AKA A Guardsmare Of Half Height And Double Spirit Finds Love Twice As Tall And Thrice As Strong: A Reverse Gender Roles Equestria Story of Epic Proportions And Minuscule Stature
Special thanks to Comfy, Uh-hmmm, Ephemeral, ScribblesAnon, APA, HotKinkajou, LaP, Rot, Editfag, QoC, Bobbles, and Shu for prereading/editing help.
And and super special thanks to NigNogs for the top tier fan art, and de facto cover art, which can be viewed here: ponybooru.org/images/33009?q=artist%3Anignogs


“I’m not apologizing.”
>You are Anonymous the unicorn and you cannot believe what Cut is asking you to do right now.
>Apparently she feels very strongly about something you said to one of the mares you kicked out last night.
>It’s all a little fuzzy around the edges, apparently you /actually/ teleported?
>You’d been studying up on how to do it, sure, but you’d never been able to work up the nerve to try it out.
>Guess all you needed was a little liquor to grease the wheels.
>That’s neither here nor there though.
>What /is/ here is Cut, and she’s very upset you screamed at one of your coworkers about how ugly her coat was.
>”Come on. That was /really/ mean!”
>You don’t feel the same.
>Really, why’s she making such a big deal about this?
>Even as the two of you whisper at each other just outside of the mare’s cubicle, you can’t bring yourself to feel bad for her.
“So? I’ve personally heard her talk shit about how you look, Cut! If anything she deserves it!” 
>Not to mention all the catcalling she’s done to you.
>She was one of the worst when you started, that’s probably why your tipsy brain singled her out to begin with!
>It used to be every fucking day.
>Besides, she’s a mare! Shouldn’t she be able to handle it?
>If some dude back home shouted that you had an ugly skin color you’d probably just think they were insane.
>Or racist, you suppose.
>As if she can read your thoughts, Cut gently stomps one of her forehooves.
>”That’s wrong, Anon, you shouldn’t think like that.”
>Look at her, sticking to her guns!
>She’s come a long way.
>”P-Ponies don’t hold things against each other like that, we apologize and forgive each other!”
>You just barely catch her start to nervously turn her other forehoof.
>“Besides, hearing a stallion say things like that... it really hurts.”
>And now you see why she feels that way.
>She’s probably been there.
>...who are you kidding she's /definitely/ been there.
>The crushing weight of that knowledge and Cut’s puppy dog eyes weighs heavily on your resolve.
>But you’ve got your own guns to stick to.
>This mare’s certainly never apologized to Cut, why does she deserve better from you?
>Fuck being the bigger person that shit’s bull.
>You’ve been dealing with these mares’ crap for MONTHS!
>You’ve earned a little pettiness, as a treat.
“I get where you’re coming from, Cut, I really do. But no.”
>She sighs, hanging her head.
>Her disappointment in you is palpable.
>It's /almost/ enough to break you.
>”Alright... I didn’t want to do this...”
>Suddenly she meets your gaze, a newfound fire in her eyes.
>”Do it or my bra doesn’t come off for a week.”
>Fuck!


>You are J Jargon Justification, and you are doing what you find yourself doing most days.
>Sitting at your desk and doing absolutely no work.
>However, for once you’re focused on something most ponies might consider important.
>Your employee Anonymous, apologizing to one of your editorial columnists, Printed Word.
>Something that makes you sigh in relief.
>For an office with only one stallion, word still gets around fast.
>That’s right, you know about the party.
>You know how it ended too.
>Which was... troubling news, to say the least.
>Most of the office mares were willing to write it off as a classic case of a stallion blowing things out of proportion, but you’re not so sure.
>You didn't get to where you are today by being /clueless/ about stallions' feelings after all.
>Just willfully ignorant of them.
>And you’d be a fool to willfully ignore this colt’s feelings!
>Not only is your niece’s future riding on this lad, but so’s your dang paper!
>Looking down at the menagerie of papers on your desk, your eyes are immediately drawn to the sales figures.
>You’ll admit you’ve never really been a humble mare, but even your pride can’t hide the truth.
>Tender Care was right, stallions /were/ an untapped market.
>Your paper’s growth has been nothing less than explosive.
>So much so that even the other newspapers are looking into recruiting stallion reporters now.
>Never in your life would you have thought you’d refer to a colt as a “moneymaker” in this sense!
>Which makes this outburst all the more troubling.
>You bet you know where it comes from at least, and it's not because your niece isn’t draining his balls enough.
>The answer lies on the calendar stuck midway up the wall next to your right.
>Hearthswarming.
>Hearthswarming may be a time for community, but it's more so a time for family.
>For herds just starting out, that can be fairly nerve-wracking.
>Especially for the stallion; their family is their life, after all.
>That first time, everypony’s looking back on all those wonderful memories from growing up, wondering if the family they’re building now will be as happy and carefree as theirs was then...
>You were fine of course, there was never any doubt you’d knock it outta the park.
>But your husband! Ooooh mare, he nearly wore a hole in the floor with all the pacing he did.
>That’s the real reason stallions shouldn’t be in the workforce, their temperament.
>It's too fragile.
>Your poor Press couldn’t get ahold of himself until the lot of you had made it back to Ponyville to celebrate with his parents.
>Which you imagine is the story of almost every herd’s first Hearthswarming.
>But Anon won’t get that.
>You never found out why, admittedly having given up at the first missive you got that was covered in black bars, but you know whatever brought him here was one way.
>He’ll probably never see his family again.
>So to be perfectly honest, you’d be more worried if he /hadn’t/ started acting up as it got closer to the holidays.
>Sure, he told Care that he was, “as social as any other average Amareican” and she was too polite to call him out on it.
>But you’ve seen right through those whimsical horseapples since day one!
>There are more ways for stallions to act up than there are stars in the sky.
>And it’s obvious that for him, the closer to the end of his rope he gets, the more antisocial he gets.
>Abnormally so for a stallion.
>Shame that such a big sack comes with such a big red flag.
>But your niece is the exact same way, which is why you stuck them together in the back.
>You figured they’d make a great couple, and you were right (of course)!
>You’d hate for those tendencies to undo all the progress he’s made over the past couple of months though.
>He’s come so far from being the hermit who only shows up to deliver his stories and nothing else.
>And it's with no small amount of pride you see that Cut’s long-dormant marely instincts have awoken.
>She’s over there now with him at Printed’s cubicle, leaning over his shoulder to try and coax him out of acting up.
>If only Suck wasn’t off in Manehattan, she’d cry tears of joy seeing this.
>But your poor niece is clearly still naive in the ways of stallions, because if she wasn’t she’d know it's a losing battle.
>The deck’s just too stacked against her.
>So you’ll help out the best way you can!
>Anonymous is too stubborn to admit that he needs some time off from work, so you’ll just make him take it.
>You know he’s on the trail of something right now, so you’ll let him see that through and then put him on leave.
>Provided his behavior doesn’t get too much worse before then.
>Whichever comes first, really.


>”See, didn’t that make you feel better?”
>You are Anonymous the Unicorn, and as much as you want to stay obstinate, apologizing /did/ make you feel a little bit better.
>Seeing the look on that poor mare’s face...
>She was /crushed/.
>You really fucked with her self esteem, much more than you had realized.
>Which makes it occur to you that your earlier analogy wasn’t quite right.
>If a /girl/ screamed at you back home that your skin color was ugly, you’d probably take some of it to heart too.
>Which you suppose made apologizing to her the right thing to do after all.
>Her coat isn’t even that ugly.
>The neon orange goes with her mane! ...mostly.
>You’re still feeling a little petty though, leaving you content to sit at your desk and grumble.
“Yeah, yeah. I guess.”
>Cut didn’t even need to see your face to see right through it instantly.
>It was /that/ pathetic.
>But instead of gloating, she just giggles to herself before taking her seat next to you and diving back into her work.
>Of course, with a brand new smug smile you spy in the corner of your eye.
>Yeah, yeah, yuck it up.
>She earned it this time.
>You noticed the two of them even got to chatting for a little bit after you awkwardly left.
>Maybe Printed learned a lesson from all this too?
>God, you hope so.
>One less nuisance around the office would be a serious win in your book.
>A win to counteract the absolute loss you had this morning.
>You couldn’t get anything meaningful out of Pike about what happened last night.
>She claims it was all a blur, but the way she dodged your questions made it patently obvious she was actually just dodging your questions.
>Unfortunately, seeing as how it was the early morning and the three of you still had to go to work, there was basically nothing you could do about it.
>It was certainly not the ideal time for a heart to heart.
>Especially considering how hungover the poor mare was.
>Cut wasn’t any better at the time, but she really bounced back fast.
>Perks of being an Earth Pony you suppose.
>Which unfortunately left you putting the issue on the backburner until the three of you were home today.
>Thank God today’s work will actually have you out and about.
>If you were stuck here at your desk all you’d do is worry about it.
>And that small amount of worrying you just did simply thinking about /thinking about/ the issue?
>It's enough to leave you feeling like you could crush a stress ball into a singularity.
>You shudder to think what a whole day of worrying might do to you.
>The mares would probably call whatever happens “whimsey” but you doubt it’d feel particularly whimsical.
>Man, how did those anime protagonists do it? Just having /two/ fillyfriends is stressing you out.
>Better find something else to focus on, FAST.
 >With just a pinch of desperation you start digging through the mess of drafts and research materials you call a “desk”.
>You’ve been grabbing up everything you can about the Wonderbolts as of late, /something/ has to reference the supposed charity show that mare was talking about last night.
>Let’s see, summer camp recruitment flier? No.
>Article about bootleg flight suit sales being on the rise? No.
>Expose about some dude named Bench Warmer? No.
>”Uh, Anon? Are you alright?”
>You look up from your desk to catch Cut gazing at you with a great deal of concern.
>But why? You’ve just been—
>Wait a second.
>Now that your focus has become interrupted, you realize you’ve become covered in something.
>Little pieces of paper to be exact.
>Because your magic has been shredding every piece of paper you’ve picked up instead of putting them aside.
>Fuck, you actually wanted to read that thing about Bench Warmer at some point.
>Maybe you should get an actual stress ball.
“*Ahem* I-I’m fine.”
>You count your blessings that the only other person back here is Cut, you’d never live it down if anyone else saw that.
>Say, while you have her attention...
“You wouldn’t happen to know anything about a Wonderbolts show coming to town, would you?”
>She blinks owlishly at you for a bit.
>You suppose that /would/ feel like a total non sequitur coming right after she saw you shred several documents.
>“Well uh, I think Aunt Jargon mentioned something about how they threw together a show for Fountain’s Little Brother’s Orphanage. I think it’s...”
>She trails off, before glancing toward a calendar stuck to the wall of her cubicle.
 >”Oh, it's today! Starts in a couple of hours.”
>A couple hours? Perfect!
>That gives you more than enough time to prepare.
>Might even be worth trying to reassemble that article about Bench Warmer.
>”Why? Did you want to go?”
>You’re about to answer when suddenly her face lights up.
 >”Oh! You haven’t seen the Wonderbolts yet!”
>She adorably claps her forehooves together in excitement.
>”We have to see if Auntie Jargon will give us the afternoon off. Although... we really shouldn’t go without Pike...”
>You smile to yourself and slowly start gathering your things.
>The second the Wonderbolts came up, a familiar energy came into Cut’s voice.
>You can feel one of her excited tangents coming on, so best to just sit back and listen.
>”Besides, I heard this is mostly going to be a group performance show. The stuff you really ought to see are the solo obstacle runs!”
>Honestly you’re a little surprised to see that she’s into the Wonderbolts.
>You’d figured an athletic show would be outside of her areas of interest, for obvious reasons.
>Suppose you shouldn’t judge a book by its cover and all that.
>Where’d you put your hat?
>”I was in the crowd the day Firefly set the current record for the Triple Hoop Deluxe course. I couldn’t BELIEVE how lucky I was! Between you and me, I’m pretty sure she did it by adjusting her wing twelve degrees upward juuuuust after the second hoop.”
>Hold up.
>You were midway through shoving papers into your saddlebag, but you stop to /really/ listen in.
>”Some ponies say she did it by flying an inch closer to the left side of that hoop, but that’s preposterous!”
>The realization hits you like a bag of comically colored bricks.
>Speedrunning, she’s talking about /speedrunning/.
>Cut goes to watch death-defying flight shows for the /speedrunning/!
>”She was going at least fifty miles an hour! How on Hearth would she have made the next turn if she flew that close to the hoop?”
>Don’t laugh, Anonymous. Do NOT laugh.
>You do not want to have to explain the world of speedrunning to this poor mare.
>Channeling every bit of what you could call your “inner zen” you desperately contain all the mirth inside you within a big goofy smile on your face.
>A smile Cut notices, trailing off with the /cutest/ blush.
>”A-And I uh, well, I think that makes it obvious why, um. Phew, is it hot in here?”
>Awwww.
>You know, you probably look like a love sick puppy right now with your big dopey grin.
>That’s not even untrue really, Cut loving speedrunning is /adorably/ on brand for her.
>So seizing the moment, you lean in and give her a quick little peck on the cheek.
>It's something you’ve done to her a hundred times by now, but she still lights up like a Christmas tree.
>She’s redder than a tomato and feeling so bashful she can barely make eye contact with you!
>As a guy back on Earth, you’d never have thought you’d be able to fluster someone this much with just a kiss.
>It’s a bit of an odd feeling, but a nice one nonetheless.
>Hmm, you should probably say something, cap the moment off.
>You’ve never been good at lovey-dovey stuff.
>Uhhhhhh, shit! Just say something!
“You’re my little sperg, Cut.”
>...
>Of all the things to say...
>Why the FUCK did you say that!?
>”I’m your little what...?”
>Now you’re the one blushing madly.
>How embarrassing!
“*Cough Cough* Don’t worry about it.”



>You, Anonymous, ended up going to the show alone.
>As fun as it would have been to go with Cut, you really wanted to keep this trip focused on business, not pleasure.
>Plus Cut was right, going without Pike felt wrong.
>So popping your Wonderbolts’ cherry turned out to unfortunately be a solo event.
>You certainly see why they’re so popular now, the show was thrilling.
>To your human mind, it struck you as an interesting blend of a trapeze act and a flight show.
>You were a little worried that’d make it a light program since the majority of the crowd were foals, but they didn’t skimp out on the action.
>They were just as death-defying as they presumably always are.
>Cut was right about its program too, it was primarily group formations with almost no speedrunning to be found.
>You’re fine with that, the group stunts seem much more up your alley anyway.
>You’ll have to carve out a time for the three of you to go to a real show sometime, it would probably be a lot of fun.
>But that’s something for future Anon to take care of, present Anon has a much more pressing matter.
>Getting backstage.
>Canterlot stadium isn’t really that large (Unicorns must /really/ not care for sports) and that works to quite your disadvantage.
>A smaller stadium means less places for you to slip past security, and so far just about every possible avenue to get behind the scenes here seems to be closed off.
>You can SEE the room that all the Wonderbolts went into from where you’re standing.
>It’s just down the hall, all that’s standing between you and the ‘Bolts is two ornery security mares.
>Two mares who are eyeing you like you’re just another groupie they’ll need to beat away with a stick.
>Well, you and every other cheering fan that’s managed to make it this far.
>Hmm, what to do.
>You tried flashing your press pass at an earlier choke point but the security there just stonewalled you, and you doubt it’d go any different with these two.
>Maybe you could try to disguise yourself as a worker?
>No, where would you even get an outfit?
>You wrack your mind trying to come up with some clever way in, but you’re coming up with bupkis.
>Well... except for one thing.
>Teleporting.
>You know you can do it, you’ve done it.
>But without a couple beers in you, the idea of molecularly displacing yourself is a little daunting to say the least.
>Sure the spell boasted a dozen or so safeguards like “quantum tunneling in the event of geometric interface” but jargon like that doesn't exactly fill you with confidence.
>Then again, you /have/ already done it once.
>Odds are, if the spell could put you halfway through things you would have ended up with a plate in your leg last night.
>Also you really don’t fuckin feel like climbing in a window or something equally desperate.
>So attempting to stay as nonchalant as possible, you trot away from the security guards.
>You’d attempt to disappear into the crowd of fans around you, but being no less than a head taller than everyone in the group kind of shoves that option off the table.
>You’ll just have to settle for going around the nearest corner.
>Which /technically/ violates one of the spell’s precautionary measures, that being: keep line of sight with your destination.
>But you saw inside the room you're aiming for, you can easily see the area’s layout in your head.
>You can even rotate it! Something you’re not entirely sure any of the ponies can do, but you’ve been too afraid of looking like an idiot to ask.
>It’ll be fine, you’re sure.
>You’re only displacing yourself in space-time by what, twenty meters?
>...Through a wall into a room you only kind of saw.
>Maybe you should just warp into the hallway itself?
>No, those two guards would grab you in an instant.
>It’s either into the room or nowhere, and you’ve made it around the corner so better do it now before you manage to talk yourself out of it.
>Alright.
>You take a deep breath in order to hype yourself up.
>Here goes...!
>Visualizing the formula in your mind you send the necessary energy into your horn to make it real.
>You can feel the rules of reality bending to shape to your will.
>All of your senses compress to a point, and then...!



>THIS WAS A BAD IDEA!
>THIS WAS A REALLY BAD IDEA!
>”Bucking DONKEY! GET OUT OF MY KITCHEN!”
>”Chef you can’t say that!”
>Instinctively, you duck your head right as a frying pan sails over it.
>”What in Celestia’s name is wrong with you chef!? You almost hit that stallion!”
>”GOOD!”
>Your hooves are thundering on the shitty tile as you charge full speed ahead.
>All the while your eyes frantically dart around the room, desperately looking for an exit or at least direction that puts as much space as humanly possible between you and the crazy mare behind you.
>Turns out the reason the spell recommends line of sight is because things like “relative position” and “distance” don’t mean a whole lot when you’re tearing a hole in the fabric of space.
>”WE’RE GONNA NEED TO DEEP CLEAN OUR GRILL’S ATOMS! YOU KNOW HOW LONG THAT TAKES!?”
>Thanks to that, instead of ending up just behind the Wonderbolts, you ended up in the stadium’s kitchen.
>INSIDE one of their grills.
>Praise be that the spell’s “quantum tunneling” attribute works as advertised and you were able to quite literally slip out of the grill unscathed.
>It looked like you opened up the console and turned on no clip.
>It /felt/ absolutely FOUL.
>It wasn’t enough for your skin to crawl, oh no, your internal organs and bones had to crawl along with them.
>Terrible, you never want to feel like that again for as long as you live.
>Oh, and immediately being accosted by a crazy mare who was out for your blood certainly didn’t help.
>Woah hey, something just whizzed by your— Jesus Christ that was a knife! She just threw a KNIFE at you!
“WHAT THE HELLS WRONG WITH YOU!?”
>The only response is more expletives hurled your way as you barrel through some hapless line cook.
>A testament to your size, or at least your momentum, the poor mare’s impact against your body barely even slows you down.
>You throw a quick “Sorry!” her way, but the deranged smile on her face as she goes down makes you regret it.
>You also may have heard her say something akin to, “Step on me Daddy,” but your brain immediately blocked it out for the sake of your own sanity.
>”WHY ARE YOU STILL IN MY KITCHEN!? GET OUT OF HERE!” screams the chef.
“FUCK YOU I’M FUCKING TRYING!”
>You’re coming up on your second lap around the kitchen now, and you can see the exit.
>Thank God.
>Doing your best early 2000s movie impression, you Tokyo Drift your ass right around that corner and out the door.
>Not even wasting a moment, you pick a direction and keep running.
>Only to realize you’re now running straight for the security checkpoint you just tried to bypass.
>Wow, so you went in the exact opposite direction you wanted to, great.
>Now you’ll have to— is she STILL chasing you!?
>The sounds of rapidly approaching hooves and a panicked glimpse behind you confirms just that, she’s STILL chasing you!
>God damn it you’re not even in the kitchen anymore!
>Welp, there’s your ticket past security you suppose.
>Honesty.
“HELP!” you scream, “SHE’S GOT A FUCKING KNIFE!”
>Okay, maybe not total honesty.
>You didn’t see her with another, but considering she’s already tossed one at your head her brandishing another knife is definitely not off the table!
>All the fans gathered around the checkpoint have started to scatter at the sound of your howling, and the fact you’re barreling at them with the force of a freight train.
>Well, almost all the fans.
>As the sea of ponies parts, you see a lone neon-blue stallion standing right in your way.
>Too absorbed in an argument with some mare, he didn’t pay you even a moment’s heed.
>You couldn’t grasp any of the specifics of their argument, but one look at him was enough to give you the gist.
>The danger-hair colored earth pony was wearing a jacket covered from sleeves to collar in pins and slogans like “Down with the matriarchy”, all while shouting some nonsense about “The Wonderbolts’ crimes!”
>And like those types often are, he was so totally absorbed in his meaningless bickering that he didn't see the problem that was about to hit him head on. 
>Namely, you, shooting towards him at ramming speed.
>Oh well, sucks to be him.
>Trying to minimize the hit to your momentum, you attempt a last minute course correction to simply pass by him instead of slamming into him head on.
>Unfortunately you still managed to clip him.
>Thankfully he was such a shrimp that your speed wasn’t impacted in the least.
>He, on the other hand, was blown clean off to the side.
>Showering both you and the surrounding area with dozens upon dozens of pins and pamphlets.
>You don’t even bother shooting this one a “sorry,” that was all on him.
>Luckily for you, this has the unintended side effect of clearing the way for the security ponies.
>The two of them spring into action, charging past you and making a beeline for the crazed chef hot on your heels.
>Judging by the sounds that followed soon after, they’d immediately tackled her to the ground.
>The sounds of a struggle continue from there, the chef’s speech rapidly degenerating into a mix of exclusively nonsense syllables and expletives.
>You assume that means she’s fighting back, but you’re not stopping to look.
>This is your chance!
>Keeping up the pace, you headed straight for the door you saw the ‘Bolts go through earlier and practically throwew yourself through it.
>Which turns out to be a very bad decision.
>You did that expecting the door to be closed, or even locked.
>It wasn’t.
>So instead, the momentum the door was supposed to absorb kept you flying forward.
>Face first into the floor.
>Ow.
>You eat shit, comically sliding a ways forward across the ground just to add insult to injury. 
>By the time you finally come to a stop, you’ve made it decently far into the room.
>You elect to lay there and catch your breath, the gravity of what just happened rushing to meet you like the floor did.
>Jesus, that really could have gone south in a dozen different ways.
>Next time you /should/ just go for a window or something.
>Where are you anyway?
>It isn’t a conference room, considering you didn’t feel the sting of rug burn on your face.
>Instead, it feels almost like wet tile.
>And this ambient noise you’re hearing... is that the sound of a shower running?
>”See, Fleet, I told you stallions would still be /throwing themselves/ at us. Didn’t I?”


 >You couldn’t manage to motivate yourself to get up.
>Instead you just laid there, chuckling to yourself at the internal schadenfreude.
>Of course you just charged into the mares’ locker room like a maniac, of fucking course.
>Wait... does that even matter?
>It's not like ponies care about others seeing them undress.
 >Are you even actually breaking a taboo here?
>”Is he alright? He hit the ground pretty hard there,” asks a new voice.
>You can hear hooves on the tile as more of the team approaches you.
>”We should probably call a doctor. Stallions have hollow bones, he might have broken something,” another speaks up.
>”You idiot!” A third shouts, “He’s a unicorn! /We’re/ the ones with semi-hollow bones.” 
>Both wanting to end their asides and itching to get this awkward introduction over with, you let out a loud groan before forcing yourself to your hooves.
>You doubt anything is seriously injured, but man are you sore right now.
>Finally centering yourself, you take in your surroundings and see it's exactly what you expected.
>A high-tier YMCA locker room, full of mares doing all the things you’d expect someone to be doing in a locker room.
>Undressing, stretching, showering...
>Yet nearly all of them had frozen in place, eyes locked on you in awkward silence as you worked up the nerve to break the ice.
>You’d never been particularly uncomfortable in front of crowds, but you couldn’t help but find their looks just the slightest bit unnerving.
>Capping off that feeling is the /range/ of expressions you’re seeing.
>On your right, the reactions you’re getting are what you’d expect to see if a girl just barged into a frat’s locker room.
>The further left you go however, they seem to be... afraid?
>Some of them are even grimacing as they look at your side.
>Oh God, did you like cut yourself open on a loose piece of tile or something?
>Hurriedly checking your side, you notice you’re covered in pins.
>Most of them are stuck to your saddlebag but a few have managed to cling to your bare side as well.
>They must be magic or something because you certainly don’t /feel/ like there are half a dozen pins jammed into your skin.
>Wait a second, you recognize these! They’re from that dude you plowed into!
>And they’re covered in absolutely /terrible/ slogans. 
>“Down With The Matriarchy” is okay you suppose, but “Penis Power”? Really?
>”It's one of those guys Legal Ease warned us about!” one of the mares abruptly screams. “Everypony, scatter!”
>Almost all of the previously frozen ponies explode into movement.
>Tearing their way past you, they go for doors, windows, lockers, and anything else that’ll put a barrier between you and them.
>Before you can even get a word out, the once packed room is practically a ghost town.
>Of the over a dozen mares originally in view, only a scant few remain.
>And by the sound of it, these mares must be the bravest of the brave.
>...Or the ones the least concerned with legal repercussions. 
>Opening your mouth, you /intend/ to clear up the misunderstanding, but the mares don’t give you a chance.
>”Well well well,” says Spitfire, strutting toward you. “What do we have here?”
>She openly starts sizing you up, and you get the feeling she’d be attempting to look down on you if you weren’t so tall.
>Stopping in front of you, she strikes a pose you recognize immediately.
>Pulling her head back while thrusting her chest forward, it's the same pose Pike makes whenever she wants you to look at her chest fuzz.
>Spitfire had already unzipped her suit until it was below her chest, so it /kind of/ works.
>But her fur’s all matted from being pressed by the suit, and covered in sweat.
>Her actual tuft is much smaller than Pike’s too, and not in a cute way like Cut’s is.
>Frankly, you’re not entirely sure what Spitfire is even going for here. Sexy? Intimidating?
>Either way it's not working. 
>”Come to hear some of our “locker room talk” with your own ears?”
>You're about to very enthusiastically answer “no”, but something stops you.
>You may not be that familiar with the Wonderbolts, but this seems like a pretty serious departure from their public personas.
>Especially Spitfire, she /seemed/ like nothing but a consummate professional before.
>But you suppose you shouldn't be surprised, no matter the planet jocks will be jocks. 
>She even used the famous meme, "locker room talk"!
>Just like back home, you're sure all kinds of shit gets said behind closed doors that a team would never let slip in public.
>Especially to someone like a reporter...
>But say, a random stallionist who barged into your locker room?
>That’s as far from a reporter as it gets!
>If you were a reporter in the fifties, you sure as shit wouldn’t use “hearsay from a feminist” as your source. 
>Nobody else would either.
>The team would know that too.
>And that means no PR filter, no reason to hold anything back.
>Every off color opinion and spicy detail, laid bare...
>The thought makes you salivate.
>Seems like that idiot at the entrance accidentally gave you a golden opportunity.
 >You're going undercover!
>Thanking your lucky star that they didn’t already notice it, you quietly use your magic to fold the press pass in your hat upon itself.
>A part of you is really looking forward to this, for once you have a legitimate reason to antagonize an annoying source.
>You’d just better make sure you don’t get /too/ in character...
>Wanting to start strong, you do something you know will get under Spitfire’s skin.
>Raising up to your full height, you make a deliberate show of looking down at Spitfire’s tuft.
>You can see her grinning at the edge of your vision, at least until your eyebrow comes up.
>You stare down at that ratty-ass tuft like it's an unexpected hairball in your shower drain, and /just/ when Spitfire gets the picture, only then do you look up to her face.
>She’s sure not grinning anymore!
“As a matter of fact, I did. Especially anything pertaining to one stallion...”


>”Wind Rider.”
>You are Fleetfoot, third wing of the Wonderbolts, and you’re holding back tears of laughter.
>Sweet Celestia, you weren’t expecting /this/ kind of after show entertainment!
>Between you and yourself, you’d have to admit you were a little worried at first.
>The way he charged in here, you could /almost/ be fooled into thinking he had some serious business. 
>But it turns out that “serious business” is Wind Rider.
>Wind /Bucking/ Rider!
>Nopony gives a buck about Wind Rider, no pony! 
>Only the most deranged of stallionists would even consider that worth their energy, and this dude is waaay too calm to fit into that category. 
>Way too attractive too.
>No, you know why he's /really/ here.
>Unlike Spits, you've hung out with your fair share of stallions.
>By now you've acquired an acute understanding of how they operate in the sheets AND the streets.
>And stallionists are creatures of pride.
>They want— no. They /need/ to feel like they're the ones in control.
>But at the end of the day they're still stallions, and every stallion gets a craving that brings them back to the shellfish buffet. 
>He's clearly got it bad too!
>Running in here like a stallion possessed... practically throwing himself at your hooves...
>And the way he /stared/ down Spits' tuft?
>Sure he tried to play it cool, but you all saw. He's not fooling anypony!
>Okay Spits looks like she's absolutely seething so he probably fooled her, but that's beside the point. 
>It was clearly an act to keep up his pride, just like this Wind Rider stuff.
>But that's fine with you, you've played this game before.
>Spits is trying to stand tall enough to look him in the eyes, so she's obviously playing bad cop.
>And you'll play good cop, and before you know it the two of you will have a good old fashion gang bang on your hooves!
>Buck hitting up the dress club, here's the way to unwind after a show!


>You really wish you'd gone ahead and learned that mind reading spell after all.
>Sure, Pike was right, it probably would have made you "a massive pain in the flank".
>But God, you'd kill to know what exactly Spitfire is thinking right now.
>The mare is two-thirds your size (and knows it) yet she's putting every angry atom of her being toward standing high enough on her tip-toes so that she can look you in the eye. 
>And failing, of course.
>Aren't most mares shorter than most stallions anyway? 
>Why would this of all things be a point of pri— woah hey what the fuck!?
>/Something/ just brushed against your fucking nuts! 
>It felt like someone's tail, and whipping your head around you see it /was/ someone's tail!
>Fleetfoot.
>Apparently while you were busy with Spitfire she thought it appropriate to circle around behind you and swat your nuts as she passed by.
>That's disconcerting, to say the least.
>What's even worse is she does not look like someone who just got caught tickling someone else's nuts.
>If anything she looks confident, like that was the right move.
>You've got a bad feeling about this.
>Abruptly, she pulls in close beside you.
>Not close enough to touch, but close enough to clearly violate your personal space.
>"Now what's a handsome guy like you want with somepony like that?" She asks.
>It's times like this that you're keenly reminded that you're still far from being used to the opposite sex being the forward ones.
>For the briefest of moments, your eyes were probably the size of dinner plates as you hastily stumbled back.
>Shit, you're breaking character!
>She may be attractive but she just touched your balls without asking!
>Remember that righteous anger and channel it!
>Physically straightening yourself out, you loudly say:
"I want to know why he did it!"
>And considering what just happened, you've got a perfect line of inquiry.
Angrily pointing between the two of them, you shout, "And I want to know what /you all/ did to him!" 
>The two of them roll their eyes.
>Which, while not unexpected, still wasn’t really the reaction you were gunning for.
>”Oh please,” Spitfire hawks the words out like a loogie, “Like we’d need to do anything to get that old churl going.”
>You just barely catch the tail end of Fleetfoot shooting Spitfire one /nasty/ look before she turns to you.
>"What Spits is trying to say is, you've got us all wrong! We didn't do anything to that poor stallion."
>That coming from the bitch who just tickled your ball? As if!
>Do these people think you're fucking stupid?
>...Of course they do, you're a stallion.
>No, no!
>You've got to remember: to them you're a stallion/ist/ not just a stallion, there's a difference!
>But even with that in mind, there's more than a little genuine bitterness in your voice as you shout back.
"Don't bullshit me! Everyone's heard about what you did to Bench Warmer." 
>It's a lie, of course, you've got no idea what happened to Bench Warmer.
>But you certainly feel like you've got enough to make an educated guess!
>"WHAT!?"
>Spitfire apparently disagrees.
>"The only thing we "did" for that ungrateful bastard was a favor!"
>By the end of her statement, you could see Spitfire the drill sergeant come out just a little. 
>And honestly? It was kind of terrifying.
>However, it's not so terrifying that you aren't completely enraptured.
>Wind Rider might end up a bust, but you'd certainly be willing to settle for the inside scoop on Bench Warmer.
>You're not that picky!
>Making it even better is the visible horror on Fleetfoot's face.
>"Spitfi—"
>"I don't care what Legal says, Fleet," Spitfire swiftly cuts her off. "The facts are on /our/ side!"
>If you weren't worried about breaking cover you'd be drooling right now.
>You're a shark, and they just chummed the water.
>This is an ongoing investigation and yet, Spitfire's clearly ready to spill everything.
>All she needs is a little /push/!
"/What/ facts?" You say in the most condescending tone you possibly can.
>Fleetfoot tries to put herself between the two of you, but it's all in vain. 
>You know you've won as the fiery mare pushes past Fleet in order to angrily shove herself in your face.
>"He wants to tell everypony we benched him because he's a stallion? Horseapples! We've /got/ his performance stats on record. If a mare flew like that she wouldn't even make the bench!" 
>The sweet taste of victory is quickly turning to ash in your mouth. 
>You know you won't like the answer, but you're in too deep now.
"So why keep him on the team at all?"
>"Becau—"
>This time, Fleetfoot takes no chances and shoves her hoof into Spitfire's mouth. 
>Keeping the momentum up, she shoves Spitfire out of your way and steps to take her place.
>"Because," she continues for Spitfire, "We at the Wonderbolts realize our team is a little mare heavy! So we wanted to give that uh... promising young stallion a real chance to shine! Despite his *ahem* /questionable/ performance record." 
>You sit there in silence as your mind begrudgingly processes what you just heard.
>It takes you all of ten seconds to figure out the real reason why.
"So it's because he was hot."
>Fleetfoot awkwardly scratches at the back of her neck.
>Refusing to look you in the eye, she only manages a weak, "Well...." 


>”...I won’t feed you manure and pretend like your stories will get front page billing.”
>You are Anonymous the freshly minted Unicorn, and you’ve finally found someone willing to hire you.
>Although from where you’re standing, willing feels like it's a bit of a stretch.
>”Or, probably second or third page billing for that matter. But! You’ll have an editorial all to yourself! Gossip, fashion, all the things you stallions like to write and read about.”
>You've been throwing yourself at every employer you can think of for months, and this is where you've ended up
>Sitting in front of J Jargon Justification of the Canterlot Canteror
>Not as an apprentice reported to be trained up of course, just the gossip writer.
>That’s it.
>Your only options now seem to be: continue fruitlessly struggling and hope someone else will give you a chance, or accept your position here as the token stallion.
>Considering how most of the businesses in Canterlot have already turned you down, it’s not much of a choice, really.
>”And the mares will just love having you around!”
>You choke down the grimace that tried to make its way on to your face.
>Considering the way they were eyeing you walked in, you’re sure they will.
>Swallowing your last bit of pride, you put on a fake smile and raise a hoof.
>Remember, it’s a bump, not a shake!
"Sounds great boss, when do I start?"


>Wow.
>Back in the present, you have to admit that hits a LOT closer to home than you were expecting.
>Apparently you had a lot more in common with this Bench Warmer than you'd presumed.
>And /that/ revelation leaves you stunned.
>Fact is, that’s likely the only reason you made it past your first few months with Jargon.
>She certainly wasn't keeping you around for what you wrote, she didn't even read it!
>Probably still doesn't.
"That's horrible."
>You didn't even mean to say that out loud, it just slipped out.
>The line between you and this stallionist character just blurred considerably.
>Is it even still there?
>"Oh don't be dramatic," Spitfire scoffs. "Aren't you types always harping on getting more stallions in the workforce?"
>”Yeah, come on,” Fleetfoot says while placing a “comforting” hoof on your withers. “We were just creating a job for him! A very /lucrative/ job at that.”
>You physically recoil, a magic hand shoving the mare’s hoof away.
>You’re going all in now!
“It’s /demeaning/ is what it is! Would you two /seriously/ be fine being stuck doing nothing all day just so some people could stare you down!? People who only want to fuck you and nothing else?!”
>Spitfire and Fleetfoot share only the briefest of glances between each other before turning back to you.
>”Yeah,” they say in perfect sync.
“Well..!” 
>Whatever pathetic diatribe you were going to spew dies in your throat.
>Yeah, of course that was their response.
>They haven’t been there, they’ve got no idea what it's actually like.
>To them it probably sounds great!
>Shit, it would have sounded great to you too two years ago!
>But you know better now.
>You can bet the nuts these mares love so much that you know exactly how Bench Warmer feels.
>You’re just the one who was lucky enough and ingenuitive enough to excel despite that. 
>Him? Who knows how long he’ll stay stuck on the bench.
>Wait, what’s this feeling in your chest?
>Is this empathy? For these annoying stallions?
>For the feminists back home?!
>Oh God, do you actually /understand/ where they’re coming from!?
>Like a character in an HP Lovecraft novel, you can feel your mind buckling under the weight of these revelations.
>Forget the interview, you need a moment to process this.


>In the professional opinion of yourself, THE Fleetfoot, this is going great!
>If things keep along this path, you think there’s a real good chance you and Spitfire will be gettin laid tonight!
>Oh yeah!
>Sure, things got a little dicey once Spits started spilling the beans about Seat Warmer.
>However, you think it turned out for the best.
>You thought he was really gonna let you have it there for a moment, but it seems your flawless logic has stunned him into silence!
>You’d never managed /that/ with a stallionist before, and they’d usually still let you hit too.
>That’s no reason to rest on your haunches though.
>A deal is only sealed when the key is IN the lock, and his silent ponderings are providing you with the perfect opportunity to actually plan your next move.
>Leaning towards the Captain, you beckon for her to huddle up with you.
"Psssst, hey Spits!" You whisper in her ear.
>Spitfire spares one last bewildered look towards the stallion before leaning in towards you.
>”What is it?”
>You quickly glance back at the stallion yourself to make sure he’s still stunned before you continue.
>He is.
“That was great! At first I wasn’t sure what you were thinking by bringing up Seat *Ahem* Bench Warmer, but that was really inspired!”
>Spitfire silently stares at you, obviously giving you permission to continue.
“I think if we keep up this good cop bad cop routine, this’ll be a done deal!”
>You pause, wanting to give Spitfire a chance to give her own thoughts on your progress.
>She blinks at you owlishly instead.
>”Fleetfoot, what the buck are you talking about?”
>You roll your eyes, of course she knows what you’re talking about.
>What, has she /not/ been trying to get him in bed this whole time?
“Hello? Getting this guy to sleep with us?”
>Her eyes go wide as she stumbles back, rapidly looking between you and the stallionist.
>For once in your life, you just saw Spitfire balk at a suggestion.
>”Wha— You think this guy’s going to /sleep/ with us? Are you insane?!”
>Clearly uncaring whether or not he notices, she points a hoof right at him.
>”He busts in here talking about Wind Rider and Bench... Fleet, I’m pretty sure he /hates/ us!”
“Oh P~lease!” you dismissively wave your hoof. “That’s how every desperate stallionist acts! And that’s all it is, and act.”
>You can tell she doesn’t believe you by how high her brow is raised.
>In a surprisingly touching act however, she places a hoof on your withers.
>Pulling herself even closer, she whispers, “Be honest, has this whole thing with Bench Warmer gotten to your head? Last thing I need is my wingmare going AWOL here.”
>You dismissively knock her hoof away.
“I’m sorry, /how/ many stallionists have you slept with again?”
>Spitfire starts to answer, but you cut her off when you catch the stallion coming to in the corner of your eye.
>You know the answer anyway, it's zero!
“Hey, there’s a can in your bag right?”
>She looks offended you’d even ask.
>”Of course!”
“Great! Keep playing rough with him but follow my lead.”


>Are you, Anonymous, a bad person?
>No, you’re just psyching yourself out.
>You’re too in your own head, you’ve got to—oh shit you’re WAY too in your own head!
>There’s still a damn interview going on!
>The adrenaline that comes with that realization helpfully brings you right back into the moment, you can have a crisis of beliefs later!
>Thankfully your “subjects” seem less than begrieveed by the sudden lapse of conversation.
>In fact, Fleetfoot looks positively ecstatic!
>You don’t like that.
>”Say, you don’t mind if Spits and I do a few stretches while we talk, do you? It's always best to limber up after a /hard/ workout.”
>Admittedly you’re very tempted to end the interview then and there.
>But, objectively speaking, this plan has been a complete success for you.
>Mental anguish notwithstanding, of course.
 >In such a brief time you’ve been given more than enough information that you could turn the Bench Warmer scandal on its head.
>If you push just a little bit further, surely you can find something useful out about Wind Rider.
>Forget quitting while you’re ahead.
>Hopping back into the moment, you try to avoid thinking about how your answer and the stallionist answer are one and the same.
“If you /insist/.”
>Fleetfoot grins and immediately makes for the nearest bench, but you notice Spitfire hangs back.
>For the briefest of moments, you spy her worriedly looking between yourself and Fleetfoot, before silently following the other mare’s lead.
>Hm, /that’s/ unexpected. Makes you wonder if something happened while you were distracted.
>Putting that aside, you follow behind them without resistance.
>It doesn't take them long to pick out a spot, and before you know it they’ve started posing.
>You were expecting them to try something, but so far it seems like they’re actually doing regular old post-workout stretches.
>They’ve even zipped their flight suits back up to the neck! 
>Perhaps it's too much to hope they’ve given up on sexually harassing you.
>Fleetfoot, stretching out her back legs like a cat, even starts things off for you.
>”So you wanted to know more about Wind Rider, right? What he was like?”
>Now you’re really suspicious, this is too easy.
“As a matter of fact, I would.”
>”Ha! No you don’t,” Spitfire barks as she pulls a forehoof behind her head. “The dude was a massive dick.”
>Fleetfoot spreads her wings wide as she responds, “I wouldn’t say it like that but the Captain is right. It may sound silly, but he was a straight up misogynist.”
>Ha! Now that’s a word you haven’t heard in a long time.
“Pffft, really?”
>Once again the persona reflects your honest thoughts.
>Fleetfoot leans back, and for the first time you notice how insanely tight the suits are.
>You always thought Silken took a few liberties with her Wonderbolts recreations, but now you're not so sure.
>”Surely you heard what he did,” the blue mare continues, “If he’d gotten away with it, that would have been the end of Cadet Dash’s career! Just because he didn’t want /her/ name to replace his.”



”It's not like he was subtle about it either.”
>You are Spitfire, Captain of the Wonderbolts, and you’ve picked up where Fleetfoot left off.
>You’re still completely unsure about this featherbrained scheme that she’s cooked up, but she was right: you’ve never managed to bag a stallionist before.
>He’s also stuck around, despite all odds, so maybe she’s on to something after all.
>Bending in a way that’s sure to show off your back legs, you continue.
“Sure he could act the part in public, but get one cider in him and the bitter old stallion would jump right out. I nearly had to escort him off base at our reunion three years ago after he threatened to go up on stage.”
>You notice Fleetfoot look over to you.
>”I always thought you /did/ escort him out.”
>Ha! Of course that’d be the version Fleet remembers, she was /trashed/.
>Heck, she was the reason he threatened to go up on stage to begin with.
“Nah, Nimbus talked him down and he left. Thank Celestia.”
>The stallion “hms” from behind you.
>Twisting around to look at him, he seems like he’s not paying attention to your bodies at all.
>Which is what /you/ assumed from the moment he scoffed at your tuft.
>Most stallions would have been tripping over themselves for a view like that, and he just pops an eyebrow.
>Maybe Fleet’s flown the coop after all.
>”Nimbus who? I didn’t see her on the program,” he continues.
>Fleet jumps in, eager to try to steer the conversation.
>”Nimble Nimbus, she’s out with an injury right now.”
>What she doesn’t mention is that it's a possibly career ending one.
>Not because it's particularly bad, but because Nimbus turned twenty-nine last year.
>Most mares have already retired by then, and that’s without having injuries that put them out for most of the season!
>”He was such an ornery guy. She was the only mare he tolerated and he /still/ barely liked her.”
>You keep your mouth shut for the moment, completely unsure where Fleet is going with this.
>Thankfully, she seems like she is going somewhere.
>”That’s what happens to stallions that grow old alone I suppose. All get all /gray/ and /bitter/.”
>She quickly shoots you a wink, and you realize that’s the signal.
>Reaching your hoof under the bench, you grab for your gym bag...



>You are Anonymous, and to be honest you haven’t been paying attention to most of what Fleetfoot was saying.
>The moment she gave you a name, you tuned out.
>Nimble Nimbus.
>Sounds like the pony you should talk to if you /actually/ want to get anything useful.
>And more than reason enough to finally leave, you’ve gotten everything you came for.
>You’ll just excuse yourself and—
>*Pssst*!
>The sudden sound startles you.
>Quickly checking around, you can’t quite pinpoint where it came from. 
>It almost sounds like it came from /them/ but you don’t see any sort of can on them.
>Oh shit, Fleetfoot’s still talking.
>”It would be such a shame for a sweet guy like you to end up like that too, wouldn’t it?”
>Before you can figure out what she’s talking about, she and Spitefire do what you’re assuming they’ve been planning to do since you walked over here.
>Stretching like a cat, they lean their front halves down, while allowing their backsides to jut out.
>And holy /shit/ you thought their suits were tight before! 
>You can practically see the entirety of their— 
>Wait, what’s that smell?
>It almost smells like... OH JESUS CHRIST!


>You, Fleetfoot, can barely contain your excitement as the anticipation builds.
>And builds.
>Aaaaand builds.
>”*Hrrk*”
>Dang it, you’d like to get at least one wolf whistle in your life!
>At least that reaction was new, you suppose.
>It sounded like somepony holding in a cough, but that’d be a wildly abnormal reaction to say the least!
>Losing to your own curiosity, you peek around over your shoulder.
>He’s pressed himself up against the wall as he clearly tires to hold back a cough, and his eyes seem wide and... afraid?
>Oh Tartarus, were you coming on too strong after all?
>No, those are tears forming at the corners of his eyes, and you’ve certainly never made a stallion /cry/ by being too forward.
>Something else is up...
>Suddenly the damn breaks, and all at once he descends in a coughing fit.
>A fit that’s growing worse by the second.
>Spitfire’s noticed by now too and has completely abandoned her pose.
>”Hey, are you alright?”
>Her only response is the cough growing even worse, and the occasional gag.
>Suddenly, it all makes sense.
>Sprinting over to Spitfire’s gym bag, you begin tearing it apart looking for the can.
>Come on, where did she put it!?
Giving up, you shout, “What color /was/ that!?”
>She seems fairly occupied scanning the room for a first aid kit, but she manages an answer right as the stallion’s gagging reaches a crescendo.
>”Green?”
>You know it's not the right time, but you feel your temper boil over none the less.
“GREEN AXEL BODYSPRAY!? HOW MANY TIMES HAVE I TOLD YOU—”
>”HurUUUUUAAAAAGHAGHUUUUUUH”
>You never even saw the vomit coming.