GamerThot Anon Part 4


                                            >Be Anon.

                                            >The week flew by in what felt like a moment.

                                            >Tomorrow, you start on your coach gig. You're not that sure about the whole shebang.

                                            >As for now, you have Fluttershy lying in your lap, reading another one of her animal care books.

                                            >Part thirteen, sixth edition. Chapter about butterflies.

                                            >There is a kind of comfortable silence in the room, broken by occasional ruffle of the page and soft purring of pegasus' breath.

                                            >Every once in a while you bend down to smooch her right on top of her head, causing her ears to twitch wildly for a second.

                                            >Sometimes she reciprocates with a nuzzle, giggle or playful swat of her tail.

                                            >You just can't help but shower this mare in affection.

                                            >But for some reason your ministrations begin to have the opposite effect.

                                            >Fluttershy suddenly shies away from your clumsy kiss.

                                            >Her ears pin against her skull, and she looks sorry.

                                            >And then she says something that makes your heart skip a beat.


                                            >Be Flutterbutter.

                                            >And this is getting unbearable!

                                            >Every time you finally get ready to talk, he kisses you unexpectedly, sending your carefully-picked words scattering.

                                            >This needs to be done, no matter how painful it might turn out.

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

                                            >There's a little pause, and you could swear that Anon stiffens a little.

                                            >He then gives your mane a small ruffle and sits you on his knees.

                                            >Your breath hitches. Mare up! Why can't you just do it?

                                            >Seeing your unmarely turmoil, he continues to stroke your back in an effort to comfort you.

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

                                            >You inhale.

                                            >The words nearly slip your mind again.

                                            "I-it's about our relationship."

                                            >His expression doesn't change.

                                            >"Go on?"

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

                                            >And now he's more confused than anything.


                                            >Be Anon.

                                            >This isn't what you expected at all.

                                            >She doesn't know. Calm down.

                                            >Banana-colored pegasus shuffles in your lap and continues meekly.

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

                                            >Memory jumps out at you.

                                            "Looked down upon?"

                                            >"Yea..."

                                            >Fluttershy hangs her head.

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

                                            >Her eyes shoot up, widened at your straightforwardness.

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

                                            >This is enough of a confirmation.

                                            >Thank goodness you did your target audience research.

                                            >The whole herding thing is a bit weird - it's expected of mare to never be in monogamous relationship. Even if there's just stallion and mare it's still counted as herd, but an 'incomplete' one.

                                            >In that type of circumstance it was alpha's primary responsibility to carefully pick herdmates to introduce to husband as soon as possible.

                                            >Mares wishing to stay mono were ostracized as greedy and impudent, unwilling to look past their own interests. In case of breakup no herd would want a mare like that.

                                            >Funny. Mares would fight to be an alpha but never to steal stallion's attention all to themselves.

                                            >Now that you've gotten to the crux of the issue, you can address it properly.

                                            >And ohhh boy, it's definitely the time for some serious reassuring with consolation on the side.

                                            >You gently tilt her head to look you in the eyes, and then plant affirmative smooch right on that snootle.

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

                                            >"A-anon!"

                                            >You hold her closer as she hugs you and buries her cute muzzle in your chest.

                                            >Resting your head on top of hers, you whisper sweet nothings to your adorably nervous mare.

                                            >Seeing her frown of worry melt away into a smile gives you heart-boner so hard that Mohs scale may as well be negative.

                                            >You are Anonymous and you have a problem.

                                            >You are addicted to making ponies feel good.

                                            >What can you do?

                                            >Comforting ponies is a soul-mending experience.


                                            >Be yellow timid pegasus mare again.

                                            >It's been a night and you still feel like your life has been turned upside down by yesterday's talk.

                                            >Fluttershy, you featherbrain, you did it again!

                                            >You barely keep yourself from facehoofing hard.

                                            >Instead of asking him if he's ready to take your relationship to the next level, you fluffed up and jumped ahead straight to herding!

                                            >But he's so sweet, it's hard on you to even think to do lewd stuff to him.

                                            >On the other hoof, maybe it was a blessing in disguise, as his words really lit up a fire in your chest.

                                            >From this day on, you're more than just a marefriend.

                                            >You are the herd's alpha and you should get used to acting like one!

                                            >Head up high! Puffing out your sizable pegasus tuft proudly!

                                            >Wings big and on display!

                                            >WHAM!

                                            "E-EEP!"

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

                                            >Oops.


                                            >Be Anon, power-walking to the castle on complete auto-pilot.

                                            >Avoiding mares like a boss.

                                            >You still weren't sure how in the FUCK these little poners are able to pinch your butt with a hoof, but you had numerous irrefutable proofs that they could and, in fact, would, given the opportunity.

                                            >Dang horny little horses.

                                            >Their inherent cuteness only made it worse. You'd pet the ever-loving stuffing out of each and every tiny mare you meet if they weren't hellbent on riding your dick through the floorboards.

                                            >Shame, really.

                                            >At least you'll cuddle with your marefriend today.

                                            >Heh, marefriend. Using that word still feels weird.


                                            >This time entering castle is a breeze, guards don't even ask your papers.

                                            >You're met by a pony in a pinstripe suit, walking towards you.

                                            >She's a bit on the smaller side, but not by much. Or is that just your perception being distorted from brushing with Luna all day last time?

                                            >Looking closer you see that her wings are leathery and she has slit pupils.

                                            >Her mane is wrapped in a tight bun, with two lacquered mahogany sticks protruding out of it.

                                            >And she has cute tiny secretary glasses on a chain sitting on her snout. She puts on a strict face and fixes her widdle tie before greeting you.

                                            >Christ Almighty, that's adorable!


                                            >Be Written In Triplicate, and oh Celestia, now you understand why everyone's suddenly preoccupied with this colt.

                                            >His shoulders are STUPID wide, his legs just won't quit and his torso teases you through baggy clothing that barely does anything to hide the bulging muscle!

                                            >But worst of all, was the assault on your keen thestral sense of smell...

                                            >Thick musk emanating from him makes it increasingly harder for you to concentrate on your papers. Papers that you're supposed to be reading to him.

                                            >You snap out of it and refocus on paperwork, unceremoniously shoving them in his general direction and scrambling few steps away.

                                            >Being a bureaumancer you have all these papers memorized anyway, and you better put some distance before you do something... unprofessional.

                                            >Where were you? Ah, right, explaining internal investigations and process of impounding hardware...

                                            >By Luna's moonlit teats, you haven't had a good pounding in ages!

                                            >Wait a minute...

                                            >Dammit.

                                            >Exerting supermare willpower, you turn away from balled up heap of turn-ons and try your best to concentrate as musk blatantly penetrates your nostrils.

                                            >Your thestral legacy is not doing you any favors right now...

                                            >Just forget it. There will be another time to get him in you.

                                            >After all, 'In' is your middle name.


                                            >Be Anon, distracted from reading your contract.

                                            >Bat mare still goes on about various terms and conditions, but that's not the source of distraction.

                                            >What bothers you is the fact that she slowly backs into you, tail hanging to the side, her goods on display.

                                            >Her glistening marehood is winking wildly. You definitely could do without seeing that.

                                            >You sigh internally and silently move out of the way.

                                            >She jumps with a yelp of surprise when her delicate parts make contact with cold marble of the wall.

                                            >Her cute little secretary glasses fly off her muzzle and now dangle around on a chain.

                                            >Man, that was cold in more ways than one.

                                            >What was she trying to accomplish anyway? Molest your knee?

                                            >She knows better than to verbally acknowledge this incident but deep blush on her cheeks says everything.

                                            >Shaking her head, she motions you to follow her.


                                            >The bat secretary by your side fills you in regarding certain rules specific to your new profession as you walk.

                                            >Only thing giving her away is occasional Freudian slip or two, though you're not sure about that.

                                            >Sometimes it's hard to tell the legal terms and euphemisms apart.

                                            >Was it "staffing mares" or "stuffing mares"?

                                            >To her credit, not only the rate of these incidents decreases as you go, the legalese in her explanation makes actual sense.

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

                                            >Handy, this will help you stay anonymous.

                                            >Wait, you are already Anonymous. How does that work, again?

                                            >You snap out of it just in time to catch next important tidbit of info - once teams are formed you'll be provided with dossiers for every sportsmare, so you'll know their name, but you shouldn't refer to them by it, as it's considered bad luck.

                                            >Weird, but ok.

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

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

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

                                            >You take six dossiers from her leathery wing-grasp and begin skimming through names.

                                            >Grandma_Punch, Bl4zeOfGlory, total_Ctrl...

                                            >"You may begin."

                                            "Whu-"

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

                                            >Door clicks behind you.

                                            >There's an awkward pause as you observe group of sportsmares entrusted to you and they, in turn, ponder your existence.

                                            >Dang! You didn't expect Grandma_Punch, aka Punch Card to be a literal grandma! But then again, with name like that you should've guessed...

                                            >Quick headcount reveals one absentee.

                                            >You slam dossiers closed.

                                            "Well, time waits for no mare."

                                            >Reality of their situation started to settle in and you spot several blushes and at least one glaring case of lip-biting.

                                            >Oh shit, they must be regular viewers! Crap, here come two barely-subtle growing wingboners.

                                            >Quick, you need to come up with something strong to imprint on them, before they start treating you like a slut!

                                            >Something that is so far away removed from your usual flair of sexy that they'll...

                                            "TEN-HUT!"

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

                                            "At ease."

                                            >Why the fuck did you do that? You don't know jack shit about military!

                                            >Improvisation is your only hope now. You put a stern expression on your face.

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

                                            >All mares nod. One mare cannot stop rubbing her eyes.

                                            >She looks kinda familiar.

                                            >You turn around and continue.

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

                                            >You load your next words with poison.

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

                                            >Your tirade gathers a few scowls and one outburst.

                                            >"YOU!?"

                                            >You look towards the source of the disturbance.

                                            >But of course.

                                            >It's none other than the fucking Born2Win, aka Winner Podium. You knew you saw this ugly mug somewhere!

                                            >You stride closer, purposefully invading her personal space, towering over her and glaring down menacingly.

                                            >She loses her angry look and her eyes widen. She looks like she's trying to back away but something keeps her in place.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                                            >Turning around to face the athletes you can see that most of them contemplate the floor. Good.

                                            >Acknowledging the problem is a first step to solving it.

                                            >You stop yourself before you channel any more of Sergeant Gunnery Hartman.

                                            >These mares can and probably will suck a golf ball through a garden hose.

                                            >All while giving you that particularly sensual, half-lidded look. Eesh!

                                            >"Hardflank..."

                                            >You catch that barely audible under-the-breath whisper but choose to ignore it.

                                            >You're not a DI to smoke that mare for hours, so you'll let it slide this one time.

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

                                            >Grumbling, mare takes the seat and starts adjusting game settings.

                                            >You just plug up a new crystal to your laptop.

                                            >Other mares gather behind Born and watch her screen intently.

                                            >You don't go all out on Born, but you don't have to hold back for entertainment purposes either.

                                            >It isn't even a minute in the match as their curious expressions are replaced by winces.

                                            >They can already anticipate the beatdown you're going to lay down on them.


                                            >It's been a few hours, and you're finishing up with the last match.

                                            >By this point you went through all dossiers and even started adding notes of your own on additional pages.

                                            >onebap, team's sole unicorn, drops into her gaming chair limply, but jumps as the door slams open.

                                            >It's the absentee, Bl4zeOfGlory.

                                            >Isn't Spitfire supposed to be punctual with her shtick for military-style training?

                                            >Being this late must be her way of showing disrespect.

                                            >It's ok, though. You are long out of fucks to give, so you just wave to recently-vacated seat across you.

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

                                            >A hint of contempt streaks her eyes, but without saying a word she drops onto the seat and jumps into the game.

                                            >The crowd of mares is audibly cheering and you nail them with a glare.

                                            >Cheering quickly dies down.

                                            >Spitfire must be real deal if even Grandma Punch is cracking a crooked smile...


                                            >Be Spitfire about fifteen minutes later.

                                            >You saw it coming. From the first frags.

                                            >The skill difference wasn't even unfair, it was insane. It felt like that colt was born with that game.

                                            >Here he comes.

                                            >To rub in your and other mares' losses, no doubt.

                                            >You feel hand landing on your shoulder and you lift your head, steeling your gaze to meet the inevitable.

                                            >His next words threw you a curveball.

                                            >"Want to kick flanks as hard as I do?"

                                            >He turns his head and addresses all of you.

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

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

                                            >You blink.

                                            >"Well, do ya?"

                                            >You blink again.

                                            "Tartarus YES, we do!"

                                            >You're drowned out in similar shouts.

                                            >This time his smile exposed all of his pearly whites.


                                            >Be Anon, heading to your work laptop.

                                            >Smiling to yourself.

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

                                            >Question catches you a bit off guard.

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

                                            >You don't wait for their answer.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                                            >Your sports team, as one, starts displaying confusion, puzzlement and everything in-between. Confuzzlement?

                                            >Grandma_Punch is the one to speak up first, in a surprisingly creaky voice.

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

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

                                            >Mares seem to be perplexed by your clothes analogy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                                            >Grandma harrumphs.

                                            >You shrug.

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

                                            >She grasps her muzzle with both hooves for a second but then beams at you.

                                            >Cute mare self-esteem: restored.


                                            >It's late in the evening, and every match has been dissected thoroughly.

                                            >Your notes have tripled in thickness, and further course of action becomes much clear.

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

                                            >A chorus of groans and yawns is your only answer. Perfect. Fatigued mare won't be frisky and rowdy, and a mare that dreams of comfy bedding is better than mare that dreams of stealing your underwear.

                                            >God, you still can't forget how clueless you were to your undies disappearing during your first months here...

                                            >Friggin' horny horseburds...


                                            >Some rabble from the nearby door gets your attention.

                                            >You swing door open to your team chit-chattin'.

                                            "What are you all still doing here?"

                                            >Spitfire stands at attention, then motions to a set of bunk beds.

                                            >"Sir, we, uh... were stationed here as a part of our ongoing contract, sir!"

                                            >Spitfire sure is enjoying the military angle.

                                            "I see."

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

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

                                            >In ensuing silence, pillow falls on the floor, having slipped from Winner Podium's suddenly slack jaw.

                                            >Sheesh, do you have to explain everything?

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

                                            >Soon enough you exit the quarters to a sextet of snoring mares.

                                            >Today has been a trainwreck, no way around it.

                                            >But after tucking those ponies in, you're strangely in high spirits.

                                            >You can work with this.


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

                                            >"Splendid work, Anonymous!"

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

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

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

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

                                            >She practically whispers last word into your ear, her hot breath sending shivers down your spine.

                                            >Uh-oh.

                                            >Your pelvis is saved by loud creaking of the door opening.

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

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

                                            >"Yes, our dearest sister?"

                                            >Not squandering such a moment of opportunity, you slip away into the night.

                                            >You still have a costume to pick up and stream to run.

                                            >Tired or sleepy, it does not matter. The show must go on.


                                            >You are Queen Chrysalis.

                                            >Skulking through dark alleys of Canterlot, practically vibrating with anticipation.

                                            >Soon, you'll obtain yourself a dream colt.

                                            >Tall, exotic and as dirty-minded as you are!

                                            >Mares in chat can only fancy themselves such an opportunity.

                                            >But you're a Queen, you can have anything you well damn please!

                                            >...

                                            >Well, except for a few things.

                                            >Like ruling the world.

                                            >A love life worth a damn.

                                            >Adequate players for your campaigns...

                                            >This of no matter.

                                            >You're not the one to squander the opportunity.

                                            >Much to your chagrin, a particularly unpleasant memory bubbles up at this thought.

                                            >Last time you jumped at the opportunity like that you really made a mess of things.

                                            >Despite your perfect plan and successful Canterlot infiltration you got love-drunk, took a swim in royal aquarium and tried to seduce half the castle staff.

                                            >On top of that, you challenged Royal Sisters to a dance-off while showing off your sick break-dance moves.

                                            >They ultimately saw through your clever disguise and promptly threw you out of the castle.

                                            >Not your proudest day.

                                            >Who knew that damn Princess Can't-dance cadence?

                                            >Wait, you've got that wrong way around.

                                            >Whatever.

                                            >The much-expected visage brings smile back to your muzzle.

                                            >There could be no mistake - this tall, almost towering figure is instantly recognizable.


                                            >Be resident hominid alien.

                                            >With newly-obtained apparel under your arm, you step into your streaming studio and turn your gaming station on.

                                            >Flutters won't be back till much later.

                                            >Time to change and run that relaxing farming sim you picked out recently.

                                            >Relaxation.

                                            >That's definitely something you could use right now.


                                            C0mpound_EY3: So... Lately I talked my sister into turning into whatever that sexy beast Unnamed is.

                                            LyricalSatirical: Oh damn!

                                            xXM00n_DanceXx: Luna damn it! I knew bugs have it best when getting freaky in the bedroom!

                                            C0mpound_EY3: You know it

                                            TotalyNotAChangeling: mare that's dyke asb!

                                            C0mpound_EY3: It's not dyke if she has dicc

                                            LyricalSatirical: can I hire you bugs out or smth? Momma needs to feel those graspers on her horn!

                                            S1mple_3YE: Sis, don't think that I forgot, you promised that it's your turn next!

                                            xXM00n_DanceXx: Mare I don't know, Totaly is kinda right - getting railed by a mare sounds too dyke-ish for my tastes...


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

                                            >You give the camera an earnest apologetic smile.

                                            >With smile like that your viewers will forgive you anything.

                                            >However, chat's rather perplexed in regards to your costume.

                                            >You're wearing denim pants and jacket along with a straw cowboy hat.

                                            >Denim jacket's unbuttoned just enough to show off a bit of your pecs.

                                            >You give camera another one of your sweet smiles.

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

                                            >Ooooohs and aaaaahs of realization crop up in swathes.

                                            "Which is..."

                                            >You fiddle around with a box for a bit before turning it to face the camera.

                                            >God, you love teasing chat.

                                            "Honest Hearts Homestead!"

                                            >The boxart features a farmer mare in an outfit not too dissimilar to yours.

                                            >You'd prefer to wear denim overalls instead, but gotta stay true to original material...

                                            >If cosplay idea takes off, you expect a serious uptick in games with lewd protagonists being suggested.


                                            >Turning the box back, you read the tagline.

                                            "Farming and... herd management simulator."

                                            >Huh. You don't recall the herding part from the time you picked this game up at the store.

                                            >Must be a coincidence.

                                            >Not wasting any more time, you jump straight in the game.

                                            >Sweet Jesus, how did they make ponies even more adorable?!

                                            >After acclimatizing to new level of cute, you can finally interact with the game, and you hit the ground running.

                                            >Farm-land is overgrown with weeds and you spend a few in-game days clearing it.

                                            >Game clearly wants to ease player into the gameplay loop, but you just wish you'd get to the farming part already.

                                            >Grumbling you make slow but sure progress, trying to entertain chat during this slog section.

                                            >As you'll admit it later, dressing as skimpy farm-boy was a huge mistake.

                                            >At first it was quiet.

                                            >You saw some viewers mentioning 'friends who are really into this sort of thing', but you didn't pay attention to that.

                                            >What caught your eye was a series of VERY salacious comments from one particular viewer.

                                            >It was that country gal you lifted farm-boy idea from.

                                            >Little did you know, her showing up was the beginning of the end.

                                            >Not even five minutes later, an avalanche of new viewers started flooding your stream.

                                            >You watch in barely contained awe and horror as chat becomes apples and apple accessories.

                                            >Just how many of apple farmers ARE there in Equestria?

                                            >As if to drive the point home, second wave of viewers pours in, consisting of other fruit-themed and sometimes even fruit-shaped nicknames.

                                            >Vegetables were soon to follow.

                                            >Amount of dirty comments: Off the charts and keeps going.

                                            >Comments promising feasts consisting solely tasty family recipes are a close second.

                                            >Reminder to self: avoid farms. You're either going to be fed to death by affectionate grandmas or country mares are going to ride you through the floor.

                                            >You pull your shit together and take it in stride, after all, influx of viewers is always good, right?

                                            >Finally your plot of land is free of weeds and trash and it's time to actually farm!

                                            >It was supposed to be a pretty short trip to the farming shop, but...

                                            >Your seemingly mundane choice of first crop to seed sparks almost a riot in the chat.


                                            Applejack01: Ahnd ah swear to Celestia, Unnamed should 'now the blessing of the Apple.

                                            BananaRama: apples? more liek crapples! banana gang reigns supreeeeeeeeeeeem!

                                            SucculentFroot: Peaches! Peaches! Peaches! Peaches! Peaches! Peaches!

                                            OuttaField: Stinkin' odd-jobs, y'all.

                                            Potato-Potato: You absolute tuftlets! HAIL TO THE GLORY OF SPUD

                                            brite_orang: 'hat do you 'ave 'gainst carrots, pardner?

                                            JamPakd: Do yah lissen to yerself? Y'all don' make a lick o' sense!


                                            >You're glad you got yourself some moderators, yeesh!

                                            >But desire to placate all of these frisky but somewhat endearingly straightforward country mares overtakes you.

                                            >You clench your teeth and buy every fruit and veggie seed once, as applicable for current season.

                                            >Terrible strategy, but it soothes ongoing rioting in chat along with you cutely spewing some nonsense about variety being the spice of life.

                                            >You get to work, murmuring a simple melody to yourself

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


                                            >Be royal. Be bug. Be the Queen Chrysalis.

                                            >Also, be mad.

                                            >Be very mad.

                                            >Be table-flippin' mad!

                                            >You've spent better part of last two hours trying to get in, but to no avail.

                                            >Unnamed's apartment is locked tight, and heavily warded.

                                            >Can't teleport in, can't phase through walls either.

                                            >That unassuming wooden door can rival the toughest safe doors, and as for the windows - you'd have better chances with any of the walls.

                                            >It's practically a one-apartment fortress.

                                            >However, the reward is going to be all the sweeter for it.

                                            >You refocus on the task at hoof.

                                            >Layered protection, wards... Nothing's going in or out, except mail...

                                            >Mail, hmmm...

                                            >What if?..


                                            >Be Anon, proud virtual farmer managing every single type of crop there is!

                                            >You hear a muffled FWAMP from another room. Must be fan mail.

                                            >Ever since you set that up you get a free game every now and then - ponies enjoy your take on their favorite games, even if you don't actually complete them.

                                            >On fifteenth day you find a mail in the mailbox.

                                            >It's protagonist's mother, asking why ain't she herding yet.

                                            "Ain't that familiar?"

                                            >There's quite few of colts in the town, but there's one guy who has been fawning over your produce for awhile.

                                            >Well, more like observing it a bit too long before going his way.

                                            >You move in for the kill.

                                            >He's skittish at first, but with few right dialogue choices and a bit of homebrewed wine, and you got him in a pocket.

                                            >Well, in bed, snuggling with protagonist mare.


                                            TwilitBandit: Wtb Unnamed makes it look so easy

                                            xXM00n_DanceXx: Ha! Consider getting your colt end of game's tutorial! Keeping him is THE hard part...

                                            JamPakd: Ah wish it'd be that easy! Barely any colt respects farmin' ways these days...

                                            SucculentFroot: He cute

                                            S1mple_3YE: Unnamed or The Husband?

                                            SucculentFroot: Yes


                                            >With help of virtual stallion game starts going faster.

                                            >With some due care and careful planning, you're quick to harvest crops and cycle out those that won't survive next season.

                                            >At the moment, your in-game husband is out on the field, watching you work and doing small-time cleaning here and there.

                                            >PERFECT. OPPORTUNITY.

                                            >These peopl- ponies came here for a show, and you're going to give it to 'em!

                                            >Innuendo engine?

                                            >Full throttle.

                                            >Self-respect?

                                            >None to begin with.

                                            >Let's roll.

                                            >Forgive me moderators, for I am about to sin. Hard.


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

                                            "Time to start plowing!"

                                            >You elicit some grunts in sync with mare as she struggles with low-tier plow as you tap away the QTE.

                                            >Man, this is soooooooo going to be used out of context...

                                            >Using high-grade growing powder should make the maize grow in no time.

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

                                            >Once done, you turn and head to house.

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

                                            >Using water barrel to restore endurance.

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

                                            >Meanwhile colt picks up one of your hard-earned veggies and starts trotting somewhere with it.

                                            >Not on YOUR watch!

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

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

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

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

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

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


                                            >As a surprise to everyone involved, lewdity train comes to a screeching halt once the next day hits and The Husband introduces a new herdmate.

                                            >The Mailmare.

                                            >You feel like you had a bucket of ice water dumped on you.

                                            >Not only you didn't get asked for your input, that lil' shid decided to contest you for being an alpha!

                                            >You boop her right outta the door.

                                            >Unfortunately, colt sees that and boy, is he not amused.

                                            >You spend the next night on the couch.

                                            >IN YOUR OWN DAMN HOUSE!

                                            >You clench your teeth but deal with it.

                                            >With another herdmate, you have to juggle finances, available resources, time and happiness of your herdmates.

                                            >And your presents don't seem to fill out your stallion's happiness bar as well as they used to.

                                            >A-ha. So repeated actions have diminishing returns. Gotcha.

                                            >But if this keeps on keeping on, you're going to run out of actions!

                                            >Gift shop restocks in three days, but you can't say if you got that much time.

                                            >Holy SHIT this game is nerve-wracking!


                                            C0mpound_EY3: Did anypony clip the moment when colt puts him through the wringer? That expression - priceless!

                                            xXM00n_DanceXx: Is that what I think it is? Is he going for MAXWHIM run?

                                            TwilitBandit: Sure looks like it, he's off to a strong start, too!

                                            Applejack01: The MAX-what-now??

                                            xXM00n_DanceXx: Not using tuft to lower Husband's whimsy.

                                            SucculentFroot: Btw, apples still suck!

                                            TwilitBandit: Type of self-imposed difficulty run where you don't use your tuft to reset Husband's ever-increasing whimsy. Some call it tuft-less run, which is a misnomer, IMO.

                                            Applejack01: Now don' go talk somthin' y'all gon' regret, pardner...

                                            xXM00n_DanceXx: Aw buck here we go again


                                            >The stallion becomes rather fussy in his choice of produce for cooking, changing preference literally every day.

                                            >You're so damn happy you stuck to your stupid every-crop strategy, as you have a surplus of just about everything.

                                            >But then he starts being picky about quality, too!

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

                                            >The Mailmare proves to not be a complete deadweight as she chips in herd budget and entertains the colt with fancy postcards while you practically beat the produce out of earth like it owes you money.

                                            >Happiness bars fall dangerously low, but you save the situation by attending several fairs and winning prizes with your perfect-quality veggies, which cheers up entirety of herd.

                                            >At this point, you're breaking out in sweat.

                                            >You wanted a comfy and slightly lewd - well, okay, considerably lewd - evening of mindless farming, instead you're torn over choices for your virtual herd while there's YET ANOTHER civil war breaking out between earth pony clans in the chat.

                                            >This is fine.


                                            >Forgetting today's dirty little secret, you unbutton your trucker jacket and reveal a bit more than intended.

                                            >This sets off smoldering powder keg that is your current audience.

                                            >Guess saving that for later didn't pan out.

                                            >Oh well, no point in hiding it now, so you give the camera a coy smile as you pull the jacket off, revealing stealth rope bondage you had all this time, and do some muscle flexing.

                                            >You're even kinda proud of the ropework - finally picture-perfect memory of untold gigabytes of shibari came in handy!

                                            >The chat?

                                            >Absolute. Pandemonium.


                                            Applejack01: Hoo-wee! Dis yees mah haw!

                                            P3culiarD1amond: Now this is tasteful rope application!

                                            S1mple_3YE: OMQ CLIP IT NAO!

                                            SucculentFroot: Love me a colt who has a way wit' rope!

                                            LyricalSatirical: yessssssssss

                                            OuttaField: you's a big 'un

                                            TotalyNotAChangeling: by Chrysalis' humble posterior! off to a hardware store!


                                            >On the upside, the earth mares aren't at each other's throats anymore.

                                            >After this small commercial break you continue your resource juggling exercise.

                                            >The margin for error is unbelievably small, but RNGesus is smiling upon ye today and thus you scrape by, limping all the way to Hearth's Warming.

                                            >Everypony is happy, budget has grown, and it's friggin' horsechristmas, what more can one want?

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


                                            xXM00n_DanceXx: Welp, that's a new record...

                                            TwilitBandit: Uh, I don't think he knows

                                            xXM00n_DanceXx: No duh! Obscure run, obscure category, you do the math.

                                            TwilitBandit: I mean, I don't think he knows about tuft mechanic.

                                            xXM00n_DanceXx: HE DOESN'T?! :facehoof:


                                            >After doing your long-overdue round of shout-outs, you wrap your stream up and stretch.

                                            >That was... way less relaxing than expected.

                                            >Time to go change and just... collapse on the sofa as a sack of potatoes. Perfect-grade stack of potatoes...

                                            >Vaguely mare-shaped black-and-green blur hits your chest.

                                            >Your horsemolestation prevention instincts kick in, and you drop on one knee, hook your arm under the intruder's barrel and finally leverage your height to put the unwanted guest right on her back.

                                            >Normally putting your noggin within striking distance of hooves would be a bad idea...

                                            >But no mare would hit a cute stallion, especially in his pretty face, and you abuse this fact to the full extent.

                                            >You start aggressively rubbing her belly and head, delivering circular rubs, ear scritchies, headpats and some tickling for a good measure.

                                            >She's writhing in your grasp, but you're stronger.

                                            >Little pony bodies can take only so much stimulation from your horrendous 'graspers' and she's out cold in 15 seconds flat.

                                            >Now that you look her over, it becomes evident that it's not your run-of-the-mill mare.

                                            >Sleek, black body, sick-looking horn, flowing mane and hooves full o' holes.

                                            >Yup, that's a bug.

                                            >She does look kinda cute, with wide afterglow smile making her fangs poke out just a tiny bit.

                                            >Too bad she doesn't glow green, otherwise you'd nickname her razerhorse.

                                            >You put your hands on your sides.

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

                                            >Looking down at your torso, you get an idea.


                                            >Be Fluttershy, and you're very, extremely... PEEVED!

                                            >It was supposed to be very quiet in Anon apartments, for sake of his recording job.

                                            >Instead it was sounds of struggle and Anon's voice.

                                            >And he sounded... angry?

                                            >Evidently, some mares got to your stallion while you were away, and they're taking advantage of him!

                                            >Filled with righteous fury, you carefully unlock door and then kick it open.

                                            "That's it, busters!"

                                            >But the anger goes away in the next second as you observe the scene.

                                            >Chrysalis is... bound and prostrated on the floor, muzzle down and... Eep! Hindquarters up! Some sort of red ball of considerable size is squeezed between her jaws. Her legs appear to be bound together by a rope weaving through holes in her hooves in fancy patterns and knots; Her mascara is ruined and her eyes can't seem to decide between rolling back and crossing.

                                            >Anon stays over her, dressed as a farmer, holding a riding crop and a...

                                            >"HERE COMES THE LETTUCE!"

                                            >Chrysalis's half-lidded eyes shoot open, full of genuine fear.

                                            >O-oh dear.