Checking Out (the Library Pone)


                                            >Be Anon.

                                            >The natural science library at your university has always been your go-to spot whenever you want somewhere quiet to study.

                                            >The main library is always incredibly busy and even the quiet floors usually have a couple people whispering back and forth obnoxiously, which shatters your already fragile focus.

                                            >The natural sciences library is as dead silent as possible, with the only auditory interruptions being the occasional whine of the library pony’s book cart as she pushes it around.

                                            >Speaking of the library pony.

                                            >She’s super cute.

                                            >And she always has little wrapped squares of chocolate you can take from her desk, which sits next to the human librarian’s larger and fancier-looking desk.

                                            >It’s been hours since you arrived here, coffee in hand, and by now the words on the textbook before you are starting to blur together.

                                            >Your stomach growls and you wince as it softly echoes around the library’s high ceilings.

                                            >A moment later a familiar cart squeaks and a friendly face peeks out from a row of shelves.

                                            >“Sounds like somepony’s hungry - do you want a piece of chocolate? I’ve got some on my desk.”

                                            >You aren’t supposed to talk in this library, but a quick glance towards the main desk proves the regular librarian is out right now. And you know that you’ve been the only student here since you arrived.

                                            “Um, thanks. But I think I need more than some chocolate right now.”

                                            >She nods, her round oversized glasses slipping down her snout a bit; they accentuate her pale blue eyes beautifully.

                                            >“Gotcha! I’d offer you some of my lunch, but I have a feeling you might not like a clover and carrot salad very much.”

                                            >The offer makes you grin.

                                            “How did you know? Thanks anyways.”

                                            >Her hoof covers her mouth politely as she giggles.

                                            >“You’re one of the few people that makes the hike up the hill to get here. I always figured I should know your name, but Madame Bourassa doesn’t really want me talking to the students...”

                                            >As she says this, her pupils dart towards the door to the library to make sure the human librarian doesn’t catch her disobeying rules.

                                            >You offer a hand.

                                            “I’m Anon.”

                                            >“Page Turner - nice to finally put a name to the face.”

                                            >She places her hoof delicately in your hand and gives it a proper shake with a charming smile.

                                            >There’s a brief pause, and she looks like she wants to say something more, but before you can encourage her to speak her mind, she heads back towards the rows of shelves she had emerged from.

                                            >“Well, I best get back to work. Don’t starve yourself in the name of education!”

                                            >And with that she’s disappeared from your sight.

                                            >Your hand still feels warm where she touched it and you smile to yourself before looking back at your textbook.

                                            >Another groan from your stomach interrupts you and you sigh, closing the book and chucking it into your bag as you get up to leave.

                                            >You seriously need some lunch and another cup of coffee doesn’t count.

                                            “Have a good one, Page Turner!”

                                            >you call softly into the room before exiting, head filled with thoughts of a certain lavender pony.


                                            >It’s been about a month since you and Page Turner learned each other’s names, and you’ve been hanging out at the library even more than before.

                                            >When Madame Bourassa isn’t looking, your pony friend (friend? Are you friends?) tosses you a smile or offers a shy wave, peeking at you through her wave of golden hair.

                                            >It’s intoxicating how cute she is.

                                            >On this particular day you’re lucky enough to find the main desk devoid of its usual matronly owner.

                                            >As soon as the door clicks open you can see Page Turner’s ears prick up and she turns around so fast that her rump knocks into her book cart, sending several books tumbling to the floor.

                                            >“Oh!”

                                            >She scrambles to pick up the books, first closing her eyes in concentration before a pink spark sputters from her horn, fading just as quickly as it appeared.

                                            >With a shake of her head, she kneels down and uses her mouth to pick up the books splayed on the wood flooring.

                                            >By the time you arrive by her side there’s only one book left that you’re able to pick up for her.

                                            >She gives you a grateful look as you slide it back into place on her cart.

                                            >“Thanks, Anon.”

                                            “No problem. Did you just try to use magic?”

                                            >Her expression is blank until the question sinks in and then she looks panicked, eyes wide.

                                            >“N-no! Well. Yes, b-but don’t worry, it wasn’t dangerous!”

                                            >She points a hoof at a thin silver band around the base of her horn; it’s unobtrusive enough that you thought it was some kind of jewelry, but upon closer inspection there are some tiny screws and a slot for a key.

                                            >“This here prevents me from using magic, so you don’t have to worry about it! You’re safe!”

                                            >A nervous laugh escapes her lips and she averts her gaze, suddenly busying herself in reorganizing the books on her cart by alphabetical order.

                                            >Huh.

                                            “I’m not worried. Just curious. I haven’t met too many unicorns before.”

                                            >With a soft exhale her shoulders relax, but her ears stay flattened.

                                            >“Sorry… It’s just reflexive for me sometimes. I’ve been using magic since I was a little filly and not having it just feels… Weird. Like a phantom limb.”

                                            >You nod sympathetically.

                                            >“I’m not supposed to even try to use magic - Madame Bourassa’s allowed to punish me for that.”

                                            >A shudder ripples down her back.

                                            >“And even though I haven’t done anything worthy of punishment yet, I really don’t want to find out.”

                                            “Understandable.”

                                            >The image of the perpetually frowning Mme. B spanking poor Page red over her knee flashes across your mind and you bite the inside of your cheek to keep from smirking.

                                            “Guess it’s lucky she isn’t here today, eh?”

                                            >The lilac pony nods weakly, glancing back towards the doors with her brows knitted in worry.

                                            >“Definitely. Promise you won’t say anything?”

                                            “I promise. There’s no reason for me to rat you out.”

                                            >“Thanks, I knew you were a friend.”

                                            >Ah, so you are a friend!

                                            “Don’t worry about it.”

                                            >“Well, guess I should get back to work, huh? And you probably have studying to do.”

                                            >She flicks her tail playfully at you.

                                            >“Unless you’re just here to see me?”

                                            >Admittedly you’re more interested in seeing her than getting work done, but she still seems a little rattled - best to give her a little bit of space.

                                            “As a matter of fact, I have some translation work that needs to get done. But it is nice to see you.”

                                            >You each head in opposite directions from each other, with Page shelving books and you searching around in your bag for your dictionary and the notebook for the right class.

                                            >A while later, once the initial interest in translating is lost and you’re feeling fidgety, you raise your voice.

                                            “Hey, do you like coffee?”

                                            >Page Turner pops her head out of the further row of shelves.

                                            >“I like it okay! Why?”

                                            “Wanna go get some?”


                                            >Her perky grin fades into a sadder smile.

                                            >“I mean, I would, but I’m not supposed to leave the library during work hours. And I’m not supposed to leave campus at all.”

                                            “Nobody else is here - I wouldn’t let it worry you. Plus there’s a decent cafe on campus so we don’t have to go far.”

                                            >She shakes her head, blonde locks falling into her face.

                                            >“I have a chip - if I get too close to the doors the alarm will go off and a notice gets sent to security. Only Madame Bourassa can deactivate the chip so that the alarm isn’t set off.”

                                            >You narrow your eyebrows in thought, scanning the front desk to see if any of the technology there looks like it could be a chip deactivator.

                                            >Page rests a hoof on one of your arms that is firmly crossed across your chest.

                                            >“It’s okay, it was a nice thought. I’m more of a stay-in kind of filly anyways.”

                                            >She keeps her tone playful and light, but her wistful gaze towards the giant double doors to the library says otherwise.

                                            >You aren’t… angry per se.

                                            >But it’s certainly frustrating that she can’t go out of the library for something as simple as getting coffee.

                                            >Especially if it means you can’t flirt with her at the campus cafe.

                                            >Honestly you’d never put much thought into what the university did with its pony “staff”  and how it kept track of them.

                                            >But this makes sense.

                                            >You briefly wonder where they sleep - do they have pony housing like student housing?

                                            “Least I can do is bring a coffee back to you here. Since you’re a ‘stay-in kind of filly.’”

                                            >A faint blush blossoms across her cheeks and she bites her lip.

                                            “What do you like?”

                                            >Ears now perked, her pale eyes are bright with excitement.

                                            >“I haven’t tried that much, but I used to have coffee with honey and cinnamon sometimes! I like sweet things.”

                                            >Aww.

                                            “I can work with that.”


                                            >10 minutes later and you’re walking back up the hill with two coffees - one flat white for yourself and a brown sugar latte with cinnamon on top for Page Turner.

                                            >When you nudge through the library doors, you see her sitting perched on the edge of your seat at one of the long empty tables, swinging her hooves and resting her chin on the spread of studying materials.

                                            >She raises her head upon seeing you and she wiggles off her seat, eagerly approaching you and sniffing at the cups in your hands.

                                            >“Which one is mine?”

                                            >You hand her the latte and she rocks back onto her haunches to clumsily grasp the paper cup between her hooves.

                                            >It’s awkward, but she manages to get a sip in before she pulls back in surprise, lapping at the cinnamon-dotted steamed milk moustache now covering her upper lip.

                                            >“Oh, it’s sweet!”

                                            “Well yeah, you said you liked it sweet.”

                                            >She takes another sip and smiles broadly, looking up at you with the adoration of someone who hasn’t been given anything in a long time.

                                            >“Thank you…”

                                            “You’re welcome.”

                                            >With a sniffle, she carefully places the cup down on the library table before placing her foreleg around your calf in a sort of half hug.

                                            “Hey now, it’s just a coffee!”

                                            >She sniffles again.

                                            >“I know, but it’s more than that. This is special to me… Thank you.”

                                            >Awkwardly, you reach down and give her mane a stiff pat, unsure of just how to react.

                                            >She quickly breaks off the hug, rubbing her eye with her hoof and hoisting herself back up onto the chair, greedily grabbing for what remains in the cup.

                                            >It’s easy to forget the bad things in life when you have a warm, tasty treat in front of you.

                                            >You can’t help but smile as she thirstily gulps down the coffee, pausing occasionally to lick the foam from her lips and sigh contentedly.

                                            >She notices you watching her with amusement.

                                            >“Look, I’m no good at savoring things - don’t judge me!”

                                            “I’m not,”

                                            >you laugh, covering up your pleasure by sipping at your own coffee.

                                            >It makes your guts feel fuzzy that she’s getting so much happiness from (what for you is) such a simple act of kindness.

                                            >You sit down in the chair next to her and pull your books over to get back to translating, not wanting to seem like a weirdo who gets off on watching slave ponies enjoy a treat.

                                            >Page Turner continues to guzzle down her latte, desperately lapping at the lid when it’s gone, giving a tiny snort of frustration when she realizes that there’s nothing left.

                                            >You can tell she’s studying you now that she’s finished, but you nonchalantly continue to reread the same line over and over as if you were actually getting work done.

                                            >Pushing her glasses back up the bridge of her snout, she hops out of the chair and gives you an affectionate nudge before trotting back to her book cart, tail swinging perkily.

                                            >Guess it’s finally time to actually study.

                                            >It’s a good day for Anon.


                                            >Be Anon.

                                            >It’s now been a couple months since you got Page Turner her first coffee, but now it’s become a ritual for you two on Friday afternoons.

                                            >You noticed that Mme. B only stays at the library until 1pm on Fridays so this has been your chance to talk more with your pony friend over a cup of hot coffee.

                                            >Surprisingly, she’s pretty open about her past and doesn’t mind regaling you with stories from her life in Equestria.

                                            >You learn that she was working as an assistant at the Canterlot Public Library while she was studying to be full librarian and even had a project on the side for restructuring the unicorn nonfiction organization system.

                                            >She has a younger sister out there somewhere, but they lost each other when they were dropped off at the conditioning camp. Her sister’s name is Starry Knight and she used to work as one of Princess Celestia’s guardmares, hence why she was considered an aggressive pony who needed stricter conditioning and got separated from Page.

                                            >Page Turner speaks fondly of her, but doesn’t reminisce as much as you thought she would.

                                            >You don’t have any siblings, but you figured that losing one would be one of the worst parts about coming to Earth.

                                            >In any case.

                                            >It’s been nice getting to know Page. It broadens your perspective and makes you feel like less of a loser now that you have something to do on a Friday afternoon/evening.

                                            >Plus the way your pony friend looks at you when you give her a cup of coffee makes your heart swell.

                                            >She’s sucking down her drink with the usual vigor when you decide to ask a delicate question you’ve been wondering for a while.

                                            “How do you feel about being a slave?”

                                            >She responds by choking on her latte.

                                            >Once she’s able to regain her regular breathing, she gives you a hard, somewhat confused stare.

                                            >“Wow, I wasn’t expecting you to ask that so... bluntly.”

                                            >Looking at her drink instead of your face, she continues, dragging one of her hooves in a circle along the surface of the table.

                                            >“Um. I don’t know. It’s not something I like to think about too much. I had a whole life about to blossom in Canterlot where I was… somepony. Not just an expendable cog in the machine. And obviously I had wayyyyy more autonomy than now.”

                                            >You nod, taking a sip of your coffee.

                                            “I guess it’s just that you’re always so cheery. I would have expected you to be pretty miserable.”

                                            >She finally returns your gaze and offers a sad smile.

                                            >“Sometimes I am. But you have to try and push past it, because what good does it do you to be miserable? I focus on the good things in my life, like the fact that I’m working in a beautiful library and Madame always makes me hot tea in the morning and-”

                                            >She blushes, her voice lowering for the last bit as she looks towards her hooves.

                                            >“And that I get to spend my Fridays with you. I-I like you.”

                                            >That catches you off guard.

                                            >You’re less surprised that she enjoys your time together - it’s obvious you both get on well and who doesn’t like a friend who brings you a treat from the outside - but her tone and body language are more… romantic than you would have anticipated.

                                            >Something (hope? arousal?) stirs in your belly.

                                            >Page looks back over to you, carefully trying to read your frozen expression of surprise.

                                            >“Is it shocking that I like you?”

                                            >You quickly shake your head.

                                            “Not at all. Just sort of surprised that it’s out in the open now.”

                                            >She nods, nervously twirling a lock of her hair around her hoof and focusing on the plastic coffee cup in front of her.

                                            “But that’s not a bad thing.”

                                            >Ears pricked, she looks back to you with hope sparkling in her big blue eyes.

                                            >You’re both quiet for a moment, drinking in the nervous, but excited energy now emanating from the both of you.

                                            >“Is it wrong?” she whispers, eyes darting towards the library door in case anyone else should ruin the moment.

                                            “Not inherently, no - though the school might think otherwise. But it’s certainly inconvenient.”

                                            >She swallows and nods again, ears tipped backwards.

                                            >Suddenly you’re feeling brave, bolstered by the cute blushing mare in front of you, and you lean forward slightly, your own gaze sliding towards the library doors.

                                            “Would it be weird to ask if I can ki-”

                                            >Without another word Page Turner throws herself from her seat, crushing her soft lips against yours.

                                            >Her kiss is frantic, desperate.

                                            >You relax into it once the initial surprise at her enthusiasm fades, closing your eyes in pleasure as your lips do most of the work exploring hers.

                                            >God, she’s so soft and warm and she smells like sweet jasmine.

                                            >It’s enough to overwhelm your senses AND your dick.

                                            >Eventually she pulls back to breathe, the hot breath from her panting fogging up the glasses on her snout. The hungry look she gives you is intoxicating.

                                            >Your heart hammers against your chest.

                                            >Page flips back the stray pieces of her mane that had fallen into her face before apologizing.

                                            >“S-sorry, I didn’t mean to- I mean, I didn’t think I was going to- Errrr-”

                                            “It’s fine,”

                                            >you laugh, gently tucking an escaped lock of hair back behind her ear.

                                            >It twitches as your hand brushes past it.

                                            >Her strong blush is enough to color her usually pale purple cheeks a deep plum as she releases the breath she was holding onto, exhaling with relief.

                                            >“Okay good, so then you won’t mind if I do this?”

                                            >She leans forward again and presses her lips to yours, far more gently this time.

                                            >This kiss is deep, but soft; tender.

                                            >It’s completely open and honest and it makes you forget that you need to be on guard in case anyone else should enter the room. That this is technically illegal.

                                            >But for now you’re lost in the sweetness of the moment.

                                            >After a minute you leisurely pull back to break the kiss, watching as Page’s eyes open slowly to gaze back into yours.

                                            >You could swear that the light reflecting off them almost resembles a heart.

                                            >She’s breathless and excited.

                                            >“That felt so nice!”

                                            “Only nice?”

                                            >you tease.

                                            >She shoves your shoulder playfully, grinning as she takes off her glasses to wipe the fog off of them.

                                            “You know what I mean, Anon.”


                                            >Be Anon.

                                            >You're back in your dorm room, still thinking about the frantic kiss from Page Turner in the library - you can still sort of feel her soft lips against yours and it's sending lightning down your spine as you slouch at your cheap desk.

                                            >You want to do something for her.

                                            >She deserves better than just cheap campus coffee every Friday.

                                            >Plus you'd like to take her out on a proper date sometime, somewhere fancy where she could get dressed up and see how much you appreciate her company.

                                            >The things you'd like to do for (and to) her...

                                            >Hands itching for action, you pull your laptop from your backpack and start looking up more about pony slavery and the laws surrounding it.

                                            >The first result on google is your government's page with very stripped down information about magical ponies on Earth (conveniently leaving out details like the Invasion of Equestria), but fortunately it provides the basics for law surrounding pony slaves.

                                            >It's exactly as you would expect; in the eyes of the law, ponies are sentient pieces of property that can be bought and sold only through official government channels. Their only rights are to be included under animal cruelty laws which prevent torture and overworking while requiring "adequate care" from their owners.

                                            >But ponies are clearly more emotionally complex than say a regular dog or cat. The (perhaps intentionally) vague "adequate care" clause leaves way too much room for ponies' physical and mental health to slip through the cracks.

                                            >Your thoughts flick back to Page Turner and how it can't be good for her to be cooped up in the library all the time, even if she is a self-described "stay-in kind of filly." Wouldn't it be nice for her to take a walk outside in the sun every now and again?

                                            >Or maybe she's already allowed to and you just don't know it.

                                            >There's a lot about her current life right now that you don't know about, even if you've been privileged with hearing all about her past. You make a mental note to ask her the next time you're able to talk.

                                            >Having exhausted the federal law side of things, you switch to looking up the pony-specific rules for your university.

                                            >There's a lot of search results with questions from students about bringing their pet pony (still technically a slave even if you choose to call it a pet) to school, to which administrators have answered with the usual "only documented emotional support animals are allowed on campus." You realize that the only ponies you're used to seeing on campus are ones owned and employed by the university, which means it must be very difficult to keep pet ponies in the dorms.

                                            >Or maybe you just haven't been paying enough attention to ponies on campus when you see them; their presence is so ubiquitous that you hadn't stopped to give it a second thought of who they're owned by.

                                            >Other results that come up are a pdf of the student handbook's section on how to interact with the university-employed ponies and the minutes from the last meeting of the Ponies On Campus Society.


                                            (still updating, just slowly.)