Snoot Boop'd. (2023)


                                            >“Hey Anon!”

                                            “Wha…? Huh?”

                                            >You are none other than Anonymous F. Aggot, the one and only resident human of Equestria.

                                            >And someone is actually attempting to strike up a conversation with you.

                                            >Only problem is that this mystery mare is nowhere in sight, the only other ponies in the area paying you absolutely no heed.

                                            “Anooooon!”

                                            >There it is again! So close yet so far away.

                                            >The voice is definitely a mare and strikingly familiar.

                                            >Your eyes dart around, looking for the source of this disturbance.

                                            >Arms up and ready for a tussle, you whirl around to find nobody there.

                                            >You thought for sure it’d be Pinkie behind you ready to dump another bucket of paint over your head.

                                            >Harmless prank your ass. Does that pink menace know how difficult it is to get paint stains out of a white shirt?

                                            >Difficult, I’ll tell you now. Thank fuck for magic.

                                            >”Up here, silly!”

                                            >Craning your neck up you finally spot the little horse hanging out a second story window, waving at you with an animated hoof.

                                            >Hot pink coat, blonde mane…

                                            >You’re not ashamed to admit you have no idea who this cartoon horse is.

                                            >They all look the same anyway - vibrant eyesores.

                                            “Uhhh… hi?”

                                            >You scratch the back of your head, confused, but give the hot-pink mare your attention.

                                            >She giggles, the sound so bubbly and sweet you’re sure your teeth are beginning to rot.

                                            >”You can't boop me because I'm up here and you are down there!”

                                            >Can’t boop…?

                                            >Does this mare know who she's talking to?!

                                            >Your fists instinctively curl, with your pointer finger out and ready to assault the nearest snoot.

                                            >With shaking hands you extend your arm, but you know deep down in your gut it’s no good.

                                            >She’s out of reach.

                                            “N-no!”

                                            >You leap up, coming inches from the mare’s dangling muzzle, but it’s all for naught.

                                            >Climbing the walls of her abode proves equally as fruitless.

                                            >Despair coils down your spine before settling in the pit of your stomach.

                                            >There’s simply no way - no possible avenue for booping.

                                            >No, Anon, what are you saying? You can’t give up!

                                            >If there’s a snoot to be booped, then you’re the only man for the job!

                                            >The small horse giggles again, kindling those flames of booping passion.

                                            “Mark my words you evil temptress, I’ll be back!”

                                            >You don’t plan on failing this day.

                                            >Full of determination, you set out looking for some sort of device or implement that could allow you to reach heights normally impossible for ponies - or humans in this case.

                                            >You’re not even sure if such a thing exists, but you know someone who might.

                                            >You beeline through the pastel crowd toward the standout treehouse planted firmly in the middle Ponyville.

                                            >The residence of one Twilight Sparkle.

                                            >Not even bothering to knock, you barge through the front door, and formally announce yourself.

                                            “Oi, Spriggles! You home?”

                                            >There’s a groan of annoyance from somewhere upstairs, but it’s not the egghead you know and tolerate.

                                            >The pitter patter of tiny feet echo down the stairs and Twilight’s overgrown lizard slave-- uh, assistant appears.

                                            >Spike looks less than thrilled to see you, laughably tiny arms crossed in an attempt at looking imposing.

                                            >”What do you want, Anon?”

                                            “Definitely not you, Skype. Where’s Twilight?”

                                            >You pace nervously around the library, skimming over the hundreds of books, desperately looking for something to help on your quest.

                                            >”My name is Sp--”

                                            “Didn’t ask for your life story, bucko,” You cut the lizard off, frowning, “Do you know where she is or not?”

                                            >Skype grumbles something obscene under his breath, a small puff of smoke escaping his maw.

                                            >”Fine. She’s over with Fluttershy at her cottage--”

                                            >You don’t let the tiny lizard finish, rushing out the way you came, back into Ponyville proper.

                                            >Blasting through bewildered ponies, you spy that same mare still peeking out the second story window, waving merrily as you pass.

                                            >Damn that vixen.

                                            >You will have your revenge.

                                            >It’s a decent walk to mellowmeek’s cottage, but you’re no slouch - especially when your livelihood is on the line.

                                            >Faster than a speeding dyke, you arrive at the edge of the Everfree forest.

                                            >It’s dark, ominous, and frankly offensive smelling, but where you’d originally found yourself all those months ago.

                                            >How time flies.

                                            >You spot Fluttershy’s quaint little cottage over by a creek, along with her abundant garden and animal pens.

                                            >This particular mare has a special place in your heart as being the first pony you’d nearly scared to death.

                                            >Probably doesn’t help that you were butt naked and covered in mud.

                                            >Good times.

                                            >Before you can even knock on the door, it flings itself open and you barely manage to avoid getting bowled over.

                                            >Two mares, engrossed in their own conversation, casually trot past like you’re not even there.

                                            >Twilight with saddlebags full of - you guessed it - books, and Fluttershy with an abundance of fruits and vegetables.

                                            >You’re in sheer shock just at the audacity of the pair.

                                            “Hey, way to nearly kill me, assholes.”

                                            >The duo freeze, their carefree faces falling into terror.

                                            >”Oh sweet Celestia, no.”

                                            “Oh, bountiful Sunbutt, yes.”

                                            >I-can’t-belive-it’s-not-butter horse starts quivering like a leaf, refusing to face you.

                                            >The egghead has no qualms in getting all up in your grill however, her big purple eyes brimming with annoyance.

                                            >”What do *you* want?”

                                            >Sheesh, the nerve of this pony.

                                            “I’m glad you asked, I need your help.”

                                            >Twiggles audibly scoffs, eyes widening in disbelief.

                                            >”You need *my* help?”

                                            “Are you deaf? Yes, that’s what I said.”

                                            >”With what exactly?”

                                            >You smile innocently at Twilight who’s beginning to look a little on edge.

                                            “I need to be able to reach… let’s say a second story window. Do you know of anything that does that?”

                                            >”Perhaps…” Twilight frowns, brows furrowing as she rubs her chin in thought, “But why should I help you?”

                                            >...Ponies don’t have chins, do they? Oh well.

                                            >You wiggle your fingers suggestively before rubbing your thumb and forefingers together in an exaggerated manner.

                                            >The result is immediate, Twilight’s cheeks burning Big Mac red.

                                            >If there’s one thing you know, it’s that ponies will go nuts for ear rubs.

                                            >The wonders of the human hand.

                                            >But you’re no ear rub slut - if a pony wanted one they’d have to earn it.

                                            >Fluttershy finally makes herself known, her weak mumble inaudible over the sound of your own mighty thoughts.

                                            >In fact, you’d completely forgotten she was still there.

                                            >”U-uhm… I might have an idea…”

                                            >Both you and Twilight ignore her, too engrossed in thought, with you matching the purple pony’s contemplative chin rubbing.

                                            >All at once, the bookworm’s eyes light up and she bolts back towards Ponyville without so much as a word.

                                            >Dismare.

                                            >You go to follow, only to bump into something incredibly soft and remarkably quiet.

                                            “Oh! Hey, Flutterbutter. I didn’t see you there.”

                                            >She mumbles something in reply but it’s lost to the wind.

                                            “Ah well, would love to chat but I can’t hang around.”

                                            >With a nonchalant wave, you rush after Twilight Sprinkle, who is almost a speck in the distance now.

                                            >Just as you draw nearer, she vanishes into the growing crowd of pastel horses.

                                            >You skid to a halt, your eyes frantically darting over the crowd, looking for any sign of purple on purple.

                                            >Even with your superior height, it’s impossible to distinguish anything in this sea of colour.

                                            >Curses.

                                            >Through logical deduction, you assume she’s heading to her library.

                                            >Luck, however, does not seem to be on your side.

                                            >A certain angry cowgirl yanks you off course toward a darkened alleyway.

                                            >”Anon! Yer not getting away from me this time!”

                                            >Pawing menacingly at the ground, Applejack’s gaze locks with yours.

                                            “H-hey! What gives!”

                                            >Standing firm, you brush yourself off.

                                            >”I know what you said to Applebloom!”

                                            >This again?

                                            “Look, AJ, I already told you, she asked me--”

                                            >”Horseapples! I don’t care, Anon! She’s been terrified of arts and crafts ever since!”

                                            >Looks like some people can’t face the facts.

                                            “Whatever. She’d have found out sooner or later anyway.”

                                            >”But it’s not true!” Applejack shouts, stomping her hoof.

                                            “Oh yeah? Then where do you think they sent Scootaloo’s parents?”

                                            >With a bellowing war cry, Applejack began her charge.

                                            >At the same time, a tingling sensation blooms across your skin, growing in intensity as the seconds ticked by.

                                            >You plant your feet and prepare to meet the cowgirl head on, arms up and at the ready.

                                            >Only to find yourself blinded by a disorientingly bright purple flash.

                                            >The world spins around you, warping and constricting like jello, until finally the light fades.

                                            >You collapse onto a suddenly wooden floor, heaving your guts out.

                                            “Urgh. Twiggles, what did I say about teleportation?”

                                            >Four purple hooves trot into your vision.

                                            >”Oh grow up, Anon.”

                                            >Somewhere outside, even through the thick bark of the treehouse, you can hear the echoes of Applejack’s fury.

                                            >Oh well, another problem for another day.

                                            >Sneering, you drag yourself to your feet with as much dignity as you can muster.

                                            >Twilight has a partially aged book in her purple aura, the pages skipping through faster than you can process.

                                            >She’s humming to herself, occasionally mumbling nonsense while nodding in agreement to things you can’t even begin to stipulate.

                                            >”I think I may have something.”

                                            >Twilight floats the book toward you, the open pages covered in Equestrian scrawl that you still haven’t bothered to learn.

                                            >There are, however, diagrams and blueprints of a strange piece of hardware.

                                            >The more you assess it, the more sense it seems to make.

                                            “This… looks like it could work.”

                                            >Hope swells inside of you, threatening to burst from the seams, but you maintain your cool composure.

                                            >Twilight nods enthusiastically, practically dancing on the spot.

                                            >”From what I could gather, it appears to be a portable staircase.”

                                            >Up until now, you thought such a thing was impossible.

                                            >You nod slowly, and gesture for the bookworm to continue.

                                            >She brings the book back to her muzzle, gleaming purple eyes darting over the text, eager to learn more.

                                            >”It says it’s possible to fold up, and even carry with you!”

                                            >Your neutral facade cracks, a genuine smile breaking out across your features.

                                            “How soon could it be ready?”

                                            >Twilight tears her gaze from the holy book, a shit-eating grin on her lips and she canters toward you.

                                            >”That depends…”

                                            >With lidded eyes, she eagerly brushes against your fingers, pushing her head into your palm.

                                            >”...how badly do you need it?”

                                            >You inhale sharply, mentally steeling yourself for what comes next.

                                            >You know what you need to do, but do you have the strength to do it?

                                            >Just think of the snoot boops, Anon. Just think of the snoot boops.

                                            >Sighing, you reach down with both hands and go to work.

                                            >The unicorn lets out a content sigh the second your fingers brush her fur, one of her hind legs kicking instinctively.

                                            >You begin simply tracing the corners of her ears with each hand, making sure to be excruciatingly slow and delicately gentle.

                                            >Over time, you work yourself up to a swirl, starting at the tips and massaging down to the base.

                                            >Twilight is putty in your hands, a line of drool pooling by her wobbling hooves.

                                            >Exactly where you want her.

                                            >Now for the grand finale.

                                            >Your thumbs work themselves just a little deeper into Twilight’s ears, transitioning from a rub to a scratch.

                                            >And just like that, the unicorn is completely under your spell.

                                            >”Oh, Celestia… don’t stop…”

                                            >Her tongue rolls out from her muzzle, chest heaving as she pants.

                                            >Her hind leg kicks like mad, unable to process the flood of sensations.

                                            >Just a few more seconds and…

                                            >No longer able to hold her own weight up on four legs, Twilight collapses into a sweaty, breathless mess.

                                            >Right on cue.

                                            >Dusting your hands off and wiping them on your pants, you congratulate yourself on a job well done.

                                            “That’s gotta be a personal record for you, Twiggles.”

                                            >Twilight is too frazzled to formulate a reply and idly nods, her still eyes distant.

                                            “Right!” You clap your hands together, snapping the unicorn out of her daze, “You’d better get to it, Twiggles.”

                                            >”Y-y-yes, of c-course.”

                                            >She struggles to rise, legs refusing to cooperate, but eventually she manages to rise unsteadily to her hooves.

                                            “I’ll just wait here then, shall I?” You ask, not really expecting an answer, “Oh and get your intern to bring me some snacks would you? Thanks.”

                                            >Unable to formulate an appropriate response, Twilight simply blinks before teleporting the lizard into the room with a sparkly ‘pop’.

                                            >Said lizard promptly drops face first onto the hardwood floor with a painful thud.

                                            >”Sorry S-Spike,” The purple unicorn stutters, blushing furiously, “could you fix A-Anon a snack for me please?”

                                            “C’mon, Trike, I haven't got all day.”

                                            >Spike lays there motionless for a moment, before picking himself up and wordlessly marching to the kitchen.

                                            >You can see the steam venting out his scaly ears and the unbridled fury in his eyes.

                                            >Now that’s the kind of attitude you like to see!

                                            >You make yourself comfortable on one of the many oversized cushions laying about as Twilight disappears downstairs.

                                            >Hopefully this doesn’t take too long.

                                            >It does, in fact, take much longer than you thought it would.

                                            >So much so that you’re worried the tantalising mare would be long gone by now.

                                            >Spike eventually brings your snacks as instructed, the lizard staring daggers at you the entire time.

                                            >It’s nothing more than a glass of water and a barebones sandwich, but you suppose it’d do.

                                            >But that had to have been at least an hour ago.

                                            >At least you know for certain Twilight is hard at work in the basement - if all the noise is anything to go by.

                                            >You can hear the whir of power tools, the roar of heavy machinery, and at one point the entire treehouse shakes as something volatile combusts.

                                            >The minutes drag past and you can no longer keep yourself seated.

                                            >Silence has descended upon the library, which is leaving you with an unwelcome, sour feeling.

                                            >What the hell is taking this mare so long?

                                            >Doesn’t she know what’s at stake here? What’s on the line?

                                            >Just as you’re about to give up hope, the basement door creaks open and you whip yourself around.

                                            >Twilight finally emerges, covered in a thick layer of soot, grime and sweat.

                                            “Well?” You ask, unable to hold back your anxious excitement, “did you do it?”

                                            >Tired purple eyes meet yours, filled with something you can’t quite describe.

                                            >Is that… glee? Trepidation?

                                            >There’s a cocktail of emotion whirling behind those big beautiful eyes, but you can’t stand the anticipation.

                                            >Ever so slowly, the hint of a smile curls at the corners of the unicorn’s lips.

                                            >Her horn lights up, and she drags the contraption into the sunlight.

                                            >It's like she pulled it straight out of the pages of fiction and into the harsh reality we know as life.

                                            >It’s sleek.

                                            >It’s compact.

                                            >It’s man or pony portable.

                                            >It’s just what you need.

                                            “You’re a genius, Twilight!”

                                            >”Thanks.”

                                            >With a bashful smile, and a rosy tint to her cheeks, she floats the contraption over to you.

                                            >Her aura dissipates and the comforting weight of your salvation falls into your arms.

                                            >Now for a test run.

                                            “How does this work?”

                                            >Twilight trots over, pointing to a series of hinges built into the thing.

                                            >”Think of it like opening a book, only these hinges will keep it from laying flat.”

                                            >You do as instructed and, amazingly, it really is like a portable staircase.

                                            >Taking a calming breath, you begin your ascension, one step at a time.

                                            “This is incredible!”

                                            >You’ve never felt this free before!

                                            >Laughter echoes throughout the treehouse as your hands brush against the ceiling.

                                            >Not even the sky could hold you back.

                                            >Twilight watches you from below in a stunned awe, a proud smile on her muzzle.

                                            >Nothing can escape your grasp now, especially a certain boopable mare.

                                            >Carefully climbing back down, you fold the contraption back up, a dopey grin stuck to your face.

                                            “You did good, Twiggles,” You say, genuine appreciation laced in your words, “but what do we call this thing?”

                                            >”I’ve got the perfect name…”

                                            >You step outside into the square, Celestia’s sun still burning high in the sky, your new tool tucked firmly under one arm.

                                            >Dozens of eyes follow you as you begin your trek.

                                            >Confused and curious murmurs trail behind you and it’s not long before a small group of ponies begin to follow.

                                            >Two ponies become five, five ponies becomes ten, and It’s not long until you’ve got the entire town trailing behind you.

                                            >A flock of pegasi hang over you like seagulls, equally as curious.

                                            >That big dopey smile still hasn’t left your face.

                                            >How could it?

                                            >You have the power of a god in the palm of your hands.

                                            >That familiar house comes into view, with that same mare still hanging out the window.

                                            >Every single event of today has been leading up to this moment.

                                            >This sweet, sweet moment.

                                            >Stopping at the foot of the window, you stare defiantly up at the mare that was, once upon a time, out of reach.

                                            >But no longer!

                                            >”Heya, Anon! Whatcha got there?”

                                            “Oh this?” You gesture to the contraption under your arm, “It’s a little something Twilight whipped up.”

                                            >You place it down beneath the window, folding it out just as you learnt not moments ago.

                                            >A ripple of whispers and gasps rushes through the crowd above and below you.

                                            >That cocky smile on the hot-pink mare’s face falters for a moment.

                                            >”Oh? And what does it do?”

                                            >Without so much as a word, you lock eyes with your adversary and step onto the first rung.

                                            >The crowd behind you goes deathly silent as you take another step higher.

                                            >The pegasi above you wail in terror as you ascend from the limitations of the Earth below.

                                            >You take another step, and another, climbing closer to your one and only goal.

                                            >The mare is trembling on the windowsill now, unable to tear her terrified indigo eyes from you.

                                            >At this height, cool wind licks at your neck, messing your hair and sending goosebumps crawling across your skin.

                                            >But you don’t care.

                                            >As you step onto the final rung, you come eye to eye with the pony that - until now - had thought herself safe from your booping hands.

                                            >Her eyes are pinpricks, darting from your gaze to the hands now resting on her windowsill.

                                            >”P-please…”

                                            >You raise a single hand, index finger outstretched and ready for action.

                                            >The mare goes cross-eyed following your encroaching finger, quivering all the while.

                                            “We call it a faggot.”

                                            >And with that, you boop her soft, delectable snoot.

                                            >The crowd below breaks out into cheers, the earth ponies and unicorns celebrating as one.

                                            >Not for the poor snoot that was just booped, but for the implications of this so called ‘faggot’.

                                            >The Pegasi had long since fled in terror, but this was just the beginning before the storm.

                                            >The mare before you goes limp, passing out from the overwhelming touch of a boop.

                                            >You simply smile.

                                            >No longer can mares escape your booping hands.

                                            >Not with the power of this faggot.

                                            >You turn your gaze ambitiously to the sky, toward the hillside capital of Canterlot.

                                            >None will escape.