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>Be Anon  
>You’re tired as hell from working Sweet Apple Acres and can’t wait to pass out on your bed.  
>You reach to open your front door, when you hear something peculiar.  
>It sounds like…squeaking?  
>To be fair, you were having a bit of a mice problem.  
>You we’re going to do some amateur pest control until Fluttershy caught the faintest scent of your bloodlust.  
>Though, this squeaking sounds different.  
>It sounds artificial.  
>You open the door, the sound becoming much more clear.  
>Definitely squeaking.  
>Slow too.  
>Almost like someone was taking long, hard strokes.  
>You take a single step.  
>The squeaking stops.  
>You wait.  
>…  
>Silence.  
>Then, the squeaking comes back, a little faster than before.  
>You exhale, already tired of whatever horsefuckery you’re inevitably going to find.  
>You inch towards your bedroom door, where the sounds appear to be emanating from.  
>As you get closer, you hear panting and moaning.  
>You roll your eyes.  
>It’s probably Fluttershy again, doing horrible, unspeakable evils to a poor mouse.  
>You’ve done this song and dance before, so you waste no time.  
>You open the door unceremoniously.  
>You stare.  
>Pinkie Pie sits atop your bed with a head-sized, green balloon with a question mark written in marker.  
>Between her legs.  
>She looks up at you, her face flushed from embarrassment and exhaustion.  
>”O-okay, I know what it looks like and…”  
>She hesitates, looking around the room, possibly for an escape.  
>Her head limply falls, her hair deflating just a little.  
>”…It’s exactly what it looks like.”  
>You stare at the pony for a moment.  
>You suck your teeth.  
“Fucking looners.”