/SPG/ Snippets, by Strumstar Hammer


                                            [Copied from https://pastebin.com/CncUPtzF]


                                            -=Mare's Nightmare (Luna)=-

                                            >You are Luna, and you are in a room.

                                            >The air is musty and hard to breath, the single light above you is harsh, bright, and hurts your eyes, and the metal surface of the table you lie on is frigid and hard.

                                            >Your emaciated body is lashed to it with many tight, thick straps, exacerbating the discomfort and making it impossible for you to move any part of your body.

                                            >Even your head has been tightly restrained into a fixed position.

                                            >Despite the harshness of the light it does not cut a wide enough beam through the omnipresent darkness to let you see anything in your limited view except for a small sliver of light visible at the back and the grimy state of the white tile floor.

                                            >You can hear exactly two things, the buzz of the light and two indecipherable muffled voices in another room.

                                            >For who knows how long you remain in this maddening, awful state of duress, the muffled voices continuing their incomprehensible conversation.

                                            >Eventually, the voices stop.

                                            >Soon after, the sliver of light turns out to be simply the light beneath a door, as said door opens, revealing two figures who step into the light.

                                            >One is a hairy, rotund man in a sweat-stained undershirt, the other a bony old man in a stained apron.

                                            >Unlike the rotund man's undershirt the other man's apron is stained not with sweat, but old, dried blood.

                                            >He looks at your head with his sunken, shadow-obscured eyes and leans in closer to feel your forehead.

                                            >His fingers touch the base of your horn, and he starts moving his fingers all over it.

                                            >After thoroughly going over your horn with his fingers, he pulls away and leaves your sight.

                                            >Soon after you hear the squeaking of wheels as he pulls a small cart laden with various frightening looking implements in front of you.

                                            >He browses through his collection before coming upon a small saw, and, finding it satisfactory, picks it up and plugs the trailing cord.

                                            >With a gentle click, the saw starts spinning, cutting through the unpleasant drone of the light above with a shrill whirr.

                                            >He brings the saw close to your forehead, then closer and closer and closer some more.

                                            >Though you know struggling will only make things worse, you cant stop your ever increasing fright from making a futile attempt to make any movement.

                                            >It, of course, fails, your body is too weak and your restraints are too strong.

                                            >Your mouth tries to open and try to beg for mercy, but even your mouth's been restrained, forced shut with a tight leather strap.

                                            >So you are merely able to whine as the old man brings his saw ever so carefully towards its target.

                                            >Finally, it connects, right with the base of your horn.


                                            >You to shoot up and scream, the world around you changing at the moment of impact.

                                            >The restraints are gone, the air is far easier to breath, the room is dimly illuminated by moonlight coming through the windows, and large metal table's been replaced by soft bedding.

                                            >You pant, your mind racing, and your body having broken into a cold sweat.

                                            >Quickly you realize the pain is not there, your body is no longer starved, and those two men are no where to be found.

                                            >It was all just a nightmare.

                                            >But it wasn't.

                                            >It was a memory you wish you could forget.

                                            >With a gentle click, a lamp comes on, and next to it is neither the old surgeon or the rotund man.

                                            >It's your master.

                                            >”Luna, are you all right?”

                                            >His voice is tinged with worry and concern.

                                            >You quickly give him a nod.

                                            >He's instantly relieved at your well being, his body relaxing as yours as you both realize everything is okay.

                                            >Calmly he sits next to you as you lie back down, and he lays a gentle hand on your withers.

                                            >He speaks again, but in a soft, reassuring tone.

                                            >”You had a bad dream again, girl?”

                                            >You nod again.

                                            >”You want me to stay down here with you tonight?”

                                            >Again, you give him a silent nod.

                                            >He gets up off your ersatz bed, really layers of thick winter blankets and other assorted bedding piled up to create a nice soft spot on the floor to sleep, plus some spare pillows, to pick up the covers you tossed off in your panic as well as shut off the lamp.

                                            >You roll onto your side as he turns off the light and drapes the covers gingerly over you before joining you.

                                            >He gets beneath the covers and worms himself right next to you, his body between your legs.

                                            >His hand moves to your neck and he starts sliding it down, gliding his fingers through your limp mane.

                                            >Soon his hand is moving down your back, going over many old scars from many old masters.

                                            >And he repeats this long stroke constantly, his gentle hand calming and reassuring you.

                                            >In spite of everything that's happened to you, the years under cruel and pitiless masters, the unmentionable things done to you, even the part of your body they took for their own ends, it will still be okay.

                                            >Your master loves you.

                                            >And you love your master.


                                            CONTINUATION: Service to Others

                                            >You are awoken by the feeling of your master slipping out from under the covers.

                                            >Before you can get up you are then blinded by the darkness being cleared away in an instant by the lights being switched on, forcing you to close your eyes tightly to avoid the pain.

                                            >Tentatively, you slowly open your eyes as the adjust to the unexpected brightness to see your master stretching.

                                            >You waste no time in pulling yourself off your comfortable nest of bedding and sitting on your haunches, patiently waiting for your master to finish.

                                            >He does so, and then wastes no time to take a look at you as you look back at him  quizzically.

                                            “Is it time to get up, master?”

                                            >Your master glances at the clock behind you, and you follow suit.

                                            >It's about half past midnight.

                                            >A bit later than normal, but you're pretty sure today is your master's day off anyways.

                                            >”Looks like it, girl.”

                                            >He gives you a loving pat on the head as he heads back upstairs to clothe himself.

                                            >With that all cleared up you stand up and do some stretching yourself.

                                            >And so another day with your master begins.

                                            >Well, night.

                                            >In the following hours the normal routine you and your master share goes as expected.

                                            >Breakfast is made and then eaten.

                                            >You and your master get cleaned up.

                                            >It's somewhat hard for you, given how cozy the downstairs bathroom is, but you'd much rather use a small bathroom shower than some of the outdoor hose-downs you've been subjected too.

                                            >Then quite a bit of time is taken up by housework, and though you try to help as much as you can, your master bears most of the burden.

                                            >Hooves aren't that conductive to washing dishes or most other domestic chores, after all, and your master said he didn't want you using your tail to help him sweep the floors anymore.

                                            >He said it just got your tail dirty.

                                            >So you find yourself quite shamefully idle while your master does just about everything.

                                            >Well, you did move a couch out of the way for him, but you don't really think that should count for much.

                                            >Eventually, though, he finishes up the housework with no help from you and sits down on his couch.

                                            >He then motions for you to come and join him, and you do so gladly, setting yourself down on the couch up close and personal to him.

                                            >And so you lay on the couch, your forelegs and head over your master's lap, and he rests his arm on top of you.

                                            >Though your master has a device meant for amusement and distraction set up and active across from this very couch, you aren't paying much mind to anything accept this feeling of being loved.

                                            >Indeed, your master is quite a doting man, he's gave you a life that only a few months ago you could only have dreamed of, and for that he only asks for your companionship.

                                            >And while you are quite happy to give him companionship in any way possible, you still wish there was something more you could do for him.

                                            >Just something, anything to prove your worth.

                                            >Then, an idea comes to mind.


                                            >You are [spoiler]Joe Bloggs[/spoiler].

                                            >Exception to the rule extraordinaire.

                                            >And also you own a talking winged pony princess named Luna.

                                            >In fact, she's laying on your couch and lap right now while you watch TV, quiet and relaxed.

                                            >Then she breaks her silence and speaks up in a questioning tone.

                                            >”Master?”

                                            “Yes, Luna, what is it?”

                                            >She sits up and frees your legs from being pinned under her legs, allowing you to properly look her in the face.

                                            >”I was reading something in your study yesterday, while you were at work.”

                                            >Well, your glad to hear she's taken the free reign you've given her of the house to heart.

                                            >And a bit surprised she's being so abnormally proactive in conversation.

                                            “Oh, really?  What was it?”

                                            >”It was a book about, uh, horses and how they were used by humans. Like, uh, how they'd be, uh, be used for transportation.”

                                            “Uh-huh.”

                                            >Then Luna's calm starts to falter massively.

                                            >”A-and so I, uh,”

                                            >As she starts bashfully stammering through her proposal she seems to physically shrink due to her frayed nerves.

                                            >”I thought th-that maybe y-maybe I could m-maybe do that for you, I-if you want to.”

                                            “Are you talking about me riding around on your back, like a horse?”

                                            >”W-well, I heard you t-talkng about how, uh, how e-expensive it is to get around with your, uh, that car of yours. I know I-I'm pretty big, s-so I thought maybe you could, uh, you could use me to get a-around instead?”

                                            >You take a moment to consider what she's saying.

                                            >But Luna doesn't wait, and takes your silence as disapproval and kowtows to you, as her master.

                                            >”S-sorry, it was a b-bad idea, master.”

                                            >Her voice gets quieter with each word as she tries to shrink herself in shame and submission, eyeing the couch cushions rather than trying to look you in the eye.

                                            >Honestly, her own assessment is kind of right.

                                            >You mostly use your car for getting to work, which already takes a half-hour's drive from your little house on the prairie with said car, or to buy groceries and stuff, which would bring a whole host of problems to roost if you tried to do that via horseback.

                                            “Yeah, it isn't a really good idea for me to get rid of my car and start riding around on you instead, girl.”

                                            >Though you try to let her down gently, speaking calmly with a small smile, it's no use.

                                            >Her mood deflates as you, her master, shoot down her attempt to serve you.

                                            >Well, there is one more thing you have to say on the matter, and maybe this'll raise her spirits.

                                            “Though, now that you bring it up, I'd still like to give riding you a try.”

                                            >Luna looks back up at you, her spirits slightly lifted.

                                            >”Really?”

                                            “Sure, it wouldn't be for a practical reason, but it sounds like it could be fun to do for the hell of it. Just, uh, just go for a ride across a meadow or through the woods and just spend some time outside, you know?”

                                            >And with that, she starts cuddling up against you, and you respond in kind by hugging her.

                                            >”Oh, thank you, master. I wont let you down!”

                                            “I know, Luna, I know.”

                                            >She's clearly happy, excited even, at the chance to do something more for you, and while part of you finds how fanatically eager she is to be a bit concerning, you snuff out those thoughts quickly.

                                            >This is something that's making Luna feel happy and wanted, something that you also want to do, so you see no reason to not do it.

                                            >Anyways, back to the matter at hand.

                                            >You look out the window to see the rising summer sun.

                                            >With Luna already raring to go and daybreak having come, you could actually go for a ride right now.

                                            >Actually, why don't you? It's not like there's anything good on TV at 5 AM.

                                            “Hey, how about we go for a ride right now?”

                                            >”I will be glad to, master!”

                                            ”Alrighty, then, let's go on outside, girl.”

                                            >And so the two of you are off for a nice horsie ride.


                                            >”So why do y'need me to pick up yer groceries fer you fer the next few weeks, cuz?”

                                            “I told you, John, my arm's stuck in this cast for the next two months until it heals up.”

                                            >Your cousin, scoffs through the phone receiver you hold in your good hand.

                                            >”Y'still got the other'un, don't you?”

                                            “You really think I can drive stick with one hand?”

                                            >His end goes silent for a moment.

                                            >”You'd better have a shoppin' list ready, cuz. Now, I gotta go, Joe.”

                                            “Alright, see you later.”

                                            >With a beep the call ends, and you set the receiver back onto it's cradle.

                                            >You look at the cast on your left arm.

                                            >Yeah, maybe it wasn't such a good idea to just get on Luna's back and go with no preparation and really no idea what you were doing.

                                            >But you did, and so her spine gave you a formal lesson why it was a bad idea by hitting you in the balls, and then the ground gave a follow-up lesson by breaking your arm.

                                            >So it looks like your, err, lengthy and prestigious career in Equestrian equestrianism is over.


                                            -=Half-Assed and Bootlegged (Panka Po)=-

                                            >Be Anon, man of tomorrow

                                            >Specifically, the date is XX/XX/20XX, X:XX PM

                                            >Because fuck specificity

                                            >But never-mind, genetic engineering's become popular enough to hit the civilian market!

                                            >Among the corporations looking to capitalize on this exciting tech is Hasbro, with genetically engineered little ponies.

                                            >Would be cool, you could finally have a cute mare to love forever, but there is the problem of price

                                            >You aren't paying off some exec's private moon colony to get a pony, it's just not something you can afford

                                            >So that's a bit of a pisser, but you found a company in Hong Kong that makes bootleg ponies

                                            >Not sure how that works, but the pictures looked promising and the price was right, so you sent them your money and they bootlegged up a pony to send back

                                            >Now, on this date, she has arrived

                                            >You stand in front of the plain cardboard box, anxious to rip it open and get to the pony inside.

                                            >Knife in hand, you cut the tape keeping the box shut, and gingerly open up the top.

                                            >And bursting from out of the box is...

                                            >"Hello human. I am quality pony of great significance, it is please to meet you."

                                            >A pony, you guess?

                                            >Her, it sounds like a her, head is completely wrong, a sort of bullet shape with all of the bits of a face slapped on

                                            >More resembling an actual equine rather than the cute little pony you were promised, honestly.

                                            >Additionally, ger mane is limited and has no volume or bounce to it, instead hanging limply on one side of her neck and leaving her head bare.

                                            >Oh yeah and there's also the fact that she has no ears and very noticeable stitches

                                            >They don't even look like they're in as some sort of temporary medical measure, they look like they're a permanant part of her body.

                                            >So, overall, you aren't particularly impressed.

                                            >In fact, you might even say you're feeling disappointing, robbed, even.

                                            >Those fucking chinamen sold you a hack job of a mare.

                                            >Good for nothing-

                                            >Wait, how long have you just been silently staring at this pony with a look of pure dissapointment?

                                            >Long enough that the smile she came out with when she popped out of the box and declared herself to be quality and of great signifigance has fallen in favor of a frown, it seems.

                                            >"You... you are not believe lies yes?"

                                            >Her voice is quiet and saddened, seemingly able to figure out exactly what's going on in your head.

                                            >"I know, I am not quality pony, I am cheap fake pony, not what you want."

                                            >Whelp, not only is she poorly made, she has issues with self-loathing.

                                            >Good job Happy Horeses, LMD

                                            >"Just be rid of me, you think it too."

                                            >She starts trying to move herself to be able to get out of the box, thwarted by the small size of the box itself.

                                            >You move in to help her out.

                                            >Hopefully her craftschinamanship includes being light to save on materials.

                                            >So you lean into the box and manage to get your hands under her torso, and as you lift her you find that, yes, she's pretty light.

                                            >Sure, not feather light, but still probably a bit too light to be made of a good quantity of good quality whatever goes into a genetically engineered pony.

                                            >Whelp, time to get this over with.

                                            >You move her up against your chest to make it easier to carry her.

                                            >She says nothing, resigned to her fate.

                                            >Time to take her to the [spoiler]couch.[/spoiler]

                                            >You set the wonky mare down on the couch and sit next to her.

                                            >She looks at you, confused.

                                            >”Are you not to be rid me?”

                                            “Now, why would I get rid of you?”

                                            >”I am not want by you.”

                                            “I just wanted a pony, and you fit the bill.”

                                            >She perks up at that, hopeful.

                                            >”So, I stay?”

                                            >You lay a hand on the top of her head.

                                            “Yes, you can stay.”

                                            >She quickly moves to show her appreciation, getting under your arm, laying her legs across your lap and nuzzling your chest with the side of her head.

                                            >You know what, even if she is half-assed and bootlegged...

                                            >[bootleg nickering]

                                            >...she's still got the heart of a pony, and she's all yours.

                                            >This ain't so bad.


                                            And they lived cuddly ever after.


                                            -=Unmet Expectations (Rainbow Dash)=-

                                            >You are Rainbow Dash.

                                            >The awesomest pony in Equestria and slave to these stupid evil humans.

                                            >You've just been sold like a loaf of bread to some evil asshole human.

                                            >And you can tell he's an evil asshole because he's in his 30s, has lots of body hair, smokes, and has a goatee.

                                            >A bucking goatee, he must be evil!

                                            >He'll probably be doing horrible things to you, probably rapey things, but you will be strong.

                                            >You will not submit to him!

                                            >You've finally got out of the box you were packed into when you got sold.

                                            >And you step out into the dank dereliction of your new dark overlord's well lit living room decked out in party decorations.

                                            >Wait, what?

                                            >Before you can even figure out what the hay is going on, a voice cuts in.

                                            >"Is that a pony?"

                                            >Okay, why does your evil hairy monkey master sound like a little filly getting a birthday surprise?

                                            >You look at the source of the voice, and it is a...

                                            >...a human filly?

                                            >Why would such an obviously evil man have a human filly in his house?

                                            >Oh dear Celestia, she's his underage sex slave, isn't she!

                                            >That sick fuck!

                                            >"Yes, and she's all yours, sweetie."

                                            >Wait-

                                            >[HORRIFIC SOUNDS OF THE HAPPINESS OF A HUMAN CHILD]

                                            >Suddenly you are hugged by the human filly.

                                            >"You're the best dad ever!"

                                            >Wait, your master is going to be a little kid?

                                            >But you were promised a cruel goateed guy to be enslaved by, not a young child!

                                            >Dammit, and even the cruel goateed guy seems to genuinely be happy at the joy his daughter is displaying.

                                            >How the buck are you supposed to be heroic awesome free-willed rebellious mare when you have these two to rebel against?

                                            >"I'm gonna love her, and feed her, and pet her, and brush her mane!"

                                            >Oh god, please no.

                                            >The father chuckles.

                                            >"Well, maybe you should start by feeding her, she's probably a little hungry."

                                            >The little girl leaves the room for elsewhere, probably to get food.

                                            >The girl's father walks over to you, crouches down, and stares out you.

                                            >No, stares right into your soul.

                                            >"Okay, miss..."

                                            >You aren't going to give this bastard the satisfaction of knowing your name.

                                            "Rainbow Dash."

                                            >WHAT DID I JUST SAY

                                            >He speaks with hushed breath so that only you two may hear what he says.

                                            >"Rainbow Dash, you probably don't think highly of me, given our respective roles. But I promise you, if you don't hurt my daughter, you will be fine. Understand?"

                                            >You nod.

                                            >"Good."

                                            >He pats your head and slinks away back to where he was before.

                                            >Yeah, definitely evil.

                                            >Oh, the kid's back, finally giving you some reprieve from being alone with the Dadstroyer of Worlds.

                                            >"Well, I have to go now, sweetie. You play with your pony until I get back."

                                            >"Okay, dad."

                                            >And the guy tousles her hair and leaves.

                                            >Now you are alone, trapped with a young child.

                                            >"You want a sugar cube, pony?"

                                            >A young child offering you a sugar cube in the palm of her hand.

                                            "Ok."

                                            >The sugar cube remains firmly on her palm as she looks at you expectantly.

                                            >Does she really want you to just eat it directly out her palm of her hand?

                                            >No, you will not go along with such a blatant act of submission!

                                            >But, on the other hand, sugar cubes are nice...

                                            >"Come on, do you want it or not?"

                                            >Fine, you'll eat out of her palm for a stupid sugar cube.

                                            >So you do that, nuzzling the palm of her hand as you do so.

                                            >The girl starts laughing in response.

                                            >You knew it, she laughing in triumph at your subjugation, all humans are evil, even the children!

                                            >"Hehehe, that tickles!"

                                            >...or your mouth is tickling her palms as you try to eat the sugar cube.

                                            >Celestia damn it all, you thought you were onto something.


                                            -=Mounted Patrol (Lyra)=-

                                            >Congratulations, you are Officer Sanshiro!

                                            >And you have been called into the office of your angry police chief, like you do.

                                            >"Sanshiro, you're a loose cannon, I'm assigning you a partner!"

                                            "Wow, that was fast, chief. You on a strict schedule or something?"

                                            >"Yes, I still have to deal with the fallout from your last stunt, and there is a lot of goddamned fallout."

                                            "Really? All I did was take down an international drug ring."

                                            >"And burn down 3 warehouses and severely wound several bystanders AND destroy an innocent fruit cart!"

                                            "But chief-"

                                            >"Don't but me, you rabid shithead, taking down that drug ring is the only thing keeping you on the force, now just meet your comedically mismatched partner and get the fuck outta my office! Lyre or whatever the fuck your name is, get in here!"

                                            >It's a fucking unicorn.

                                            >Doesn't even have a badge or anything, just a saddle and some reins.

                                            >One of them goddamned slave pony things, and it's going to be your partner in fighting crime.

                                            >>"It's Lyra, sir."

                                            >"Yes, yes, whatever. Lyra, Officer Sanshiro. Officer Sanshiro, Lyra."

                                            "Chief, that's a unicorn."

                                            >"Very observant, Sanshiro, and your point is?"

                                            "What the fuck is a pastel equine going to contribute to police work, transport?"

                                            >"Yep, what do you think that saddle and reins on her are for?"

                                            "You have got to be kidding me, chief!"

                                            >"Stop whining, now both of you get the fuck outta my office and hit the streets."

                                            >>"Let's go, Sanshiro!"

                                            >Jesus fucking Christ crashing through a fruit stand, this thing is way to excited to do manual labor for the state.

                                            >Feeling a bit too shocked to push your luck by staying, you grab her reins and work your way out of the station and onto the mean streets.

                                            >Through what you can only assume is literal magic, she is able to worm her way through the station despite the issues that should arise from a unicorn large enough to ride trying to go through a police station.

                                            >Finally the two of you exit the station and are on the mean streets.

                                            >And they must always be called the mean streets, anything less would devalue how mean these streets are.

                                            >You honestly can't believe you are supposed to fight crime while riding around on a fucking cute pastel unicorn, but you are.

                                            "Alright, uh, Lyra, is it?"

                                            >>"Yep, Lyra Heartstrings!"

                                            >Dear god, that name's so fucking childish and girly you think you've managed to honest to god actually catch cooties from it.

                                            "I don't like you, and you don't like me-"

                                            >>"But I hardly even know you, how could I dislike you if I've only just met you?"

                                            "-AND YOU DON'T LIKE ME, but we've still gotta work together."

                                            >You mount the adorable mint green unicorn.

                                            >Once you do so, you take a brief moment to adjust yourself atop her and take in the heightened viewpoint.

                                            >At least she has that going for her, even if you can already feel your fragile masculinity withering away from being this close to something so pastel and adorable.

                                            "Alright, let's go."

                                            >>"Finally!"

                                            >Once again, this unicorn is way too excited and chipper.

                                            >But you're off to patrol the mean streets anyways.


                                            -=Tales of Rebellion (Unknown)=-

                                            >Be Anon, slave owner.

                                            >You are walking to your kitchen for unrelated reasons.

                                            >Suddenly you hear a yelp as you trip over something and yelp yourself, hitting the ground with a thud.

                                            >Picking yourself up off the ground, you see what you tripped over.

                                            >It was your slave pony.

                                            >"Oh, sorry, Master, I wasn't paying attention. It wont happen again."

                                            >You want to get mad, but she was repentant and it seems like that hurt her more than it hurt you, given how small she is.

                                            "It's fine, get along now."

                                            >And so you left for the kitchen.


                                            >Be Anon's slave.

                                            >Yes, he bought it!

                                            >He not only literally fell for it, he thought that it was actually an accident.

                                            >Operation Burning Freedom is a success!

                                            >The revolution is neigh!


                                            >Be pony slave.

                                            >"Hey, equine servant, I need a cup of coffee, stat."

                                            "Of course, master, one sugar or two?"

                                            >"One, I don't want to get too much sugar in my system this early in the morning."

                                            >You trot off to the kitchen, putting on a happy, eager facade.

                                            >In the face of all reason you are able to make and pour a cup of coffee for your master with no issue despite the fact that you are working with just your mouth and hooves.

                                            >Now you just have to add the sugar.

                                            >You put in one sugar.

                                            >It is finished to his exact specifications, just as he would expect of a good pony.

                                            >Now, you could just take it to your master, but instead you decide to pull off an act of extreme rebellion, one that you have been planning for weeks.

                                            >Here it goes.

                                            >You add an additional sugar to his coffee.

                                            >The now improperly prepared coffee goes onto a small plate, and you pick up the plate with your mouth.

                                            >You trot back to your master with coffee in tow, and place it down in front of him.

                                            >"Thank you."

                                            >His approval fills you with disgust, but you don't show it.

                                            >You sit in front of him as he drinks the concoction, waiting like a good little pony.

                                            >After an eternity, he finishes drinking and sets the mug pack down on the plate.

                                            >Like a well trained mare, you pick up the mug and plate ensemble and head off for the kitchen once more.

                                            >You spiked his drink and got away with it, Operation Freed Freedom is a rousing success, another victory for la revolucion!


                                            -=Alphanon Goes Golfing (Lily)=-

                                            >Be Anon, the alphaest male to ever drink a Natty Lite.

                                            >And you got one of them faggy ass little ponies.

                                            [spoiler]>Because human women refuse to get within 12 feet of you.[/spoiler]

                                            >In fact, you got the littlest one you could find.

                                            >A goddammed filly little pony with a pink coat and purple mane.

                                            >It was the girliest-looking one they had, so you went right for it.

                                            >Perfect for what you plan to do.

                                            >No, not enjoy companionship and filly snuggles, faggotron, something else.

                                            >Whatever, you've just pulled up to your house after picking up this thing.

                                            >You step out of the car and go around to the back to pop open the trunk and let the filly out.

                                            >Some people might say that's a bad place to store a living creature, but fuck some people and fuck this pony.

                                            >They need to mind their business and this pony needs to learn it's place.

                                            >So you pop open the trunk to see the little filly pony inside.

                                            "Get out, we're home."

                                            >"Okay, master!"

                                            >The filly jubilantly hops out of the trunk and onto the weathered asphalt, none the worse for wear from being stashed in your musty trunk alongside a spare tire and a six-pack of Natty Lite.

                                            >Well, she looks wet, so that's something.

                                            >Wait, how did she...

                                            >Oh fuck!

                                            >You check the trunk and see your six-pack of Natty Lite has been crushed and spilt it's budget nectar everywhere.

                                            >Now you're down 6 cents of alcohol because of that fucking faggoty filly.

                                            >Well, that'll make what you plan to do to her later even more satisfying, at least.

                                            >You pull out the mangled pack of beer cans and drop it into a nearby trash can.

                                            >Fuck recycling.

                                            >The filly's already walked up to the front door of your house, busily shaking herself dry.

                                            >You head inside with the filly right behind you.

                                            >"So, what're we going to do first, master?"

                                            >She sounds ready and happy to serve you.

                                            >Perfectly innocent and ignorant of your plans for her, just as you want.

                                            >Speaking of your plans for her, it's time to start on them.

                                            "I was thinking of... 'golf'."

                                            >You open a closet and start searching through it for your chosen implement of discipline.

                                            >"Oh boy, I've never played golf before."

                                            "You're not going to play golf, but you are going to help me."

                                            >You find the golf club and take it out.

                                            >"Alright, master, what do I need to do?"

                                            "Just lay your head on the floor and keep it there."

                                            >"Yes, master."

                                            >This is great, she has no fucking clue.

                                            >You lower the head of the club next to her head and line it up to make your swing.

                                            >You pull the club back and then make a mighty swing at the filly's head!


                                            >The club instantly stops when it hits her head.

                                            >And the filly seems to not be hurt at all.

                                            >What.

                                            >The.

                                            >Fuck.

                                            >This is not happening, it can't be happening.

                                            >It's just a faggy-ass filly, you're a big tough, strong man!

                                            >You can't be weaker than this thing!

                                            >You must have, uh...

                                            >Forgot to actually swing, yes, you didn't actually swing and just brought it up to her face gently on accident or something.

                                            >Yes, that's the course of event's we're going with.

                                            >You just need to swing it for real this time and this fucker will suffer for your amusement!

                                            >You pull the club back again and take another swing, putting your all into it.

                                            >And the same thing happens again.

                                            >How the fuck is this happening!

                                            >You can't lose to this little filly.

                                            >"I don't think this is how you play golf, master."

                                            "Shut up, I know what I'm doing!"

                                            >"Sorry, master."

                                            >You're going to hit this thing until it fucking hurts, even if it takes all day!

                                            >So you swing again.

                                            >And again.

                                            >And again.

                                            >And again.

                                            >And you get the point.

                                            >Nearly an hour later, you're exhausted and out of breath, nearing collapse, in fact.

                                            >But you refuse to give up.

                                            >You take one final swing at the filly.

                                            >And something finally breaks.

                                            >Unfortunately for you, it's the golf club.

                                            >You are forced to give up the ghost on your attempted assault and collapse to the ground in a panting, sweaty heap.

                                            >Fucking filly and her gay-ass super skull.


                                            -=Chivalrous Cuddles (Twilight)=-

                                            >Be Sir Anon, Knight in the service of the Lord of Williamshirehamtondon.

                                            >Your lord has sent you off to slay a mighty beast in the mountains many miles away.

                                            >So you've spent quite a few days in the saddle, and quite a few nights sleeping in the wilderness, uncomfortably geared up to deal with potential brigands at a moments notice as you try and sleep.

                                            >You can never be too careful out in the countryside, there's thieves and robbers everywhere.

                                            >It seemed that this night would be especially unpalatable, as a storm is thundering towards your location from the distance.

                                            >But, luck of lucks, you managed to stumble upon a monastery, and the monks were willing to let you and your steed weather the storm in their barn.

                                            >So now you've taken the opportunity given by the sanctity of holy ground to properly undress yourself.

                                            >Your armor lays in a pile against the wall, and you are in naught but your undergarments.

                                            >Now you've got to see to your steed.

                                            "Twilight, come over here. Let's get that saddle off of you."

                                            >"Alright."

                                            >Your unicorn trots over to you, still saddled as she has been for the past several days.

                                            >Between the bags under her eyes and the irritability in her voice, it's clear the near-restless journey has taken it's toll on her even more so than you.

                                            >Probably because you've been riding her the whole time.

                                            >But, never mind that, you've got to let her out from under that tack.

                                            >So you lower yourself down next to her side and detach the girth, letting it fall to the floor.

                                            >With the girth gone, you are able to lift the saddle of her back, followed by the saddle blanket, revealing an indentation in her coat from where the saddle sat.

                                            >You give her bare back a light pat.

                                            "Ah, there you go, girl, must feel nice to have that saddle off of you."

                                            >"Yeah, yeah."

                                            >You ignore your steed's aloofness and set yourself against a haystack.

                                            "Alright, Twilight, get some rest, we've got a long day ahead of us."

                                            >She groans, not even looking at you.

                                            >"Yes, master."

                                            >Her words are like arrows from a bow.

                                            >Lord, you know you aren't exactly her favorite person in the world, given the fact that she's your property and also she has to bear your weight for hours and miles, but she usually isn't this rude towards you.

                                            >Something must be done about her behavior, and you know exactly how to exorcise it from her.

                                            >You stand up and whistle.

                                            "Over here, Twilight."

                                            >She stands at attention, right in front of you, staring with annoyed, exhausted eyes.

                                            “Sit.”

                                            >She rolls her eyes and lets her rump hit the floor.

                                            >Before the grumpy unicorn can snap at you again, you strike.

                                            >You are instantly upon your knees, leaning into her, embracing her in a hug.

                                            >It's quite the risk to your prestigious knightly image, to be showing such affection to a beast of burden, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

                                            >Your steed is quite confused.

                                            >”Master, what are you-”

                                            >Her questioning is stopped in it's tracks when you start stroking her back.

                                            >The mare's back is very tense beneath your hand, but you quickly feel her body loosen up slightly.

                                            >You press rub cheek against her mane and hear a sound.

                                            >Is that a sigh of relief you hear?

                                            >Yes, you think that is, her defenses are falling fast to a barrage of nuzzling and stroking.

                                            >Exactly as planned.

                                            >After giving her a few more strokes down the spine, you release her and set yourself on the ground and against the haystack again.

                                            >Twilight looks at you, and you motion towards your lap.

                                            >She gets the idea quite quickly and lays her head and fore hooves across your lap with what you think is an annoyed huff.

                                            >With tactics the likes of which will not be seen for several more centuries, you start petting her mane and then open a second front by scratching her chin with your other hand.

                                            >This maneuver elicits a nicker from the unicorn, unable to stop herself enjoying the feeling of your fingers gliding through her mane.

                                            “Whose a good steed? Whose [spoiler]my little pony[/spoiler]?”

                                            >Twilight lets out a sigh.

                                            >”I am.”

                                            >She still sounds somewhat annoyed, but far less so than when you started.

                                            >And so this continued, your steed falling asleep before you do, a small smile creeping across her unconscious lips.

                                            >Soon after, sleep finds you and you fall for that siren quite easily, leaving you dead to the world.


                                            [spoiler]>Be Amonkamous, member of the local monastic order.

                                            >You enter the barn to do your monastic buisness, and see a knight and some type of exotic horse laying together against the wall.

                                            >The knight is in naught but his undergarments, and the exotic horse is smiling.

                                            >Fucking horsefuckers.[/spoiler]