Anon the Royal Snuggler (ONESHOT)


                                            Originally published August 2014


                                            > You are Anon.

                                            > Royal Snuggler of Canterlot.

                                            > More than once you had been asked by some foreign dignitary if that meant you were the princess' pet.

                                            > Or their concubine.

                                            > This could not be farther from the truth.

                                            > You are the ponies' answer to crime.

                                            > Equestria simply had no effective response to certain crimes.

                                            > Banishment or extended stays in the dungeon were reserved for the true monsters.

                                            > Most small crimes were simply dealt with by a stern talking-to.

                                            > But for some, the convict had to be taught a lesson.

                                            > That's where you come in.

                                            > To the ponies, unwanted snuggling was a truly terrible thing.

                                            > Especially because they simply could not help but enjoy it.

                                            > Prior to this, certain well-paid ponies had quietly taken on the role, but always quit under the stress of having to do such things.

                                            > You were not a pony, though.

                                            > And although you found their justice system - both crimes and punishments - truly odd, you could not deny you were well-fit for the job.

                                            > Which is how you have come to be sitting in an expansive, dimly-lit room in the Canterlot palace.

                                            > Awaiting your first victim of the evening.


                                            > She is perfectly on time, right at the top of the hour.

                                            > The door cracks open, a sliver of bright light beyond which figures move.

                                            > Indistinct voices usher a mare in through the doorway.

                                            > The heavy wood doors slam shut behind her, making her jump a little with fright and look back.

                                            > She turns around to face the room again.

                                            > As she does so, she gets an excellent view of the tools of your trade spread about the room.

                                            > A rack of mane brushes.

                                            > Piles of soft cushions.

                                            > Warm blankets draped over well-stuffed beds.

                                            > The winter sun has long since dropped beneath the horizon, leaving only your limited lighting as illumination.

                                            > Everything was cast into half-shadow, making it appear all the more indistinct and worrisome to your visitors.

                                            > Got to set the proper tone, after all.

                                            > Even from across the room, you can see her shiver lightly.


                                            > Time to make your move.

                                            > You clear your throat.

                                            > She jumps again, unable to immediately spot you.

                                            > You were sitting in an immense, overstuffed, high-backed chair positioned to face a window and cast your body in darkness.

                                            > She couldn't see you until you stood, emerging from the darkness.

                                            > Fear glitters in her eyes.

                                            "Come here, little pony."

                                            > Despite her misgivings she slowly trots forward, hoofcuffs clinking softly as their chains drag on the carpeted floor.

                                            > By the time she has arrived at your feet, you can see her much more clearly.

                                            > Earth pony, gray cote with a near-black mane and tail. Very well-kept, despite her recent trial and imprisonment.

                                            > Also despite her predicament, there is a certain poise and grace in how she holds herself.

                                            "Octavia Melody. I can't say I expected to see you in this capacity."

                                            > "Neither did I, sir."

                                            > She is very desperately trying to hold her voice steady.

                                            "Unfortunately, despite my appreciation for your considerable musical talents, I cannot diminish your sentence in any way. You understand, yes?"

                                            > Her head lowers, to let her stare into the carpet. "I do, sir."


                                            "Good. Now, your sheet..."

                                            > Reaching into your robes, you withdraw a scroll and unroll it, examining the details of her case.

                                            "...smuggling Zap Apple jam in the city? Really, Octavia, I had not taken you to be one who would need an artificial high."

                                            > She shifts, eyes still firmly glued to the floor. "It was for... a friend of mine. She sometimes needs it to... get through the night."

                                            "Ah. Your DJ marefriend?"

                                            > She looks up sharply, her mouth open in surprise.

                                            > You raise a hand to cut her off before she can speak.

                                            "Please, Octavia. No one, human or pony, can go with as few hours of sleep as she can without a kick or two."

                                            > "Will you have to-"

                                            "Unless Miss Scratch can be convinced to kick her habit, I must admit I do expect to see her soon."

                                            > You give Octavia a meaningful look; she gets it and nods sharply.

                                            "Now then. You have been sentenced to a full night's snuggling."

                                            > Sitting back down in the chair, you pat your lap.

                                            "Why don't we begin?"

                                            > Octavia carefully climbs up, still hobbled by the hoofcuffs, and stands awkwardly on your lap.

                                            > Quickly you produce a key and remove the metal binding her legs.

                                            "We will not be needing these. Come now, Octavia, lay down."

                                            > After some severe hesitation, she slowly lowers herself to her belly.across your legs.

                                            > You smile, laying a hand on her back. Her coat ripples in initial discomfort beneath your hand, but it will soon fade.

                                            > Starting slow, you begin by rubbing a slow path down her spine.

                                            > Octavia stares into the distance, her tail twitching nervously.

                                            "Shhh. Just relax, and let it flow through you."

                                            > Starting to move in a bit, you feel you way around the muscles along her back.

                                            > As expected, she is a mess of knots and tense muscles.

                                            > Both, you suspect, from her current situation and the awkward, upright way she stands to play her instrument.

                                            > Almost as soon as you start to work into those muscles, you feel her change.


                                            > She starts to sink down, a little trilling sound coming from her throat.

                                            > You take the opportunity to pull her against you, slipping one hand around her neck and up to rest on her soft cheek.

                                            "Feels good, doesn't it?"

                                            > "Noooo... it feels so... so... wrong."

                                            > She's obviously still resistant, but her voice is already beginning to waver.

                                            > Smirking, you continue to work. Slowly, the musician begins to melt into your lap.

                                            > When you have covered her back adequately, you move on to the next stage.

                                            > The seat reclines back, driven by a lever on the side, and a panel rises up beneath your legs.

                                            > Octavia blearily raises her head, eyes widening as she realizes what is about to happen. "N-"

                                            > To late. You grab her around the barrel and lift her over to lay on your chest.

                                            > Her hooves wiggle fruitlessly as she is moved to your benefit.

                                            > "Nooooo..." Her heart isn't really in the cry, though.

                                            > Already Octavia has begun to succumb to the might of the snuggle.

                                            > Setting her back down, you select a brush from the table beside your chair.

                                            > A wide, short coat brush with numerous stiff bristles.

                                            > Slipping your hand into the brush's loop handle, you start to run it down her sides.

                                            > One after another, settling her coat where your massage had rucked it up.

                                            > "M'flnkspls."

                                            "Hmmm? I didn't quite get that, Octavia."

                                            > She raises her head a little to speak clearly, obviously horribly embarrassed by what she had said.

                                            > "Nevermind, it's nothing. Don't worry about it."

                                            "Octavia. What did you say?"

                                            > Her tail flicks again as her head lowers back down, unable to look at you.

                                            > "I said, my flanks, please. They... get very sore and stiff from standing upright for so long. I have no idea how you do it."

                                            > You grin a little, lowering your hand down to her flank but not yet doing anything.

                                            "Do you understand your crime, Octavia? Why this is happening?"

                                            > Her eyes open again, twin purple pools now finally making contact with yours.

                                            > "Yes, sir, I do."


                                            "Would you do it again, Octavia? Even if Miss Scratch asked you to?"

                                            > "No, sir... I know what I did was wrong."

                                            "...good."

                                            > You grant her request, carefully kneading and brushing out all the tensed points she had mentioned.

                                            > When that was done, you moved on to the earscratch phase.

                                            > That made her absolutely melt with delight.

                                            "I can see you're well on track to being a good little pony again, Octavia."

                                            > "Hate this," she murmurs. "An'I hate you."

                                            > The fact that she is saying this while her eyes are half-close and sprawled across your chest kind of neuters any force to that statement.

                                            > Especially when she willingly rolls to her side to allow you access to her belly.

                                            > Eventually, though, time goes on.

                                            > Late evening transitions into night.

                                            > A winter chill begins to set in, except for your hands which are currently buried in Octavia's mane.

                                            > It comes time for you to turn in.

                                            "Octavia. Get up."

                                            > She rises slowly."Mwuzzup?"

                                            "It's time for us to move on to the final step. You will be remaining here with me until morning, and it is part of your sentence that you should spend that time being snuggled."

                                            > Octavia finally pushes herself to her feet, hopping down to the floor again. "Where?"

                                            > You start making your way towards a bed, heavily mounded with blankets, off to the side of the room.

                                            > Behind you, Octavia takes a few careful steps before realizing where you are going.

                                            > "N-no, please..."

                                            > You turn back to face her.

                                            "Hmmm?"

                                            > A quick glance at her face shows a degree of fear you had not seen before.

                                            "You needn't fear, Octavia. While my job is... unusual, I will never push this anywhere beyond snuggling."

                                            > Surprise flashes across her face. "N-no! I know you wouldn't do that, sir! It's just..."

                                            > She looks down again now. "I promised Vinyl I'd never sleep in a bed with anyone but her... I'd really rather not break that promise, even to you..."

                                            > That's actually kind of adorable.

                                            > Despite your job, you are not a monster.


                                            "Alright, Octavia. We can sleep in the chair."

                                            > Instantly she perks up. "Oh, thank you sir! Thank you, thank you, thank you!"

                                            > You laugh softly as you tug some blankets off the bed and carry them back over to your chair.

                                            "But I will have to snuggle you extra-tight to make up for it."

                                            > "I... I accept this, sir."

                                            > Wrapping your legs in blanket, you sit back down in the chair and shift a bit to the side.

                                            "Come up, then; there's still plenty of room here for you to join me."

                                            > After a moment's hesitation, Octavia jumps back up to settle down in the space beside you.

                                            > The rest of the blankets are pulled up over both of you, and a pillow placed beneath your head.

                                            > Octavia's pillow is your arm, curled around her.

                                            > Her head sinks into the crook of your arm.

                                            "Goodnight, Octavia."

                                            > "Goodnight, sir."


                                            EPILOGUE


                                            > Octavia left early the next morning.

                                            > She would be released shortly, though you suspected you would be seeing her or Vinyl again soon.

                                            > That had been an excellent session.

                                            > With some time to yourself before your morning victim arrives, you take the opportunity to go over some reports.

                                            > Behind your chamber of snuggles is your office.

                                            > It is littered with bookcases filled with ledgers.

                                            > Criminal cases, punishments delivered, open cases, suggestions on new methods of snuggling.

                                            > These were not your goal.

                                            > A particular logbook is pulled forward, and the bookcase it resides in smoothly glides to the side.

                                            > The safe behind it opened, you step in to begin examining your most secret books and reports.

                                            > Opening the newest volume, you begin to go down the newly-added entries.

                                            > Lists of criminal rings all across Equestria.

                                            > Not those of your victims.

                                            > Yours.

                                            > Ransoms, train robberies, burglaries.

                                            > Poison Joke powder, counterfeiting, fraud on a massive scale...

                                            > Zap-apple smuggling was the least of it, really.

                                            > But it had brought you last night's company, so you thought that particular operation a success.

                                            > Taking a pen, you mark three more rings to be broken up.

                                            > Four new ones take their place.

                                            > After all, you need to keep a steady supply of criminals to be snuggled.

                                            > It simply wouldn't do for Canterlot's Royal Snuggler to be out of work.

                                            > It wouldn't do at all.


                                            --------------------------------------------------------


                                            > You end up seeing her sooner again than you had expected.

                                            > Not two weeks later, the enormous oaken portal to your dungeon of snuggles again slides open to allow Octavia to stumble in.

                                            > You can say you are honestly surprised; you had not tipped off the Canterlot guard to Vinyl's stash of Zap Apple jam yet, and so hadn't expected her to reappear before you.

                                            > This time there is no hesitation in her actions.

                                            > Octavia knows what is coming.

                                            > She walks straight up to your chair and bows to you with perfect grace despite the situation.

                                            > "I am ready to accept my sentence, sir."

                                            > No hesitation, but something else...

                                            > Shame?

                                            "Octavia."

                                            > "Yes, sir?"

                                            > Glancing to the side, you look at the conviction this time.

                                            > Unlicensed Zap Apple jam possession, and... assaulting a royal?

                                            "...Octavia, who did you kick?"

                                            > She shifts in place, mumbling something under her breath.

                                            > You sigh gently, reaching down to tenderly lift her into your lap.

                                            > She can't suppress an uncomfortable as the snuggles begin, but she does not resist.

                                            > Bringing her up to your chest, both your arms go around her withers and allow her head to rest on your shoulder.

                                            > "What happened, Octavia. I know you thoroughly absorbed your lesson last time, and to see you back so soon.."

                                            > Hands start to work their way through her long, dark mane.

                                            "Did you even try to get Miss Scratch to kick her habit?"

                                            > She nods a little, her cheek tickling your ear.

                                            > "I tried so hard, and she is! She's cutting it off, bit by bit!"

                                            "Then what happened, Octavia?"

                                            > Your hands are on her neck now, finding new points of stress that have built since you last visit and working them out.

                                            > It's amazing how quickly they've come back.

                                            > Trying to get her marefriend to quit must have been quite rough.

                                            > "I... I lost control of myself, sir."

                                            "Tell me."

                                            > As she talks, you focus on working your way up and down her spine.

                                            > "I was playing at a party, a quite excellent affair if I do say so myself."


                                            > "As I was taking a break from my performance, though I heard someone... speaking quite ill of Vinyl."

                                            > Her ear flicks, lightly bopping the top of your head. "They were saying that she... that she deliberately set me up to be caught, because she enjoyed seeing me be sent to the Royal Snuggler."

                                            > "I know a lady does not argue over such... meaningless words, but I could not let them say such thi- ooooooh!"

                                            > You had slipped a hand up to start softly rubbing along her cheek as she spoke.

                                            > Instantly Octavia had melted into you, trying to turn her head to give direct her ear into your hand.

                                            "Is something wrong?"

                                            > "I - I cannot talk while you do that, sir!"

                                            > You chuckle; as if that were the reason for her little cry.

                                            "Are you suuure that's all that is wrong, Octavia?"

                                            > "Y-yes, sir."

                                            > Immediately your hand drops down, moving back to rest on her side.

                                            "Then please, do continue."

                                            > Octavia's head rises for a few moments, as if chasing the absent touch.

                                            > Soon it drops back town to your shoulder with an almost wistful sigh. "I approached and told him what I thought of such words."

                                            "Him? Blueblood, I suppose?"

                                            > "Yes; he only said that I pony of my status had no right to interrupt him and that I should keep to my strumpet marefriend, sir."

                                            > Ah, yes.

                                            > That would be Blueblood.

                                            "And that's when you hit him, I suppose."

                                            > "After pushing a souffle in his face."

                                            > It takes a considerable amount of will not to congratulate her.

                                            "Well, you already seem to quite understand why it was wrong to do this, even if he did... provoke it."

                                            > Her cheek again tickles your ear as she nods. "Yes, sir."

                                            > "A lady must never loose her temper, must never let her enemies see her pain.

                                            "I don't think I need to repeat it, then. However-"

                                            > You turn Octavia around to face away from you, her back held to your stomach.

                                            > Your arms go around her belly and hold her upright, her forehooves coming to rest over them.


                                            > Before you sits an enormous floor-to-ceiling window, beyond which the nighttime lights of Canterlot sparkle an glimmer.

                                            > Above them, Luna's sky is in view - on full display this cloudless night.

                                            > Holding Octavia up with one arm still around her, you motion out over the city skyline.

                                            "Do you know how many ponies there are in this city, Octavia?"

                                            > "No, sir."

                                            "Neither do I. I should look it up some time; the point is, though, it's a lot. Do you honestly think many of them are going to listen to what Blueblood says? I'm going to be perfectly honest and admit he's got a reputation to start with, and if he's badmouthing you or Miss Scratch - well, I can't say I think a great many ponies will pay him mind."

                                            > She shifts against you, leaning her head back into your chest.

                                            > "I know they will not, but it still grated on my ears like the most discordant chord I have ever heard."

                                            "Then you need to lean how to silence your ears to his braying. Nothing he says changes your accomplishments, or what you have attained."

                                            > That settles her some.

                                            > It's an open secret in Canterlot that Octavia faced a great deal of discrimination in being able to play on the level and instrument of her choice.

                                            > That her constantly groomed public appearance and dedication to her musical talents was intended to give critics no possible angle to criticize her.

                                            > To have all of that swept aside and reduced to being 'the druggie's marefriend'...

                                            > Yes, you can see why Octavia might have lost her temper there.

                                            > Silently, you reach up and rub her between her ears.

                                            > Her head pushes up into your hand freely now, shamelessly accepting the rubs.

                                            "Keep showing up here, however, and..."

                                            > You sigh; even in your line of work you tried not to entirely destroy ponies' lives after they were sent to you.


                                            > For someone so focused on public image to appear twice, however...

                                            "..I cannot control what they will say."

                                            > Octavia nods ever so slightly. "I understand, sir. I will be more careful."

                                            > Deciding to give her a 'reward' for being so good, you shift your arm around her barrel aside.

                                            > Your free hand comes down to rest on her stomach and slowly begins rubbing through the incredibly soft coat there.

                                            > A soft little breath escapes Octavia as she relaxes back into your chest, purple eyes half-closed and lot in pleasure.

                                            > For the longest time, the two of you remain like that - staring out into the night.

                                            > Soon enough you realize you have begun dozing in the chair.

                                            > A quick look own confirms that the mare in your arms is already asleep, curled into the warmth of your body against the night's chill.

                                            > Twisting aside, you set her on the chair and quickly retrieve a blanket from the bed.

                                            > You remember her preference from before, and see no reason to damage her relationship by forcing her to break it.

                                            > Besides, the chair is almost as big as a bed.

                                            > Settling back into it, you tilt the it back and raise the leg support.

                                            > Blankets stretched out over the both of you, you rest on your side to give Octavia plenty of room.

                                            > She crawls up, half-awake, to lay down in front of your chest, her head on her crossed hooves.

                                            > You slip an arm over her neck and draw her close, drifting off for the night.


                                            EPILOGUE:


                                            > "ANONYMOUS THE SNUGGLER, WE KNOW OF THY CRIMES!"

                                            > Shitshitshitshit.

                                            > You slam and lock the door to your snuggle-dungeon, looking around frantically as you try to form a plan.

                                            > Luna's voice is clear as if she was present despite the thick wood between yourself and the enraged night princess.

                                            > "WE HAVE SEEN THY LOGS OF THE TRAPS WITH WHICH YOU ENSNARED PONIES, ANONYMOUS!"

                                            > Oh fuck, she got into your records?

                                            > So much for your plan to burn everything and claim an assailant.

                                            > You'll have to-

                                            > The door buckles as something collides with the far side.

                                            > You jump, spinning to face it.

                                            > Again it shudders, bursting open.

                                            > Beyond the doorway stand a score of royal guard and one furious princess, her dark-blue mane rippling wildly and eyes having taken on a white glow.

                                            > "YOU ARE GUILTY OF CRIMES OF THE HIGHEST ORDER, ANONYMOUS!"

                                            > There's no way to dodge this.

                                            > Luna has the authority to try, convict, and sentence you in a second.

                                            > And frankly, that bullhorn of a voice she is using isn't giving you much room to think.

                                            > Thankfully she shuts it off now that she is facing you.

                                            > "To entrap innocent beings into doing thy vile business is a truly terrible crime! Not only do thy..."

                                            > On and on she goes, about how there is no comparison to the hideousness of your crimes.

                                            > "...and for these wretched crimes, We do sentence thee to a full week with the Royal Snuggl-"

                                            > Wut.

                                            > Luna's brain finally catches up with her mouth; she pauses while going over the illogicality of the sentence she had just imposed.

                                            > No. You have to act before she can hit you with something actually substantial.

                                            > You bow your head mournfully, your voice overlaid with tones of sadness and regret.

                                            "I accept your sentence, Your Highness. I shall be snuggled for seven days straight, a period truly unheard of, during which I shall contemplate my crimes."

                                            > You reach out and slowly start closing the doors.

                                            > Luna is still staring at you, a confused look on her face.


                                            > Just before the doors are about to close she raises a hoof, as if about to say something.

                                            > She doesn't, though, and the doors meet before she can.

                                            > You wait until you hear retreating hoofbeats to let out your breath.

                                            > You cannot believe they actually bought that!

                                            > And a princess, nonetheless.

                                            > Still, you aren't going to argue.

                                            ---

                                            > Being stuck in your room for seven days was boring, but not at all the worst that could have been done.

                                            > Food was delivered in through the window; your door stayed shut.

                                            > And in fairness, you did take lots of long, snuggly naps in that time.

                                            > You also read a lot of law books, and found something very interesting.

                                            > When the doors open again after your seven-day period, Luna was waiting for you again.

                                            > "We trust you have come to the full understanding and penance for your crimes, Anonymous the Snuggler?"

                                            > You adopt an appropriately remorseful posture, eyes on the ground in front of you.

                                            "Yes, Your Highness. I have."

                                            > "Good. The thee shall-"

                                            "But."

                                            > Luna is surprised, both by your single word and that you would interrupt her at all.

                                            "I have also found a quite relevant statute in the law, most applicable in this situation."

                                            > Her eyes wide, the alicorn tilts her head. "What are thee saying, Anonymous?"

                                            > You clear your throat, raising your eyes. Luna flinches at the mischievous twinkle in them.

                                            "Section seventeen, subsection eleven, paragraph A, number three: No subject of Equestria shall ever be forced to be an agent of their own discomfort in the dispensation of justice, including trial and administration of a sentence. Any who forces one to do so..."

                                            > "...is subject to up to three days' snuggling." Luna's eyes are wide with horror as she realizes what you are saying.

                                            > You let a grin break your face.

                                            "C'mere, you."

                                            > "Nonononoooo!" Luna tries to back away, but it is to late.

                                            > You reach out and pull her into your chamber. "NOOOO!"

                                            > She was warm, and liked her chin scratched.