secret tailshake.

“Cutie Mark Crusaders Go!”

But Scootaloo hesitated to go.

Sweetie Belle and Applebloom had rushed to the door, but Scootaloo has remained behind.

Because she knew what she had to do.

She had to talk to him. She had to see him, make sure he was okay. She had to go to him, check up on him, make sure that he was alright. She had to make sure he wasn’t dead, or crazy, or hopeless, or something like that. She had to make sure that he didn’t tell anypony what they did. If he did, she had to make sure that he had a plan, or make up a plan for him.
She had to make sure Rumble was okay, because she loved him and he loved her, and that was an indelible truth.

“…Scoots?”

“Yeah! You guys just go, okay? I’ll catch up, I got something I need to do before I head to the meeting.”

Sweetie Belle wrestled the useless mache gas mask off of her face, and gave Scootaloo the same quizzical look Applebloom wore.

“What do you need to do, Scootaloo?”

She smirked in response.

“Pick up our newest member.”

It was a different place in the light.

The house was big, square, shaped like a baseball home plate pointed upwards.

The paint was gray, the door and windowsills white.

It was in decent repair.

It wasn’t too notable itself as a house.

All that was notable was what was within.

She was nervous.

Scootaloo had been nervous before.

But not this kind of nervous.

It had taken her five minutes to work up the nerve to just trot up to the door.

It had felt like an hour when she got up the courage to ring the doorbell.

She couldn’t help but pace.

It felt like hours before she heard hooves approaching, muffled on the other side of the door.

It opened to Thunderlane.

He looked almost as anxious as she did.

“Hey, look, little filly, I’m sorry, but now isn’t a really good time, okay?”

Scootaloo gulped.

“Uhm…”

“Hey, look, whatever you need, I think you can get it the next hou-“

“I wanna see Rumble.”

Thunderlane glanced back.

“Now isn’t a good time.”

“I need to make sure he’s okay.”

He glanced back again.

“He ain’t.”

“Oh.”

Scootaloo looked at the ground, as if the multitudes of grains in the concrete porch below her would inspire the fiery courage she needed.

She needed it now.

Rumble needed it now.

“What’s wrong with him?”

Thunderlane blew through his lips.

“Hell if I know. He locked his door two mornings ago and refused to come out. He hasn’t eaten or anything. I don’t wanna break down the door or anything, but I’m half tempted to now. He won’t talk to me.”

He joined Scootaloo in looking down at the ground.

The difference was, he didn’t know what was going on.

She did.

“I mean, he won’t. I ask him what’s wrong and he just shuts up. He doesn’t say anything. I don’t know what I did wrong, I don’t… I don’t know what the hell I should… Did Cheerilee send you?”

Scootaloo shook her head.

“No. I’m…”

She had to keep her cool.

It was hard.

Scootaloo had been nervous before.

But she had to keep her cool now, and not show it. She had to stay cool for her sake. She had to stay cool for Rumble’s sake. Tears flowed backwards into her head, cries were swallowed, guilt going down with it like a pill with water, floating in her stomach, and threatening to burst it open. All of her feelings in that moment were compressed into a small bomb, a fuse lit in her esophagus and burning down, slowly, slowly, slowly.

“I’m… A friend. I’m Scootaloo. A friend.”

Thunderlane tilted his head.

“You probably should go, Scootaloo, I don’t think there’s anything you can do.”

She swallowed the guilt and fear again.

The fuse burnt down slowly, slowly, slowly.

“Let me talk to him.”

Thunderlane glanced back again.

“I don’t…”

“I think he’ll listen to me.”

Thunderlane sighed.

“I don’t… I don’t know. Sure. Yeah. Fine.”

Scootaloo nodded her thanks, and rushed into the house.

Thunderlane glanced back again, and sighed.

“Weird kid,” he muttered with a hint of a laugh around it, but Scootaloo did not hear him say so.

Five minutes later.

Three twenty-five.

Nothing had changed.

Rumble was still locked in his room.

Scootaloo had been pacing back and forth outside of his door.

She hadn’t said anything.

What would she say? What could she say? Because Thunderlane was in the hall with her at that very moment, an eyebrow raised, watching her pace back and forth, shakily, trying to come up with something to say, and if she said the wrong thing, Thunderlane would hear them talking about… About having sex. Together. And she didn’t know how he’d react. She’d only barely escaped him before, and now she felt as if she needed to escape again.

But she couldn’t.

For Rumble’s sake, she couldn’t.

She had to talk to him.

Scootaloo had been nervous before.

She put a hoof on the door and swallowed her feelings one more time.

“…Rumble?”

There was a small gasp on the other side of the door.

“…Who…”

“Rumble, it’s me.”

She heard breathing.

Not normal breathing.

It was faster, desperate breathing.

“Rumble, calm down, it’s just me, okay? It’s just me…”

“I thought I… I thought I… Can’t you just… Just go away, please, I can’t come out.”

“Rumble, you’ve been in there for two days! Nopony knew where you went besides Thunderlane.”

“I can’t come out.”

“Rumble-“

“I can’t risk it. I don’t… I don’t want to hurt anypony again, just leave me in here, please, okay?”

“Rumble…”

He was breathing fast again.

Scootaloo was worried that he might start crying.

But he didn’t.

He just squeaked in desperate breaths, pushing out, fast, heavy.

He was nervous.

And so was Scootaloo.

Scootaloo had been nervous before.

But not like this.

Her heart was pounding with sheer worried energy.

“Rumble, are you okay?!”

Breathing.

“Rumble!”

“What? Uhm… I… My stomach hurts…”

“Rumble, have you eaten the past few days?”

Silence.

Breathing.

Scootaloo raised a hoof to her mouth, putting her back against the door.

She was shuddering.

She had to hold it in.

She couldn’t cry.

She had to be brave for Rumble.

“Good Goddess, Rumble…”

“It’s… Oh… Kay…”

“Rumble, you gotta come out and you gotta eat something.”

Breathing.

Desperate wheezes, fast, unhiltered breathing.

Rumble was panicking.

Because she was there.

She had to hold it in.

She had to be brave for Rumble.

Because Rumble didn’t have any courage himself, now.

He was a puppet, trying to break the strings, but he couldn’t. He was a minion who had made a bid for power, but found out what it meant. He wasn’t evil. He didn’t have the heart. He wasn’t like Scootaloo. He couldn’t take what he wanted without any remorse. He didn’t have the capacity for that. He didn’t understand himself and the world around him well enough.

The breathing stopped.

“Rumble?...”

Scootaloo turned over, her eyes wide.

“Rumble?!”

Hoof over hoof.

Up the pipe.

She had to see him.

She couldn’t get to him through the door.

Scootaloo had been nervous before.

She had tried to be brave. She had tried not to lose it. She had tried everything.

It wasn’t working.

He had to be okay.

He simply had to be.

The Rumble she knew would be okay.

The Rumble she knew would have showed up to class the next day. He would have laughed and played and glided around. He would have introduced himself to Sweetie Belle and Applebloom, and became a fellow Crusader. The Rumble she knew was kind, gentle, compassionate. The Rumble she knew wouldn’t have had any remorse. He would have understood.
She thought they were equal now.

She hoped so.

The Rumble she knew would have thought that.

This wasn’t the Rumble she knew.

This was the Rumble she loved.

This was the Rumble that needed her. The Rumble that wanted her. The Rumble whose every thought and desire was led by her, was about her. The Rumble that was crazy about her, that wanted to understand her, know her forever, and be with her forever, the Rumble that was so deep in his lust and his desire and his need, that he found all of it in her, all of it given back to him. The Rumble that loved her desperately, that didn’t want to see any bad come to her.

That was why he felt so bad.

Because he loved her, and he felt that he had betrayed that.

Not because he had sunken to her level.

Because he loved her.

It made more sense that way, at least to Scootaloo.

Hoof over hoof.

Up the pipe.

She made it.

Scootaloo had been nervous before.

Now she felt at least brazen, stepping out onto the scaffolding and gently pushing in the windows, thanking Celestia that Rumble never bothered to close them.

She wished she hadn’t come in.

Rumble was a mess.

His mane was in complete disarray, his face stained in long stripes of tears, his gaunt face even more so, his eyes shut tightly. He was curled up, groaning gently every once in a while through his gritted teeth. He smelled awful. Of sweat, tears, vomit. Vomit, Scootaloo knew, because of the brownish patches across his bed, coating his chin and chest. He had vomited at least twice. He sat up, and opened his eyes, glaring at Scootaloo as she stepped into the room, her head turned away.

“What part… Of go away… Don’t you understand?!”

“Rumble…”

“You can’t trust me! I can’t… I can’t… I…”

“Rumble…”

“That night,” he muttered. “That night, I went crazy. I didn’t care about you. I didn’t care about anypony. I didn’t even care about myself. I just did what I wanted. You couldn’t stop me. I couldn’t stop me. That was me, Scootaloo. I let myself go.”

“Rumble, forget about that night. Please.”

“Do you think I’ve fucking tried?! Do you even know how I feel?! Look at me.”

“Rumble…”

“Fucking look at me.”

She looked at him, into his eyes.

But they were clouded now, filled with a maelstrom of emotional turmoil, rolling through his head, fogging everything in hatred and disgust and love and pride.

“Scootaloo, don’t you see what I’ve done?”

She stayed silent.

“Go away. I don’t want to hurt you again.”

Scootaloo took a step forward.

“…Scootaloo?”

Another step.

“…Scootaloo… Don’t.”

Another step.

“Don’t!”

Another.

“Goddammit, Scootaloo, I might-“

“You’re not gonna hurt me.”

Another.

“Rumble, you’re not gonna hurt me.”

Another.

“Because you love me. Because I love you.”

Another.

“I get that you feel really bad about what happened. I do. But you shouldn’t be so hard on yourself.”

Another.

“Please, Rumble. Snap out of it. You’re not gonna hurt me, because you don’t want to, because you love me.”
Her voice was steady, although she was nervous.

Scootaloo had been nervous before.

She was mere inches from him.

She could smell everything. The vomit, tears, sweat. The sharp tang of the fear and desperation in his eyes. His ragged, quick breaths. The pleas underneath it. Rumble wasn’t going to hurt her. He wasn’t. She put a hoof on his cheek, and he whimpered.

“No… No… Go away…”

“Rumble, I’m not going to do anything.”

All she did was look in his eyes.

“Rumble… Please… You’re hurting me now when you’re like this. Please, clean yourself up. Please.”

He started to shake. Scootaloo put a hoof on his chest, the rubbery hairs covered in dried vomit against it, but she didn’t show the slightest bit of disgust. Her face was a mask of concern.

“I’m…”

“Rumble, shush. You’ve said all you needed to. I forgave you a million times over. Please, Rumble. I need you to forgive yourself.”

Rumble sighed.

“But…”

She leaned in and kissed him.

He didn’t resist.

He closed his eyes, fresh tears traveling down well-worn paths.

He let her linger for a bit, before he pushed her away.

“I’ll… I’ll get myself back together… Just… Just leave me alone now.”

Scootaloo nodded.

“Okay.”

“Okay…”

“Okay?”

Sweetie Belle had just finished positing the latest Cutie Mark scheme.

Scootaloo hadn’t heard it.

“Huh?”

“Scoots, we’ve got a two-to-one vote on this, what’s your take? You’ve got veto power, after all…”

“My... Wha?”

“Eww, Scootaloo, yer breath smells… Ech!”

“Yeah, did you like throw up or something? Are you okay? Because if you did, I mean, then we probably should just cancel this…”

“What’s ‘this’?”

The other Crusaders looked at each other, then nodded.

“It ain’t important now, Scoots.”

“Yeah. What happened?”

Scootaloo shrugged.

“The new member didn’t want to come along. He wasn’t feeling so good…”

“Ah’m thinkin’ yew caught wind a’ whatever he’s got! Gross!”

Sweetie Belle slipped on the gas-mask again.

“Hmphmalmmphalmph!”

“Sweetie Belle! We can’t jus’ kwar-en-teen Scoots! She needs support! We gots ta give it to ‘er! Even if what she’s got gon’ kill us!”

“Hmph…”

Applebloom glared at her companion. “Don’cha go talkin’ that way. Granny says words like them gonna make yer mouth fulla fungus!”

“I’m fine, guys. It’s…”

Rumble.

Scootaloo wondered if she should check up on him again.

He seemed okay when she left.

But maybe he went right back to-

The bell above the door rang out, and everypony turned to see who had entered.

Rumble.

VII

He loved her.

He loved her, Rumble was certain that he loved her. He had to love her, because she loved him. It might have seemed a bit too easy to believe at first, but as it turned out, it was true. He loved her because of how much she needed him, how much she wanted him, how much she wanted to be a part of him. That was love, of course- being two pieces of a bigger whole.

It was Sunday. A few days after the Crusaders meeting. Rumble had passed upon becoming a member. They simply seemed like such good friends to Scootaloo, Sweetie Belle and Applebloom, and Rumble was afraid of imposing himself upon an already established trio. It would be like those old photos that Thunderlane would often paste pictures of himself into. It just wouldn’t be right to go into something he didn’t have any association with before.

Well, he did have Scootaloo.

And she had essentially done that to him.

Imposed herself. Scootaloo had thrust herself into Rumble’s mind with jet-engine speed, and had clutched into his conscious with steel hooks. But that was love. It wasn’t friendship. Though friendship was a part of love…

Rumble tried not to think too hard about it.

He was standing outside of the Ponyville Cinema, the town’s most recent attraction. Only a year old, and its business was booming. Ponies from all across town came to the cinema because it was so new. Rumble himself had gone to it a few times in the past, although Thunderlane’s home theatre setup was adequate for his needs. If he wasn’t thinking about Scootaloo, he might have mused about how the place was beautiful, furnished with all sorts of ornate, carved pillars, the ceiling seeming far taller inside of the building than outside of it, and how, even from the exterior, the entire place smelled of buttered popcorn, smelled of movies.

Instead, he was thinking of Scootaloo.

He was supposed to meet her today. Five minutes ago. She wanted to watch a movie with him. Rumble had robotically agreed to the arrangement. It seemed romantic enough to a colt whose only experience with romance was through a filly who had forced it upon him. Not that it mattered anymore. It didn’t matter, because he really did love her, and even though her methods where… Extreme…

Was it worth the pit in his stomach every time he saw her?

The sways of sickness he sometimes felt when he saw mares and stallions flirting, as they often did in blustery Febuary?

The pangs of guilt, the stabs of frustration, the aches and groans of his newly-found sexual need?

Rumble groaned, and put his head into a hoof. He hated it when his head talked to him like that. When it nagged him like that. When it told him that he was wrong, that he didn’t love her. But he did. Well, at least he was trying to convince himself that he did. No, he didn’t need to convince himself. Because it was true. Because if she loved him, he loved her. Rumble groaned. His head hurt. He didn’t need to think about these things. He needed to see Scootaloo, potentially have sex with her after the movie, or did they even need to wait until after? The theatre got pretty dark and very, very loud very, very fast, and they’d probably be done before the movie was over. Maybe other ponies would watch. That was fine, if Thunderlane’s collection was anything to go by- No. No, it wasn’t fine. Because then they’d know. And nopony was-

“Hey, are you okay, Rumble?”

Rumble looked up.

Scootaloo.

No. Not Scootaloo. Instead, it was an off-pinkish gray-haired unicorn, with lovely golden eyes, and a blonde, untamed mane. Dinky Doo Hooves.

She had handed him the note.

Dinky Doo had inadvertently started all of this.

“I… Uhm… I… I was just…”

Could he say it?

No. He couldn’t. He couldn’t trust Dinky Doo, because he didn’t really know her very well. She had just stuck the note in his feathers. Scootaloo’s note. She didn’t need to know what happened after that. She didn’t need to know the pain and humiliation, and then the begrudging acceptance, and then the confusion and the guilt, and then the sadness and self-destruction, and then right back to begrudging acceptance, in the form of what Rumble had decided to call love. The butterflies in his gut when he saw Scootaloo, the way she would flick her tail at him on the playground sometimes, daring him. Just daring him. Ditzy Doo didn’t need to know all of that.

“I was just gonna… See a movie. Ya know? I… I try to do this every… Weekend… And stuff…”

Why was he stuttering?

Dinky Doo giggled. Her voice was high, nasal, and yet it struck a chord with Rumble. Where Scootaloo was rough, her diction rushed and clear, Dinky was different. Her voice was soft, almost muffled in the oversized scarf she wore, and she seemed to speak slowly, enunciating every word clearly, a habit most likely picked up from her mother instead of a result of personal simplemindedness. She wasn’t. Simpleminded, that is. Dinky Doo was one of the brightest kids in class. Rumors were abound that she had even been moved up a year.

Where Scootaloo was lean and muscular, Dinky was slightly tubby, perhaps a result of her diet, which as far as Rumble knew was muffins. Muffins of all sorts, her mother being a specialist at muffin baking. Her face crinkled quite beautifully whenever she giggled, which was often, especially with Rumble looking her up and down. And her eyes! Rumble had never seen anything like it. They were a spectacular pair of golden orbs that seemed to shine like the actual stuff, almost glowing in the cloudy, darkening winter’s noon. Rumble had to look away.

Scootaloo was cute.

But Dinky Doo was tremendously beautiful.

There was a pit in his gut.

It was like the pit he saw when he saw Scootaloo, but different. Different in that it seemed a much warmer sort of knot. It seemed looser, less frantic, and more wary. Scootaloo cared for him. He knew that much. But that was because she had to, because she loved him. Dinky was genuinely interested in his well-being.

Maybe he could watch the movie with Dinky instead.

No.

Rumble shook his head, and Dinky tilted hers.

“What’s wrong, Rumble? You look really agitated.”

He shook his head again.

“I was… Well…”

He didn’t want to say it. If he said it, if he asked her, if he showed anything like desire towards her… The movies always showed it. Heroes were never supposed to do stuff with other fillies when they already had a marefriend. She was a marefriend, wasn’t she? Scootaloo. To him. Right? They had never said it to one another, but maybe they didn’t have to, since he loved her and she loved him.

Well, if she loved him…

A part of love was forgiveness, Rumble remembered hearing. Letting little things slide. Little things like taking a pretty filly into a movie. It wasn’t like he was going to kiss her or anything. It wasn’t like he loved Dinky. He loved Scootaloo. And Scootaloo would understand.

Rumble rubbed at his stomach, where the knot was, the ambiguous, confusing knot. He didn’t want to know what it meant. He already knew what he needed to know. Scootaloo loved him, and he loved her. He loved her. Nopony else. Not Dinky Doo, as pretty and kind and wonderful as she was. Scootaloo. Always Scootaloo. It would always be Scootaloo.

Maybe it wouldn’t.

What if it wouldn’t? Because it would. It would, Rumble knew, because he loved her and he was really, really interested in what Dinky was like.

“Uh, Dinky, I…”

She tilted her head, and giggled.

“You really tickle my funny bone when you’re all embarrassed.”

Embarassed.

Scootaloo liked him flustered too.

Rumble looked at the ground. He just wanted to be rid of the pit in his gut. If it meant seeing the movie with Dinky instead of Scootaloo, as they had planned…

He just needed to know.

“Dinky, do you, uh, wanna see a movie? Like, I mean, we should go in now since it’s gonna start soon and stuff, and I had two tickets so you don’t have to pay, I was gonna see it with… With… Uhm…”

Excuse.

Bingo.

“Thunderlane! I was gonna, uhm, watch it with Thunderlane. But he saw Flitter and Cloudchaser… Cloudchaser’s friends, and he… Started following them and-“

“Rumble, I can’t. I apologize, but my mom wants me back at home by seven.”

Rumble’ face fell.

So he wouldn’t get to explain how he felt. He wouldn’t get to know Dinky Doo. He wouldn’t hear her laughing for the afternoon, hear her cute little voice whispering in his ear, feel her bubbly laughter through her lips, spreading into his, push his hooves into her ample flank while plun-

Rumble shook his head, desperately chastising himself.

He loved Scootaloo. Nopony else. Scootaloo. It was Scootaloo, it would always be Scootaloo, there was room for nopony else, Scootaloo had barged into his brain and refused to come out, and Rumble respected that, loved her for that, because he had done the exact same thing to her, he had pushed her down, forced himself onto her, and made her accept his love, because that was all that mattered, them loving each other. And nopony else. Ever. Not even Dinky Doo Hooves, who had a cute, cherubic little body with a matching face, and a perfectly disheveled mane, and her horn, rounded at the top, seemed almost too small for her head, wedged between and above the eyebrows that only drew somepony to her golden eyes, eyes that were so shiny, so glittery, eyes that could shield out all of the bad things so that she could shower other ponies in compliments and kindness and general wonderfulness.

There was only room for Scootaloo.

“Uhm… Okay. Okay.”

“But…”

Rumble’s heart made a small leap, and he felt disgusted for it.

“I can go with you tomorrow! There’s a show at three-thirty, right after school gets out! We can meet at the gate into the schoolyard, and you and I can go then! And you can go with Thunderlane tonight, but I mean, if you want to see a movie tomorrow, I think if we catch the matinee, I should be okay to get home!”

Another leap, another twinge of disgust.

“I… I guess, I mean…”

“Rumble! Hey!”

Rumble’s eyes went wide open.

Scootaloo.

There she was. She looked tired, winded, even though she had ridden her motor scooter over to the theatre. Her mane was disheveled, but more in the worrisome way that a crazy pony’s would be, instead of the adorably erratic way Dinky Doo’s was. Her eyes had the slightest bit of bags underneath them, the indication of poor sleeping habits, and she swayed a bit as she got off her motorscooter, letting out a small groan.

“Sorry I’m late, Rumble, I felt a little sick.”

He said nothing.

“…Who’s this?”

Still nothing. Dinky Doo came to his rescue, putting out a hoof, smiling broadly.

“My name is Dinky Doo Hooves, and you must be Scootaloo! I sit in front of you in class!”

Scootaloo seemed to have blanked out a bit, staring forward into Dinky Doo’s eyes, and Rumble swore that there was the barest glimmer of dislike in them, or maybe it was his conscious playing tricks on him. Dinky Doo, oblivious to any animosity from the orange pegasus filly in front of her, simply kept the hoof out.

Scootaloo shook her head.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry, I’m just… A little bit out of it, I’ve been a bit under the weather lately…”

The hoof hesitated then.

“Oh…”

“Oh, no no no, it’s not, like, contagious or anything or... Well, my friends aren’t sick or anything, so it’s probably just me!” Scootaloo gave a nervous laugh, taking Dinky’s hoof and giving it a firm shake.

“Oh, well then, I really hope you get better!” Dinky Doo giggled again, and Rumble almost closed his eyes, wanting to take that noise and shut it in a jar forever. A jar that he could share with Scootaloo. Although judging by her wince, Scootaloo wasn’t quite as taken by it as he was.

“Yeah, uhm, maybe you should go…”

The words trailed off into a mumble, but what was said was still audible. Rumble took a step back, but Dinky just glanced at the town hall.

“Oh, shucks!”

Another noise to add to the jar.

“You’re right, I better get going home. Bye, Rumble! Nice meeting you formally, Scootaloo!”

She trotted away, her tail barely brushing against the very tip of Rumble’s nose, and Rumble let his eyes linger over her as she went down the street. Her hips seemed to sway a bit, the saddlebags around them filled to the brim with groceries- eggs, flour, milk… Her hips seemed to sway a bit. She had nice hips, load-carrying hips, perhaps she had some Earth Pony blood? But that wouldn’t make sense, her mom was a Pegasus and her dad had most likely been a Unicorn, otherwise she wouldn’t… Her hips seemed to sway a bit, what nice, plush, luscious-

He felt something slap against the back of his head, and Rumble cried out, not in pain, but surprise. Scootaloo was giving him the same gaze she had given him… He remembered now. The angry gaze. He hadn’t seen it since.

“Stop staring,” Scootaloo commanded.

“I’m not-“

“You are, Rumble. Stop.”

“But-“

“If you love me, Rumble, you’ll stop staring at her.”

“But I wasn’t-“

“Yes you were! Don’t lie to me!”

The gaze hardened.

Rumble swore that Scootaloo’s eyes were on fire, that the frown that had formed across her face was pulling on his own face, pulling it off, but he couldn’t look away, her brow contracted in a way fearsome, cautionary, as if she wasn’t even really angry yet, but Rumble knew she was. Shame rose through his entire body, propelled by adrenaline, pumping through his veins, making him cower.

“I… I’m sorry…”

Scootaloo sighed, her face softening.

“So you were looking.”

“No! No, but… I was just… No… Scootaloo…”

He gave her a quick peck on the cheek, but she tried to swat away his face.

“Rumble!”

“Sorry!”

Her face had whispers of fear about it.

“Rumble, ponies are going to know when you do that stuff. Just don’t, okay? Don’t. Only when we’re alone.”

He didn’t respond.

Rumble was looking at Scootaloo’s face, trying to get himself to feel the knot he felt before. Her features were harden, sunken by whatever sickness she had gotten, clearly lacking sleep and fatigue. Her mane was in even more disarray than normal. Her eyes, twin magenta orbs, now cloudy. The knot didn’t come up. He had to think of Dinky Doo’s face.

“Rumble?”

“Hm?! Wah? What…”

“Rumble, we should go in, the movie’s gonna start soon.”

“I love you!”

A mere few weeks ago, Rumble would have groaned. Now, he simply stared blankly at the screen, at the well-manicured teenage colt on the screen, saying the words that he never would have the courage to say to the pony that he wanted to say that he loved, that he needed to say that he loved. If he didn’t love her, what was the past few weeks?

Confusion. Fear. Self-hatred. Self-destruction. He wouldn’t put himself through those things if he didn’t love Scootaloo. He had to love her. It was the rules, because she loved him. What was this movie about again?... A colt in love with a filly that didn’t love him back, but there was another filly that he did love… Something like that. It was corny, cheesy, terrible. Rumble started to wonder why he had come to watch it.

And then Scootaloo nudged him, nuzzling her face into his neck, and he let out a breath that, apparently, he had been holding in.

“Rumble,” she whispered.

“Mmk?”

Her hoof trailed around his chest as she held herself close to him, breathing in deeply, as if to take in whatever scent he had. Rumble kept his eyes glued to the screen, but found it all so uninteresting, found it all distant, found that the love that was on the screen wasn’t real, wasn’t actual love, wasn’t what he was feeling then.

Except he wasn’t.

That was weird. He loved Scootaloo.

“I’m really sorry for getting mad at you and stuff.”

He leaned his head against hers. Nothing.

“Uhm… Okay.”

“I just feel really bad about it... Do you wanna let me make you happy for a bit?”

“Wha…”

She hopped out of her seat, and crouched down onto the ground, crawling between Rumble’s legs, and his stomach began to gnaw at itself. It wasn’t the same. It wasn’t love. But he loved her. She gave his sheath a small kiss, but it didn’t register.

“Uhm…”

She gave it a lick, and Rumble sighed, leaning back in the chair.

“Scootaloo… You…”

“Mmm?”

It still hadn’t left the sheath.

“You don’t have to, Scootaloo, it’s… It’s okay…”

“No, Rumble… I wanna do this for ya…”

She licked it.

Nothing.

“Well… I…”

He didn’t feel anything anymore.

Something was wrong. Just a few days ago, he would have been overcome by this. He wouldn’t have known what to do. He would have been unsheathed long before Scootaloo had started touching it. He might have started crying, or struggling, or trying to get away. But he didn’t feel anything. It still felt good when she licked it, but it didn’t feel the same. It wasn’t the same tidal wave of emotional energy. It was apathetic, lifeless.

He looked up at the screen. A pair of teenaged ponies were making out passionately, humming and moaning into each other’s mouths. He closed his eyes, trying to imagine that it was Scootaloo and him doing that.

But instead it was Dinky Doo.

Twitch.

Rumble felt a twitch. He opened an eye and looked down, seeing the very head of his dick poking out.

But… He loved Scootaloo. Why was it that when he thought of Dinky Doo…

Twitch.

It wasn’t right! It had to be a mistake. It had to be. Rumble shut his eyes tightly, and concentrated. Scootaloo. Scootaloo in the Mare-Do-Well costume, pushing him down, lining up and spearing herself perfectly onto his length…

Nothing.

Dinky Doo tilting her head, looking at his length with an indelible curiosity. Her eyes shift to his, a pair of perfectly innocent, golden orbs. She smiles, and, tentatively, unsure of what she’s doing, she gives his length a lick.

Twitch.

It had to be a mistake.

Scootaloo took his length in his mouth, but Rumble kept thinking of Dinky Doo. She could stop him from looking, but she couldn’t stop him from thinking. As Scootaloo’s mouth traveled down his stiffening rod, Rumble imagined that it was Dinky Doo, looking up at him, humming over it as the taste, unfamiliar in her mouth, spread out in between her lips. Scootaloo pulled off for a breath, and Rumble groaned, the imaginary Dinky Doo disappearing.

“Ah…”

“Wh…”

“Just checking to see if you’re okay, Rumble…”

He wanted her to keep going. Because he loved her, and she just wanted to make him happy. And he couldn’t think of Dinky without her. At that moment, the latter seemed to be a bit more important to him. It wasn’t that he wanted to think of her. It was that he wanted to know why he was thinking of her, and experience is the best teacher.

“Don’t… Stop or anything. Just… Keep doing what you were doing…”

Scootaloo gave a quiet little giggle, and took his length back into her mouth. Rumble put his head back, and started thinking again.

Dinky Doo looking up at him, humming, licking him when she went all the way down, licking at the base. She was a quick learner. She was, after all, one of the smartest fillies in class. She suckled on it hungrily, needily, wanting more of the taste, every groan or hum from Rumble seeming to spur her on. He opened his eyes, looking down, and only saw Scootaloo, and the excitement, the drive, the pleasure…

It left.

It just wasn’t supposed to be this way.

He closed his eyes again. If he loved her, why didn’t he care anymore that they we redoing it? Why didn’t it excite him at all? He should at least be scared. They were in a public place, after all. Granted, in the dark, and in the back corner where it was unlikely that they would be interrupted, but regardless, there should at least have been some tension. But nothing. He only felt good, he only felt anything when he thought of Dinky Doo.

“Mmmm…”

The images shot through his brain like tank shells. Dinky Doo suckling gently on the tip of it, her eyes gently closed, now confident that she was doing a good job. Rumble sighed, running a hoof through her mane, but Scootaloo’s throaty hum of content wasn’t the same. Was it? He didn’t know, he hadn’t fucked Dinky D-

Rumble shook his head.

He knew he couldn’t do that, ever.

Which was why it seemed like such a good idea.

What would it matter? It wasn’t like he was telling her that he had sex with Scootaloo. He was sharing his experience, yes, maybe. But it wasn’t like it was anything bad. Thunderlane kept… No. Rumble didn’t want to be like Thunderlane. Ever. And he wouldn’t be, since he loved Scootaloo. But that didn’t mean that he could love Dinky Doo too.

He was getting close, the tip of his length growing tingly, sensitive to every lick, every suckle, every hum. Rumble let his neck go limp, his head rolling on the back of the seat, trying to keep his moans soft, his eyes closed. He couldn’t think of Scootaloo. All he wanted at that moment was Dinky Doo. Why did he want Dinky Doo? What was wrong with Scootaloo? She loved him, and he loved her.

But she just wasn’t Dinky Doo.

She didn’t get the same reaction.

Rumble shut his eyes tightly, sighed, and gave it up, firing into Scootaloo’s mouth, but to him, where he was then, he had just pulled off a reluctant Dinky Doo and let go into her face, his juices drizzling over it, and he felt that it wasn’t right. It wasn’t how it was supposed to be. Scootaloo had taken him, not Dinky. He had no reason to be with Dinky besides the fact that he thought she looked kind of cute. Scootaloo had made it apparent that she wanted him; Dinky was clearly just friendly by nature.

Scootaloo quickly slipped up back into her seat, leaning into Rumble’s side and sighing, The movie was almost over, the teenaged colts both sobbing over a coffin. She gulped, and Rumble realized that Scootaloo had been holding it in her mouth the whole time, just swallowing in order to speak.

“What a shitty movie,” she quipped with a giggle, nuzzling into Rumble’s side.

He took her word for it.

He would watch a different movie with Dinky Doo the next day.

“Rumble?”

“Mmmgh… Wah?”

“Rumble!”

“Huh… Uhm… Four! Eighteen-Twelve! Abrayham Lincoln!”

Once again, it was that boiler room of a classroom, and once again, Rumble had fallen into reverie. Only now it wasn’t about Scootaloo. It was about innocence and innocuous infatuation, golden spheres that melted the heart and pierced into the mind, gently, like a syringe, not like a sledgehammer, like the orange coat and taut body that had been his previous obsession.

Rumble didn’t like that word. Obsession. He wasn’t obsessed. Obsessed was Thunderlane. Obsessed was changing the mare you dated back and fourth between a few dozen and changing them out with the weeks. He was curious. Curious was a more proper word. He wanted to know how she felt, how her little voice sounded in his ear as she breathed over it, the warmth of her body pressed tightly against his, the golden orbs closed, a blissful expression upon her wondorous, cherubic features. Scootaloo was pretty in her own right, and she could wait for now. What she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt he-

“Rumble!”

“Oh! Uh, aaah…”

Miss Cheerilee clucked her tongue, and Rumble looked down at his desk. She had made that same noise in one of the porn movies, chastising a shoplifting zebra. He didn’t want to think about it. Well, maybe he did. With him as the zebra and Scootaloo… Dinky Doo… Scoota Doo… Dinkyloo… Somepony else in the costume. Anypony. Except for Miss Cheerilee. Maybe Miss Cheerilee.

“It’s like every time we talk about this, Rumble, it just manages to get worse for you. Moving on…”

And he zoned out, again, isolating himself from the world with his own thoughts, a veritable mental fortress. Rumble didn’t know how he was going to go about it… He needed a plan. He needed to make a move during the movie. Making a move involved talking, which probably meant going to a movie that Dinky wouldn’t get too involved in, so that they could talk, but Rumble didn’t want to see that crappy movie he had seen the day before with Scootaloo-

A note. Stuck in his feathers.

He looked back.

He was greeted by boundless energy radiating from golden eyes and a pudgy, warm face, and he immediately had no idea what to say. His stomach turned over, and he put his head in his hooves, feeling a bit woozy. This wasn’t right. This wasn’t love. He didn’t love Dinky Doo. He loved Scootaloo. Whatever this was, he disliked it, and yet, wanted a bigger, better taste of it, a bigger spoonful of-

The ruler cracked down on the desk.

“Rumble!”

“Y-yes, Miss-“

Her look was stern, anger far from it, a mixture of disappointment and frustration, her brow furrowed into several tiny crests and valleys, her mouth pulled at the corners.

“That’s the second time this month you’ve violated the notes policy! What could be so important that you could ignore the classtime I give you?!”

Mare-Do-Well.

Rumble gulped. She was going to push him down, right? Push out his lungs, take his-

She had the note.

Miss Cheerilee was unfolding the note, and everything was moving in slow motion. Rumble had to do something, and he chose the first thing that came to mind.

He hopped out of his seat, nabbed the note in his mouth as he did, and proceeded to suck it in and chew.

Now Miss Cheerilee was angry.

“Rumble! You spit that out right now!”

“Noah,” he mumbled through a mouthful of paper. His classmates were rolling in their seats with laughter. They didn’t understand the nature of the situation, but then again, Rumble and Scootaloo didn’t want them to understand that there even was a situation. And the last person to let know was Miss Cheerilee. The message was soaked with saliva in his mouth, and Rumble suckled on it, trying to get it soggy enough to tear and more easily pull apart to go into his stomach.

“Rumble, I swear by the Goddess, you spit that out right now, or I’m suspending you for the rest of the day for insubordination!”

The laughter stopped.

It just stopped. Even the Crusts, snarkers incarnate, were struck dumb. She wouldn’t. She simply wouldn’t. There was no way she would ever. Miss Cheerilee had never suspended a student before. Even with her face as hard as it was now, even with the subtle wrinkles stretched and pulled, the result of more issues than a teacher should ever have to bear with the student body, she wouldn’t ever do it. She couldn’t. Miss Cheerilee wasn’t mean, even if she took her class very seriously.

Though Rumble’s equally firm expression back at her wasn’t doing well for his case, his mouth gently chewing the tasteless, dry paper. His eyes were an expression of outrage, as if how dare Cheerilee pull him out of his reverie, how dare she try to maintain order in her class, how dare she, a hypocrite, a whore supposedly reformed, but Rumble was fairly sure that Thunderlane had dated her a few times, and she spent too much time around the Apple farm to be a patron of apples, and Social Services… How could she? Who was she, even?

Rumble gulped, and the note was gone.

He knew who she was. Thunderlane.

She was no better than Thunderlane. She was a Janus-faced, self-serving cunt. She was an ex-pornstar trying to eliminate that reputation, but also taking pride in it, loving the way her still-lucious hips would sway or how age had simply added husk to the sultry tone she would take, watching the videos of her heyday and taking pride in that she was that beautiful mare doing those dirty deeds, gang-banging zebra groups, everything full, everything wondrous, too many dicks to even bother to count. Now she was trying to help children.

Rumble didn’t want her help anymore. He didn’t want anypony’s help anymore.

“Rumble, go home. Me and your guardian are going to have a little talk this afternoon. Take the time to think about what you’ve done.”

“I know what I haven’t done,” he mumbled.

“I’m sorry?”

“I know what I haven’t done.”

“We can discuss it lat-“

“I haven’t done six zebras and a mare, Mare-Do-Fucking-Well.”

And with that, Rumble left his seat, walked down the aisle, and left, ignoring Miss Cheerilee’s cries after him.

“What are you- How do you- Rumble, get back here! Rumble!...”

“Dude, what are you doing home so-“

“Shut up!”

Now that he was gone, now that nopony could see him, now that he didn’t have to look like he was okay, now that he was alone in the world and the only other person in the house didn’t care about him, Rumble could cry again. He kept strong, until he made it to his bedroom, where he promptly collapsed onto his bed, sniffling and sobbing.

It wasn’t fair that he couldn’t tell anypony.

It just wasn’t. If it happened to Thunderlane, he would have just taken it in stride. He would have enjoyed it. He wouldn’t have spent weeks with craving, and fear, and disappointment, and disillusion, and he wouldn’t have thought of the same filly for a week straight, he wouldn’t have felt empty without her, he wouldn’t have done any of those things, because he was Thunderlane. Thunderlane, who switched out mares like lightbulbs, simply going to the next thing when a previous relationship burnt out and lost its passion. Thunderlane didn’t love anypony.

Rumble did. He loved…

He loved…

Scraddleroo.

That was it, right? Scraddleroo, Scabafoo, Monkeydoo, Doolittle… Something. An orange-furred pegasus with a purple mane in constant disarray. He loved her. He didn’t want her right now, though. In fact, the smell of her on his sheets, the sickly, sweet smell of their dried juices all over his sheets… It made him feel a bit sick, really, as if it wasn’t what he wanted. Scobatoo loved him, so he was supposed to love her back.

He did love her, after all. There was no question of it.

Maybe there was. The gray-furred, golden-eyed, wonderfully plump Dinky Doo. She was the question. Maybe she was the answer, too. Maybe she could love him too. There wasn’t a rule that Rumble couldn’t love more than one mare. Thunderlane… No, he didn’t want to be Thunderlane. He couldn’t be Thunderlane. Ever. They were brothers, and that was where the similarities ended, and where it would always end. Unlike Thunderlane, Rumble could love, and love he would do.

He had been crying.

Rumble sat up on his bed, and tried to put himself together. He breathed deeply, hoping to get that under control. He heaved, his eyes closed, letting the tears go, quickly wiping them away. He wanted Dinky Doo. There was no mistake. There was no questioning. He wanted her, because as much as he loved Scamadroo, he loved Dinky Doo too, and he wanted to know her, wanted to feel her, smell her slit and give it long, lustful licks, and he’d tell her a lie, like it tasted like muffins, and she would just be happy, because she loved him, and he loved her.

That was how it worked, right?

How did it work?

It didn’t work.

But it did.

Rumble put his face into a pillow. So many questions. He didn’t want to ask questions. He wanted to get answers, but he felt too tired to get them at that moment. It was as if a few weeks of pain had finally decided to hit home where it really should have, and Rumble slowly found himself falling into a deep sleep, drifting in and out, until he stayed out for a long while.

He woke up and felt something warm on his back, breathing into his ear.

Skaddleoo.

So she wanted to do it again. Rumble yawned, smacking his lips together, opening his eyes slightly, hoping that he could get unsheathed for her. It hadn’t had worked before… No, she didn’t want to do it again.

She had been crying into his shoulder, holding him in a crushing grip, sobbing gently. When she realized he was awake, she seemed to hold him even tighter, and Rumble almost started struggling in her hooves as she pushed the air from his lungs.

“Sca… Sco… Scoo…”

Scootaloo.

Why did he forget.

“R-Rumble, I… I screwed… I screwed up again…”

He didn’t respond, and his silence willed her to continue.

“Well, I… I screwed up the first time, but I really screwed up, like, really, really screwed up, and I’m really, really sorry…”

He was supposed to love her. And he did. He really did. So he wasn’t sure why he wanted her to go away so badly.

“It’s… Scootaloo… It’s okay… I mean, whatever it is-“

“Rumble, this is, is… It’s the worst thing I’ve ever done, Rumble, I…”

“What did you do?”

Scootaloo was quiet for a moment.

Rumble turned over and looked her over. She was an absolute mess. Her mane was in complete disarray, her eyes sunken and bloodshot from crying, and the flow of tears continued while she sobbed gently, shivering slightly. Rumble raised the blanket up to her neck, then pulled her in close, their nuzzles almost touching. He wasn’t going to kiss her, because he wanted to hear what she had to say. He still loved her. And because he did, he would listen.

“I… Rumble… I… I’m scared that you’re gonna… Gonna hate-“

“Shut up and tell me what you did.”

Her eyes widened, and she almost seemed to push back on him slightly. But she simply looked away from his eyes, trying not to look at him.

“Rumble, I’m… You gave me a… I… When I took you, you…”

“Tell me.”

She had to look at him now, looking into his eyes.

“Just promise me you won’t be mad at me…”

Rumble gave an exasperated sigh, and kissed her on the lips.

“I won’t if you tell me.”

“Okay…”

There was silence.

And then, with three words, Rumble realized that the secrets were going to end soon.

“Rumble, I’m pregnant.”

“…Pffft.”

Rumble couldn’t hold it in.

He started to giggle.

“…Ruh… Rumble?”

He was shaking uncontrollably. He knew he had to keep quiet, Goddess forbid that Thunderlane come in here and find them, and he just couldn’t stop himself. He took in massive breaths, trying to douse the flames of laughter with air, but it wasn’t working. Rumble eventually resorted to stuffing his face into a pillow, lurching with every burst of a laugh that popped up from his lungs, mirth running through his veins.

“Rumble?”

Scootaloo’s voice wasn’t as questioning as it was condemning, and Rumble knew it, but he found something out.

He didn’t care.

He couldn’t bring himself to care. This little filly, this poor, poor wreck of a pony, had pushed him over and raped him. Then she proceeded to come to his house several times and continue to have sex with him. Then he turned the tables on her. And now she was telling him that she was pregnant. It was a joke. It had to be. The entire past few weeks were all a big, mean joke. Fillies her age couldn’t get pregnant! He knew it! It was impossible. Rumble’s face was contorted into a massive, shit-eating grin, and Scootaloo’s tears flowed even further. She was a great actor! This was just the funniest thing.

“Rumble, w-why are you l-laughiiing…”

“I just… I can’t! Hahah! It’s… You… Just… What a joke!”

“Rumble, I’m telling the tr-truth!”

“Ahahahaha! Yeah! Sure! Sure you are! So what if you are?! So what?! It’s all a joke! We never did it!”

“Rumble…”

“Ha! And ya know what?! You’re not really pregnant!”

“Rumble… I…”

“Yeah, yeah, and guess what? I don’t love you!”

Scootaloo’s mouth fell open.

Rumble stopped laughing, and suddenly, he knew that he wasn’t joking.

She didn’t say anything in response. She just let out a long, wailing cry, as if she was a small filly who had just gotten sand poured down her mane, only here, it was heartbreaking, and Rumble suddenly wanted to tell himself that he was joking, that it was a lie, that he did love her, and that she loved him. But he just knew it wasn’t true.

She turned around, sobbing and crying loudly, jumping down from the bed and running for the window, and as she slipped outside, as the window closed for maybe the last time that winter, as Scootaloo left his life forever, Rumble suddenly felt at peace.

There wasn’t a guilty bone in his body as he went back to sleep that night.

And when he awoke, he felt the same.

Empty. Emotionless. Unfulfilled, yet Rumble had no problem with that- there were many things about him that were unfulfilled. It was as if something was missing. He couldn’t put his hoof on it. Yes, he had been a bit mean to Scootaloo, but she deserved it. She was a rapist. Rapists were bad ponies, and they generally got put into jail.

He still loved her.

No, he didn’t.

Rumble shook his head. He would bother himself with that question later. The morning passed as a grey blur of nothing in particular happening. Rumble got up, took a shower, brushed his teeth, ran a comb through his mane, checked his wings, preened them a bit. He went downstairs, ignoring Thunderlane’s conquest of the previous evening sitting at the table, grabbed a scone off of a plate, still hot from the microwave, slipped on his saddlebag, left the house, his face expressionless and his mindset apathetic. It was almost as if the past few weeks had never happened.

But they did. On occasion, an image would pop up from them. Rumble would just stare straight ahead, until the image went away. They kept happening, though. Scootaloo pushing him down, pushing the air out of his lungs.

“No! No! Don’t!” Rumble pleaded. “Let me go! Please!”

“Stop moving!” Scampergoo commanded, through clenched teeth. Tears were forming at the corners of Rumble’s eyes as he tried to shake her off, but Scattlewoo was firmly planted on her victim, the glint in her eyes that Rumble noticed earlier seemingly even brighter. He cried out in agony. If it was another colt, he might have fought back, but Thunderlane, as much of a douche as the guy was, had always reminded Rumble to never hit mares, even if they weren’t nice to him. Rumble thrashed about, but to no avail, and eventually, he could no longer do so. He held back his unstallionlike tears to try and save a little bit of face, and then he gasped as his assailant’s hoof traced down his body.

“I-I-I give,” Rumble sobbed, shivering weakly in the cold. “Uncle, please, just let me go…”

“Shut up,” Scuntajoo growled.

And then she touched him.

And he was pulled out of his reverie by the bell.

Rumble couldn’t put his hoof on it.

The previous night, he thought he had put himself to rest. If anything, things were worse. He grunted with frustration as a wave of sadness hit him, tears coming to his eyes. Everything came in waves. He’d have waves of rage, breaking pencils and snorting, he’d have fits of sadness, he’d simply blank out, looking into nothing as memories resurged. It was beyond anything Rumble had ever felt before.

He sniffled, holding back the sadness. It wasn’t supposed to be there. Nothing was supposed to be there. Scootaloo wasn’t there.

No Scootaloo.

Rumble almost let out a sob. He had been awful to her that night. Both of those nights. The night where he… He got her back, so to speak, and the night when he told her that lie, that he didn’t love her, but he did. But maybe it was true, that he didn’t, but he didn’t have to be a douchebag about it. It really hurt her, and Rumble, for some reason, was concerned for her, worrying that she might do… Something. Something stupid. And he would never forgive himself for it.

“Rumble, are you okay?”

The voice.

The voice, like honey, sweet and lovely, the voice of a busy bee, and a busy bee was what Dinky Doo Hooves was. Rumble looked up at her, shaking his head, filling it instead with images of her, images of his design. Dinky Doo in the Mare-Do-Well costume, presenting her flank to him, admitting defeat to her greatest villain, the great, powerful Rumble, the most potent stallion in all of Manehatten, and he mounts her, he nibbles and bites at her ear, making her coo, and slowly, he aims, and slides-

“…Uhm, Rumble, you’re drooling.”

Rumble blinked out of his head, saw the somewhat anxious look on Ditzy’s face, and wiped his mouth.

“Oh.”

Dinky merely giggled.

“It’s okay! Phew, school today was long! It’s always really long!”

Rumble tilted his head. “Yeah, I know…”

He didn’t, though. The day was a blur. Everything was a blur. The past few weeks were a blur, memories resurging, reemerging, and all he could do was shake his head and hope that they would fall apart, leave his head, if only just for a bit.

“Well,” Dinky said, sweetly as always, “We should head out and catch that movie! The matinee should be starting soon…”

She beckoned him to come along, but his eyes didn’t follow the gesture.

They followed her rear.

VIII

The whole time on the way to the theatre, his eyes never left her butt.

Rumble had tried, but he couldn’t. He hadn’t ever really examined a filly’s flank in earnest before. Well, there was Scoota- No, he refused to think about her. Thinking of Scootaloo only meant more sadness and distress. He couldn’t fall into that. Maybe that was why he was looking at it so much.

It was… Fleshy. Jiggly. Pillows came to mind. Dinky wasn’t fat, not in the least, but muffins combined with the threads of egghead personality that she had seemed to take its shape in her rear. It was shapely, perhaps, a pair of perfect half-spheres pushed together, keeping form even as she moved. Rumble was captivated by its smoothness, by how wonderfully proportionate it was, the finishing touch to the rest of her body. He thanked the Goddesses that Dinky didn’t seem to notice, too preoccupied with the “conversation” she was sharing with him that he was incapable of responding to properly.

“What was up with yesterday, Rumble? What was all that you said to Cheerilee about?”

“Eh?”

Rumble cursed himself as Dinky slowed down slightly, letting him catch up to her, her glorious behind now only in his peripheral vision.

“You said something about zebras. Was it about Zecora? Or the new workers at Sweet Apple Acres?”

Rumble’s eyes raised to the sky, trying to remember. He was suspended yesterday, right? For what? Was it for looking at the world's most shapely rear? No, it was for falling behind. Like he wanted to. To see her behind more. Maybe he could get behind her, grab into those luscious cheeks, push into them, feeling their velvet softness-

He shook his head. Not here. Maybe in the theatre. And only if she asked.

She wouldn’t ask. To ask for such a thing would be out of character for her, at least, as far as Rumble knew. And that was the point of a date, which this was. This wasn’t two friends going out. This was a date. Dinky just didn’t know it yet.

Scootaloo would have known it, but Scootaloo was the furthest thing from Rumble’s mind. Sure, she might have surged up every once in a while to be compared with his new girlfriend, but that was normal. Scootaloo wouldn’t forgive him for the night before, and he wouldn’t forgive himself, but you didn’t have to forgive yourself for something you couldn’t remember. And Dinky Doo’s rear smushed endlessly into the stone tablet of Rumbles brain, desperately smothering those etched-in memories.

“Yeah,” Rumble responded absentmindedly to whatever Dinky had been saying earlier. She gave him a strange look, as if what he had just said was stupid, and Rumble felt the knot in his chest grow tighter, seeing her face scrunched up in confusion. She shrugged, though, and moved along in the conversation.

“I mean, what happened to poor Silver Spoon was just awful, wasn’t it?”

Rumble shook his head. Who? What? When?

“You do know what happened, don’t you, Rumble? It was all over the news last month! Heck, it’s still in the news nowadays. Featherweight wanted to do a series of interviews with Social Services, maybe Silver Spoon, although I was rather quick to remind him that she probably wouldn’t want to talk about it…”

“Huh?”

Dinky Doo giggled, and shook her head. “No, no, I went on a bit of a tangent, I’m sorry. But what happened to her, what’s happening to her, it’s just awful. I mean, I don’t know the details, since my mom sent me upstairs whenever it was on TV, but I know that it was awful. Silver Spoon isn’t the nicest pony, but I think she deserves our sympathy, don’t you?”

Rumble had to think about it for a moment.

Silver Spoon wasn’t Scootaloo. Silver Spoon wasn’t this otherwise wonderful filly, who had given her heart to a colt, no, pushed her heart into his needy hooves, and had offered herself fully to him, only to have him put it on the ground and crush it, twisting his hoof to spread it around, until it was nothing but a red smear. Silver Spoon hadn’t gone through hell just to be in love, had never felt the desperate need to have a wonderful colt with ice-blue eyes, and only that one, wonderful colt, only for him to not only turn her down, but deny her, destroy her.

Rumble’s stomach lurched. What was he doing? Didn’t he love Scootaloo? Who was this filly walking beside him? Why was he so interested in her? Dear Goddess, if Scootaloo saw him now…

He remembered. Remembered what happened after the first time. Remembered what she had said, still holding him down, the tears in his eyes, the confusion, the apprehension, the inability to understand, all of it clouding his brain, but what she had said came through, clear as crystal. He couldn’t tell anypony about it. Anypony. And if he did, she would beat the living stuffing out of him.

And he knew that she could. And that she would if she had good reason. And if she saw him around town with another mare-

“Rumble! Watch out!”

Rumble gave a small squeak of surprise as his reverie was broken by some sort of wall, and he reeled back on his hooves, falling onto his rear legs and holding his nose. His eyes trailed upwards in order to regard his inanimate assailant- The ticket booth for the movie theatre.

“Rumble! Sweet Celestia, are you alright?!”

Dinky Doo ran to his side, her eyes wide with concern. Without thinking, she took Rumble’s hooves down from his nose and inspected it herself, leaning in closely to get a good look. Rumble pulled his head back. No. That was… He didn’t love Scootaloo. He told her that. There was no reason for him to be concerned. Rumble leaned his head forward for what he expected, but Dinky Doo had already pulled back, heaving a sigh.

“Rumble, you totally spaced out there for a minute. Are you okay?”

Rumble nodded. “It’s… Nothing. I do it a lot.”

Dinky giggled. “So I’ve noticed. You seem to have a lot on your mind.”

She had no idea.

She had no idea that-

“Hey! Earth to Rumble! Do you usually space out this often?”

Rumble shook his head, trying to shoo away nagging thoughts and idle introspections, trying to focus on the task at hand. Unfortunately, the pair of gently jiggling orbs that he had become so interested in the past few minutes were out of sight, instead replaced by Dinky’s adorably cherubic face. Rumble felt a slight twinge of annoyance seep through his entire body, the desire to continue ogling Dinky’s derriere growing more and more by the second, and thoughts of Scootaloo seeping back in.

She was cute when she was crying.

Scootaloo. The tears would always flow in the same path, two little lines down her face. There was no smearing of makeup or sniffling. When Scootaloo cried, one could tell that she was trying to tough it out, to hide it, but when she let it all out, let out those wails of anguish, Rumble wanted nothing more than to wrap a wing around her, to tell her it was alright, that he would lo-

“Rumble?!”

He shook his head again, and the rear of his recent affection was again blocked by her stupid little adorable face.

“What?”

“Rumble, it’s kinda creeping me out now. Is there anything I can do to, I dunno, uhm… Take your mind off of things?”

Rumble felt a twitch, and tried to keep his cheeks from flushing. When Scootaloo said that, it had an entirely different meaning. That entirely different meaning being that she would push him over, grinding her dripping wet slit against his-

“No!”

Dinky took a step back from Rumble’s too-quick response, and he swallowed the blush again.

“I mean, no, it’s fine, it works itself out. Maybe we should head inside, start watching the movie.”

“I love you!”

Dinky Doo gave a loud, mock groan, which coincided with a few other voices in the audience, and Rumble was left wondering why he had gone to watch this same movie again. He suddenly remembered why he hadn’t enjoyed it the previous time. The bad acting, the poor cinematography, the jarring music. He had seen porn better than this.

Rumble grunted under his breath, resisting the memories of Cheerilee and Thunderlane’s porn movies, trying to keep them locked up, instead focusing on Dinky Doo’s face.

Without a flank to look at, Rumble instead focused on her lips. They looked like they would be better than Scootaloos. They would be soft, untouched, golden. The butterflies in his stomach seemed to be pushing out, as if they would burst from his gut and begin flying around the tall ceiling of the theatre. It was enough to make him absently lay a hoof over his sore, throbbing belly. Rumble had never felt this sort of pain before.

With the pain came other things. Irrational fears. Scootaloo coming into the theatre and beating him up for hanging out with another mare. Dinky Doo not resisting, instead taking it like Scootaloo, taking it like an experienced mare, jumping onto him and bouncing up and down over his aching member.

He laid back, groaning. He would enjoy that other one-

He was enjoying the thought of it, wasn’t he?

Rumble looked down.

He was.

Gasping, he closed his legs, and an abysmal warmth suddenly greeted his inner thighs. He was holding the popcorn for the pair, and he used the bag to cover himself up a bit more, at least so that Dinky wouldn’t notice the raging stallionhood underneath. She wouldn’t understand. All she understood was math, and science, and reading and writing, and...

What if she did?

Rumble thought about the perfect lips again. Dinky’s lips. Or Scootaloo’s lips. His brain, mercurial as it was, kept switching between the two like a lightswitch. Scootaloo would have given a repeat performance of the previous day, sloppy and sexy and sultry, looking up at him hungrily, demanding him to let go, and Rumble would have bucked his hips into her mouth, demanding more, no, pleading for more. He always pleaded. Dinky would be inexperienced, but that was part of the charm. Her hoof would rub slightly at his length, her golden eyes eying it with an intense curiosity. She would slowly open her mouth, getting closer, closer, Rumble could almost feel her breath-

Rumble then felt plastic along the top of the previously mentioned organ as Dinky trailed her hoof around the bottom of the bag.

No.

He jumped up, and the bag flew from his hooves, landing on the floor, unpopped kernels spilling everywhere.

“Shi- Shoot,” Rumble muttered, quickly correcting himself. He didn’t want to make a bad impression on Dinky. Because he was in love with her. Kinda.

“Oh, it’s okay!” Dinky Doo reassured him. “I should have asked you for the bag.”

Rumble shut his legs more tightly over his rapidly growing length, blushing, cursing himself, cursing the movie, cursing Dinky for getting stuck in his head. He loved Scootaloo, after all. There was no place for Dinky there. But he loved her, so maybe there was. The lightswitch, he couldn’t stop flicking the lightswitch on and off. Scootaloo was a rapist who was hopelessly in love with him, Dinky Doo didn’t have anything to do with any of this, barring handing Rumble the note that sealed his fate to Scootaloos.

It wasn’t fair. It just wasn’t. For once, Rumble wanted to be like Thunderlane. He didn’t want to care anymore. He didn’t want to think that his actions had any ramifications, that he hadn’t gotten Scootaloo-

No.

He couldn’t think about that.

He needed a distraction.

“D-Dinky?” he whispered.

“Hm?” She tilted her head towards him, that lovely little chubby face giving him the blank look of someone listening.

“Isn’t this… This movie, isn’t it, ya know, terrible?”

She giggled, shaking her head. “Actually, Rumble, I think it’s really, really sweet.”

Rumble shrugged. “Oh.”

Dinky took a long suckle through the straw of her large soda, and smacked her lips before continuing.

“It got really glowing reviews in the papers, you know. You just have to pay attention.”

Rumble rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s hard to concentrate with such a cute girl beside me…”

Dinky’s eyes went wide. She blushed slightly, turning her head away, and Rumble realized just how dumb he had been. His mouth refused to allow him to apologize, instead causing him to stammer and stall.

“Oh, gee, you really think that, Rumble?”

He was scared.

Why was he scared? Why did he have such cold feet? This wasn’t rocket science. She was filly, he was a colt. Colt tells filly she’s cute, boy and girl fuck. No. That didn’t sound right. Rumble looked at his hooves. They were shaking, nerves going haywire and firing off in all directions, caught in an internal struggle between grabbing Dinky right there and getting up and running away. The five bits to get into the movie be damned, he had to get out. No. He had to claim his prize.

“Th-th-think what?” he managed to shoot out, a bit too loudly for the theatre.

Why was she a prize? What had he won? What did Rumble deserve? She wasn’t a prize. Rumble shook his head.

Thunderlane would have thought of her as a prize. Rumble almost spat at the thought of him. Thunderlane was probably in the theatre right now, making out with some mare. Rumble’s face hardened, his nerves calming. That bastard. She was probably pushing at his chest, begging him to stop, but Thunderlane, being the douchebag that he was, wouldn’t listen. He’d take no resistance. He’d take what he wanted, and everything else was peripheral.

“Rumble?”

“Huh?”

“You spaced out again…”

He looked into the golden eyes, which were now legitimately frightened, and Rumble couldn’t bring himself to look anymore. He was done looking. He could have looked all he wanted, and he had looked all he wanted.

“I… Dinky, I…”

“You what?”

Rumble swallowed. Here went everything.

“I love you.”

Dinky gave him an odd look. An adorable eyebrow raised, a scrunching of the lips, a quivering of blatant discomfort in her eyes, and she was blushing, bright red, to the point that Rumble could practically see her glowing. She put a hoof over her mouth to cover her laughter, shaking her head.

“You’re so silly, Rumble,” she giggled.

He didn’t know what else to do. His mind blanked. His limited playbook exhausted itself, and Rumble felt as if there wasn’t any other choice. He wrapped his hooves around her neck and pulled her in close, quickly aggressively, and Dinky squeaked as her chest bumped against his, her golden eyes now fearful, looking into his artic orbs with nervous uncertainty.

“Rumble, what are you-“

He kissed her.

Rumble leaned his head forward and pressed his lips against hers, silencing her. Dinky kept still, not because of desire, but out of shock. Rumble couldn’t blame her. She didn’t know.

Her lips were different.

Scootaloo’s lips had been purposeful, driven by want, and when they pushed against his, they seemed to want to linger. They wanted to kiss when she had kissed him. It didn’t matter if it was a hard kiss, a soft kiss, a tender kiss or a lustful kiss. When her lips met his, they shared a single spark, that electrified both of them, that energized their lust and love for each other. Scootaloo always kept her eyes shut, wanting to simply melt into the touch, shutting off everything else.

Dinky’s lips had been caught by surprise. They were soft, initially open haphazardly, as Dinky let out now-muffled protests. She seemed to relax into the embrace somewhat, but it was still stiff, still surprised. Rumble wondered if she had ever been kissed before. Her eyes were wide open, flittering around the room, desperately searching for a way out, but to no avail. She kept trying to pull away, weakly, unsure.

It was different. Rumble still wasn’t sure if he liked the difference.

When he pulled away, Dinky let out a breath, as if she had been holding it in ever since the kiss started. Rumble still had his hooves around her neck, looking into her eyes, which flittered away, her hooves against his chest, pushing. But not pushing down. Pushing away.

She didn’t say anything. Instead, Dinky seemed to be in a state of silent panic. She wanted to get away. She wanted to go home. She needed to think about this, talk with her mother about it, ask her if it was right, if it was wrong.

Rumble almost let out a sigh. Ditzy was treading a well-worn path of his by now, and she had to abide by its rules. He leaned in for another kiss, but she raised a hoof, stopping his searching lips.

“R-Rumble, what… Why… How…”

He grunted. “I said I loved you. Why won’t you let me?”

“I… But… It’s just… You…”

“If I love you, you love me. That’s how it works.”

“Rumble, who… What… Who told you that?! That’s…”

Rumble bit his lip as memories of Scootaloo pushed at his brain. Now, of all times and places, he needed them in the back of his head.

“It doesn’t matter,” he muttered. “The important thing is I love you.” He leaned forward for the kiss again, but Dinky turned her face away, pushing harder against the tip of his muzzle, tilting his head away.

“H-how can you… How can you say that, Rumble?”

“Because it’s true,” Rumble huffed.

“No, it’s not, it’s… Why… I… Rumble… I should…”

Rumble tightened his grip. “No.”

“Rumble, please-“

“No. Don’t go, please. I need to know what you feel like.”

Dinky pushed against his muzzle harder, but Rumble wasn’t aiming for her lips. He managed to slip underneath the hoof, pressing his mouth against her neck, giving it a warm, wet, sloppy kiss. Dinky gasped, pulling back her hoof and pushing against Rumble’s chest.

“S-stop it!”

He didn’t listen. Rumble’s head was too full. Thoughts of Scootaloo he was trying to repress, while at the same time he tried to pull what information he needed from them. His fantasies of Dinky. His mind was overloaded, a mess of sensory information. His length throbbed in between his legs, no longer repressed by closed legs. His lips traced kisses down the protesting filly’s neck, his hooves tracing over her sides, then down to her flank. She slapped at one, but to no avail- Rumble pressed into her rear, just as he had wanted to, and it was just as plushy and pillowy as he had imagined.

“Stop! Rumble…”

He had shut out her protests. What he wanted was what she wanted. That was love. That was what he was going to get.

“Rumble…”

Rumble shushed her, pressing his lips against hers. She tried to twist her head away, but with every movement she made, Rumble matched it. He put his hooves against her chest, and pushed her over, making her groan in pain and fear. Their bodies were parallel, his length poking into her belly, and Dinky opened her eyes.

“Rumble, what is that?!”

“Shhh, not so loud!”

“Rumble, stop, let me go, please-“

He pulled his hips back, her protests drowned out in his need, in his desire.

“Rumble, what-“

The head of his length touched her slit, and Dinky cried out in surprise.

“Rumble! No! What are you-“

“Dinky, this is gonna hurt, so I need you to be brave. I love you.”

She beat her hooves against his chest, and Rumble winced in pain from a few of the blows.

“No! Stop! Hel-“

But Rumble silenced her whimpering form with a kiss, and at the same time, he jammed his hips forward.

Dinky squealed as the foreign object penetrated her, the head of it slamming against some sort of barrier. There was no more protest, no more resistance. There was only pain, and confusion, and fear, so much fear. All she wanted was for him to let her go.

Rumble didn’t have any such plans. He kept his mouth over hers, pressing further into her, the barrier slowly being torn away by his length. Dinky was a sobbing, squealing wreck underneath him, and Rumble had to entangle his hooves with hers, keeping her in place as he pushed past her virginity.

Just like her lips, her tunnel was different. Tightness, there wasn’t much notable difference. But Scootaloo had generally been soaking wet, and Rumble had been able to slide in easily. Dinky was bone dry, and Rumble had to push himself forward with a decent amount of force. This resulted in squeaks and groans and cries of pain from the filly, and Rumble grew increasingly frustrated. He pulled his lips from hers, instead jamming a hoof over her mouth. If anything, it was more effective.

“You gotta be quiet, Dinky, okay?”

She gave a muffled sob from behind his hoof. To Rumble, it was confirmation enough. He pushed forward, gritting his teeth as more of her tunnel enveloped him. Still dry. She wouldn’t stop squirming, even with a hoof pressing down into her chest, and Rumble gave a small, aggravated grunt as he bottomed out inside of her.

Still dry.

“Dinky, c’mon, please, be quiet…”

“Ghhhhmmmph!”

Rumble pulled his hips back, pushing forward for another stroke. Scootaloo was much, much wetter. Scootaloo’s little marehood would have been dripping and drooling over his length at this point. Dinky’s was a quivering, uncomfortable desert. It still felt good, but even in his addled state, Rumble could tell that Dinky was by no means enjoying this.

Suddenly, it all seemed a bit less like a good idea.

This wasn’t a mare that he loved. This was a friend that he was betraying. That he was raping. Because he wanted to press his hooves into her flanks, to feel her body heat against him, to make her love him as he loved her. He was doing this because he wanted her. He wanted to take her, just because he found her attractive, because she had a nice butt, and a nice face, and nice body, and he wanted to take it all, to rob her of her innocence.

He was doing something Thunderlane would do.

“Hey!”

The introduction of a third voice, gravely, yet nasally, a cocky sort of voice, broke Rumble from his reverie. Fear of discovery surged up from his gut, and he quickly pulled himself from Dinky, who gasped in relief and pain, sobbing, blood gently trickling from her marehood. He sat forward in his seat, meeting the gaze of a somewhat ticked-off pegasus a few rows in front of him.

“Do you two lovebirds mind?! We’re watchin’ a movie here!”

Rumble peered into the dim light, and his heart stopped.

The cocky, raspy voice belonged to Thunderlane.

Thunderlane was in the theatre.

And he had heard the whole thing.

“…Rumble?!”

And he ran.

He didn’t love her. He didn’t love anypony except for Scootaloo.

Guilt surged through Rumble with every beat of his fluttering heart, not bothering to look behind him. He had been stupid. There was no reason for it. It was because Scootaloo was pregnant. He had panicked, dismissed it as a joke, or even as impossible. He had refused to listen to it. He didn’t believe it, even hough he knew it was true, because the truth hurt like a kick to the gut.

He wanted to do a million things. Rumble wanted to go back and uselessly apologize to Dinky for dragging her into this. He didn’t love her, because he was in love with Scootaloo. Dinky Doo had nothing to do with either of them. He wanted to go back in time and stop himself, but he couldn’t, and he didn’t know why. It just felt natural, to push her over, to feel her fear, her anxiety, to take those feelings and ignore them, to take her, claim her as a prize without a contest.

It felt natural.

That was the worst part. Rumble didn’t want to stop. He only stopped because Thunderlane- Thunderlane, of all ponies- Thunderlane stopped him. Unintentionally. He didn’t want to know what would happen next. He didn’t know who Thunderlane was in the theatre with. It didn’t matter. Only one thing did. He had to go see Scootaloo.

She was pregnant, and he was the only one who had had sex with her, so that meant that… Rumble let the thought fly out of his mind as he took a speeding gallop down the street, tears blinding his eyes. He was doing everything by instinct. Everything by chance. He had almost… Almost raped Dinky Doo out of instinct, as if he was programmed to do it, destined to do it. It wasn’t right.

Rumble let the tears stream from his eyes. Why? Why did he try to do it when he didn’t love her? When she didn’t love him? Why? What was the purpose? Why did he want her? He was only supposed to want Scootaloo. Why did Dinky enter the picture? All she had done was pass the note.

Rumble shook his head. The fact that he had to question himself now was too much to deal with. He had a destination.

Home. He had to go home, and he had to think about this some more.

Suddenly, the pain of all the running he had done filtered in. His stomach felt like it was going to explode, his head swimming in an emotional maelstrom, his mouth dry, his lungs begging for air, only to be crushed, his legs not even beneath him, merely wobbly pillars that threatened to topple at a moment's notice.

The pain was significant. Rumble felt like he was drifting in some sort of haze of aches and pains. His head pounded, the multitudes of thoughts in it threatening to push out the walls of his skull, make his head explode like a stick of dynamite. He had just raped somepony. He had just raped a friend. It wasn’t Scootaloo. It wasn’t something that he could legitimatize as love. It was because he wanted to.

Rumble’s hooves moved on their own, the path to the house ingrained in his brain. He would have to lay low for a while. He didn’t know how Dinky would react. How Thunderlane would react. Especially if they got talking. Thunderlane wouldn’t be merciful. Thunderlane would get Rumble in trouble for certain. Realization struck him like a moving truck.

Rumble was in bigger trouble then he ever had been in his entire life.

However, at that very same second, something else literally struck him.

The stumbling body of a mare collided into Rumble as if destined by fate to do so, turning both ponies into a heap of tangled limbs, grunts, and hurried apologies as they went down, snow almost comically poofing from the ground as they made impact.

“Eey! Watch… Watch where… Watch where ya goin’…” the other being mumbled.

Rumble didn’t respond, struggling underneath the bloated form of the other pony, but the voice was incredibly familiar. He kept pushing up against the soft gut of the mare, which smelled of alcohol. Rumble couldn’t put his nose on what kind, not that he had drank a whole lot of the stuff. It was an unpleasant experience, to say the least, and Rumble gulped in as much air as he could when the mare arose to her hooves, shivering with cold and drunkenness.

Scootaloo’s aunt.

Rumble’s mouth remained open. No. He couldn’t go home. Thunderlane would ask him about what happened to Dinky, or worse, Thunderlane would know, being a bit of a rapist douchebag himself. And Thunderlane would turn him in to Miss Cheerilee, no, worse, Thunderlane would turn him in to Social Services. And Social Services would send him to prison.

He had to go someplace else. Someplace nopony else would go.

He had to go to Scootaloo’s house.

Scootaloo would have an idea what to do. And he loved her, he really did. Rumble loved Scootaloo. He loved everything about her, and she loved everything about him. She would forgive him, and she would help him. She would get him out of this mess. Rumble was sure of it.

He got up onto his hooves, keeping his eyes on the inebriated mare that was now several yards away, and started following.

At this point, Rumble was wondering if she knew where she was going.

Scootaloo’s aunt was clearly drunk. Not surprising.

She clearly had no clue where she was going. Not good.

And Rumble had to follow her, because otherwise, he wouldn’t be able to find his way to Scootaloo’s house. Even worse.

The path she seemed to take was meandering, a constant, drunken wander, what few ponies that were on the streets consciously avoiding getting in her way, only for their efforts to be ignored. It was increasingly frustrating to Rumble, especially because she kept stopping to drunkenly ramble to other ponies, or simply sit down and start… Singing.
Like she was doing now. Rumble gritted his teeth, hiding behind a bush as he waited for her to finish a barely-comprehensible stanza.

“You may saaaaaaaay I’m a dreeeammaaaar…”

Her voice was like somepony grinding a steel plate against a giant cheese grater. It was a thousand broken panes of glass at once. It was agony in audio form, and Rumble shut his eyes tightly, praying to Celestia that she would stop, that she would start going back home again.

“Buddim’ not the only oooooonnnne! C’mon, everypony! Sing aloooong!”

There was nopony on the road, however, save for Rumble.

“Oh, fuuuck you guuuuys! Fuuuuck you guuuuuaaaaaaaaaaaiiiiiis!”

Now she was just singing for the sake of singing. Rumble groaned.

“It’s not faaaiir! Nopony wants to be my frieeend…”

“Shut up,” Rumble muttered. “Go home.”

She didn’t, at least, not for another few minutes of drunken sobbing and singing snippets of songs, before she lifted herself off her haunches and slowly stumbled away again. Rumble was at the end of his rope. If she didn’t-

And as soon as he had thought it, Scootaloo’s aunt had stumbled into a house.

A sigh of relief passed Rumble’s lips. He glanced around, and realized that he was in very unfamiliar territory. Ponyville wasn’t a town that had a bad side, but Rumble was pretty certain that the old quarter that he had managed to follow the drunken wretch into was worse for wear. The houses around him were all garish colors, former glories now faded. The one that Scootaloo’s aunt had stumbled into happened to be an odd, dark-teal color, with a purplish trim. Two stories, very square sort of house, old and seemingly held together by spit and prayers.

Rumble could see why Scootaloo didn’t want ponies to know where she lived.

The gate creaked as he pushed it open. His ears perked up as he heard a familiar sound.

Sobbing.

Scootaloo’s sobbing.

The stairs creaked beneath his hooves, but the aunt had fallen asleep long ago.

Scootaloo’s house was an unpleasant place to be. What lights hadn’t burned out long ago were dim, orange shadows of their former glory. The wallpaper peeled off in several places, the paint chipped, stale colors on stained walls. The smell, though, was the most overpowering part. The entire first floor was a grundgy mixture of various liquors. Rumble named as many as he could in his head; whiskey, cider, wine, beer… It smelled of it all at once, not that he knew what any of it smelled like. The only things in his ears were the creaks of the stairs, the snores of the aunt below them, and the gentle sobbing of the filly Rumble knew that he loved.

Only because he had to.

He followed the sound to the door of what Rumble assumed was Scootaloo’s room, and put his hoof against the door. But while his conscious screamed at him to enter, something else nagged at his brain. The same thing that had nagged him all those days, weeks, maybe years before. So much had changed over those past few weeks that they had felt much longer. He was different. And the nagging could tell him anything, and he wouldn’t listen. It told him now what he risked walking in there. Scootaloo had threatened to beat him up if he told anypony, and he had gone and done worse. Rumble couldn’t go in, unless he had a death wish.

He didn’t. He just needed a plan.

He pushed open the door.

Her room was an absolute mess. Papers and plushies alike were strewn about the floor. Stains from various liquids, most of which Rumble, thankfully, could recognize, covered the room from wall to wall, leaving small dry tufts in the scratchy, dust carpet. Pencils and pens and crayons seemed to fill the tiny space. It was like a miniature landfill, although it most certainly smelled better. The bed was the cleanest thing in the room, the Wonderbolts sheets faded, a shuddering form curled up underneath them. It stopped the shuddering and crying when the door opened with a loud, distinct creak, making Rumble wince at its frequency. It was the creak that made him stand in the doorway as Scootaloo shot up to accost the intruder.

Tears welled up in her bloodshot eyes, and Rumble had to fight to stay composed himself. Her eyes were filled with mixed, confused feelings. At one moment, they were nothing but hate, at another, they were filled with delight. Her mouth fluttered open and shut as she tried to come up with something to say.

“R… Rumb… Rumble, what… Why are…”

Rumble took in a deep, shuddering breath, then hopped up, gliding over to the bed. He jumped upon it, and held Scootaloo tightly to him.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered shakily.

“Ruh… Does this…”

“Scootaloo, I’m so sorry, I did something really, really, really fucking stupid, and I don’t know what to do, and… I…”

She put a hoof against his lips, the tears still in her eyes, but a smile playing on her lips.

“Rumble… It’s okay. I know it… Me being…”

The eyes closed, and she pushed her head against his chest.

“I know it was a lot.”

“Y-yeah,” Rumble replied, trying not to think about the events the night before. Or was it a few nights before? How long ago was it...

“So you love me?”

The words were said so shakily, so full of hope. Rumble swallowed.

“I… Yeah, Scootaloo. That’s why… I need to tell you something. I did something really, really dumb-“

“Shhh,” she said, putting the hoof to his lips again. “You already said that. Just tell me.”

Rumble suddenly didn’t feel like telling her.

His stomach fell to the bottom of his gut, and pain shot through his entire digestive system as his gut did twists, turns, corkscrews. He couldn’t tell her. Something told him it was too big of a risk. She would absolutely kill him if he told her-

“Scootaloo, I… Dinky… I was looking.”

He felt like an idiot. Scootaloo, thankfully, seemed a bit unfazed, although Rumble could tell that her teeth gritted together for a second.

“Of course you were, Rumble. She’s got a bubble-butt like her mom. It’s hard not to loo-“

This time it was Rumble’s hoof that came up to Scootaloo’s lips.

“No, I… We went to see a movie, and… Well… I… It was…”

He could feel the smile fade beneath his hoof, a smouldering look coming across Scootaloo’s face, and Rumble swallowed his words. She pushed his hoof away, looking into his eyes, and fear powered through his veins.

“What did you do, Rumble?”

Rumble shut his eyes and looked away.

“…I shouldn’t… I shouldn’t tell you…”

The look hardened, and Scootaloo pressed her snout against his.

“Tell me.”

“I can’t.”

“Tell me, Rumble.”

“I really shou-“

“Rumble, you better tell me right fucking now!”

“I raped her!” Rumble blurted.

Scootaloo’s expression became neutral.

For what seemed like hours, there was monumental silence. Scootaloo’s eyes, already moist with tears, seemed to fill up even further, as betrayal returned to her emotions, and Rumble, once again, felt like an idiot. He should have never gone to the movies. He should have never watched Dinky’s butt. He should have never, ever thought that he could love Scootaloo, because he did, but now it was too late.

She hated him. He could tell it in her eyes.

She hated him and loved him at the same time.

“You didn’t,” she finally said.

Rumble cleared his throat.

“I really wish I did-“

He couldn’t get out any more. The hoof connecting to his jaw cut off whatever confession he was going to make.

As Rumble held his jaw, wondering where the hoof came from, Scootaloo turned around. The many days of Applebucking cutie mark searching with Applebloom had paid off. Rumble was winded by a massive double-hoof blow to his gut, then he was bowled over by another hefty buck to his face, his ears ringing. He tried to scrabble to his hooves, but Scootaloo stood on top of him, holding him down by the wings, her teeth gritting audibly. She raised a hoof and gave Rumble another blow to the face, the raised the other and repeated the procedure. Tears flowed freely from his eyes, mingling with blood from his nose, Rumble crying out in pain with every blow.

“You!”

A bash to the side of his face.

“Didn’t!”

She was possessed. Rumble was beyond the point of resistance. His front hooves hung uselessly over his chest as he gave a small grunt every time a hoof came down, blood leaking from the side of his mouth, his eyes already blackened. Everything in his face hurt. He was still out of breath.

This was what he deserved.

Scootaloo slowed her blows, her small, violent tantrum coming to an end, tears dropping from her eyes as she sobbed incessantly.

“You… You wouldn’t, Rumble, you couldn’t… It… You… We… It can’t…”

Rumble simply let out a shuddering groan, rolling onto his side as Scootaloo let him go, rushing out of the room.

This was what he deserved.

She came back with a towel, pulling on his foreleg to turn him over again, wiping up the blood and tears.

“I’m so sorry,” she sobbed. “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m so…”

Rumble just groaned again, holding the towel to his wounds.

“Rumble… We… I do love you, it’s… Rumble…”

She fell on top of him, pressing her face into his bloodstained chest, shivering, and Rumble shut his eyes. For some reason, he felt like sleeping. He hadn’t really lost that much blood, so it probably wasn’t that. Maybe it was the pain. Everything throbbed. His gut felt like she had made it explode, his face was one big throbbing mess. Everything hurt. Everything throbbed. She most definitely had broken something.

He just needed to sleep.

And so Rumble drifted off, with a sobbing filly on his chest, and the scars of the serious beat-down she had promised covering his face.

He dreamed of Scootaloo.

They were running from something.

He hoped he never had to find out what.

IX

He awoke to pain.

His stomach throbbed, his throat ached, he could feel his bones moving, burning sensations traveling through his form with every movement. Bruises gave shrill cries of agony when Rumble rolled over them. He raised a hoof to his face, grunting as he did so, and groaning as the hoof trailed over the cuts and bruises now etched into him. He hadn’t even opened his eyes yet, and his world was a white noise of physical pain. Rumble opened his eyes, blinking as small particles of what must have been dried blood fell into his eyes, like a rough dust of the proof of his punishment.

After all, that was what the previous evening was. Punishment. He was a dirty, rotten, traitorous coward, and he deserved to be punished. He deserved the beating he received. He hadn’t just betrayed a friend, he betrayed the filly he loved. He was comfortable in saying that now- he loved her. He loved Scootaloo.

The sheets were damp.

Rumble was still groggy. Whether he was nursing a concussion, blood loss, or still waking up, Rumble had only just noticed that the sheets underneath him were damp. Was he still bleeding? The pain was practically unbearable, moans and grunts of the most unpleasant kind forced from his lungs whenever he even tried to move. It wasn’t impossible. How long was he out?

Light, muted by the winter’s cloud cover, filtered through the windows. Peering out, Rumble could see snowflakes flurrying about, covering the windowsill in a powdery white coating. Prescense of mind started to come back to him, and Rumble gritted his teeth as he slowly pulled himself up, looking himself over. He wasn’t bleeding. There were patches of darkened, crusty red in between the islands of purple bruises, but the bleeding was over. At least there was that relief.

Did he get what he deserved?

What did he deserve?

Rumble closed his eyes again. Of all the things that hurt, the fact that his head was beginning to ache was just a cherry on top of the cake. What he needed was a little while to-

Hooves.

His ears had slowly phased back into working condition, and he could hear hooves. His eyes opened wide as the door opened, the hooves pattering towards the bed. Panic overtook Rumble, and he threw the blanket over himself, as if it would block out whatever evil would come for him. The bed shifted as the weight of a heavily-breathing form hopped up, poking him through the blankets.

“Rumble, c’mon, get up.”

Rumble thought of Thunderlane at first, but this was a different voice. Scratchy. Stressed. And yet still... Girly. It was Scootaloo, he knew.

Rumble held the sheets closer to himself.

“Rumble...”

“No.”

Scootaloo sighed.

“I’m not gonna hurt you, Rumble.”

He giggled, then groaned in pain. He had no reason to trust her. She had taken him off guard. Well, he did have one reason.

He loved her.

That was why he came here. He loved her, he trusted her, he wanted, no, he needed her help. And he was only going to get it if he listened. Rumble swallowed. He had to trust her. For all that she had done to him, he had done worse. Rumble wasn’t a minion anymore, he knew that much. He wasn’t a villain either.

He was a monster.

Rumble held the sheets closer.

“Rumble, c’mon.”

Tears formed at the edges of his eyes. He was a monster. What he had done was monstrous. He couldn’t-

“Rumble, come on. We can’t stay here!”

Scootaloo nabbed the covers between her hooves and pulled them off of the flailing, squealing colt that was hiding underneath them. Quickly recovering, Rumble tried to make himself as small as he possibly could, curled up into a fetal ball. Despite the groans from his bones and the feeling of blood oozing from reopened wounds, Rumble stayed curled up.

“Rumble...”

“No!”

“Rumble, I didn’t stay up all night cleaning you up so that you’d chicken out!”

Rumble was quiet for a moment.

He then uncurled the slightest bit, and, slowly but surely, he allowed Scootaloo to pull him back up.

“Can... Scootaloo, I’m so-”

“Not now,” she murmured, putting a hoof to his lips. “You have no idea how mad at you I am right now, Rumble...”

Rumble choked up. “You’re still-”

“Of course I’m still mad, idiot!” Scootaloo grunted, scowling. “I just... I can’t believe you! You... Rumble, I thought you loved me! Why would you even think about other mares that way?! Wh-wh-why...”

Scootaloo was tearing up, and Rumble raised a hoof to help her. Said hoof was pushed away, said tears sniffed up.

“Doesn’t matter. We need to get out of here.”

She hopped off of the bed, looking behind herself with the slightest tinge of disdain.

“Can you walk?”

Rumble let out a small groan as he rose up to all fours, and a little yelp as his hooves hit the floor, but he stayed upright. He gritted his teeth as he forced his tired bones to move, forced a walking motion from them. Despite a small limp, and tremendous pain, it seemed to be enough to satisfy Scootaloo. It had to be enough to satisfy Scootaloo- if Thunderlane was looking for them, or worse, Miss Cheerilee, or even worse, Social Services...

He half-walked, half stumbled to Scootaloos side.

“Yeah,” he murmured.

She left the room with a nod.

Early Saturday morning in Ponyville’s living districts was generally quiet. The children either slept, played video games, or had gotten up early to watch the morning cartoons, and the adults slept in, making the most of their day off in a busybody town such as theirs. It was therefore no surprise that Rumble and Scootaloo were able to escape notice from the vast majority of the population, but as Rumble’s physical damage was still pretty visible after Scootaloo’s efforts to clean him up, they took no chances. The pair dodged into back alleys, snuck across lawns and yards, dashed through the streets, taking cover when they could to avoid the possibly prying eyes.

Rumble had no idea where they were going.

But he had to trust her.

He decided it would be best not to think about it. Scootaloo had done the thinking, now all he had to do was follow. Follow, and hope that she forgave him.

Even if this was all her fault.

If she hadn’t taken him, none of this would have been happening. Rumble grunted- he had taken to gliding from cover to cover as opposed to walking, his wings a less painful option of dragging his worse-for-wear corpse, and he had made a bad landing. This was all her fault. And it was Dinky Doo’s fault for being so pretty. And it was Thunderlane’s fault for being a douchebag. And it was Cheerilee’s fault for being a hypocrite. And it was Social Services fault for being Social Services. And it was Cloudchaser’s fault, Rainbow Dash’s fault, Fluttershy’s fault, Ponyville’s fault.

It was anyone’s fault but his own, but she still needed for forgive him. But he knew well enough that he didn’t need to forgive her. Why bother? It was her fault, not his. She was a terrible lover, an even worse friend, and she had a plan.

He didn’t even know what the plan was, but-

Scootaloo stuck out a hoof, stopping Rumble from moving forward. Silently, Scootaloo slipped into a bush beside them, the leaveless branches rattling against her frame. Rumble winced in advance, doing the same, despite his body’s screams of horrific, outright...

“Aaagh.”

He couldn’t help but let it out. Scootaloo looked back, pulling him towards her, making him whimper.

“Hey.”

There was a moment of silence, Scootaloo holding Rumble close, Rumble both in too much pain and too riddled with anxiety to respond.

“I love you,” Scootaloo said. “And... I... I’m really sorry. For all of this.”

Rumble didn’t respond.

Scootaloo pulled away.

“We’re almost there, Rumble. C’mon.”

Behind the bush was a wall, about two heads high, made of brick. Scootaloo hopped up, her wings buzzing, and grabbed onto the edge of the wall with her hooves, pulling herself up. Rumble did the same, although his wings were a bit less useless, pulling his body up by themselves. Dropping in on the other side-

Rumble’s mouth dropped.

A massive manor was a few hundred yards from them, a huge, Victorian relic, off-grey, some of it’s framework made of marble. Intricate patterns and murals intermittently broke up the massive, sandy-grey expanse. Even more impressive was that they were overlooking a yard that almost an entire neighborhood could fit into, filled to the brim with meticulously cut but leafless hedges, large, shimmering blue pools now frozen, statues of varying size and wonder covered in snow.

This was the edge of town, Rumble realized.

This was the Rich residence that they had just broken into.

He was about to say something, but Scootaloo pulled on his wing, dragging him from his wonder and into their current situation, the pain welling back into his brain.

“C’mon...”

Scootaloo trotted towards a shack in one of the gardens, Rumble in tow, making a small noise of pain with every step. Compared to the building it belonged too, it was in a state of ill repair. The shack looked several decades old, a patchwork of tin sheets and wooden planks, a lonely, foggy window on one side of the dilapidated door. Scootaloo raised a hoof to knock, but seemed to hesitate.

She put her hoof down and sighed, a puff of hot air visible in the frigid morning cold.

“What is it?” Rumble asked, gently trotting to her side.

“Listen. Do you hear that?”

Rumble’s ears perked up, searching for any out-of-place sound.

They found it.

“Mmmm!”

Someone moaning, someone whispering, a few slick noises-

No.

“Mmmm! Ah!”

No. It couldn’t be. Rumble knew it couldn’t be...

Scootaloo was looking in through the window, and Rumble could see the redness in her cheeks. No. It couldn’t be. It absolutely couldn’t be... His hooves moved on their own, dragging his throbbing form up to the window, rearing up, resting his hooves on the windowsill-

It was.

Silver Spoon was lying on her back on the cold concrete floor, Diamond Tiara’s head stuffed between her lithe, grey legs. Silver’s glasses were askew on her head, but they seemed long forgotten. Whatever Diamond Tiara was doing, it was send Silver Spoon onto cloud nine, her head rolling on the floor, soft mewls of pleasure and the occasional moan or yelp escaping her lungs.

It was happening.

Rumble felt sick to his stomach, and this time he knew it wasn’t injuries, and the nagging arose again. Look at them, it seemed to say. Look at that. That is love. What you have with Scootaloo isn’t. It isn’t even close to love, it isn’t even a shadow of love. And yet, as much as he was trying to force himself to look away, Rumble couldn’t. He was transfixed by this- seeing Diamond Tiara love anything was a sight to behold...

The Crusts, the class bitches, were more in love than he would ever be.

The sickness grew.

Silver Spoon was holding Diamond Tiara’s head to her soaking marehood, eyes screwed shut, and her moans bounced around Rumble’s head, moans he could never hope to hear or replicate. Lustful cries of “Diamond,” “yes,” “oh there please mmmmm.” Incomprehensible babbling, the occasional swear blurted out in the throes of passionate lovemaking.

And then Diamond Tiara pulled away.

“Spoony...”

Silver Spoon was a panting puddle at this point, looking up with bleary eyes at her love, at the only thing she could ever love in the world, that loved her in the world. Diamond gave her belly a quick smooch, before shooting her a sultry smirk.

“Spoony, you wanna get to the good part?”

All Silver Spoon could have the presence of mind to do was nod.

Scootaloo let out a quiet moan, and Rumble finally tore his eyes away from the lovers to see his... Whatever she was. His eyes widened- Scootaloo had a hoof between her legs, rubbing idly, her eyes half shut as she watched the pair of lovers clamber over each other, watched as Diamond traced little kisses up Silver Spoons body...

Rumble shut his eyes. He couldn’t. They couldn’t.

“Rumble.”

Scootaloo had whispered to him.

“Y... Yeah?” The response was automatic, almost.

“Rumble, I need you. Now.”

His eyes traveled back to the lovers.

Silver Spoon was squealing underneath Diamond Tiara, Diamond messily kissing Silver’s cheek, her chin, her neck, occasionally her lips, and she ground their marehoods together, juices meeting in the middle, dripping down Silver’s flank, a small puddle on the floor. Pink flesh on top of pink flesh, nubile clitorises... Clitori? Clitoria? Rumble didn’t know, but they were rubbing together, Silver Spoon lost in pleasure, lost in the heavenly sensations filling her entire form...

“...No.”

He could never be like that for Scootaloo, and Scootaloo could never be like that for him.

They could call what they had love, but all it was was an obsession. Like Thunderlane. Rumble was like Thunderlane. No, he couldn’t... But he was. It burned into his mind like a hot iron. Rumble was like Thunderlane. He... He was just like Thunderlane...

Scootaloo nuzzled into his neck, and for a moment it didn’t seem that way.

“Rumble... This might be the last chance we get. Please...”

She nuzzled again, harder.

“Please, I love you so much, I need you so much...”

He wanted to say it. Good Luna, he wanted to say it. He wanted to tell her that what they had wasn’t love, what they had was fake, was nothing, nothing compared to the spectacle before them, the two fillies squeaking and squealing, their marehoods mashed against one another, kissing, snuggling, grinding, cumming, Silver Spoon was cumming, but Diamond Tiara didn’t relent, even as filly juices squirted across the ice-cold cement of the floor-

He was hard.

Scootaloo needed him.

He couldn’t say it then.

“Okay.”

He hopped down from the windowsill, his head low as he moved behind her, Scootaloo adjusting her position. Her back was arched, her butt in the air- good Goddess, her butt, whatever did Rumble see in...

No.

Couldn’t think about that.

Rumble licked a cheek of her flank. It was ice cold, and Scootaloo shivered as his tongue slipped away, back into his mouth. He licked again, and again, every time getting closer, every time... Was it a prize?

There was another life inside her, another life that he had created, and he wasn’t afraid anymore.

Rumbled noticed how the juices tasted sweeter than usual. Usual being the last time he did it... He resisted the urge to shake his head, instead flicking his tongue from side to side, Scootaloo letting out breathy moans above him. Just a few days ago, he would have been disgusted by this. Before-

He wasn’t going to think about it.

He was going to enjoy his mare, he was going to pretend for just a moment that she loved him, that he loved her, that they loved each other like the lovers in the shack. Speaking of which...

Rumble pulled away for a moment, a string of potent filly-juice dripping between his tongue and her marehood.

“Scootaloo...”

“Mh!” She scooted her butt backward, but Rumble kept his head back. “What? Wh-what, Rumble? Why’d you stop?”

Rumble swallowed.

“Tell me what they’re doing.”

With that, he dove back in, and Scootaloo started giving a play-by-play, her eyes struggling to keep open, her tongue hanging out at times, Rumble, Rumble was so good, his tongue was...

“Th... They’re l-licking each other! Mmh! They’re... Silver Spoon is going to town and aah, mh, Diamond Tiaraaah! She’s... She’s a bit more relaxed, she... She’s just encouraging her I think! Ah! Mh! There, Rumble, keep licking theeere... Aah... Okay, Diamond’s rolled them over, she’s on top now! Aaaahn! Yes! That’s... Mh... More... She’s sitting up on Silver Spoons face and... And... Oh sweet Celestia Ruuuuuummmmbllllllleeee!”

Rumble’s entire world soon became filly juice.

Scootaloo was pent up, and she released with great gusto onto her companion, his muzzle positively drenched, dripping with filly juice, getting into his nose, his open mouth, his chin, even his eyes weren’t safe from the torrential pour of Scootaloos frustrations, finally mounting and releasing all over. He pulled away, licking around his lips, his face very cold, his length very hard, his eyes half-shut, as a hoof absently traced it’s way down.

“And? And?!”

Scootaloo was left breathless, leaning onto the windowsill for support, her eyes gently shut, little puffs of vapor rising, Rumble moving up to mount her.

And when she opened her eyes, they were met with indignant robin’s egg blue, Diamond Tiara staring out the window at other pair of lovers, visibly flustered and yet also enraged.

“...And she’s looking right at me.”

Rumble opened his eyes, and they too met the rather pissed filly on the other side of the glass.

“...Oh.”

“W-we just didn’t want to interrupt, is all-”

“That would have been better than spying on us, loser!”

“Tia!”

Diamond Tiara faltered underneath the stern glare of her partner, and backed off. Slightly.

“What happened to him?”

Scootaloo’s expression became visibly hurt. “I...”

“I fell down the stairs,” Rumble said with a little chuckle, nudging Scootaloo in the ribs.

“Wh-wha... I mean, yeah. Yeah. Clumsy ol’ Rumble...”

She nuzzled his cheek quickly, before turning her focus back to the Crusts.

“Clumsy ol’ Rumble made a mistake, and we need to execute the plan today.”

The Crusts shared an anxious look, before turning their focus back to Scootaloo.

“Really?”

“Would I lie to you after the deal we made?”

They shared the look again.

Diamond spoke for them both, slowly, picking her words carefully for once.

“Well... I mean, everything’s ready, but... This is really sudden, is all. What happened?”

Scootaloo shook her head, and Rumble swore that her eyes turned towards him, filled with murder. He shuddered.

“I already told you, Rumble made a mistake. That’s all.”

“Musta been a pretty big mistake if he’s running away with us,” Silver Spoon quipped, but it was silenced by a glare from Scootaloo.

“Right. Does he know the plan?”

Scootaloo cleared her throat, pulling Rumble aside, murmuring to him, and it was enough to tell the Crusts that no, he didn’t know the plan, although his bewildered expression didn’t help.

“Rumble, here’s the thing. They’ve got a few weeks worth of supplies in a little cave that we found in the Everfree. There’s wood for a fire, there’s books on survivalism and herbalism and all sorts of stuff. Diamond Tiara and Silver Spoon were gonna run away in a few days, when Social Services came by to pick up Silver Spoon. They were gonna run into the Everfree, drop a few scraps of clothing, and make a break for the cave, so that when ponies got searching, they’d guess they got eaten by timberwolves. Nopony to bother Silver Spoon ever again, she’d never have to go to an orphanage.”

She gave a small cough. “So I talked with them. They know about us, Rumble. Sort of. They know we’re in love and that a lot of ponies might have a problem with that. I talked them into storing some extra supplies in case we ever need to pull the same stunt. And we need to pull the same stunt, especially because Miss Hooves is probably gonna be in cahoots with Social Services. We need to do this now, Rumble.”

Rumble looked at the ground.

“So... We’re running away? Like, forever?”

Scootaloo nodded.

Rumble finally let himself remember. Let himself remember Dinky. Remember her lovely voice, her lovely flanks, how he had pressed into them, how he had forced himself onto her...

How Scootaloo had beat him up. How he deserved it and more, but more could wait for later.

And then he remembered everything before.

His happy, smiling parents. His brother, when he wasn’t being a douchebag. Miss Cheerilee, handing him tests, smiling all the way, complimenting his achievements and softening his failures. Nurse Redheart, looking out for everypony. The Princess Twilight Sparkle. Everypony he had ever met who didn’t know what he knew, what he couldn’t tell anypony else. And now he had to throw it all away, for a filly he didn’t know that he loved, living with a pair of ponies that he only knew as bullies.

The alternative was prison.

It was a rock and a hard place, for certain.

“Scootaloo, I...”

She held his face in her hooves, giving him a pleading look.

“Rumble, make a decision now. We don’t have time for this.”

He closed his eyes.

Life in eternal hiding.

Life in prison.

They were both prisons, either way. Either way, he had backed himself into a corner fate-wise. It was his fault either way. Either way, he would be remembered as the quiet colt who violently and suddenly snapped, and took one of the town’s precious little children, and corrupted them in his vile influence. Either way, there was no path but death, but one path...

One path had Scootaloo.

“I’ll go,” he muttered.

“Hm?”

“I’ll go.”

He said it with conviction, the way somepony who was to be executed first would. A voice laden with tragic bravery, with fear and yet also anticipation, for on either side there was no future, but no future alone was worse than no future with Scootaloo. Scootaloo, her strength, her power, it gave him something still.

Maybe he couldn’t love her like Diamond loved Silver Spoon.

Maybe he didn’t need to.

“I’ll go. Let’s go.”

All Scootaloo could do was hug him tightly, hold him close, thank him forever.

All Diamond Tiara could do was sob, as she left behind the life she once had for a new one with the one she loved.

They had torn through the Everfree, leaving behind scraps of cloth, little bits and pieces. Rumble had brushed by so many branches, he was certain that his wounds had reopened again. For the better- the blood would further suggest that something terrible had happened.

Rumble, Scootaloo and the Crusts had just made their way out of the forest, panting and gasping for air. Even if nothing dangerous had truly been chasing them, it certainly felt that way. Technically, if Social Services was already on their tails, that much might have been true, but even an ornery pegasus wouldn’t follow them into the Everfree...

They walked across a frozen river, then along the length of it, never speaking, only moving. There was too much to talk about. Rumble’s injuries were most definitely not from falling down the stairs. Diamond Tiara and Silver Spoon were being surprisingly nice. Scootaloo was pregnant, how were they going to deal with that? Where were they going to deal with that? Could they somehow get to Canterlot? They couldn’t sneak back into Ponyville...

Ponyville was the past.

This was now. This was their life now.

“We’re here,” Silver Spoon said simply, and Rumble pulled himself from his mind. There was a cave, more like a small cavern, that cut into the side of the hill, a small wooden door haphazardly built over it. Silver Spoon gently nudged the door open, shivering as cool air from the inside of the cave wafted over the already cold foals.

“I’ll get a fire going, you guys get comfy.”

They shuffled inside. The interior was simple- four sleeping bags, a fire pit, a pile of books on the cavern floor, a cooler filled with, presumably, vegetables and fruits, maybe even apples. Rumble shuffled onto one of the sleeping bags, curling up into a ball.

This was their life now.

This was his life now.

His life with Scootaloo.

Somehow, it made him sad, or angry, or something. He couldn’t tell anymore.

All he could do was cry.

Author's Note

Yo.

So it's been a while. You could probably tell- this definitely isn't the best chapter, but it does it's function of bringing this third arc to a close as we near the finale.

Gonna be some perspective switches next chapter! Some adult characters. Bringing out even more Chekrov's guns. (DT and SS are a Chekrov's gun here, right? I used the trope right?!)

I'm super excited to start writing these next few chapters ~~because then this fucking thing will be done and over with~~ so let's dive into a new era! Have some fun, drink some beers. Cheap beers. That's what teenagers drink. Sorry, looks like you're all stuck with me and my Miller Lite. :raritywink: ~~jk i dun drink dat wat dumm kidz doo~~

Anyways. Sorry for the long hiatus, but not sorry if you think this chapter sucks for how long you waited for it. You get this shit for free, be grateful. :ajbemused: ~~no jk now~~

And finally, this is the first time I've uploaded from Google Docs. Much easier than the copy/paste stuff I used to do.

X

One would have to wonder why a heavy soul like Social Services was given his position.

Princess Celestia herself had appointed him. He didn’t know what exactly qualified him for it, though perhaps his cutie mark- the all-seeing eye of pegasus myth- probably had a little bit to do with it. His old name was forgotten, his new one of Social Services seared into his brain like so many things, oh, so many things of times now past that he preferred not to dwell upon. Sometimes he would, though, tried as he did to bury them.

Well, not sometimes. A lot of times. Social Services’ memory was a scarred battlefield, traumatic experiences of both himself and others trenches and craters blasted into gray matter. He was already a pony with much to sit down on before Princess Celestia thrust him haphazardly into the persona of Social Services. There were others like him, others christened Social Services and sent to help those in need, but even they could agree, that this particular Social Services, the one in Ponyville, had already been served quite the meal, and the supposedly idyllic little town had only served to heap more onto his plate.

A prime example would be what he was dealing with then and there, sitting in the waiting room of Canterlot General.

Something very much like this had happened a few months ago. Nasty business, but in Social Services’ line of work, nasty business was generally just business. This one didn’t really have the variable of the DNA test that made Social Services very, very angry and punch Mister Spoon right in his sniveling little bastard rapist face. Rather, Miss Hooves, soon to be Miss Turner, and Mister Turner had sat inside of Dinky’s room, the mare gently stroking the fitfully sleeping little filly’s head, and the stallion gently holding his sobbing mare. At least this time, the parents seemed to actually give a rat’s ass.

Social Services, meanwhile, stayed outside of the room, looking in through the corner of the window, dwelling on things, something that he knew he wasn’t supposed to do. Yes, last time was bad, but the very first time was the very, very worst, and he had felt so very, very sorry about it. He didn’t do anything wrong, per se, but he hadn’t done anything right. He panicked, he was scared. Anypony would have done as he did, or more accurately, wouldn’t have done anything as he did, anything before it was far, far too late.

He pulled in a deep breath. He didn’t like dwelling on things. It was better to distract himself with the present.

Letting out said breath, he proceeded towards the door, his eyes closed, trying to quash the dwelling with the present. Dinky Doo Hooves had been attacked, that was the terminology he was deciding upon. Physically, she wasn’t as bad as Social Services had seen, but the damage to her psyche was evident. She refused to talk to anypony about what happened. Not even her mother, the most trustworthy mare in Ponyville, the one pony you could always rely upon to keep a secret or deliver a letter, albeit because she forgot it and not particularly on time, respectively, couldn’t get anything out of her. The name of her attacker, where he lived, with whom he lived with, all of it a muddled mess of too many potential suspects to count.

That was why he was here. Silver Spoon, as well as a long list of previous fillies and colts who refused to talk, eventually gave in to him. This most likely wasn’t going to be any different. He would go in, he would use his special talent and coax them, ever so gently, to speak up, another sick scumbag would be placed behind bars, and the day would be relatively saved, barring the years of therapy and the permanent damage to their emotional health.

Somehow, despite those things being footnotes, they were the things that made Social Services the most... Disappointed in his career choice.

But he didn’t like to dwell on these things, so he gently, quietly opened the door into Dinky Doo Hooves’ room, ready to do his duty yet again.

As noted before, Miss Hooves, soon to be Miss Turner, and Mister Turner were sitting inside of Dinky’s room, the mare gently stroking the fitfully sleeping little filly’s head, and the stallion gently holding his sobbing mare. Something in Social Service’s stomach turned, fitfully and frightfully, but he swallowed it down, instead nodding to the pair and quietly taking a seat besides them. Not that the quiet was particularly necessary, but something told Social Services that it would be best to let Miss Hooves weep for a small while.

And weep she did, as she had when he had found them here, as she had when he had entered, as she probably had for hours, only stopping to sleep. Miss Hoove’s eyes were red, puffy, as if they were melting in their sockets, tears staining almost her entire face, a delta of sorrow carved across her coat. It was a display that caused Social Service a great feeling of discomfort, a desire to flee and run away. He didn’t need to be here.

Ah, but he did. Such was his namesake, such was his work.

He cleared his throat, instantly regretting it, the couple pausing their sorrow to look up at him, and suddenly Social Services felt very small.

“Erm.”

He pushed everything out of his brain, instead focusing on the present. No dwelling.

“Good evening. I... Hope I’m not intruding upon anything.”

It was a decent enough start. Mister Turner and soon-to-be Missus Turner didn’t respond, but kept their eyes on the social worker, as if begging him to go on.

“Right. I... Apologize. I have... I’ve been through something like this before. The first few days are always the worst, and... Well...”

Here he could either tell the truth, and tell them that it would never leave, it would always hang over their heads as if every single one of their middle names was Damocles, it would cripple them forever and further on, or he could tell them the old lie of “it gets better, you just have to give it time, for time heals all wounds”, just to make himself, and them by extension, feel better. Social Services mulled it over for a split second, and decided that the first option was too morbid.

“It gets better,” he said. “I know it doesn’t seem that way, but it does. Time heals all wounds.”

The dagger in his heart dug deeper, twisting, bleeding him out, the pair of perfect ponies before him now nodding, slowly, gently. He never felt good about telling the old lie, not ever, but it was something that had to be said. After all, maybe it was true. Social Services had only given it around twenty years. Maybe time did heal all wounds, for after all, time also made sure everypony ended up dead at some point. It sure ensured her death...

Focus, Social Services told himself he had to focus. Present. Current events. Dinky Doo. Go.

“I’d like to... Speak with your daughter. For a moment. Please.”

They nodded again. Always the nodding. It was most likely the shock that made them loath to verbal response. It would have seemed off to anypony, even Social Services, who had seen this sort of thing played out again and again and again, who had been that pony once, but he didn’t like to dwell on things and, once again, tried to forget and focus on the present.

“Erm... If you could leave us alone, that’d be grand,” Social Services hummed, his voice light, airey, nasal.

“No.”

Social Services raised an eyebrow, if only for a second. He had expected another nod, as convention was rarely broken by his fellow pony, but Miss Hooves, he quickly realized, was not the average pony. The sadness and the brokenness she had exhibited before was replaced by something... Different. Something Social Services had experienced before as well. There was a promise of vengeance in her eyes, those mismatched eyes that now became dangerous instead of cute, the deepening scowl on her face sending shivers down Social Services’ spine. It didn’t help that said scowl was directed at him, as if he was the cause of all this suffering...

“No,” she said again, as if Social Services hadn’t heard her the first time. There was a hint of challenge in her voice, and Social Services quickly swallowed down the heat that was rising from his throat. He could save that for later, this was a victim, not a perpetrator, this was his job...

“Miss,” he said, quietly, “I’m asking you politely. I know you’re scared, but be reasonable, I woul-”

“I’m not leaving my daughter,” Miss Hooves mumbled, her voice low, dangerous. “I’m not leaving her alone ever again.”

Social Services swallowed down the heat again, but before he could open his mouth to reply, Mister Turner had taken it upon himself to speak.

“Ditzy, maybe we-”

“I’m not leaving her alone!” Miss Hooves cried, her eyes almost straightening out to look into Mister Turners. It was more than enough to make him back off, his expression stoic, and yet the slightest bit fearful. The heat kept bubbling up into Social Services’ throat, and he was running out of spittle to swallow it down with. He settled with a small exhalation.

“Miss Hooves, please understand. Please. if you’re in here, she’ll clam up. She won’t talk about... It with you here, you see.”

Her face scrunched up, in part confusion and part fury. It would have been cute, if she wasn’t furious. But even that was slowly beginning to go away, much to Social Services’ relief, as he wouldn’t have to hold in his rage for much longer.

“Do you not... Well.... Trust me?” Social Services stammered.

“But... If I leave her alone...”

“She’ll be fine,” Social Services assured her, with the slightest tinge of aggravation. “If you don’t believe me, well... You’re welcome to... Watch. There’s a window outside. If you don’t like anything that I’m doing, you’re more than welcome to come inside and beat the stuffing out of me. Alright?”

Miss Ditzy Hooves didn’t respond. Instead, she simply nodded, dumbly, reluctantly getting out of her seat, trotting to the other side of the room, with Mister Turner on her heels.

“Alright,” she said, putting a hoof on the door. “Alright. If... If it’ll help us find him.”

Social Services merely nodded in her direction, already sitting down in the same chair Mister Turner had occupied not fifteen seconds ago. And Miss Hooves, soon to be Missus Turner, and Mister Turner left the room, leaving him alone with Dinky Doo Hooves, leaving him alone to dwell, leaving him to let the heat finally escape.

“Cunt,” Social Services muttered to the ground. “I’m trying to help, you stupid, rotten, limey-sucking cunt.”

It wasn’t too loud, of course. It wouldn’t be pleasant or helpful to wake Dinky Doo up with his own bitterness. After all, Miss Hooves was also trying to help, though really, Miss Hooves wasn’t the professional here, the professional forced into his position because he had spent so much of his life dwelling on what had happened so long ago. Not so much a reward as it was an excuse to keep him from killing himself, but that alone was a reward, wasn’t it? Feed the Princesses self-righteous desire to insert themselves haphazardly into everypony’s lives, when some ponies simply wanted to fade away into the background, and eventually...

Focus. Present. Dinky Doo. It was a mantra that was slowly losing it’s edge, but Social Services stuck to it. A few minutes had passed since Dinky’s parents had left, and that entire time was spent... Dwelling. It wasn’t what he was supposed to do. Focus on the present, he told himself. Forget the past. You can’t change the past by thinking about it, can you? Focus on the present. Dinky Doo, thankfully, didn’t seem to have taken much damage physically. Some bruises, yes, and there was some... certain damage that would never be fixed, but physically she was fine. The real damage was her mentality; Social Services could see it in those rapidly fluttering eyelids, the way she would roll around in the hospital bed sometimes as if trying to wriggle out of some sort of trap, the dreamworld she had constructed a constant recreation of the horrors of that afternoon, so much like the horrors of dammit Social focus.

Gently, he prodded the little filly with a hoof, and she jolted into the waking world. The bitter, angry tone of before was completely changed, his voice now at the high, wavering tone of sympathy or pain.

“Dinky?”

She blinked a few times, and then, seeing Social Services, her eyes went wide.

“Oh no...”

“Dinky, it’s alright, I’m here to help.”

She sniffled. “It... It really happened? I-It wasn’t...”

The tearstained face, the golden eyes, now distant and forgetful, it was all a harsh reminder... Focus. Focus. Social Services took her hoof in his, looking down at the ground as if he could bore a hole into the floor of Canterlot General.

“Yes, Dinky. Yes, I’m afraid it... It did. You were...”

The weeping started before he could finish. The weeping was familiar, too, all of it a reminder, a reminder to focus on the present. Taking a deep breath to steady his nerves, to steady his focus, Social Services brought up his other hoof and gave Dinky Doo Hooves’... Hoof... an supportive squeeze.

“It’s okay. It’s okay...”

“N-No, no, it’s not, I...”

He gave her hoof another squeeze. “Dinky, it’s okay, I’m here to help.”

“I don’t... I can’t...”

“Dinky,” he mumbled, giving her hoof another squeeze. Present, this was the pain of the present, he was here to help this time, not like it used to be, not like back then, he was here to help this time, focus on the present.

“Dinky... I know it hurts, but... Can you tell me about what happened?”

“No... I... No,” she sobbed. So much like... Focus.

“It hurts, I know, but you have to tell me, Dinky. I want to help you. I want to find the monster that did this-”

“H-He’s not a monster! He...”

Another squeeze. Another reminder to focus, keep focused, ever so focused, Dinky still crying, still sobbing, still ranting, keep focused.

She just wouldn’t stop crying. “H-H-He... He’s heard... He said something about... He... I... I don’t blame him, he... He’s m f-friend and...”

Focus.

“Dinky, not all older ponies can be your friend. Some adults just want to hurt you. One did. We need to know who, Dinky, so that he doesn’t hurt anypony else.”

She sniffed, trying to regain control, but to no avail. “He... He’s not...”

Social Services, perhaps unconsciously, started pulling Dinky closer. “Yes, Dinky, he’s not your friend. He’s a monster that just wants to destroy children. Do you want him destroying your friends?”

“But...”

He kept pulling. It was to keep his focus, he told himself, to keep thinking of the present, even if it wasn’t working, if he was thinking of her, of how he had tried to talk to her, how he had wanted to talk to her, but he was scared, so scared of getting involved, and now it was his job.

“Dinky, listen,” he said, pulling her in, her hoof now against his chest, Dinky’s sobbing stopped and replaced by shaky breaths that he matched. A hint of rational suggested he look outside.

Miss Hooves and Mister Turner were nowhere to be seen.

“Dinky, I’m going to tell you a story, okay? You’re going to listen to my story...”

He paused. Nothing but breathing. His breathing. Her breathing. Her breathing all those years ago, no more focus, for the story had to be told.

“There was a filly,” he almost whispered, his voice hoarse in her ear, “So very much like you, even a unicorn, and she was my only friend, my best friend in the whole, wide world, and she, just like you, lived just with her mommy, and had an older friend that visited her mommy, and one day, he just... I was there, I saw it, I watched it happen, I watched him pump the life from her-”

“Muh-Mister Services, I’m scared, I-”

“Shut it! You need to hear this!” Social Services hissed through gritted teeth, holding her hoof in a death grip, and Dinky Doo sobbed, but complied, keeping quiet. he continued, his voice low, the anger gone, left only with quavering sadness.

“I didn’t say anything. I didn’t say a word. Not even as I watched him move on to simply beating her with his hooves. Not when her blood... Her blood was all over the floor, but he didn’t care. These kinds of ponies don’t care, Dinky. For whatever reason, something is wrong with their heads that makes them do evil to fillies and colts the world over. Dinky, I want to keep him from hurting you, or anypony else, ever again.”

He let go of her, and she started shivering, ever so slightly.

“So you’re going to talk to me about what happened to you,” he said, his voice still low, but no longer hoarse. “I know it hurts, I know it’s painful to think about, but you need to help me help you, help colts and fillies the world over. Help her. Please.”

She sniffed. “He’s...”

Social Services leaned forward, listening in to her quiet speech.

“He’s... A colt. H-He’s... Only a little... Only a little older than me, I...”

Oh.

Social Services sat back, processing this new information, mulling it over in his head, trying to pull himself away from the past again, smacking himself upside the head. Stupid, so stupid...

“I... I’m scared. He ran away, he was... He was really scared. I don’t... I-I don’t think he knew what he was doing,” Dinky mumbled. She gathered up blankets in her forehooves, holding them close to her in a massive clump.

“What’s his name?”

Dinky Doo seemed to almost snap out of a sort of trance. “Hm?”

“His name.”

She pulled together a larger clump, her golden eyes filled with dried tears.

“You have to make me a promise.”

Social Services merely nodded, reaching his hoof forward to grasp hers again, but she pulled away her clump of blanket, keeping her hooves out of his range. It fell back, limp, and Social Services merely settled for a small nod.

“You won’t... You won’t hurt him?”

He nodded, dumbly, keeping the past locked up again. “I... I don’t think I can hurt a child, I... I need to know why he would... He would ravish you.”

Dinky Doo swallowed.

“You promise?”

Social Services nodded, his movements curt, his mind a maelstrom. It couldn’t be. Silver Spoon, his best friend, countless fillies and colts. They couldn’t be victims of each other. This could be a lie. But it couldn’t be, he saw her, he saw her eyes and how they shines with truth, her coat seeming faded and the childhood, the innocence, all of it drained from her, no more color. It was true. Every word from her formerly innocent mouth was true. Everything. It was something more to dwell upon, something to think about, and Social Services was afraid of it, and it was this fear that made him clam up.

“His name... His name is Rumble, and... And he’s my friend, and...”

Social Services promptly had a little breakdown when he left Dinky Doo’s room, retreating to the bathroom and exploding into a puddle of tears.

Such was reality for him. Such was this, almost every time, no matter how many times it happened, no matter who it happened to, all the same, all the same pain. Most in his profession got used to it, but this Social Services, no, he couldn’t. It was impossible, it was always impossible. It was always the same pain, always the same anger at himself for his pain, the bathroom stall a rancid temple of his sorrows, and his anger, and the emotional tempest he had become.

Social Services sniffled. Just had to pull himself together. This happened all the time. It was painful, it was always painful, it always hurt, he always hurt, it never stopped, ever, Princess Celestia be damned, he felt awful. A pulse of anger flew through him. Yes, Princess Celestia be damned, so very, very damned.

Damn her. Damn her giving him this stupid job, damn her condemning him to a future of watching his mistake play out, again, and again, and again, and again. Damn it all. Damn her, damn every single pervert and jerkass he had ever had to deal with, damn it, damn it, damn it.

“Dammit!”

Social Services stepped back from the mirror, wondering where that spidering series of cracks had come from, and why his hoof tingled. He put two and two together, and shook his head. At least it wasn’t another pony. It rarely was, but when it was, it...

He swung and struck the glass again, grunting at the impact of hoof against shattering glass. It was satisfying, it was cathartic, and he wasn’t hurting anypony by doing it, was he? He swung again, and again, a small curse from every blow against the colt in the mirror, that bastard who had ran, who never told anypony, who had hated himself and continued to hate himself, for years and years, until the pity of the one pony everypony knew, the one tyrannical despot that had assigned him to this accursed job, damn it all, damn it all, damn it all.

Chunks and chinks of mirror started flying off, and Social Services sat backwards, panting, shivering, his hooves covered in small cuts, tiny spots of blood spitting onto the floor. Damn it all.

Damn it all. Damn his self-pitying, pathetic self. He had a job to do. He had a colt to find. He had to do something to help poor Dinky. He had to. For her. For her, who he left bleeding on the floor, because he was so scared, so scared, he couldn’t focus.

Focus. The present called for him.

The school bell still rang into the spring air.

Social Services fumbled his way up the steps, fillies and colts stumbling around his hooves, some clearing a pathway for the troubled stallion, a few with faces of dawning recognition. He had been here before. He had talked about... Predators.

Only he wasn’t really looking for a predator. Social Services wasn’t sure exactly what he was looking for. Only who. Rumble. Rumble, Rumble, Rumble. Rumble, the ruffian who had ravaged Dinky, Rumble the clear mental case, Rumble. Rumble, colts like him, he had never dealt with before, they were always older. It was the rules of reality. Rumble couldn’t have. He wouldn’t have. Something very odd was going on here, and Social Services wouldn’t be doing his job not getting to the bottom of it.

He would have to ask Miss Cheerilee about him. That was what he was here for. Focus on the present, turn right down the hall. Enter the large, wooden room, the art and science projects dotting the walls, an intimate portrait of Miss Cheerilee’s career as a teacher. Her students adored her, the administration too, and even Social Services couldn’t help but feel his day brightened up slightly by her, and feel... Comfortable around her. Comfort in her guidance.

Turning his gaze to her. Sitting in her chair, pretending to grade papers. Spring break was in a few short weeks, after all, she didn’t need to worry so much. Social Services coughed, and she turned to him with a look of smothered apprehension.

“Oh! Hello, Social, I didn’t see you there!”

“Yeah,” Social Services said, quickly. “I... Just came in. I need to ask you a few questions, if you wouldn’t mind.”

Miss Cheerilee’s indomitable smile faltered slightly, but stayed on her face, a facade of what was going on behind the mask. “Whatever could the problem be? What’s...”

She sighed, putting her head in her hooves. “I... It’s Rumble and Scootaloo, isn’t it?”

Social Services raised an eyebrow. “Scootaloo?”

“Yes. And Diamond Tiara and Silver Spoon. They... They haven’t shown up to class the past few days. I sent notes home, but no response yet. I... I don’t think they’re at home at all, Social. I don’t know what happened, just that they aren’t coming to school. It scares me.”

Social Services cleared his throat of his nervousness. “I’m... Sorry to hear about that. I actually came here to, erm, discuss... At least one of them.”

“Oh, Goddess,” Miss Cheerilee whimpered, putting a hoof over her mouth. “What happened? Is it... Oh Goddess, first Silver Spoon, then Dinky, and now...”

Social Services’ head bowed. So much pain. So much sorrow. Such was the job.

“Rumble was the one who attacked Dinky.”

Miss Cheerilee’s face was blank behind the hoof over her mouth. “Wh... What?”

Social Services mentally kicked himself even harder than he was before, but he didn’t repeat himself. He didn’t want to, or need to. The fewer times he said it, the more likely it was going to just go away. Not really, but it seemed that way. This was the sort of thing that could only be said once without feeling the pain of the sentence. Miss Cheerilee’s expression of abject shock was getting to him.

“You’re serious,” she said, her voice monotone and listless.

“I am. Miss Cheerilee, I don’t want to worry you, but I don’t have a choice. Four of your students are missing, and one of them is a known sex offender. He needs help, Miss Cheerilee, but he’s not going to get it if he’s running away. I have a feeling that if we find him, we’ll find the others.”

She was silent. Something in that silence bothered Social Services. The heat was coming again, synapses slowing, snapping backwards and forwards. He grit his teeth in his mouth and forced it back down, but it kept bubbling, and bubbling, and bubbling, up and up and up, never stopping, it never stopped, it would never stop, just anger, madness, frustration with this mare...

“They’re not missing,” Miss Cheerilee mumbled. “I just don’t know where-”

It fissured up, and it was too late to control it.

“They’re missing as long as you don’t know where they are!” Social Services snapped, stepping towards the schoolteacher. “Damn it, Miss, your job is to be at least partially responsible for the upbringing of these children! You’re responsible for them! If you don’t know where they are, and you refuse to take responsibility for their livelihood, maybe it’s best that you go back to getting fucked on camera!”

A stunned silence filled the air. Miss Cheerilee’s shocked expression had only deepened, her eyes tear-filled lavender pinpricks in the sea of maroon that made up her coat, the other forehoof joining it’s brother in covering her mouth. Stupid, should have kept it under control, stupid, stupid...

Social Services sighed, the last of the heat leaving his mouth. “I...”

He swallowed his apology. “I’m going to need their addresses, please.”

Miss Cheerilee gave a numb little bob of her head, not even a nod. “Well... O-Of course.”

Damn it all. Social Services had tried, he had tried, but self control was do or do not. Damn it all. Miss Cheerilee didn’t deserve it, she had enough on her palate, and Social Services had made things worse, so much worse, just like back then, when he refused to speak, when she died because he had made things worse with his silence, and now they were worse without it. The apology retched up again, and this time Social Services let it out.

“Miss Cheerilee, I... My comment was entirely uncalled for, I...”

“It’s fine. I’ve heard worse,” she said, her voice gentle and listless, as if she was scolding a colt who had stolen an apple.

“I... There’s no shame in what you did, Miss.”

“Easy for you to say.”

She finally turned, handing Social Services a piece of scrap paper, a series of street names and house numbers printed neatly upon it.

“Just find my children and hope we don’t have to talk about this again.”

Rumble’s house had proven fruitless, Thunderlane a nervous, sobbing wreck like almost everypony in town seemed to be, being comforted by his twin lovers. At the very least he had that, Social Services supposed, but he still seemed so... Broken. He blamed himself for what happened, which Social Services was fine with, since after all, it wasn’t his job to blame anypony. The whole “your brother is a rapist” thing, naturally, wasn’t told to him, instead kept underneath wraps.

Leaving Rumble’s home had made Social Services feel hollow. Leaving the Rich household had turned him livid. Mister Rich was confident that his daughter was probably hiding out somewhere on his massive estate, and he seemed so flippant about it, seemed so quick to dismiss Diamond Tiara’s disappearance. And he wondered why Social Services wouldn’t allow him to adopt Silver Spoon! He wasn’t even fit to parent his own goddamn child!

He kicked an icy snowbank, the cold droplets of melting snow stinging and soothing the still-relatively-fresh cuts on the skin around his hooves. Anger was slowly draining, replaced by melancholy, agonizing melancholy, a sickness and a sadness with the world around him, mostly inspired by the last address on the list.

This last address... Was a source of much personal shame for him.

This was where he went to let go of everything, once a month, a checkup. It pained him to put she whom he checked upon in such a hellhole, it really did, but it was the only way. After what happened in the orphanage... This was better. For all parties involved. The aunt was trying, she really was, trying to clean up her act. Social Services couldn’t blame her for that. It was what he had been trying to do for years, and years, and years.

And she was trying to help Scootaloo. She was trying to be a good guardian for her. Social Services could feel it. She wanted to help Scootaloo, but she needed help herself, and nothing seemed to help her. She was trapped, like himself, in a constant battle of pain and sorrow and anger towards the world, towards everything. She wanted to help him, too. They were a pair of fucked-up ponies in a fucked-up world where fucked-up things happened.

The dilapidated little house at the edge of town came into view, and Social Services steeled himself. He wasn’t supposed to come today, she knew that. He was going to anyways. He reminded himself to try to not be angry, he reminded himself that she couldn’t help herself. He was here to find Scootaloo, not to get angry.

He pushed open the door. It wasn’t even closed.

The entire first floor stank of so many alcohols, Social Services couldn’t even bother to try and identify them. Old rock n’ roll music echoed from the living room. Stains covered everything, the walls, the carpets, everything, stains of not only alcohol, but piss and blood and other excrement, and the smell of it all, good Goddess, it wasn’t just the alcohol anymore. Social Services would be barely keen on letting an animal live here. The fact that a child did, one that he was supposed to protect, made the heat rise again, but he swallowed it, and instead felt guilt.

It wasn’t fair to Scootaloo.

It also wasn’t fair to send her back to where she was hurt first.

Social services shook his head, following the sound of droning singing, barely able to keep up with the music.

“No, we didn’ haaaf... Made ‘nuff to shurviiiive...”

There she was.

There had probably been a time, many years ago, that Scootaloo’s aunt had been a beautiful pony. She had the vestiges of beauty on her face, her features and form evident of a time when they were well toned, attractively plump. Now they were sagging, her mane in disarray, her coat covered in small patches of dry, rubbery fur spikes. She smelled awful, like a vomit wine cellar, fermented and terrible. She seemed pretty incoherent- Social Services had to poke her with a forehoof to get her attention, where she was drooling and droning on the couch.

Immediately, she shot up, trying to think through the haze.

“You’re not... S’posed to be heere...”

“But I am,” Social Services said quietly, swallowing again to rid the heat. “Where’s Scootaloo?”

“The fuggam I ‘posed to know?”

Social Services shut his eyes, tightly. “Of course.”

The heat, the intolerable heat, it kept rising and bubbling, and he felt so mad, yet so helpless, he didn’t have much of a choice, sending Scootaloo back to the orphanage would be worse than this, dear Goddess, what kind of world was it where this den of alcohol and neglect could possibly be a better place for a filly to live?!

Melancholy rose within him, and Social Services found himself suddenly blinded by tears, sitting down on the messy, crusty couch and sobbing. Damn it all. What a world they lived in, what a broken, broken world, not even a Goddess could fix this, damn it all...

“Sosh?”

Scootaloo’s aunt seemed to have the smallest hint of concern in her voice, slowly forcing herself to stumble off of the couch and in front of the pony that, for all intents and purposes, had every right to haul her ass to prison. He did have the royal power to do it, after all, but the thought was the furthest thing from his mind.

“Sosh, hon, ‘sokay...”

She leaned forward, her messy, smelly body inches from his, breathing heavily.

“Sosh... Wanna let make you feel better?”

Social Services was broken from his reverie of self-pity for just a moment. This moment was used to punch Scootaloo’s aunt right across the jaw, and she went down like a sack of potatoes. Old, crusty, decrepit, alcohol-smelling potatoes. Social Services’ face was fearful, his nostrils flared, his eyes seemingly red from the powerful rage that had overtaken him, from the heat that had bubbled from his throat and poured out, a tsunami through his body that made him swing his hoof with lightning speed, the crack of her jaw, and the thump of her unconscious, pathetic form on the floor. It was over as soon as it began, and Social Services was left breathing heavily, staring at his hoof, smelling the decrepit air, tasting the alcohol in it, the rock album still on the eight-track, still playing.

Now if youre feelin kinda low bout the dues you been payin’
Futures comin’ much too slow
And you wanna run but somehow you just keep on stayin’
Can’t decide on which way to go
Yeah, yeah, yeah

And for the second time that day, Social Services broke down crying.

Scootaloo’s room was messy, but at the very least, it was better than the first floor.

The walls were covered in Wonderbolts posters, the smell of alcohol notably absent, the floor covered in paper and pencils and notebooks and everything a schoolfilly would use. However, Social Services noted the peeling paint, the rusty stains on the towels on the floor. Something had gone terrifically wrong here.

Something hard pressed against the bottom of his hoof, and Social Services brought it up. It was a molar, digging into his hoof as if still attached to it’s jaw. He jumped, shaking it off of his appendage, breathing heavily. Something was definitely off. Scootaloo’s aunt, useless a piece of shit she was, couldn’t possibly beat Scootaloo. It wasn’t in her type of drunk, at least, not as far as Social Services was concerned.

He stumbled over a little object, giving a shout, turning around and seeing what it was. A little notebook, wirebound, a small bit of string holding it shut. Journal, the title scribbled upon it’s front. Social Services picked it up, looking at it dumbly.

If Scootaloo had run away...

He opened up the tome, starting at the very last page with writing on it.

Rumble came over yesterday afternoon. He seemed really scared, coming up to my room, saying he loved me. I knew he did, of course, but hearing it from him, this wasn’t right. Something was up. And something was- He took Dinky for his own.

I don’t blame him. He didn’t know what he was doing. Just like me with him. He did what his body told him to do. That didn’t mean I wasn’t mad though, so I beat him up. Badly.

If Dinky knows, she’ll go to Social Services, and Social Services will take me away from my Rumble, and I can’t have that. It looks like I’m going to have to enact the plan sooner than I thought.

The entry ended, Social Services slowly flipping back, looking for references to a “plan” of some sort, trying not to think too hard about what he had just read, focusing on the present, find what you need to know. So Scootaloo had ravished Rumble who ravished Dinky... Stop. Focus.

I have a backup plan now, in case Rumble or I get found out. I know that other ponies won’t like our love or the way we express it, so it’s a good thing I found the Bitch crying behind the school today, the Sheep comforting her.

The Sheep was going away. Earlier today, I would have thanked Celestia that she was. One less problem I have to deal with. But the Bitch had a plan, an idea to run away into the Everfree. They found out I was listening in, and I told them. Rumble doesn’t know that I told them, but that’s okay. He doesn’t need to know. He’ll be fine not knowing.

The Bitch and the Sheep agreed to stock up extra supplies for us. They sympathized with us (I know! DT the Bitch sympathized with me!), they know what it’s like to be young and in love and nopony understands you, to have something you can’t tell anypony else but you want to so desperately, so, so desperately.

The planned D-Day for the plan to go in action is the day Silver Spoon has to leave. That’s about a month from now. They’re going to be ready to enact it sooner, though, in case something comes up. I just hope nothing does.

He flipped through the rest of the journal. All sorts of references to Rumble. Pictures. Hearts drawn around him. All the way back to August, when he had transferred in from Cloudsdale. This wasn’t the Scootaloo he knew. This obsessed little rapist wasn’t the Scootaloo he knew.

And yet here it was, staring him in the face, as if fate had brought him and this journal together.

Perhaps it had. Celestia was off the damning list for now.

There was much to be done.

A search party to organize with the Princess Twilight Sparkle. The Mayor would be a great help too. Perhaps even the children could help them find Rumble. It wasn’t like he was dangerous, anyways.

Social Services wasn’t sure what was dangerous anymore.

As he stepped over the unconscious, pathetic mare in the living room and out of the den of sorrow, Social Services took a big breath of air, and in his mind, thanked Celestia for the springtime that was coming.

The pain would be over soon. It was just a matter of time.

His pain would be over soon, if only for a moment.

Author's Note

I know.

I hate the exposition diary cliche too.

But I'm caffienated! I couldn't think up anything better! :raritydespair:

Oh well. At least Social Services isn't a shite character this time. And Boston. Boston is good, too.

I'm not doing another rewrite after this. I'm really getting sick of this shitty-ass story, and I wanna bring it to it's conclusion like it's fucking Lassie with a dope leg.

Bang.

Ded.

I hope you enjoyed. Next chapter is our climax, though not our ending (that's chapter after next)