>>35958566
>You are Anonymous Jr, otherwise known just as Junior.
>About two weeks back, your pals Apogee, Zala, and Luftkrieg came over to your place to hangout after school.
>And just like Little League did the time she was over, all three perved on your dad.
>Gross...
>Which is why you're dreading tonight.
>Your mom unexpectedly got a late shift at the hospital, and she was supposed to be your team's chaperone for a fillyscout camping trip in the Whitetail Woods.
>Zala's parents were busy, Apogee's dad knows nothing about the outdoors, and Luft's sister Aryanne is swamped in college coursework. 
>Meaning you had to ask your dad...
>You trudge into your house with your friends following just a few steps behind, already knowing dad's answer.
>"Welcome home, [Mini-me]." Dad's deep voice calls from around the corner to the kitchen, his words switching to English halfway. "How was your scout meeting?"
>You throw off your scout uniform and throw it on the couch as you pass it. Your friends keep theirs on as you all round the corner.
>Standing at his huge height of twelve imperial hooves tall, dad easily reaches into the highest cupboard above the stove as he watches a simmering pot on the stove. Too fast for most eyes to track, he throws a pinch of spice into the pot and replaces the little shaker in one seamless movement.
"It was okay..." You answer, looking around and wondering where your hellion of a little brother is. "Say, dad, mom got a screwy shift, so she can’t watch me and the girls during our camping trip. Could you… Fill in for her?” Then a thought hits you. “If you’re watching the brat this weekend that's fine,” you add, trying to sound nonchalant.
>Dad hums in his chest, the sort of hum that you feel in your own chest from a distance. He finally turns away from dinner to face you.
>You scowl when, to your right, Luftkrieg openly blushes at the noise. 

>”You’re in luck then, [daughter dearest], because your grandparents took Redcross for the weekend. Something about an art show in Canterlot so he doesn’t feel put out about not being allowed to go on your camping trip,”
>Shit. You bite your lip to keep from swearing in front of your dad. 
>Dad then smiles a toothy smile when he sees your friends. “Ah, how rude of me. It’s a pleasure to see all of you again, girls.”
>”I-It’s nice to see you again too, M-Mister Heart!” Zala forces out, smiling nervously. Luft rapidly nods along and Apogee tries to say something, but it just comes out as a squeak that makes her already red face flush deeper.
>You are SO glad human noses are so much weaker than a pony’s. Even with your muted hybrid sense of smell, your friend’s collective arousal is as thick as it is disgusting. If dad could smell this, you would pray for Faust to smite you on your hooves.
>Considering you now have to live in a tent with this smell come tomorrow for a whole weekend, you may still pray for that smiting.
>”Make yourselves at home, girls. Dinner will be ready in an hour or so,” dad smiles one last time and turns back around to the stove. “I would love to go camping with you all. I haven’t been out on a trip longer than a day since I came here from the old country.”
>Earth… You can’t help but wonder about the land of humans. Dad said his side of the family is dead and gone, and that the isolated land is nigh impossible to get in or out of, but you still wish you could go there just once to visit your countrymen.
>”So, this weekend, then?” Dad continues, breaking you out of your thoughts.
“Yep…” You hold back a sigh and wonder how the rest of the class is going to take this. Or the rest of the parents.
>Considering your dad, there is going to be a LOT of emaresculated moms there.

>”Sounds like a plan, then,” dad chuckles. “I’ll have to dig my old pack out and see if the moths have eaten it or not.”
“Thanks, dad. We’ll be in my room!” You call over your shoulder as you trot away, silently shooting all your friend’s a glare to follow.
>They do.
--------
>You lay sprawled out on your bed, glaring at the math homework spread out before you.
>Fucking Cheerilee. Can’t even let them have the weekend off when she knows that the fillyscouts are going to be gone until monday.
>’Just do it all tonight then.’ Maybe you need to get laid, you uptight cunt.
>”Say, Junior?”
>You look up to Apogee, who has all her homework done already. The pegasus blinks. “Does Scoutmaster Sweet know that your dad is taking your mom’s place?”
“I told her I’d get a parent, not which one,” you grunt, returning your eyes to your homework. You take your pencil in your lips and jot down an answer to one of the questions, 90% sure it’s right. “She can’t really force guys away. Mac Apple was one to foalsit Applebloom and her misfit troupe last time.”
>”Well, yeah, but Mac Apple is a farm colt, it’s a bit different,” Apogee replies, picking her homework up in her lips and stuffing it in her book bag. “And Scoutmaster Sweet is friends with Tiara’s mom, who is kinda…sexist?”
>”The scoutmaster might try to make things hard for Mister Heart…” Luftkrieg weighs in, her germane accent thickening a little in concern.
You scoff. “All of you are worrying too much. The old man could eat a bowl of tacks without any milk. He’s the furthest thing from dainty.”
>”You might be biased, though, Junior,” Zala jumps in, looking away from her homework as well. She rises off her belly into a seated position. “Your father is a very sweet stallion, and we just want to be sure he’ll be okay.”
“Not because you’ve got the hots for him?” You bluntly ask, making all three of your friends flush red and look away. You sigh. “Look, don’t worry about my dad. He’ll be fine.”     

>”Girls! Dinner is ready!” Dad’s voice echos up to the second floor.
>Everyone’s homework is promptly abandoned as you, Zala, Luft, and Apogee hop off the bed and bolt downstairs. 
>”-at filly busted her leg just like Junior did last summer.”
>You round the corner to find your mom, Redheart, telling Dad about her day as she sits down at the head of the table.
>It must have been a hard day, because Mom’s usually pristine white coat is slightly off-colored with sweat, and her usual mane-bun is let down, letting her mane spill down her back.
>”Aww, poor gal,” Dad clicks his tongue at Mom’s story as he takes the pot off the stove. Your mouth waters a little when you catch the scent of red lentil in the stew the pot no doubt holds. “Well, it could have always been worse.”
“Hey, mom,” you pick that time to interject as you take the spot to her left. “How was work? Sounds like a bad one.”
>”Hey yourself, kiddo,” Mom smiles tiredly. “It wasn’t bad, just a lot to do today. Sorry about your camping trip, but Doctor Scalpel fell ill and a patent is scheduled for a surgery on Saturday. Guess who it falls to now?”
>”You, Doctor Redheart?” Apogee asks as she makes a fluttering hop to get on the slightly oversized chair next to you.
>”Got it in one,” Mom lets out a short laugh. “You girls staying for dinner?”
>”They are,” Dad confirms, pulling a stack of bowls from a high cupboard with one hand while the other gets exactly six spoons from a drawer. “I swear, honey. You need to be a director or something for that [fucking ungrateful] hospital. Would they have even let you take that pediatrician opening if you didn’t walk that panicking intern through Junior’s birth?”
>”Probably not,” Mom laughs again. “To be fair, green bean was quite a bit bigger than a normal foal, so that derailed my plans of doing it myself.”
>Dad’s little eyes sparkle in that evil away that instantly tells you he’s about to embarrass you. “Ah, I remember when [mini-me] was a chubby little foal. Didn’t even fit in her first onesie!”
You feel your face and ears burn when your friends giggle. “[Dad!]”
>”I’m just teasing you, honey,” He chuckles as he ladles out bowls of his lentil stew with his usual seamless motions. The grace dad can put in normal motions has long since stopped being fascinating to you, but it takes just a look around the table to see your friends all focused on him.
>Redcross once likened dad to seeing those super expensive sixty frame per second TVs in an electronics store for the first time. It’s just so smooth that it’s hard not to stare in wonder. 
>Dad passes out the bowls, spoons, and is sure to include a bottle of hard cider with mom’s, making the mare smile and pull dad down into a short kiss that he gladly returns. Then he turns back to the counter and puts a plate with a fresh loaf of bread out on the table to go with his stew. “Dig in!”
  ------------------------------
>You are Anonymous Junior, or just Junior to most. It's friday afternoon and school is almost out. A lesson dragged on forever and pushed recess to almost the end of the day, and the game today?
>Hoofball. Perfect for venting all the frustration of a long day. 
>"Hike!"
>You grab the hoofball passed to you and dart through a hole in the other team's linemares, who clash with the linemares on your team.
>You rush as fast as you can on three legs since one of your forelegs is holding the ball, almost flying over the grass in your haste. Your heart thunders in your ears and your breathing gets all your focus.
>In the corner of your eye, you can see Peachy sprinting right at you, but Apogee comes in with a tackle that knocks the yellow earth pony filly off her hooves.
>Scootaloo moves into your path and plants herself to intercept, her face determined, so you just grin and lower your stance as you run.
>The pegasus tries to tackle you, but being a mutt means you've got dense human muscle flowing with magic, so you blow through her. You hear the wind get knocked out of her as you carry her along for about a yard, then she falls and skids through the grass, staining her coat.
>With your superior green coat, grass stains aren't a thing for you.
>The in-zone comes into view. 
>Yes! Just a few more yards and you've got this! You grin a toothy grin as the chalk line of the in-zone gets closer, but you see somepony coming in hot from your left.
>Eyes narrow and angry, Applebloom bullrushes you, making you snarl.
>If there is anyone as strong as you in class, it's Applebloom.
>There is a flash of black and white on your right, and without thinking, you pass the ball before Applebloom slams into you, making both you and her fall in a jumble of limbs that slide across the grass.
>"Touchdown!"
>Zala you beautiful zigger. Her voice tells you that your gamble paid off.
>You untangle yourself from Applebloom, not bothering to offer her any help as you rise.

>”10 to 2, baby!” Apogee cheers with a flutter of her wings as the team regroups around you. “We win!”
>You, Apogee, Zala, and the other fillies cheer as the other team sulks on the other side of the field. You look over, seeing most of them taking the loss pretty well. Luftkrieg got picked for the other team and doesn’t seem bothered, but both Applebloom and Scootaloo are miffed.
>”Of course the team with the hulking freak wins!”
>Your roll your eyes and turn further, finding an angry Diamond Tiara covered in dirt and grass stains. She’s in the process of putting her namesake tiara back on as she stomps up.
>Euh. Bringing an actual diamond-studded tiara to school? How gaudy could you get?
>The pink filly finishes putting her headwear on before scowling even more. "You hear me, you half-monkey mutt?”
>A few of the girls hiss and you fight the urge to turn around and buck Tiara right in the mouth. Instead, you smile nice and wide, putting your sharp teeth on full display and stalk closer to her, head held low like a predator ready to sprint.
>To Tiara’s credit, her expression doesn’t change even when you stop less than an inch away from her face, but you do see a short shiver run down her back.
>Even full-grown mares hate ‘the look’, and Tiara is no different.
“Wanna run that by me again, little miss perfect-flanked cunt?” You quietly ask, toothy grin still in place. “Maybe actually try in the game sometime rather than worry about chipping a hoof like a colt, and you’ll win, or maybe not be picked LAST.”
>Her face burns red.
>Being rich and popular means Tiara is almost never picked last, but she had to suffer the shame of being last before, and did it again today because Zala and Applebloom were picked as the hoofball captains.
>Neither one wanted dead weight on their team.
>It must burn Tiara something fierce that you of all ponies pointed it out, since you’re the first pick and top-scorer deamn-near every time.

>”Maybe if our capitan wasn’t a biased blank-flank who picked her blank-flank friends first, that wouldn’t have happened and your smug, freak-of-nature self would be in the dirt,” Tiara grounds out, pointing at a wounded-looking Applebloom, furious Scootaloo, and worried Sweetie Bell.
>Oh the teats on this one for talking about bias. 
>Before you can retort, the bell rings and signals the end of recess.
>She shoots you one last glare, then trots off to find Silver Spoon and her clique of other hanger-ons.
>You snort, then turn back to your friends and fell into step as you all walk back to the school 
>”Jeez, Junior. I thought she was actually going to throw a punch, there,” Apogee says, the fiddling with the hoofball under her wing. “She looked real mad.”
You shake your head. “Nah. Tiara is all hot air and mommy money. She can talk shit but can’t take a hit and she knows it.”
>”Still, perhaps you should not goad her?” Luftkrieg asks as the group stops by the door with the other mass of fillies. The germane pegasus flips it bit of her blonde mane out of her green-ish eyes. “It’s only a matter of time until she is angry enough to attempt something.”
You scoff. “Like what? Bitch and moan to daddy that the mean green filly is bullying her? Get real. If she dares lie, then I’ll actually give her a reason to cry.”
>The colts all walk past the fillies into the school, getting the privilege of being first as is usual, and once the last colt passes, the fillies start filing in.
>You find your desk near the back and sit down as Ms. Cheerilee clears off the chalkboard. To your left, Apogee sits, and beside her, Zala. Luftkrieg sits in front of you.
>”Welcome back everyone!” The teacher greets everyone with a smile. “Sorry about how long the last lesson took. There isn’t much left today, so we’ll just be doing a bit of review for the math test next week!”
>You groan and can hear Apogee sigh next to you. In front of you, Luft perks up like the goodie perfect student she is.
>Cunt.

>Cheerilee ignores the groans and moans. “Also, the fillyscouts will be let out a bit early today in preparation for their camping trip to the Whitetail woods. Fillyscouts, please head home at 2pm to get you things please!”
>Now THAT is some good news. You look over at the clock and are delighted to see it’s 1:05pm already.
>With a smile, you pull out your textbook and pretend to read.
------
>”Okay, fillyscouts! You’re free to go! Go home and come back here at 4pm to meet Scoutmaster Sweet!” Cheerilee announces after what feels like the longest fifty five minutes of your life.
>You throw your book into your bookbag and are out of your seat along with about a fourth of the class. You, Luft, Apogee, Zala, and a few others beeline for the door and out into the blessed freedom of the weekend.
>”You girls already packed?” Zala asks as you, she, Luft, and Apogee canter down the path into town.
>”I think I am?” Apogee replies with a sheepish smile. “I’ve never really been camping before and I’ve got all the stuff on the list fillyscout list, but I get the feeling I’m forgetting something.”
>”No need to worry, mein sister made sure to help me pack extras of the essentials. If you are missing something, I’m happy to share!” Luftkrieg smiles.
>Apogee smiles back and bumps flanks with the other pegasus. “Thanks, sis.”
>”How about you, Junior?” Zala asks you.
You shrug. “I’ve got everything on the list, and my old man is bringing a gigantic backpack worth of stuff, so I’m sure I can bum off him if I need it.”
>You aren’t joking about how big dad’s backpack is. It’s a huge thing filled to the brim and even has metal braces on it. You tried to lift it last night for kicks and barely got across the room before your legs began to wobble. It must weigh more than a grown mare.
>”Will mister Heart need help with his things? Did he pack a lot?” Luft asks, focusing on you.
You roll your eyes. “Don’t get any bright ideas. My dad doesn’t need help, and you’d throw your back out trying anyway.” 

>You split off from the girls after a short goodbye and start the trot back home through Ponyville. One the way, you spy the town’s new librarian and her… dragon out and about. 
>The purple unicorn has her nose buried in a notebook as she slowly walks by, and her saddlebags are filled with what looks like books. The short dragon with her rides on her back, too engrossed with a Sugar Cube Corner cupcake to notice much else.
>Supposedly, Princess Luna came back on the night of the last Summer Sun Celebration a few weeks ago, the same night that the librarian came to town. She and a few other mares fought Nightmare Moon and freed Princess Luna, or that's what the rumor mill says. You didn’t notice anything and slept through it, if it actually happened.
>Personally, you don’t believe it, but dad’s serious warning to be both wary and respectful of the purple unicorn trumps your reluctance to believe.
>Deep thoughts over, you find yourself at your house and walk inside, shutting the door behind you to enjoy the air-conditioned interior. Man, it’s hot outside.
>You trot up to your room, get your (dumb looking) fillyscout uniform and trade your bookbag for your camping bag before coming back downstairs.
“Hey Dad!” You call. “I’m home!”
>Silence is all you get in return.
>With a frown, you trot to the kitchen and look around, not finding your lug of a dad, but a sticky-note stuck to the fridge. With a hum, you take the note and look it over. 
>Junior,
>Went out to get a few last minute things. Home soon.
>Love, Dad.
“Huh, okay.” You shrug and ball the note up in your hoof before tossing it in the trash.
>With nothing to do and well over and hour and a half until you need to leave, you check your things one last time, then trot down the hall past the kitchen and living room to the den.
>You push the door open and take in the large room.

>Inside is a human-sized loveseat facing a fireplace, mom and dad’s favorite place to relax. The mantle of the fireplace has several trophies and pictures, including a picture of mom and dad’s wedding and foal pictures of you and your little brother Redcross.
>You look up at the wedding picture, not really seeing any noticeable difference between your parents back then and now, thirteen years later. Mom is as healthy as they come and everyone says dad ages like wine. You don’t know much about wine but assume it's a compliment.
>Away from the mantle, you see dad’s gigantic backpack. It’s almost ridiculously huge and filled to bursting. A (probably custom) sleeping bag is rolled up and strapped to the top while a large shovel and an axe are strapped to the side.
>Well, the shovel and axe are large to you, and probably to any pony, but they’re probably more like an entrenching tool and a hatchet to dad.
>Even further past the backpack and bookshelves, you see mom’s desk against the wall in the corner. It has several medical texts on it and a half-full crystal decanter of some amber booze. No doubt mom is using both studying to get some sort of licence or a new degree.
>In the other corner is dad’s collection of strange human things, the most notable being the mannequin.
>When you were younger, that stupid thing scared the hell out of you and dad had the gall to laugh about it before giving in and comforting you.
>The wooden dummy is garbed in what dad calls armor, but you’ve never seen armor like it before, as it’s nothing like the shining gold of the Royal Guard. So much stiff, blotchy, mismatched forest-colored fabric, interlocking buckles, so many pouches of weird sizes. Bits here and there in the arms, shins, and chest have what feels like metal plates under the fabric, and the open-faced helmet exposes the dummy’s blank wooden face to the world. It weighs so much and looks so cumbersome that you have lingering doubts dad actually wore this get-up at all, even if he says he did.
>Above that in a locked glass case, is dad’s [rifle].
>There is no Equestrian word for [rifle], nor is there a word for its classification as a [gun], so you have to refer to it in English. He said it’s a weapon, but refused to say more. You can plainly see where it is supposed to be gripped like a crossbow. You can almost feel the sensation of what holding it would be like in the phantom fingers your human-side sometimes thinks you have. The odd ghostly sensation makes your spine tingle, and looking at both the armored dummy and the [rifle] makes you vaguely uneasy.
>There are other things in the corner, like a hilariously wrong world map dad drew from memory, some photos of dad’s late family and places from Earth, a few journals written in English, and a locked trunk you’ve never seen the inside of. No matter how many times you've asked or how hard you’ve begged, dad refused to open it.
>Your eyes move over to the photos from Earth, to the one of your grandparents.
>It’s heavily faded, but the two humans are smiling and holding a much-younger Anonymous Sr, probably younger than you. He looks grumpy in the picture, at like always it makes you smile but still feel a strange mix of emotion.
>From the front room, you hear the muffled sound of the front door opening. “I’m home!” Dad’s booming voice announces.
You look away from the photos to turn to the door. “In the den, Dad!” 
 
>It only takes Dad a dozen or so strides to reach the den, and you can’t help but blink when you see his outfit.
>Normally Dad wears something modest yet casual, but now he’s clad in a black, long-sleeved shirt that hugs his arms and torso tightly, showing off every line on his body. Below that, is a set of rough pants the same blotchy, forest color as the armor on the mannequin, and you see a few spots where tears in the pants have been sewn up. His feet have plain brown boots worn from use, but you’ve never seen them before.
‘Oh Faust the girls are going to go apeshit when they see this,’ you think, looking at Dad’s torso.
>”Oh, admiring the photos again?” Dad asks with a knowing smile, stepping closer.
“Yeah,” you reply, turning back to the one of Dad’s parents. “The one with you looking grumpy is always a laugh and a half.”
>He lets out several deep laughs. “Ha! You’re not the first to say that. Your granduncle, who went by the name Peewee, told me when I was your age that cameras steal souls. Right before this picture, he finally told me it was a joke and I was sour the entire day.”
“And you believed him?” You ask, looking up at Dad incredulously.
>”I did,” he says with one final laugh. “Uncle Peewee has a silver tongue and used it only for evil.”
You snort and turn back to the pictures. “Dad?”
>”Hmm?”
“What were grandma and grandpa like?”
>For a long second, Dad doesn't answer, then he reaches out and touches the glass of the picture frame, rubbing away some dust with a finger. “They were… intense, [daughter dearest],” he begins wistfully. “We were a poor family without much to our name. They both worked to support me and my sister, your aunt. They wished us to have better lives then they did, so their love seemed unfair, or even harsh at times. Your aunt and I thought they hated us sometimes, and were taking their misery out on us. I was your age when I ran away from home the first and last time. I spent four days in the cold winter before I gave up and returned home. Do you know what happened when I returned home?”
>You shake your head, too caught up in the story to talk.
>”Both of your grandparents fell to their knees, praising [the Lord] that I returned home safe, and saying aloud how they [loved] me. That was the first time I ever saw either of them shed tears,” Dad says quietly, picking the picture up and kneeling at your side. He drapes an arm across your back and pulls you into a half-hug that you step into. With the warmth of Dad’s side seeps into you as he continues. “It’s only now that they’re gone and that I have you, your brother, and your mother do all the things they taught me make sense. It’s only now do I really appreciate them. They were the best sort, and I can only hope I do as good a job with you as they did with me.”
You’re silent for a second as all the emotions inside you settle. “I think you're the best dad there is.”
>Dad lets out a single laugh. It’s a short thing, just a sharp exhale through his nose ans he hugs you a little tighter. “Thank you, [daughter dearest]. It means the world to me.”
>After what you feel is an appropriate time to be mushy with your Dad (IE about 5 seconds), you pull away. “Ready to go?”
>He gives you the same sharp-toothed grin you see in the mirror each morning, eyes dancing with an eager light. “Of course. Let’s be off, the great outdoors call!”

>Dad loops an arm around one of the straps of his backpack and lifts it with ease. The action makes the flexing of his muscles against his skin-tight black shirt all the more obvious.
>You should have packed some air freshener, because you know your friends are going to stink-out the tent with the smell of horny filly.
>Once his backpack is in place, Dad fingers the straps, tightening one, then smiles down at you. “Lead the way, [daughter dearest].”
>After stopping to grab your filly scout hat, badge sash, and bag, and once more to lock the front door, you and Dad start out to the schoolhouse
>Dad hums a nameless tune under his breath as he walks, taking one slow, long step for every 3 or 4 of yours. No one really pays you or Dad any mind other than a few younger mares, but he said when he first moved into town, he’d get stares from all over.
“Have you been camping a lot, Dad?” You ask, looking at his gigantic bag again.
>”Indeed I have,” He smiles and nods. “It was a pleasurable pastime for myself and my friends when we were your age. Ah, we were a bit, how do you say? Boneheaded? Boneheaded sometimes, however. More than once we underpacked and had to subsist on the land, or return home embarrassed. We learned quick to cook well.”
You can't help but snort and smirk. “Really? You forgot food of all things? That was the first thing we packed for this trip.”
>”Not always food,” Dad looks away, faintly embarrassed. “Sometimes other things. Rope, tinder, or even the cardinal sin of forgetting a good knife. Listen well, [mini-me], for few tools are as valuable as a reliable bit of steel. I will teach you this weekend.”
You scoff and roll your eyes. “The Fillyscouts don’t give us real knives, Dad. Too dangerous, they said.” You kick a bit of grass with a hoof. “What a load of...” You stop yourself short.
>He smiles. “Oh? Too dangerous? Nonsense. A knife is a tool most valued by outdoorsmen. Prove yourself to me this weekend, Junior, and I will see you with one of your own.”
>What?
You look up at Dad, who smiles widely down at you. You scan his face for any sign of him pulling your hoof, but his expression does not waver. “For real?”
>”For real,” he promises.
...Holy hell, he’s for real. Excitement bubbles up in you, and you can’t hold back the smile that creeps up your muzzle. “...Hey, Dad? When was the last time I told you that I love you?”
>He throws his head back and laughs.
>You and Dad keep walking, and before long, the schoolhouse comes into view. You recognize a few parents of your classmates already heading the same way 
>”What in Celestia’s name..?”
>”Hmm?” Dad stops and turns to the side, prompting you to stop as well.
>Just a little ways off is Rarity, the town tailor, Sweetie Belle, who stands in her Fillyscout outfit like you, and a wide-eyed, slack-jawed, Twilight Sparkle, the librarian that dad warned you about. Her eyes are locked with Dad’s.
>You feel your muzzle scrunch up at the way the purple unicorn is looking at your old man, so you step in front of him and tuft up, daring her to do something.
>Rarity is quick to whisper to Twilight. “Twilight, please, that's terribly rude of you to stare like that,” she mutters, making Twilight blink and close her mouth. Rarity then looks to you and Dad with a smile. “Mister Heart! Junior! It’s a delight to see you!”
“Hiya, Miss Rarity,” you greet blandly, letting your tuft deflate.
>You know the colty mare pretty well considering that she’s a family friend. Dad used to foalsit her when her family would go on trips, and now she’s Dad’s first choice for a tailor.
>Oh, and she’s never let her crush on Dad fade, even after he married Mom, making things kinda awkward sometimes…
>Now that you think about it, dad has lived in Ponyville for about 15 years, long enough to give a lot of mares now in their 20s janegirl kinks.
>You physically hiss and kill that train of thought. 
>”Good afternoon, Rarity,” Dad smiles brightly. “You’re looking as lovely as ever. Is this your sister that you were telling me about?” He asks, waving a hand at a bug-eyed Sweetie Belle. “Once more, I am astounded that your family produces nothing but beautiful young mares.”
>Sweetie Belle’s face instantly burns a bright red that almost glows against her white coat, making you scowl.
>Great. Another one.
>Rarity wiggles on her hooves like a little colt with a giggle and nudges her sister. “Indeed! Mother, Father, and Sweetie Belle here moved back into town at the start of the school year. Say hello to Mister Heart, Sweetie.”
>”E-Erm, Hi Mister Heart,” she squeaks out, still blushing and unable to look him in the eye. 
>Dad’s pearly smile makes her squeak again and look away, then he looks at Twilight Sparkle, his smile waning and eyes narrowing just a little, too little for anyone but you to notice. “Where are my manners today? How remiss of me to not greet your friend, Rarity,” he says, inclining his head. “My name is Anonymous Heart Senior, ma’am, might I know yours?”
>The unicorn finally blinks her violet eyes and stops staring. “O-Oh, uh, Twilight. Er, Sparkle. Twilight Sparkle, I mean! I’m the library… Librarian! The librarian who moved in a few weeks ago! Thats me!” She verbally trips over herself with a nervous laugh and rubs one foreleg with the other when dad lets out an amused huff. “It’s nice to meet you?”
“[That sounded like a question,]” you snark, making Sweetie and Twilight look at you in confusion. A second later, Dad flicks your ear. “Ow!” You reach up and hoof your smarting ear.
3/6
>”It’s rude to speak of someone in another tongue when they do not understand, daughter o’ mine,” he says with a click of his tongue. “Allow me to introduce my daughter, Miss Sparkle. Please meet Anonymous Heart Junior, my precious firstborn.”
“Just Junior is fine,” you grumble, the sting in your ear finally gone. “I’d say it's nice to meet you, but I’d be lying after watching you gape at my old man like that.” 
>”Junior,” Dad sharply warns.
>”No no no, that's okay!” Sparkle insists, waving a hoof frantically. “That was rude of me, I’m sorry! I’ve just never seen a…”
“Human,” You roll your eyes and throw her a bone.  
>”-Humaane before.” Sparkle finishes, looking between both you and Dad.
>Dad hums and rubs his chin. “I hail from an isolated and xenophobic land, Miss Sparkle. I am likely the only human you will ever meet. I’ve kept an ear to the ground for news of another human leaving the old country for over a decade and heard nothing, and thus I expect it to remain so.” He adjusts his backpack. “Forgive my curt answer, but I am to mind my daughter and her friends for a fillyscout trip, and we are due at the meeting point soon.”
>Sparkle tilts her head, and you can see her thoughts churning. “A stallion on a camping trip? Will his group be teamed with yours, Rarity?” She turns to her fellow unicorn.
>Rarity just waves a hoof. “Certainly not, Twilight. Mister Heart needs no help. If anything, WE may ask HIM for help.”
>Sparkle smiles at hearing that. “That's really forward thinking of you, Rarity.”
>You bitch.
>Dad’s fingertip just barely brushing your ear makes you hold back the vitriol on your tongue. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Miss Sparkle. I’m in need of some new reading material, so perhaps we could talk more the next time I stop by the library?”
>The unicorn smiles a little more. “I’d enjoy that.”
>After saying a short goodbye, Sparkle trots off on another errand, leaving you, Dad, Rarity, and Sweetie Belle to trot the rest of the way to the school.
>As you walk, Sweetie Belle sidles up to your side. “Hey Junior?” She asks quietly.
“Eh?” You grunt.
>Sweetie looks over at her sister and your Dad, who are too caught up in a conversation about sewing of all things to pay you or Sweetie any mind. Rarity’s magic pulls at one of the rough stitches on Dad’s pants as she groans with dismay. Dad just laughs.
After a few seconds of silence, you glare at the smaller filly. “What? Spit it out already.” 
>She flinches. “Uh, is he really your dad? I know you said your dad wasn’t a pony, but I didn’t expect…” She trails off.
You snort. “You think I’m the strongest filly in class because I work out or something? Hell no, it’s all human blood, baby,” you say with a proud smile.
>”If you're not adopted, shouldn't you be, like, part hyumane or something?” Sweetie struggles to pronounce ‘human’. “You look like a normal pony, mostly.”
“Something about magic in the womb and hybrid… something something,” you shrug, not really remembering the explanation that Mom gave you. “Both me and my brother have his eyes and teeth, so, I dunno. It just works.”
>Sweetie doesn’t seem satisfied by the answer, but you don’t really care.
>The schoolhouse comes into view, and you can already see most everyone there. There are about sixteen fillyscouts with four moms between them.
>...Make that three moms and one mareservant, as you can see a bored pegasus mare with a ladle cutie mark and a full backpack standing with Diamond Tiara’s troupe. Her servant get-up makes it obvious.
>Off to the side, you spy Apogee, Zala, and Luftkrieg in one group, and Applebloom and Scootaloo in another. 
>...And a little further off, you see Scoutmaster Sweet Biscuit standing in her scoutmaster uniform overseeing everything.
>No homo, Sweet is a pretty mare. A light beige coat, wavey gold mane and tail, bright green eyes, and a colty talent in baking cookies should have made her a first pick for a stallion wanting a herd... Or she would be a first pick if she didn’t have an overbearing, downright patronizing view on guys.
>A lot of stallions are emotional, and some are just dumb and need a mare to hoofhold them through life, but Sweet is guffaw-worthy. You vividly recall how she tried to talk down to Apogee’s dad, who is a literal aeronautics engineer, at the last scout meeting.
>No wonder Sweet is stuck as a fillyscout master thirsting after easily scared dads.
>Oh well. Pathetic is as pathetic does.
“We’ll see you two in the woods!” Rarity smiles and wave a hoof and you and Dad as her horn glows. Then with a flash of blue light and a ‘pop!’ She summons a ridiculously old-timey tweed dress, a tweed cap, and a whole locked trunk of what is probably clothes.
>Sweetie Belle flushes when a few fillies point and laugh, and both Applebloom and Scootaloo slowly walk to Rarity with resigned cringes on their faces.
>Your friends, meanwhile, trot up to you and Dad with grins, and Dad in-turn grins back. 
>”A pleasure to see you girls again so soon,” He says, planting his hands on his hips as he looks down at them. “Ready for the weekend?”
>”Yes, Mister Heart!” Luft shakes her full saddle-bags. “We’re ready!”
>”That the spirit!” He laughs deeply and shifts his backpack around.
>Luft, Zala, and Apogee’s eyes instantly train themselves on the rolling abdominal muscles in Dad’s core.
“Fucking…” You screw your eyes shut.
>It's going to be a long weekend.