>"Fucking Master Ace!"
>You are Anon, and you been listening to Midnight Flower rant about some tool from her high school for the past twenty minutes.
>You've been making the appropriate "Yeah"s, "Mm-hmmm"s, and "No kidding?"s while you patiently wait for her to fuck off back to France.
>"He's the biggest fake nerd colt in the WORLD, Anon, and all he listens to is his shitty pop music!"
"Not like you, though."
>Midnight nods earnestly, failing to pick up on the sarcasm.
>"Exactly!  I only listen to GOOD music, Anon, like Foals of the Sun; or Small Static Dog; or The Darned!"
>Hold on a tic.
>You swear you've read about The Darned recently.
"Wait, wait... You said The Darned, right?"
>"Yeah.  Why?"
"Shit, that sounds familiar."
>Midnight quirks a curious eyebrow at you, looking as though she were just seeing you for the first time.
>"...what, you listen to goth stuff?"
>You snort; GOD no.
"No, nothing like that."
>And just like that, any small amount of building respect and admiration Midnight was just now developing for you is gone.
>"Typical."
"Fuck off.  Look, I bought a bunch of records a week ago from a garage sale - some stallion was selling his son's stuff now that he's moved out.  There was a box with a few dozen records in it, and it was dirt cheap - I bought it and figured that I'd find out if I wasted my money or not the next time I had a chance to sit down and listen to them.  But The Darned was one of the bands I saw."
>You reach into your tickle trunk (that's what you call your backpack) and pull out a significant pile, which you toss down onto the floor.
"I thought I'd spring this on you later; maybe you'd take a fucking bath for once if I brought over some good music."
>"You can't be serious."
>You lean forward, hands planted on your knees, until you're at eye-level with the little mare.
"I have literally never told a joke in my entire life."
>Midnight wordlessly sneers at you through a tuft of dyed-black hair.
>You jerk your thumb at the pile of records.
"Just take a look, you brat."
>Midnight makes a big show of sighing painfully and rolling her eyes as she turns toward the records.
>God forbid she ever try and enjoy herself while you're here.
>"Oh, fine."
>She slowly trots over to the stack of records, walking at the pace one would expect from someone walking to their own death.
>Without a word, she paws at the pile, knocking the records askew so that she can see them.
>"The Brothers of Mercy... Celeatial Death... Alien Boop Fiend... Herd Inc?"
>She peers up at you looking begrudgingly impressed, and you can't help but feel a small thrill of pride.
>"Looks like your taste isn't so bad after all, old stallion."
>And that pride is gone.
"I'm going to fist you."
>Midnight's pout turns into a lecherous grin.
>"Promise?"
>These fucking horny teens, you swear to god.
>Why can't Midnight be more like the 8-year-olds you take care of?
>Sure, they go out of their way to make life difficult for you because they think it's funnny.
>But at least they eat their dinners and go to bed on time if you do things the right way.
"Fuck you."
>Midnight rolls her eyes and goes back to pawing at your records.
>"Come on, don't be so-By Nightmare Moon's Milky Teats!  Is that a live recording of a Brothers Of Mercy concert?!  They only made a few hundred of those!  Mom couldn't fi-"
>Midnight jerks her head to stare at you over her shoulder, looking distinctly sheepish.
>"Er... I mean, I couldn't find any copies of that in the city!"
>She does a happy little horsey dance in-place and then turns to you, big smile on her face.
>"Do you have any more?!"
---
>You are Anon, and you are apparently the owner of enough rare musical records to make a goth-nerd cream her non-existent horse-panties.
>...
>Note to self: find out if horse-panties exist; because you've been in Equestria just long enough that that sounds hot as hell.
>Right now, you are on your way to your little cottage, where the rest of your records are.
>Unfortunately, you've hit a bit of a snag.
>An "I'm embarrassed to be seen with you" snag.
>[spoiler]It's like high school all over again.[/spoiler]
>Which is to say, Midnight Flower is only here in spirit.
"Midnight, just come on already.  We're almost there."
>"I don't know what you're talking about, Anon," says the newspaper stand with a pair of ears and a tuft of poorly-dyed hair, "I'm not walking down the street with my foal-sitter, which is something I'm too old and grown-up to have.  I just happen to be walking in the same direction as you are, and anything I do has nothing to do with following you."
>The ears and hair wriggle a bit, and the newspaper stand is now down one newspaper.
>"For example, I've decided that I am just a mare on the street reading a newspaper."
"Oh, for god's sake."
>Utilizing >muh superior human gait (aka, or as the mares have called it, your foal-chasing legs), you make large big-boy strides over to the mysterious talking (and pony-physiology possessing) newspaper stand and scoop up a mare like you're pulling a rabbit out of a hat.
>"ANON!"
"We're two blocks away from my place, Midnight," you grouse, wrapping both arms around her barrel and holding her against your chest, "Miss me with that gay shit."
>"EVERYPONY WILL SEE ME, MY FRIENDS WILL NEVER LET ME LIVE IT DOOOOOWN!"
>You wordlessly release one of your arms so that you can boop Midnight on the snoot.
"If anyone notices you at this point, it'll be because you're screaming your head off, you fucking lunatic."
>Her shouts and flailing halt as she sneezes, just as your finger pulls away.
"Quit whining."
>Quick as a flash, you've got her wrapped securely again, but it seems like it's not needed - Midnight Flower goes completely limp in your arms, as if booping her snoot was AKA her off-switch.
>"...Dazzleflash was right," Midnight grumbles, chin grinding against your arm, "Colts are the worst."
>You need to remember this for the next time Midnight gets uppity.

-----------

>Midnight Flower lets off a low, mock-admiring whistle as the two of you walk into your cottage.
>You wince as you take in the books strewn across the coffee table and the wine stain you left half-hidden by a throw pillow on one of your couch cushions.
"Welcome to my humble abode."
>Son of a bitch, you really need to start cleaning your house before you start inviting people over.
>Midnight, now on her hind legs and leaning against the wall all cool-like, scrunches her snoot and looks around.
>With a snort and a quirked eyebrow, you get the feeling she's very unimpressed.
>"...aren't colts supposed to be neat and shit?"
"You want those records or not?"
>She topples away from the wall, smiling sheepishly.
>"Sorry."
"Tell you what, chill here unti-"
>"CHILL here?  Sure thing, FAM, that sounds RAD."
>You cross your arms and point accusingly down at the big teaty goth filly.
"You've just earned an extra bath-time, young mare."
>Midnight reacts as though you just told her that you slapped Luna right on the vagina.
>"What?!" she shouts, outraged, "No!  You can't do that!"
>Can't you?
"TWO extra bath-times."
>"FU-"
>You reach down and boop Midnight on her snoot; she immediately sneezes.
>Cute.
"Stay right here, alright?  I think I remember where I put that box."
>You are SO not prepared to host guests right now.
>And with that, you walk out of the room.
---
>You are Midnight Flower, and being in your foal-sitter's house is weird.
>It's like going into the teacher's lounge at school.
>You're used to Anon being this vague authority figure (which, on principle, you despise) that just ceases to exist when he leaves your house.
>This experience is weirdly... equinizing?  Hoo-manizing?
>This experience is weirdly hoo-manizing, and it makes him feel like more of a real person.
>It kinda draws attention to the way you've been behaving to a living breathing creature (especially one of the male persuasion, no less) whenever he's come to foal-sit you.
>The tingles running up and down your snoot from the boop and the sneeze distract you from this slightly uncomfortable line of thought, and you shake your head like a dog trying to clear water from its ears.
>SNIFFLE
>You rub your snoot, trying to rub away the tingles left over by the sneeze and the boop.
>SNIFFLE SNIFFLE
>Hmmm?
>SNIFF
>...
>SNIFF SNIFF
>SNIIIIIIIIIIIFF
>...what smells good?
>You take a few more inquisitory sniffs, eyes closed to help with your concentration.
>You take a few steps and follow the smell, blatantly disregarded Anon's instructions to stay put.
>Does he think he can tell you what to do?
>Who is he; your MOMS?!
>FUCK YOU, ANON
>Bathroom?
>SNIFF
>No...
>Tiny door?
>SNIFF SNIFF
>...kinda, actually.
>You nose open the little door and are met with a bunch of shelves with towels on them.
>Without hesitating, you jam your muzzle into one of the piles of neatly-stacked towels.
>SNIIIIFF
>That sort of smells what you're looking for, but it's not very strong.
>You pull back, accidentally dragging one of the piles off of the shelf; you ignore it and keep walking.
>Your journey leads you past a half-open door with grumbling sounds coming from it, and the smell gets a little bit stronger.
>Come to think, it smells kinda like Anon.
>But...
>Headier?
>Deeper?
>You have no idea how to describe this.
>But whatever it is, it's good.
>"Ouch!  Fucking wall..."
>Your ears twitch at the noise, and you start wondering just how much time you have to spend dilly-dallying.
>You keep going, now mindful of your time limit.
>The door ahead of you (which is directly in the path of the smell) is open just a crack, so you jam your face in between the door and the wall and shove the door wide open.
>SNIFF SNIFF
>SNIIIIIIIIF
>SNIFF SNIFF SNIFF
>Jackpot.
>You quickly scan the room, darting your eyes into dark corners and at distant walls, trying make sense of the unfamiliar room you're taking in.
>There's a bed, so obviously it's a bedroom.
>The size - and most importantly, the length - is momentarily astounding, and you feel dwarfed by it.
>Anon is a lot taller than most ponies are, and you never really put any thought into what sort of position he sleeps in - he must sleep all stretched out.
>The bed's pretty high up, too, but that might just be going against what you're used to; bed frames are for sheeponies, so you just have your box-spring mattress sitting directly on the ground.
>...dad insisted that you put little rugs underneath it so that it didn't scratch the hardwood floors, though, but you like to pretend he didn't take the wind from your sails like that and ruin your act of rebellion.
>You spot a tall dresser against the side wall, looking very plain.
>It's not pink (not that you can tell in the low light) and you don't spot any dumb colty stickers on it, which is weird.
>Your cousin is about Anon's age, and his bedroom is covered in things like stickers, plush toys, and posters of filly bands like Filliez II Marez, Frontstreet Fillies, and Eastlife.
>Not to mention fucking Master Ace with his big, dumb radio.
>Luna's Swinging Teats and the great bountiful milk that sprays from them, you don't even want to THINK about that tool right now.
>You don't know what the opposite of a wet pussy is, but thinking about him gives you that.
>The dresser is free of any sort of makeup or do-dads on it, like what you'd see on your dad's personal dresser
>There's no mirror there either, which is weird.
>How's Anon supposed to put on any makeup if he doesn't have a mirror?
>You shake your head; you're starting to doubt this is even a stallion's bedroom.
>You keep looking around, your curiosity fighting the tingling in your loins brought on by that semi-familiar aroma wafting in the air.
>Your eyes light up as you lock onto the most recognizable item in the room: the laundry hamper.
>It's uncommon to see in a lot of pony homes, seeing as how ponies don't normally wear clothes.
>But your dad used to be a big-shot dancer back in the day (like, a billion years ago), so he'd always be tossing clothes into the box in his and moms' bedroom.
>You're actually a little bit proud of yourself for being able to recognize such an obscure piece of bedroom furniture.
>The plush carpet makes your hoofsteps completely silent as you pad along the bedroom floor, and you jam your snoot against one of the little holes on the side as soon as you get near.
>SNIFF SNIFF
>SNIIIIIIIIIIIF
"Ohhhohohohhhh..... Fuck..."
>You cross your hind legs as a tiny lightning bolt zaps through your loins.
>You can't get your legs too close together because your dumb teats got in the way, but it's the best you can do.
>Yeah, you recognize that smell now.
>That's what you smelled all those times Anon flashed you his tiny pants after you beat him at Monopony.
>Anon must store his tiny pants and his ball-bras in here!
>You paw impatiently at the plastic clothes hamper, trying to knock it over, but your hoof slides off of the smooth material.
"C'mon..."
>You paw at it again, catching the tip of your hoof on the edge of one of those holes, and the box rocks just a tiny bit on its base.
>Here we go!
>You look around for something to knock it over, but find nothing.
>Looking up at the top, you wonder if you don't even NEED to knock it over.
>Utilizing the techniques you used when you were younger and wanted access to the cookie jar back when you were a little filly (and NOT just six months ago), you rear up on your hind legs and brace yourself on the rim of the hamper.
>The plastic edge bends and buckles alarmingly, but it ultimately supports your weight.
>You shove your snoot deep into the hamper, and your knees nearly buckle at the overwhelming smell.
>Yo.
>YOOOO!
>You heard your friends talking about a ball-bra raid before, but now you can actually do it!
>Holy shit, this is so awesome!
>Before you dare think about the consequences, you duck your head into the pile and snatch the first piece of loose cloth you find.
>You stuff it into your saddleback and beat a hasty retreat back to the living room, thankful for all the plush carpeting in Anon's house.
-----
>You are Anon, and you're back with those records!
>It took you a while, and you had to ignore some suspicious noises coming from your house in order to muster up the concentration necessary to remember where you put them, but you found the box!
>And brother?
>Midnight is having the fucking time of her life right now.
>"Shut up." she gasps with undisguised longing, eyes wide and mouth hanging open, "Shut UP!  How do you have Dead Can Prance's first album?!  These are impossible to find!"
"You want to put it on?"
>"YEAH I do!  Oh mare, you're gonna love them!"
>You lean back and watch Midnight Flower paw through your collection of records.
>Her tail is swishing happily like a dog's as she ducks her head into the box.
>"Dude!  Is that an original All About Adam?!"
>Midnight practically climbs into the box, hind leg kicking at the edge as she leans deep into it.
>And, uh...
>Uh...
"M-Maybe?"
>Is it?
>Wow.
>Midnight is at just the right angle that her teats are...
>...presenting themselves to you.
>Holy shit.
>You stare at them, memorized, as the soft teat-flesh is pressed against the cardboard box.
>You can very clearly see the nipples pointing straight at you as though staring back at you accusingly.
>Just above them, her swishing tail is revealing just the hint - just the EDGE - of Midnight's pussy.
>You cough uncomfortably into your fist, tearing your gaze away from this TEENAGE mare who is not a big grown-ass adult like all your legally-fuckable neighbors are.
>Son of a bitch, you need to get laid.
>REAL bad.
>"WOW!"
>You jump in your seat, nearly choking on absolutely nothing.
>"This is their first album!"
>Thankfully, Midnight pulls herself out of the box with a record slip clasped in her mouth.
>She flashes you the biggest, most earnest smile you've seen on her so far, and she gallops over to your record player.
>After a bit of fiddling and using that mouth dexterity that only earth ponies have (you try not to think about those prehensile lips of hers and how good she must be at deliberate, minute movement), she sets the record up and starts playing it.
>"Did you know that the lead singer, Moonstone, said that the inspiration for Flowers In Our Manes was..."
>Midnight rambles on about the lead singer - and later on, the drummer and other instrument players - and how they were inspired to write about what they wrote.
>She gets really into it, and the music playing in the background turns out to be the perfect backdrop for Midnight's passionate, fact-laden love letter for this old band.
>She draws attention to certain lines and tells you why they wrote what they wrote, and the two of you even manage to get into a discussion about lyrical interpretation and symbolism.
>You're not going to lie - you thought this was just going to be kind of boring.
>You figured you were going to listen to Midnight wax poetically about how this music is way better than whatever crap that colt Masturbate was listening to, but the mare really showed you that she had passion to back up her attitude.
>[spoiler]You even went "whoa!" more than once.[/spoiler]
>Before you know it, it's ten minutes before Midnight's parents were scheduled to get back, and you've got to pick Midnight up by the barrel (which she fucking HATED, let me tell you) and SPRINT back to her place.
>You're now standing in her living-room, trying to catch your breath while Midnight fiddles with her saddlebags.
>"Hey, Anon?"
>Midnight smiles at you pleasantly; so unlike her perpetual "everyone around me is an idiot" sneer.
"Yeah, Midnight?"
>"The next time you come over-"
>You note she avoids saying "the next time you foal-sit me".
>"-do you think you could bring a few of those records with you?  I could tell you about the bands, and their history and, and..."
>And like a switch inside her brain has been flipped, Midnight's happy smile flips into a disinterested grimace; aka her normal expression whenever you're around.
>"I mean, uh... it'd be cool if you did, or whatever.  Or not, I don't care."
>She leans against the wall and pointedly looks away from you, trying to look like she wasn't just behaving like a small excited filly about three-and-a-half seconds ago.
>You can't help but grin.
"Tell you what, slugger.  I'll do that if I can bring over a few of the albums I normally listen to as well."
>Midnight makes a scrunchy face, but you feel like she's only doing that on principle rather than because she finds the the idea distasteful.
>"...yeah, sure."
>You can't help but grin.
>[spoiler]YOU'RE GONNA MAKE HER GO WHOA[/spoiler]
>You think this is going to be the perfect opportunity to bond with Midnight a bit.
>Maybe NOW you can get her to take a fucking bath without having to lose a game of strip-Monopony first.

-----

>You are Midnight.
>It IS Midnight.
>You're lying in your bed, wide awake.
>Dad's home.
>Mom's are home.
>Everypony's asleep.
>Nopony is going to burst into your bedroom (after respecting your privacy by knocking first but asserting their authority by coming in anyway) and catch you with Anon's tiny pants in your hooves.
>You grin as you lay the fabric over your snoot, closing your eyes and taking in deep breaths.
>This is, like, every teen mare's fucking wet dream; going on a raid and stealing some stallion's unmentionables.
>A few mares at school bragged they did this whenever they were out of town visiting their cousins, but they were never able to back it up by showing off the testicle bras.
>And while Anon might not wear ball bras - which you think is SUPER hot, by the way - he DOES wear tiny pants, and those are just as good.
>SNIIIIIIFF
"Ohhh... buck..."
>This is gonna be a long night.
>You were right - being foalsat by a hottie at your age ain't so bad.