UNTITLED (Fluttershy) by Trente-Neuf


                                            [Copied from https://pastebin.com/raw/PWZdPNsc]


                                            >You are Anon.

                                            >And you've just force-fed a raw steak to a little technicolor pony.

                                            >She wasn't the one you wanted to buy, but still, does that warrant what you did?

                                            >Seriously, what did she ever do to you?

                                            >From your side of the room, you can see the little yellow-and-pink ball that is her sprawled in the corner.

                                            >She's been bawling for half an hour, no sign of stopping.

                                            >Holy shit, the mare's got waterworks.

                                            >The rush faded away 20 minutes ago.

                                            >Her suffering is no longer making you happy.

                                            >You're no longer happy.

                                            >This is actually kind of sad.

                                            >Well...

                                            >At any rate, you can't just leave her there.

                                            >You leave your position propped up against the wall, and stand.

                                            >Carry your pone into the living room, all the while she's sniffling and mumbling incoherently.

                                            >Drop her on the sofa.

                                            >Yes, drop her. The pathetic whimper you know she'll make is too good to pass up.

                                            >Stuff like that always makes you feel good on the inside.

                                            >You make yourself some toast; torturing an innocent little furball sure drains you.

                                            >You don't know what compels you to wait around until she finally begins to sleep.

                                            >Chewing on the piece of burnt toast, you think, but would never admit, that it's some fatherly instinct you've been trying to ignore.

                                            >She looks so peaceful curled up on the couch.

                                            >Go away, conscience. Please kindly shut the hell up.

                                            >A quick check of the clock shows you that it's get-the-fuck-to-bed time.

                                            >Well into the real nigga hours.

                                            >If there's one thing you're happy for, it is the sleep that quickly overtakes you.

                                            >You drag yourself out of bed at 6 in the morning.

                                            >Didn't get much sleep, but you've got enough.

                                            >You pull on some shitty clothes, not expecting to leave the house today.

                                            >Slightly oversized t-shirt, an alright pair of pants, and a sweatshirt, you're also going barefoot.

                                            >As you enter the living room, you note the yellow pony's absence.

                                            "An early bird, huh?"

                                            >You proceed to flop on the sofa.

                                            >TV remote is just within your reach...

                                            >With more willpower than movement, you manage to inch it into your hand after a couple tries.

                                            >Flipping through news channels you glimpse the pony's yellow face peeking around the doorway.

                                            >It's gone before you finish turning your head.

                                            >You call after her:

                                            "Hey! Hey, wait!"

                                            >No response at all.

                                            >She's terrified of you.

                                            *sigh*

                                            >And you don't blame her, you get pretty bad when you're mad.

                                            >Not to mention a moderate sadism issue on your part.

                                            >Yeeeeah.

                                            >You'd better at least apologize so she isn't permanently scared of you.

                                            >You wouldn't exactly enjoy that.

                                            >Alright, you stand up and poke your head outside the doorway.

                                            >You search for a second, looking down one side of the hallway, then the other.

                                            >Doesn't look like anything is around in the rooms to your right.

                                            >After a brief search, you turn your head to the left to see a pink tail and a bit of a leg poking out from a pile of laundry.

                                            >Fucking seriously.

                                            >11/10, 2stealthy4me.

                                            "Nice hiding spot, can't see you at all"

                                            >A slightly-muffled, timid squeak is the response. Seriously, the sounds this pony makes.

                                            "I'm not gonna hurt you or anything, please just come out,"

                                            >...

                                            >Worth a try.

                                            "I just wanted to apologize. I went completely overboard last night and kind of took out my anger on you,"

                                            >Nothing?

                                            >Well, you did kind of force her to eat half a pound of raw meat.

                                            "Fine, you win, uh... wow, I never got your name, did I?"

                                            >So much for that, you begin to turn away.

                                            >It takes you completely by surprise when she answers you.

                                            >"Fluttershy. My name, it's Fluttershy"

                                            >A while passes as you watch the news.

                                            >It's typical stuff going on around the world:

                                            >That revolt of pony slaves in Kansas and Nebraska was finally put down.

                                            >The UN was bickering about stuff.

                                            >Some of the last of the Equestrian Royal Guard was killed or captured in an allied raid on their hideout.

                                            >And the price of gas went down from the $5 a gallon it was, barely.

                                            >Fluttershy enters the room during a commercial break, took her long enough.

                                            >She keeps her distance, though, she's still wary of you.

                                            >She doesn't seem like the type to walk up and start a conversation, the pony probably has something to ask you.

                                            >You ask her first.

                                            "What's up? Do you need something?"

                                            >You turn the TV off and look over at her.

                                            >She stands nervously, eyes trained down at her hooves.

                                            >"Well, uh, do you have any food that I could eat, i-if that's okay?"

                                            >The mare looks up at you inquisitively.

                                            >She must still be scared that breakfast today will be a repeat of last night.

                                            >You smile warmly, you make sure she recognizes it as genuine.

                                            "Yeah, actually. I was gonna make breakfast in a bit; gotta see what I have, but there'll be something,"

                                            >It's met with a quiet "Thank you"

                                            >Reach the kitchen, Flutter trailing behind you.

                                            >Gesturing to a bag of bagels, you ask:

                                            "You like bagels?"

                                            >She can only barely see them over the counter.

                                            >"Oh, I've never had one before, but I'm sure they're good,"

                                            >Okay, let's see what else you have.

                                            >You search the cupboards; they're never well-stocked, but you actually manage to find an unopened box of cereal off to the side.

                                            >You hold it out to her.

                                            "Looks like I've got some cereal, if you'd rather have that,"

                                            >She examines the minimalistic store-brand box.

                                            >"This also looks good, though,"

                                            >You point towards a bowl over on the other side of the room as the pony puts the cereal box on the counter.

                                            >"There's some fruit over there, if you'd rather have that,"

                                            >"Fruit sounds good, too,"

                                            >She keeps this up as you offer you think she could eat.

                                            >You'll have to make her choose.

                                            "Alright, but which one do you want?"

                                            >She examines everything you've set aside.

                                            >You can't like everything, now can you?

                                            >"Um, well, uh, I kind of might actually like... Nevermind, nevermind,"

                                            >pone_refuses_to_form_opinions_about_breakfast_and_it's_getting_slightly_irritating.jpg

                                            >You decide to help her along.

                                            "If you can't tell me what you want, at least tell me what you think you want,"

                                            >She should be able to recognize the impatience in your voice.

                                            >She contemplates this for a second.

                                            >"O-okay, I was kind of thinking that I'd like like some cereal, but a bagel sounds interesting,"

                                            >You grab the cereal box as she is talking and pour her a bowl.

                                            >"U-uh I was kind of thinking I-"

                                            "Do you like your cereal with milk?"

                                            >"Might have possibly wanted a bagel,"

                                            >You open the fridge and grab the milk jug.

                                            "You couldn't make up your mind, so I decided for you. Now let me ask again, do you prefer cereal with milk?"

                                            >Kind of harsh, but you do legally own her, as a slave, at that.

                                            >She's lucky you gave her a choice at all.

                                            >She considers it for a moment.

                                            >"Oh, alright, I guess I do"

                                            >That's fucking right. Your pony is not an "I don't eat cereal with milk" weirdo.

                                            >You were pretty sure people like that were alien spies or some shit.

                                            >You pour some in the bowl, and put the milk on the counter.

                                            >Take a spoon for her, just to be safe.

                                            >You look over to Fluttershy, she's sitting on the floor out of your way, but still watching what you're doing.

                                            >Nope, you're not exactly sure how a pony eats something like cereal.

                                            >You get yourself some, too.

                                            >Mostly because the box is still open, you've always been kind of lazy.

                                            >You bring the two bowls into the living room, she gets up and follows.

                                            "So, Fluttershy, what'd you do before all this?"

                                            >You place the bowls on the coffee table and take a seat.

                                            >She hesitates to get on the couch for a second, but eventually joins you.

                                            >"Oh, I took care of animals, it was great! There were sooooo many critters and...

                                            >Elaborating on the subject, she ends up giving you a continuous, five-minute-long run-on sentence, describing every unnecessary, excruciating detail about her "animal friends".

                                            >It's pretty cute.

                                            >You have to admit *she's* cute, too.

                                            >This is the happiest you've ever seen her, and it melts yo heart like diabeetus.

                                            >The bowls have been sitting out for all this time, you know what that means.

                                            "Hope you don't mind soggy cereal there,"

                                            >She looks sadly at her breakfast, then to you:

                                            >"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-"

                                            >You sigh and shake your head.

                                            "It happens, Flutter. If you still feel like eating it, go ahead,"

                                            >You're not (too) pissed, and soggy cereal is still food.

                                            >She seems to share the sentiment, eating the stuff straight from the bowl.

                                            >So that's how they do it.

                                            >Huh.

                                            >You turn the TV on, it's still on the news channel.

                                            >"... latest reports of gunfire in Washington, D.C., at least 4 dead, Many more wounded, and this is coming to us just as-"

                                            >You shut the TV down.

                                            >So much for that.

                                            >After turning off the TV you spend much of the day in conversation with Fluttershy.

                                            >It's mostly small talk while the both of you tidy up the house.

                                            >She tells you about life back where she came from.

                                            >The little community she lived in, the adventures she had, the friends she loved.

                                            >It would seem as if she had a pretty nice life.

                                            >Your life really wasn't that great.

                                            >But considering what you'd seen other people go through in the past few years?

                                            >Oh, it sure as hell wasn't the worst.

                                            >You had finished your bachelor's degree a year ago, and now ran the family store.

                                            >You weren't drafted, either, but that was a very close call.

                                            >They'd actually called your birthday on the service lottery back when the war was at its climax.

                                            >It was getting brutal over there.

                                            >The sole reason that kept you out of the meat grinder was a tibia that never healed correctly.

                                            >You ponder what might have happened differently over a pile of unfinished tax papers, while Flutter hovers a couple feet in the air, sweeping the floor.

                                            >It's strange how they can fly with wings that small.

                                            >Considering the fact that it's early December, the sun has almost set, even though it's only 4:00.

                                            >Tomorrow is the first day you put your pony to work.

                                            >Yep, you definitely aren't rich enough to buy a slave just as a companion and light housekeeper.

                                            >You'd gone over this with her already.

                                            >You'll have to show her how things work, but manning the cash register and restocking shelves isn't too hard.

                                            >Just tedious.

                                            >Except for when someone tries to sneak out a solar panel or dynamo to get around electricity rationing.

                                            >Or, when someone abandons stealth completely and tries to rob you.

                                            >So many people carry weapons on them these days.

                                            >Hence why you keep a glock under the counter.

                                            >17 shots, no 38.

                                            >The sad part is that it's actually come in handy before.

                                            >Multiple times.