Author's Note

You remember when I said this was going to be sort of well I'm a liar unexpectedly this had to be broken into two parts. So used to be getting a smaller point sometime this week

Day 3: A Filly Under Decree

Anon slouched back on the couch, his hooves awkwardly fumbling over the controller. "It’s all just... different," he muttered. The TV in front of them flashed with the familiar sights of a chaotic game, but his focus kept slipping. He wasn’t himself. Not anymore. Carlos, beside him, barely noticed, engrossed in the match, tapping buttons effortlessly.

Carlos laughed as his character shot Anon dead on screen. "You’re getting worse every time we do this. What’s going on with you?"

"It’s this... this body, man," Anon groaned, glancing down at himself, seeing the small, fur covered form he’d been trapped in for what felt like an eternity. "And her. You know how crazy she is."

Carlos paused the game, looking over. "You mean that client you’re always going on about? What’s her name? Twilight?"

"Yeah, Twilight," Anon muttered, rubbing his temple. "She’s... she’s everything. Too much of everything. It’s not just work; it’s like she’s always in my head, controlling every little thing I do." His breath came out shakily. "I mean, you’ve met controlling clients, right? But this? This is something else. She’s got this freakish need for everything to be perfect. And she doesn’t stop at work—she’s in my life now, man."

Carlos raised an eyebrow, setting his controller down for real now. "Wait, what? How’s she messing with your life outside work?"

Anon laughed bitterly. "Where do I even start? It’s like... like she doesn’t see me as a person anymore. She’s got me in this... body, and I don’t even know how it happened." His voice trembled slightly. "She’s always watching, always controlling. Everything. She tells me how to stand, how to speak. Hell, she even controls what I wear. And then there’s the way she—" He stopped short, his breath hitching. "It’s like she enjoys it. Using me. And... it’s messed up, but part of me likes it too. I mean, how could I not? This body responds... before I can stop it."

Carlos blinked, clearly unsure how to respond. "Sounds like she’s really... something."

Anon sighed deeply. "Yeah, 'something' is one way to put it. She’s taken over every aspect of my life. And the worst part is, it’s like I can’t stop falling deeper into it. I’ve never let anyone control me like this before, not even my ex wife." He let out a dry laugh. "At least Twilight isn’t as bad as her, right?"

Carlos smirked, leaning back. "Sounds like a real nightmare, man. What is it about this Twilight chick that reminds you of your ex?"

Anon’s eyes darkened for a moment. "You know I can’t tell you that," he muttered, looking away, his mind already racing with everything he couldn’t say.

Anon started rattling off a list, more to himself than to Carlos. "Obsessive. Perfectionist tendencies. Needs control at every level. Probably some deep seated abandonment issues." His voice dropped to a mutter as if he were back in his therapist chair, analyzing the case in front of him. "Compulsive micromanager, likely stemming from some insecurity. Always needs to be the smartest in the room. Dominates her environment to compensate for something... deeper." He blinked, trying to shake the clinical detachment that had taken over.

Carlos raised an eyebrow. "You sure you’re not just taking work home with you? That sounds like a case study."

Anon didn’t respond. He was too focused on something else—something that suddenly caught his eye. A small red ball rolled across the floor, bouncing once, twice, before coming to a stop at his hooves.

Everything around him began to blur. The apartment walls shimmered, Carlos’s voice sounded distant, and Anon felt the weight of reality lifting. The ball—the bright, red, outofplace ball—was the key.

His breath caught in his throat. "This is... this is a dream," he whispered to himself, the realization crashing down as the apartment, the game, and even Carlos seemed to dissolve around him. None of this was real.

The world dissolved, and when Anon opened his eyes again, he was floating—suspended in a bubble that stretched endlessly in every direction, yet somehow felt confined. It was vast and boundless, yet he sensed there were limits, even if invisible. The dream plane. He wasn’t sure how he knew that, but the realization settled in his chest, heavy and sure.

Around him, other bubbles floated, each glowing a different color, like tiny stars in the darkness. They were dreamlike and yet tangible, each pulsing with energy he could feel as if it were seeping into him. Dreams. The colors weren’t random; they meant something. He could almost instinctively feel what each one was about.

As Anon drifted through the dream plane, he noticed how some bubbles were soft blues, peaceful and calm, while others shimmered in shades of pink or green. He instinctively understood their moods. As he moved closer, the emotions in the bubbles resonated more, almost overwhelming him. They felt so close, but no matter how much he tried to reach out, they remained forever distant, like an illusion of proximity.

Frustrated by the distant bubbles, he decided to focus on the ones floating nearby, close enough to explore.

The first bubble he approached was a bright, pulsating green. Lyra’s dream. As he peered into it, the surface of the bubble rippled and cleared, allowing him to see inside.

Lyra was on a luxurious velvet bed, her mane a tangled mess as she and Bon Bon lay intertwined, their bodies close and warm. They were wrapped in each other’s hooves, sharing soft murmurs and laughter, lost in their connection. The intensity of love and desire radiated from the dream, and Anon pulled back quickly. It wasn’t disgust—it was the rawness of it. The intimacy was so deep, so personal, it made him feel like an intruder.

Nearby, a bubble glowed in shades of bold blue and purple. Rainbow Dash’s dream. He looked inside and wasn’t surprised to find her standing in front of a massive mirror, flexing her muscles and admiring her reflection. Her wings, slick with the sheen of a hard day’s work, were spread wide. She looked at herself with pride, preening and posing, as if to soak in the glory of her own strength.

"Typical Rainbow," Anon muttered to himself, smirking.

A few bubbles away, one glowed a soft white with hints of gold. This was Applejack’s dream. Inside, she was lying beneath a shady apple tree, her hat tipped forward over her face as she relaxed. The field stretched out around her, bathed in the warm glow of the afternoon sun. It was peaceful, serene—simple contentment radiated from the scene. Anon could feel the quiet joy she experienced just lying there, the weight of hard work melting away in the comfort of her home.

But not all dreams were peaceful. A bubble near him pulsed with a deep, muddy black. Rarity’s dream. No—it was more than a dream. It was a nightmare.

Inside, Rarity was standing in the middle of a crowd, her pristine white coat covered in mud, her mane a tangled, filthy mess. Faceless ponies surrounded her, laughing, pointing, as she tried to clean herself, but the more she struggled, the more the mud clung to her. Her panic was palpable, and Anon could feel the embarrassment radiating from her like heat.

Anon winced, quickly pulling away. "Not something I need to watch," he muttered, shaking off the secondhand shame.

Despite the odd curiosity of the dreams he was witnessing, one thought kept gnawing at him: Where’s Twilight? He glanced around the dream plane, searching for her bubble, but no matter how hard he looked, it was nowhere to be found. He drifted farther, frustration bubbling up inside him. Why couldn’t he find her? Was she hiding? Or worse—was she watching him, even here?

But no matter how hard he searched, he couldn’t locate her dream bubble.

Before he could spiral deeper into frustration, the dream plane shifted around him. A presence—strong, ancient, and familiar—filled the air. Anon turned just in time to see Luna appear, hovering just outside his bubble. Her starry mane swirled in the darkness, blending with the void, and her eyes locked onto his. She was calm, yet her sudden arrival sent a jolt of surprise through him.

Anon recoiled instinctively, his first thought being to pull away and wake himself up, but Luna raised a hoof gently, stopping him. "Wait," she said, her voice steady but with a soft plea beneath it. "I ask thee to hear me out."

Anon hesitated, his instincts screaming at him to escape, but something in Luna’s voice made him pause. He floated there, wary, watching her closely.

Luna’s expression softened, and she let out a sigh, almost sheepishly. "I spoke with my sister," she began, a trace of reluctance in her tone. "After... after I was so unceremoniously expelled from thy dream the last time."

A faint smile tugged at the corner of her mouth, though her eyes betrayed some lingering irritation. "My sister found great amusement in the fact that a filly bested me in my own domain. She laughed for quite some time at my expense." Luna’s voice had an edge of annoyance, but she quickly composed herself. "However, it forced me to reflect. I was too forceful, too impatient. I... failed to understand thy situation."

Anon frowned slightly but didn’t interrupt.

Luna looked down briefly, her voice softening. "It is... difficult, after so many years, to let go of old habits. I acted as I would have in the past, not realizing the harm it would cause." She met his gaze again, her expression sincere. "This time, I wish to ask for thy permission. May I enter?"

Luna’s change in demeanor caught Anon off guard. The last time she had forcefully entered his dream, all authority and power. But now, she was asking for permission. It wasn’t what he had expected, and it made him pause.

For a moment, he hesitated, unsure if he could trust her. What’s her angle? Why is she being so polite now? Something in Luna’s tone, though, seemed different. There was a sincerity he hadn’t expected. Slowly, cautiously, he let his guard down.

"Alright," he said quietly, still uncertain. "You can come in."

The moment Luna stepped into Anon’s dream, she was struck by how incredibly detailed the scene was. The dreamscape had shifted into a bustling coffee shop, filled with humans walking past the windows, strange metal carriages—cars—rushing by outside, and towering skyscrapers stretching into the sky. The world was foreign to her in every way.

Luna’s eyes widened slightly as she took in the environment. These creatures... this world... it’s unlike anything I’ve seen. She glanced at the polished floors, the furniture, the cups and saucers clinking as patrons in the shop chatted quietly. How did this filly create such a thing? This isn’t normal dreamwalking.

She approached the table where Anon sat, sipping casually from a cup of coffee. His small filly form looked out of place here, but there was something unsettling about how comfortable he seemed in this alien setting.

"Thou hast crafted a most intricate and... peculiar world," Luna said, her voice calm, though her thoughts were racing. No filly should have this level of mastery over their dreams. "What is this place?"

Anon shrugged, setting his cup down. "Just a place I used to go."

Luna’s gaze shifted outside, where the humans walked by. "And these creatures... they are unfamiliar to me. What are they?"

"Humans," Anon replied flatly. "That’s what I was before I ended up stuck like this."

Luna raised an eyebrow at that. "Humans? Thou wert one of them?" Her voice was neutral, though the strangeness of it all gnawed at her.

"Yeah," Anon muttered, clearly irritated. "I was human. Lived a normal life like those people out there." He gestured toward the window. "Then one day, I wake up like this—in a filly’s body."

Luna blinked, processing his words. A filly who believes they were once... one of these creatures? What could have caused such a belief?

Though her expression remained calm, Luna’s mind raced with questions. Humans? What in Equestria could have given him such an idea? Wanting to gather more information without alarming him, she quietly cast a discreet scanning spell, her magic flowing over Anon’s body.

The scan confirmed what she expected—he was, physically, a filly. Her body is that of a pony, unmistakably so. But as Luna probed deeper, she found something else. Oddities in her magical field, disruptions... traces of something foreign.

She’s been altered. But by what? And why? Luna’s curiosity deepened, but she knew pressing the scan further might alert Anon. Best not to frighten her. I will need to investigate more later.

Keeping her expression neutral, Luna spoke softly. "Thou art a filly, no matter what thou claimest."

Hearing the word "filly" sent a flash of anger through Anon. His jaw tightened, and the walls of the coffee shop trembled slightly as the dream flickered.

"My name is Anon," he snapped, his voice sharp. "Not 'filly.' Call me by my name."

Luna watched him closely, noting the shift in the dream’s stability. That struck a nerve. She’s very sensitive about this identity. Luna kept her voice calm, deciding to back off slightly. "Very well, Anon. If this form is not thine own, what wouldst thou prefer to be called?"

Anon’s irritation lingered, but he took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down. "Call me man or stallion."

Luna considered his request for a moment. Feeding into her illusion would not be wise. Best to find a middle ground. "Then I shall refer to thee as colt," she said gently.

Anon let out a frustrated sigh but nodded. "Fine. Colt works."

As a human waiter approached the table, setting a fresh cup of coffee in front of Luna, she studied Anon carefully. This level of control—this world—it's too stable. He’s mastered his dream too well for one so young.

"How didst thou learn to craft such a world?" Luna asked, her tone casual, though her curiosity was growing.

Anon leaned back, rubbing his forehead. "College. Back when I was human." Keep it simple. Don’t give too much away. "Spent nights studying, practicing. Barely ate. They’d lock us in rooms for hours, force us to listen to lectures. If we didn’t keep up, there were... consequences."

Luna’s ears perked up at the word "consequences." This doesn’t sound like proper education.

"Consequences?" she repeated lightly, hiding her concern behind a neutral tone. "What kind of consequences?"

Anon gave a bitter laugh. "Beatings. Isolation. You either learned fast, or you didn’t make it. It wasn’t fun."

Luna’s mind whirled. Beatings? Isolation? This isn’t the way dreamwalkers are trained. She remembered the oddities she had found during her scan. They’ve tried to force something on her. Her magic... it’s been altered somehow.

"These instructors... were they many?" Luna asked, her voice soft but probing.

Anon shrugged. "Yeah, they were everywhere. Schools, universities... Thousands of us. But I was one of the successful ones."

Luna’s thoughts darkened. Thousands? This isn’t simple training. Whoever trained her was reckless—dangerous even. Dreamwalking is not to be forced. The mention of isolation and beatings struck a chord, bringing up memories of her own past.

Could they have discovered something about Nightmare Moon? Or the forces I once wielded?

Her eyes flicked toward Anon as the pieces began to come together. They’ve twisted her somehow. They’ve forced an awakening, trying to create dreamwalkers without understanding the risks. Could they be attempting to access... the Nightmare Force?

"Art thou one of many?" Luna asked, trying to keep her voice steady.

"Of course," Anon replied, now more guarded. "There are tons of us. But I’m one of the better ones."

Luna felt a heavy weight settle in her chest. This filly—this colt—has been subjected to something far worse than training. Someone is trying to access dangerous powers.

But before she could dig deeper, the dream began to flicker. The coffee shop shimmered, the scene starting to collapse.

Anon’s eyes widened, and he stood up abruptly. "What’s happening?"

Luna reached out with her magic, trying to hold the dream together. "Wait! Tell me where thou art in the waking world!"

But it was too late. The dream crumbled around them, the humans outside vanishing, the streets dissolving into mist. Luna’s voice echoed through the dream as everything shattered, leaving Anon to wake up suddenly, Luna’s words lingering in his mind.

Anon blinked awake, Luna’s last words echoing in his mind: "Where do they keep thee?" The way she had said it—so convinced, so certain—sent a chill through him. She thought he was trapped in some dark, horrible place. She’s not exactly wrong.

He shifted, the softness of the bed immediately pulling him back to the present. God, this bed is way too comfortable. The mattress hugged his body in a way that felt sinful, and the warmth of the sheets made it easy to forget the nightmare that was his life. This is the kind of bed that makes you want to give up. Just melt into it.

His hoof drifted over to where Twilight had been last night. The spot was cold now, but the memory of her warmth lingered. Her body had been pressed against his, her chest rising and falling softly, wrapping him in a cocoon of security. I miss her.

The thought hit him like a slap to the face. No. He recoiled, mentally shoving the idea away. I’m not doing this. I’m not falling into that trap. His mind raced, reminding him what was at stake. This is how Stockholm syndrome works. First, you miss her. Then you start thinking she’s not so bad. Next thing you know, you’re calling her "Mistress" and thanking her for every slap. Fuck that.

He pushed the blankets off, his hooves hitting the cold floor as he sat up. Not happening. I’m not going to be her victim.

As he stood up and scanned the room, he couldn’t help but be struck by how... impressive it all was. It was even more breathtaking than it had looked in the show. The sparkling walls, the tall ceilings, the soft, glowing light that seemed to radiate from every crystal surface. It was a masterpiece of magic and architecture.

Damn. This place is even more ridiculous up close. There was something almost hypnotic about how perfect everything was, like it was designed to distract him, to make him forget how screwed he was. Beautiful prison. That’s all it is.

He moved cautiously around the room, careful not to disturb anything. I can’t leave any clues. If Twilight notices something’s out of place, she’ll get suspicious. He needed to search the room, but he had to do it quietly, methodically. No messes.

His first stop was the bookshelves. The titles were a mix of magic theory, spell casting, ancient history, and everything else that screamed "Twilight Sparkle". She really was a walking library, wasn’t she? One book caught his eye—“Family Album.”

He pulled it off the shelf and flipped through it. Photos of her family stared back at him. Shining Armor, Cadence, her parents—Night Light and Twilight Velvet—even a few pictures with Celestia. They all looked so... happy. It almost hurt to look at.

The perfect life. Perfect family. But that wasn’t the Twilight he knew, was it? Not now. She was different here, darker. He remembered Twilight’s dream—the one with the mysterious pony. That dream had felt too real, too raw to be random. Was she afraid of something? Or was that figure something more than fear? Desire? Power?

He wasn’t sure, but whatever that dream meant, it wasn’t good. He slid the book back into place, his mind lingering on the memory. She’s hiding something.

Next, his eyes drifted to the dresser. He didn’t feel any ominous pull toward it—he just needed to search everything. Without much thought, he casually opened the top drawer, eyes widening as the contents came into view.

Sex toys. Neatly arranged. Of course.

Rows of dildos, butt plugs, and cuffs were meticulously placed in the drawer. Some of the toys glowed faintly with magical enchantments, and their designs varied from the simple and smooth to the intricately ridged and ribbed. They came in all sizes—large, small, everything in between. Different sizes. Different ages. Jesus, Twilight. You’ve really thought of everything.

His eyes stopped on one particular dildo—the one from Twilight’s dream. His stomach dropped. This isn’t just random fantasy. She’s been thinking about this for a long time.

He carefully shut the drawer, his mind reeling. Twilight’s not just playing around. She’s been planning this. Testing the waters. She’s using me, pushing me further and further, and it’s only going to get worse. The dream hadn’t been some accidental reveal—it was a window into her twisted plans.

He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. I’m her project. Her... outlet. His training kicked in as he analyzed her behavior. She’s stressed. She’s using me to relieve that pressure. And it’s only going to escalate. I’m an easy target—defenseless, trapped, and she knows it.

Anon moved over to the large window, needing a moment to clear his head. The sun was climbing higher now, casting a warm glow over Ponyville. Ponies wandered through the streets, laughing and chatting, completely unaware of the twisted game being played just a few feet away from them.

His eyes were drawn to Derpy, who zipped by, wobbling through the air before smashing into a lamppost. For a moment, Anon couldn’t help but feel a smile tugging at his lips. Derpy never changes. He suppressed the grin, shaking his head as he slowly turned away from the window.

But something else caught his eye as he turned—his reflection. The filly staring back at him was small, softeyed, greenfurred, with a black mane that hung slightly in his face. That’s me now. He hated it. This body. This cutie mark. None of it belongs to me.

His gaze fell to his cutie mark, the inkblot, the Rorschach test. It shifted as he tilted his head, but this time, it almost looked like a question mark. Great. My cutie mark is questioning my entire existence. How fitting. The mark was meant to represent interpretation, but right now, all it did was mock him.

He turned away from the glass, taking a deep breath. This isn’t my body. This isn’t who I am. But I need to figure it out before it’s too late.

As he moved back from the window, Anon’s mind began piecing everything together. Twilight isn’t just experimenting with me. She’s escalating, and there’s no one to stop her. He was her project, her personal plaything, and there was nothing he could do about it. Not yet, anyway.

But why him? Why did she choose me? The answer was all too clear now. He was the perfect victim—an orphan with no family to advocate for him, no parental figure to challenge Twilight’s authority. He had no one. No one to protect me.

And she had taken him from a mental institution, which made things even worse. Even if he managed to tell someone what was happening, who would believe him? The doctors would side with Twilight. Any pony would side with Twilight. She could easily claim that the poor, unstable filly was suffering from delusions caused by past trauma. It’s the perfect cover.

There was something else—something much darker. The way Twilight had talked about Celestia and the orphanage—it was so casual, like it was just part of the system. Like it was normal.

It reminded him of the old Roman and Greek systems. Back then, older men—paedagogus—would take boys under their care, guiding them academically, but also taking advantage of them. It was a twisted system, wrapped in respectability, but everyone knew what was happening behind closed doors. What if that’s what’s going on here?

He let out a bitter laugh. Predators gotta hunt, right? The thought sent a shiver down his spine. Celestia’s in on it too, isn’t she? Twilight’s just following her lead.

And if Celestia was part of the problem, maybe it wasn’t even considered a problem. Maybe this was just how things worked in Equestria. Molestia. What had started as a joke now seemed all too real. What if this is just how the system operates?

He had to stop himself. I can’t make assumptions. Not yet. He couldn’t afford to jump to conclusions. He needed to figure out more—understand the bigger picture before making any moves. If he was going to get out of this, he had to stay ahead. And that meant studying.

His mind shifted to Twilight’s library. If anyone had the knowledge he needed, it was her. She probably has every book in Equestria in this castle. There had to be something there that could help him. Something that would give him insight into the world he was stuck in, into dreamwalking, or maybe even Luna. He could start putting the pieces together.

But there was one problem. Shit. I don’t remember where the library is.

He cursed under his breath. Of course, I don’t. The castle was a maze, and Twilight hadn’t exactly given him a grand tour. Wandering around aimlessly wasn’t going to help. Looks like I’m going to have to bother Spike.

He sighed, resigned to the fact that he was going to have to ask the baby dragon for help. It’s not like I have a choice. He left Twilight’s room, moving quietly through the castle’s halls. The crystal walls seemed to hum with an almost eerie energy as he walked, his hooves making soft clicks against the smooth floor.

As he got closer to Spike’s room, he slowed down, something catching his attention. A strange sound. He tilted his head, listening.

Clapping.

It was faint, but unmistakable. What the hell is that?

He hesitated for a moment, standing just outside the door, unsure whether to knock or wait. What’s Spike doing there?

Anon leaned closer, pushing the door open just enough to get a better look inside. The strange clapclap sound grew louder, and his eyes widened as the scene before him came into focus.

Spike lay sprawled out on his bed, one hand wrapped firmly around the base of his thick, ridged cock. His other shaft lay across his stomach, twitching with each pulse, glistening in the dim light. Spike's hand moved rhythmically, stroking himself at a steady pace, the sound of his palm smacking against his meat filling the room.

Clap. Clap. Clap.

Spike’s eyes were halflidded, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he worked himself over. He was completely lost in the moment, oblivious to everything else. His claws gripped the sheets, his muscles tensing as he pumped his cock, precum leaking steadily from the tip, dribbling down the ridged length and pooling beneath him.

And then Spike moaned.

A deep, guttural sound that sent a shiver down Anon’s spine. His throat went dry as he stared, transfixed by the sight. Spike’s cock was massive—thicker than anything he’d ever seen, with veins bulging along the sides and ridges that flared with each stroke. The head was swollen, a deep, dark color, and every time Spike’s hand reached the tip, it let out another spurt of precum, slicking his claws and the sheets beneath him.

Clap. Clap.

The sound was almost hypnotic, and Anon found himself frozen in place, unable to tear his eyes away. His mind raced, trying to process what he was seeing, but then the smell hit him.

A wave of spiced cinnamon, with an underlying note of sulfur—like something primal, ancient, and powerful. The scent was thick in the air, wrapping around him, making his head spin. Pheromones. That’s what it had to be. And it was affecting him. He could feel it—the heat creeping into his skin, his breathing quickening as the scent overwhelmed his senses.

Anon swallowed hard, trying to steady himself, but his body wasn’t listening. His heart pounded in his chest, his muscles tensing, and to his horror, he realized that he was starting to feel it... down there. The heat, the slickness. He could feel himself getting wet.

Shit. No. Not now.

He squeezed his legs together, trying to stop it, but the feeling was building, spreading through him like wildfire. His eyes darted back to Spike, who was still completely absorbed in his pleasure, his hand moving faster, his cock throbbing as more precum dribbled out.

Anon’s throat tightened. He had to do something. He couldn’t just stand here, watching.

Before he could stop himself, he shouted, “Spike!”

The word tore from his throat, loud and sharp, and Spike’s eyes shot open in shock. In an instant, the dragon jerked back, letting out a startled yelp as he lost his grip on his cock and rolled off the bed, crashing onto the floor in a tangled mess of sheets.

“Wha—Anon?! What the Tartarus?!” Spike’s voice cracked as he scrambled to cover himself, pulling the blanket over his waist.

Anon stood there, his chest heaving, the smell still thick in the air, his body still reacting in ways he didn’t want to acknowledge. He pressed his legs tighter together, trying to calm himself, but the heat wasn’t going away.

For a moment, Anon just stood there, a grin slowly spreading across his face as he took in the sight of Spike fumbling with the covers, his eyes wide in embarrassment. He could still feel the heat lingering in his own body, but something about seeing Spike so caught off guard made him feel... satisfied.

Anon chuckled, crossing his hooves over his chest. "Oh, doesn't feel so good, does it?" His voice dripped with sarcasm, but there was a deeper, mocking edge to it.

Spike’s face flushed deeper, his eyes darting anywhere but at Anon. “Shut up!”

Spike, still flustered from the sudden interruption, regained his composure quickly. His lips curled into a sly grin as he pulled the blanket tighter around his waist. “It’s not going to be so funny when I tell Twilight,” he teased, his eyes glinting mischievously.

That stopped Anon dead in his tracks. The grin vanished from his face, and his chuckling died immediately. He narrowed his eyes at Spike, his voice dropping dangerously low. “You wouldn’t dare.”

Spike raised one of his claws in mock surrender, a cheeky smile still plastered across his face. “No, I wouldn’t,” he admitted, his voice casual. “But I got you, didn’t I?”

Anon shook his head, letting his body relax again. “Alright, fair enough. But seriously... don’t you have any magazines or adult comics for this kind of thing?”

Spike let out a bark of laughter, rolling his eyes. “You think I could sneak something like that past Twilight? She checks this room every other week. Keeps an eye on everything in here like I’m still a little hatchling.”

Anon raised an eyebrow, slightly amused. “She checks your room?”

Spike groaned. “Yeah, and she never wants to buy me any of the cool stuff either. Says it’s all ‘objectifying mares’ or something.” He mimicked Twilight’s voice, waving his claws dramatically in the air.

Anon snorted. “Objectifying mares? What does she think you're gonna become, some kind of dragon chauvinist or something?”

Spike blinked, confused. “Chauvinist? What’s that? Is that, like, a type of jewel?”

“Yes.” Anon It's not surprised that doesn't exist here.

Wait, is Twilight considered femcel now.

Spike sighed, but then mumbled under his breath, almost too low for Anon to catch, “But... she floods this house with her pheromones.” He glanced up, then added, “And these crystal walls... they’re not soundproof at all, so I can hear every time she—”

Spike’s face immediately went bright red as the full weight of what he was saying hit him. He clamped his mouth shut, his eyes widening in horror.

Anon stared, speechless for a second. Did he just—?

Spike coughed, quickly changing the subject. “So... no. No magazines or anything like that.” He rubbed the back of his neck, awkwardly avoiding Anon’s gaze.

Anon’s initial tension faded, though the smell of Spike’s musk still lingered in the air, making it harder to focus. He was already feeling embarrassed by what had happened, but he kept his tone casual. “I’m here to ask you where the library is.”

Spike blinked at him, confusion flashing across his face. “Didn’t I give you a tour like, a day or two ago?”

Anon sighed, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, but I was... kind of busy in my own head.”

Spike let out an exaggerated sigh, rubbing his forehead with a claw. “Of course you were.” He looked up at Anon with a mix of exasperation and amusement. “It’s not that hard to find, you know.”

But while Spike was talking, Anon realized something was still wrong. His body hadn’t fully calmed down from earlier, and as they spoke, he became aware of just how close he had been getting to Spike. Shit. The pheromones. He had been unconsciously moving toward the source of that intoxicating smell, drawn in without even realizing it.

He caught himself just in time, willing his body to stop. Get a grip, Anon.

Spike, meanwhile, trailed off midsentence, his eyes widening slightly as his cheeks flushed red. He stared at Anon for a second too long, and Anon noticed the shift in Spike’s expression. There was something... off.

“What?” Anon asked, suddenly feeling a little more selfconscious. “Is something wrong?”

Spike quickly shook his head, trying to laugh it off, but it came out awkward. “No! No, it’s fine.” His voice cracked a bit, and Anon caught the way his eyes flicked away. Something’s definitely wrong.

Anon raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. “Spike. Just... let it out. What’s going on?”

Spike hesitated for a moment, rubbing the back of his neck. His cheeks were still bright red, and he looked anywhere but directly at Anon. Finally, after an awkward silence, Spike muttered, “I... I was just wondering... if maybe... you could, uh... help me. With... you know.” He waved a claw toward the bed and his stillveryobvious problem.

Anon’s eyes widened, and for a moment, he wasn’t sure if he’d heard Spike correctly. “Wait... you want me to help you... jack off?”

Spike’s face went from red to crimson in an instant, and he buried his head in his hands. “Yeah. I know, I know, it’s weird, but... you’re here, and I’m... well... you know.”

Anon stared at Spike, the room suddenly feeling a whole lot smaller. His mind raced, trying to process what Spike had just asked. Is this really happening?

Spike’s request lingered, but Anon’s mind wandered into familiar territory, where his inner selves debated in a mental space. Three versions of him—all green fillies with black hair—sat around a table, ready to battle it out.

The greedy/selfserving side reclined lazily, a smirk playing on her lips. “Oh, come on. Twilight’s only going to escalate. You’ve seen the signs—she’s abusing her power already, testing your limits. She’ll push you, see how far she can go, especially now that you’re an Earth pony. You’ve got durability, after all. She can do things to you that would break anyone else. If you don’t take control now, she’ll make you her personal experiment.”

He can already feel her influence on him even now and she Have an evening truly got started.

The moral side leaned forward, crossing her hooves in defiance. “This isn’t about Twilight. You’re talking about Spike. You’d be using him for your own ends. That’s manipulation, plain and simple.”

The greedy side rolled her eyes, gesturing dismissively. “Oh, please. Twilight’s not going to stop unless you take control. Spike’s your way out. Besides, you’re giving him something he wants—attention, validation. He’s stuck under Twilight’s hoof, just like you. You both need this.”

Anon thought back to Twilight’s dream, realizing how much she mirrored the very control and abuse she’d probably experienced herself. It made sense—people shaped by power and control often passed it down. He’d seen it with clients before, those who’d been trapped under the thumb of a controlling figure.

The calculating side spoke up next, always the voice of reason. “Let’s face it: Spike needs help, and so do you. This is about survival—nothing else. You’ve seen what happens when people stay under control too long. Patients trapped in manipulative relationships—they break eventually. Helping Spike gives you an ally, someone who can offer you support in a world controlled by Twilight.”

Anon nodded internally. He’d dealt with clients who were desperate for a way out—people trapped by family members or partners who held all the power. Spike could be that ally, just like in those cases where someone helped tip the balance of power.

The moral side sighed, but softened slightly. “Even so, this is still manipulation. You’re not helping him out of kindness—you’re doing it for leverage.”

The greedy side smirked, leaning in. “And what’s wrong with that? Look at us—we’re hot, sexy, and cute. Spike would be lucky to brag about getting with us, even if it’s just a hoofjob. Unlike your exwife, who was a whore, Spike’s actually getting something out of this.”

All three versions of Anon paused, staring at her. The original Anon rolled his eyes. The moral side facehoofed in disbelief, while the calculating side shrugged, throwing her hooves up in the air as if to say, “Not my problem.”

“What?” the greedy side said with a grin. “You all know it’s true. It’s not like I need to hide anything from you.”

Shaking off the comment, the calculating side steered things back on track. “Twilight’s going to keep pushing you. She’s testing your limits already. Spike can help you regain some control in this situation, and it’s mutual. He’s stuck under her influence too. You help him, he helps you. It’s the smartest play.”

Anon’s thoughts raced back to Twilight’s behavior—her obsessive need for order and control. She wasn’t going to stop until she had full control over him, pushing his Earth pony limits, testing how far she could go. If he didn’t act now, he’d be at her mercy.

The moral side softened but didn’t back down. “You don’t have to become Twilight. You can make better choices. Manipulation isn’t the only way.”

The greedy side snickered. “You’re just boosting Spike’s confidence. He’s desperate for attention, and you’re the one giving it to him. You’ve been there, right? It’s not manipulation—it’s helping him feel wanted.”

Anon couldn’t argue that. He remembered being younger, desperate for validation, willing to take it from anyone who’d offer it. Spike was probably in the same position now, longing for someone to notice him, to give him the kind of attention he needed.

The calculating side nodded in agreement. “Exactly. You’ve dealt with clients like Spike—those who needed a way out. This isn’t about right or wrong. It’s about what’s necessary. You need Spike, and he needs you. It’s mutual.”

With that, the debate quieted. Anon knew what he had to do. Twilight wasn’t going to stop; she’d keep escalating until there was nothing left. If he didn’t take control now, he’d lose any chance of keeping himself intact.

Fine. I’ll do it.

Anon blinked, snapping back to the real world. Spike was still standing there, his face flushed, hands fidgeting as he waited for a response.

Anon took a deep breath, the decision settling in his mind. “Alright. I’ll help you.”

Spike’s eyes widened in surprise. “Wait—are you sure? I mean, I’m... a dragon. Most ponies just reject me because of that.” He hesitated, stumbling over his words. “I mean, I know I’m not like... normal ponies. Most of them think I’m weird or too different, so they don’t want to...”

Anon cut him off with a firm but reassuring hoof on his shoulder. “Spike, you’re one of the boys. You need help, and you’re not badlooking.” He gave him a small, genuine smile.

Spike blinked in surprise, his cheeks turning an even deeper shade of red. “I—thanks, Anon. I didn’t expect you to... you know, say that… Wait what do you mean the boys.”

Anon chuckled softly. “Don’t worry about it.”

The tension in the room grew thick as Spike lay back on the bed, fidgeting with his claws, his eyes nervously darting from Anon to the ceiling. His two cocks twitched slightly, waiting for something—anything—to happen.

Anon, sitting on the edge of the bed, stared at the situation in front of him. It wasn’t exactly shocking—he knew dragons had two penises—but now he had to figure out how to do this. His heart pounded, not just from nerves, but from the lingering scent in the air, a mix of spiced cinnamon and something musky, almost pheromonal.

“So... uh, how are we going to do this?” Anon asked, his voice sounding far more casual than he felt. The situation was anything but normal.

Spike’s eyes flicked nervously toward him. “I mean... you just, you know, grab it and... go up and down?”

Anon let out a small, incredulous laugh. “Yeah, I figured that much. But how am I supposed to do it with hooves?”

“Oh... right,” Spike mumbled, scratching the back of his neck, clearly embarrassed. “Well, uh... Twilight told me once that ponies have this magic network in their hooves. It’s how you guys pick stuff up like you’ve got... claws.”

Anon raised an eyebrow. “Claws?”

“Yeah, claws. You know, fingers? Like, uh... dragon claws. Twilight explained it once. I don’t really get it.” Spike shrugged, clearly out of his depth.

Anon couldn’t help but chuckle a little. “Right, okay. So I just... imagine it?”

“Yeah, something like that. Twilight said Earth ponies have the strongest magic in their hooves. If a pony has trouble grabbing stuff, they go to doctors and learn to visualize doing it. Like, imagine picking something up and your body will follow.”

Anon stared at his hoof, slightly skeptical but willing to try. Magic ponies. Why not? He closed his eyes, imagining his old hands, the familiar grip. Slowly, he let his hoof move toward Spike’s cock, and to his surprise, he felt it—like his hoof was gripping it, holding it the way hands would.

"Can you feel that?" Anon asked, trying to keep his voice steady.

Spike’s entire body stiffened, his claws gripping the sheets tight. His eyes fluttered shut, and he let out a shaky breath. "Yyeah, I feel it. It’s... good."

Anon glanced down, surprised by how naturally his hoof moved now, gliding up and down Spike’s cock. The warmth of it, slick with precum, felt strange against his hoof, but it wasn’t difficult. In fact, the sensation was... strangely familiar. His strokes were slow at first, experimental, but the rhythm came easily.

Spike moaned softly, his hips bucking slightly into Anon’s grip. "Anon... that feels really good," he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.

As the stroking continued, the awkward tension between them hung in the air. Anon could feel the weight of the moment, but Spike’s soft moans kept cutting through it, making things... weirder.

"Is this, uh, your first time... doing this?" Spike asked, his face still flushed, but clearly trying to distract himself from how close he was getting.

Anon smirked, keeping his strokes slow. "You mean, giving a dragon a handjob? Yeah, this is a first for me."

Spike let out a nervous laugh, his claws fidgeting at the sheets again. "I mean, not that I’m surprised. Not many ponies, uh, are into dragons like that."

Anon rolled his eyes. "Yeah, well, it’s not exactly something you bring up at dinner parties."

Spike chuckled awkwardly, but his breath hitched as Anon’s hoof sped up, the slickness of his precum making it easier to stroke. The scent of spiced cinnamon filled the air even more, thick and intoxicating. Anon’s heart beat faster, not just from the action, but from the strange reaction his own body was having. His thighs pressed together involuntarily, and he could feel warmth pooling between his legs.

Shit. He was getting wet. His breaths grew shallower as he tried to ignore it, focusing on Spike instead.

Spike’s body trembled slightly, his face scrunched up in pleasure. "AAnon, I... I’m getting close..."

The tension in Anon’s body grew sharper as Spike moaned, and his own body responded in kind. This is way too intense. The feel of Spike’s cock, the warmth, the slickness, the smell—it was all getting to him in ways he hadn’t expected.

"Yeah, I can tell," Anon muttered, trying to keep his voice steady as he continued stroking Spike’s cock. His own body felt hot, his heart pounding as he fought to keep his focus. The wetness between his legs was almost distracting, but he pushed the sensation aside.

Spike’s hips bucked harder, and his breathing became ragged. "I... I’m gonna—"

With a choked moan, Spike’s body jerked violently, and Anon felt the sudden, intense warmth of Spike’s cum splattering across his hoof and the bed. Spike gasped for breath, his body trembling as the orgasm rocked through him, his claws digging into the sheets.

The smell of spiced cinnamon filled the air even more, making Anon’s head swim. His own body felt like it was on fire, his thighs clenching together as he tried to suppress the feeling building inside him. The wetness between his legs was undeniable now, and his breaths came out ragged.

For a moment, the room was filled with nothing but the sound of their labored breathing. Spike collapsed back into the bed, panting, his body going limp as the last waves of his orgasm subsided.

Anon sat there, trying to collect himself. His hoof was sticky with Spike’s cum, and the scent of spiced cinnamon lingered thickly in the air. His body was still buzzing with arousal, but he forced himself to focus on what had just happened. This... this is too much.

Anon stared at his hoof, still sticky with Spike's cum, the texture slick against his frog. Without thinking, he brought his hoof to his face, and before he could fully process what he was doing, he licked it. The moment his tongue made contact, he froze, his eyes widening as the taste hit him.

Peppermint? It was strangely sweet, but there was a spiciness beneath it—like a stronger, exotic version of the candy. Anon blinked, his mind catching up with his body. What the hell did I just do?

He jerked his hoof away from his mouth, wiping it roughly against the bed. “What the fuck, Anon? His stomach churned as the realization of what he had just done sank in.

His eyes drifted down to the bed, and that’s when he noticed the full scope of the situation. Spike’s cum was everywhere. It was like a bottle of moisturizer had exploded all over the sheets. No wonder Spike has to do so much laundry. The thought made him grimace, his mind still reeling.

Spike finally shifted, his body relaxing as his twin cocks retracted back into their hidden slits. He looked over at Anon, his face still flushed, but the tension in his expression had eased.

“Thanks, Anon,” Spike said quietly, his voice laced with a mix of gratitude and embarrassment.

Anon cleared his throat, still feeling the strange taste lingering in his mouth. “Uh, no problem.” His words felt awkward, like they didn’t fit the moment, but what else could he say? He wasn’t even sure what he was supposed to feel right now.

As he hopped off the bed, Anon’s mind snapped to a new problem. I’m... really wet. He glanced down at himself, the slickness between his legs unmistakable. Fuck this body. His inner voice seethed with frustration. The whole side of Spike’s bed was practically soaked with his own juices, and he couldn’t deny the heat still burning low in his belly.

Spike noticed, his eyes flicking down to Anon’s legs before meeting his gaze with a knowing look. “Uh... do you need some help?”

Anon paused, the question hanging in the air as he weighed his options. His body screamed at him, urging him to give in. I already came this far. The logic settled in his mind before he could overthink it. Might as well go all the way.

With a resigned sigh, Anon turned and sat back down on the bed, spreading his legs slightly. “Yeah,” he muttered, trying to keep his voice steady. “Go ahead.”

Might as well throw it all into the oven, he thought bitterly, his mind surrendering to the heat building inside him.

Spike slid off the bed, moving slowly as he approached Anon’s quivering pussy, the scent of arousal thick in the air. He glanced up at Anon, his eyes searching for any lastminute hesitation, but when none came, he lowered his head and got to work.

The first touch of Spike’s tongue was gentle, a slow, tentative lick that sent a shiver up Anon’s spine. His breath caught in his throat as Spike’s long, forked tongue expertly teased the edges of his folds, the sensation sharper and more intense than anything he had expected.

Spike’s claws gripped Anon’s thighs, spreading them wider, giving him full access. His tongue dipped deeper, swirling around Anon’s entrance before sliding inside, coiling and curling with a surprising amount of skill. Anon gasped, his head falling back as his body responded to every movement.

Fuck... he’s... really good at this. The thought crept into Anon’s mind, and for a brief moment, his pleasure was interrupted by a wave of confusion. How is Spike this good at... this?

As Spike continued, licking and teasing with deliberate strokes, the realization hit Anon like a brick. Wait... who else has he done this with? Spike had already mentioned that Twilight wasn’t interested in dragons, but... someone had to have taught him. His skill wasn’t natural—it was learned.

Anon’s breath hitched as Spike’s tongue pressed deeper inside him, his claws tightening around his legs, sending sharp jolts of pleasure through his body. He tried to push the thought away, but it lingered, gnawing at him.

Who the fuck taught him this?

Spike’s tongue slid out slightly, focusing now on Anon’s clit, the sudden change in pressure making Anon’s body jerk in response. A loud moan escaped his lips before he could stop it, his hips bucking instinctively toward Spike’s mouth. The sensation was overwhelming, the pleasure building fast as Spike’s tongue worked in rhythmic, expert strokes.

Spike's tongue moved with deliberate precision, each stroke igniting sparks of heat deep in Anon's belly. Despite the filly’s body he was trapped in, his mind remained keenly aware of the primal reaction his form was having. Spike’s tongue slid along his slick folds, teasing every nerve ending with skilled flicks, and Anon couldn’t help but shudder under the intensity of it.

Spike started with soft circles around his clit, the rough texture of his tongue sending jolts of pleasure through Anon’s entire frame. The pressure built, a tightness gathering low, curling deep in his gut. Anon gasped softly, biting back moans as the heat radiated outward. This damn body. It wasn’t what he was used to, but there was no denying the effect Spike’s expert movements had on him.

Spike’s claws gripped his trembling thighs, spreading them wider to allow his tongue to explore deeper. He worked with a thoroughness that sent Anon’s thoughts spiraling. He could feel every flick, every press of Spike’s mouth, the wet warmth alternating with the cool air whenever Spike pulled back to breathe. It was all too much, too fast, but somehow just enough.

Spike chuckled against him, the vibration from his laugh adding another layer of sensation. “Like that?” he teased, his breath hot against Anon’s core.

Anon could only respond with a ragged exhale, too caught up in the sensation to form words. His hips bucked involuntarily, seeking more of that friction, more of Spike’s relentless tongue.

The dragon’s rough hands kept him pinned, claws digging just enough into his hips to ground him. Spike’s tongue dipped inside him now, exploring the heat between his folds, tasting him with a hunger that made Anon’s body tremble even harder.

“Fuck, Spike...” Anon muttered, barely able to get the words out as his thighs quivered uncontrollably. His whole body tensed, straining toward a release that felt too far away, yet dangerously close.

Spike grinned up at him, that cocky smile never leaving his face. “Almost there?” he teased again before diving back in, his tongue moving faster, deeper, pushing Anon to the very edge.

Anon’s breath caught, his muscles tightening as his orgasm neared. His body was reacting on pure instinct now, his mind barely able to keep up. God, I’m going to— His thoughts fractured as Spike’s tongue swirled one last time around his clit, the pressure building until it snapped.

His orgasm hit him like a tidal wave, crashing through his entire body. Anon’s back arched violently off the bed, his thighs clamping around Spike’s head, trapping him in place as his body spasmed. The pleasure was overwhelming, blinding, his mind going blank as his body took over completely.

Spike didn’t stop. He licked him through it, slowing just enough to keep the sensations going, milking every last shudder from Anon’s trembling form. His body felt like it was on fire, every nerve tingling with the aftershocks of his release. He couldn’t think, couldn’t move—just lay there, panting, his limbs useless and weak.

By the time Spike pulled away, his face was slick with Anon’s juices, and a satisfied grin spread across his lips. Anon, still catching his breath, couldn’t help but chuckle weakly.

“Damn...” he muttered, his voice rough from the effort. “You’re way too good at that.”

Spike wiped his face with the back of his claw, looking far too pleased with himself. “Glad you think so.”

Anon’s legs twitched slightly, the aftershocks still rippling through him. He could barely feel them—they were limp, spent, like every ounce of energy had been drained from him in that intense release. He collapsed back onto the bed, completely exhausted, yet somehow still buzzing from the experience.

Spike leaned back, watching Anon with an amused smile. “So, how about that shower?”

Anon let out a breathless laugh, finally starting to regain his senses. “Yeah, probably a good idea.” He shifted, trying to sit up, but his legs still felt too weak to move. “Might need a minute, though.”

Spike grinned. “Take your time. I’m not going anywhere.”

After the intensity of their encounter, there was an awkwardness lingering in the air, but something had shifted between them—a new sense of closeness. Spike, with a smirk that still carried a hint of bashfulness, offered Anon a claw to help him off the bed. His legs trembled, still shaky from the intensity of their shared release, but with Spike's support, he managed to stumble toward the bathroom. This isn’t how I thought today would go, Anon thought, his lips quirking into a bemused grin.

The warm water cascaded down over them once they stepped into the shower, washing away the sticky aftermath. Anon leaned into the spray, letting the warmth soothe his muscles, his fur slick under the stream. He stood beside Spike, who casually rinsed off with an ease that Anon envied.

"How’d you get so good with your tongue, anyway?" Anon asked after a moment, his tone halfplayful, halfcurious.

Spike shot him a sideways glance, amusement dancing in his eyes. “Practice,” he said, a chuckle slipping out, clearly not too eager to elaborate.

Anon raised an eyebrow, leaning against the shower wall. "You said Twilight doesn’t do stuff like that with you, though."

Spike sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah, she doesn’t. But I was trained to serve Twilight… in more ways than one. Celestia made sure I had certain… skills."

Anon mulled that over for a moment before it clicked. "Wait, you’re not older than Twilight, though. So you were trained pretty young?"

Spike shrugged, seeming indifferent. "Dragons age differently. We spend time absorbing information while we're still in the egg—it’s called the Impression Phase. By the time I hatched, I already had a lot of knowledge stored up. After that, we mature faster in the beginning, but the teen and adult stages last a long time. Celestia explained it to me once—how even though I’m physically still growing, my development happens at a slower pace once I reach this stage. So, even now, I'm still technically considered a baby."

Anon processed this, nodding slowly. "That’s wild. So you’ve been growing up faster, but also slower, at the same time? Must be confusing."

Spike chuckled. "Yeah, something like that. And even though I’m not exactly wanted in Ponyville all the time, there are plenty of creatures in Canterlot who like dragons. They think we're exotic or something." He sighed, rubbing the soap through his scales. "But it wasn’t just that. While Twilight was busy annoying ponies with her awkwardness and abrasiveness, I had to be the one smoothing things over with nobles or her classmates. I had to make sure they didn’t turn on her. She didn’t notice most of the time, but I stopped a lot of stuff from getting to her."

"You were like her shield," Anon muttered, understanding how much of the weight Spike had carried.

Spike nodded. "Yeah, I cleaned up her messes, returned her books, organized her schedule, and even kept her friends happy when she was oblivious to how they felt. Now she’s better at handling it on her own, but back then? I was the peacemaker."

Anon let out a low whistle, impressed by the extent of Spike’s duties. "Sounds like you were more than just her assistant."

"Yeah," Spike agreed with a soft sigh. "But that's just how things were."

A beat passed before Spike’s tone shifted, growing more serious. "But here's the thing—I technically don’t have any rights under Equestrian law."

Anon blinked, thrown off by the sudden shift in conversation. "Wait, what? What do you mean?"

Spike rinsed his face off under the water and turned back to Anon, looking unbothered by what he was saying. "Technically, I’m considered a spoil of war. My egg was taken during the last major conflict between the dragons and Equestria." He shrugged. "Back then, it was open season—dragons and ponies didn't exactly treat each other with respect. If you were caught in the other’s territory, you were fair game."

"Damn," Anon muttered, realizing just how deeply these old tensions ran.

Spike nodded, continuing, "It wasn’t until recently that dragons and ponies started giving each other rights in their territories. Diplomatic channels between the Dragonlands and Equestria opened up, so now there’s some mutual respect. But before that, my only real protection was that I was considered personal property of Princess Celestia. And later, I became part of Twilight’s household. That’s why ponies treat me well most of the time—because I’m tied to the princesses. Otherwise, I’d just be another creature."

Anon absorbed that information, his mind reeling. So Spike was basically property? A war spoil? That’s heavy. But it made sense now—why Spike had been kept so close to Celestia, and later Twilight. He wasn’t just their assistant, but someone under their protection.

Spike didn’t seem fazed by it, though. "Anyway," he said, shrugging it off like it wasn’t a big deal, "I'm probably better off here with the ponies than I would be with other dragons. Dragon culture’s… rough. From what Celestia told me, I’d have probably been abandoned by now."

Anon thought back to the episodes he’d seen in the human world—the Dragon Quest episode, the Dragon Lord competition. Back then, he’d thought it was entertaining. But seeing it in person now? It was way more dangerous than I realized. Spike could’ve gotten seriously hurt during those events. It wasn’t all sunshine and laughs like the TV show made it seem.

Without thinking, Anon blurted out, “You would’ve made a great Dragon Lord, though.”

Spike stopped dead in his tracks. The water continued to fall around them, but he turned slowly, his eyes wide with shock. “Wait—how do you know about that?”

Anon froze, his heart racing as he realized the slipup. Fuck.

As soon as the words slipped out, Anon’s mind screamed at him. Gauntlet of Fire. He knew exactly where that had come from—one of the old episodes of My Little Pony. Damn it. I shouldn’t know that. He quickly cycled through memories of the show, trying to salvage the situation. Think...

Then, an idea. He could give half the truth and ease the tension. Maybe, just maybe, he could turn this slip into something else.

Turning to Spike, Anon adopted a more casual tone. "Actually, I, uh, remember Rarity mentioning something about it. We were talking, and she said you were called by the Dragon Lord for some kind of competition... and that you almost won."

Spike’s eyes narrowed at first, suspicion in them. He studied Anon for a moment. Shit. But slowly, Spike’s expression relaxed into a grin. Got him.

"Oh, so you and Rarity were talking about me, huh?" Spike teased, though there was something more in his tone—a hint of pride.

Anon smiled back, feeling a wave of relief. "Yeah, nothing serious. She was just telling me how cool and reliable you are."

Spike’s grin grew wider. "Really?"

"Yeah, she said you’re always dependable. You know... handling things like a pro."

Spike puffed his chest out a bit, clearly enjoying the compliment, especially with Rarity’s name involved. "Well, I try," he said, trying to play it cool, but there was an undeniable flicker of pride in his eyes.

Anon nodded, his own smile widening as he realized the tension had finally eased. Crisis averted. Spike was too caught up in the praise to push any further. For now, Anon had managed to dodge the bullet.

Spike led Anon through the castle halls toward the library, their footsteps echoing in the empty corridors. Anon had seen a few glimpses of the castle before, but the sheer scale of the place was still daunting. As they approached the large wooden doors of the library, he couldn't help but feel a bit of curiosity gnawing at him.

The doors creaked open, and Anon stepped inside. His jaw almost dropped at the sight. Rows upon rows of shelves, stacked with books, reaching all the way to the high ceiling. It seemed to stretch on forever, a sea of literature. Twilight’s obsession with books was no joke.

"This is... a bit much," Anon said, glancing around in awe.

Spike smirked, crossing his arms. "Yeah, Twilight takes her books seriously. You should see her try to organize this place after a busy week."

Anon shook his head, scanning the library. This has to take up a third of the castle, if not more. He was almost impressed—though mostly overwhelmed—by the scale of it all.

"How do you guys keep this place up?" Anon asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Lots of dusting," Spike said sarcastically. "And by 'we,' I mean me. Twilight just reads them. Organizing them? That’s a onedragon show."

Anon chuckled and shot back, "Well, lucky you. I’m sure your resume is just bursting with experience: Assistant to the Princess of OCD."

Spike laughed, clearly enjoying the banter. "So, what are you looking for?"

Anon hesitated for a moment, slightly annoyed that Spike referred to him as "she" earlier, but decided to let it slide for now. There were more important things to focus on. "I need books on pony anatomy, dreamwalking, Equestrian law, anything about Earth pony magic, and if there’s one that covers all three tribes, that’d be great too. Oh, and a recent map."

Spike nodded, mentally ticking off the list. "Got it. Give me a sec."

As Spike wandered off to gather the books, Anon turned his attention to the shelves. His eyes drifted over the countless spines—some titles familiar, others completely alien. Books on arcane magic, ancient history, creature biology, and countless other subjects. But one title made him freeze in place.

"The Elements of Harmony: A Reference Guide."

Anon’s heart skipped a beat. The same book from the show. He reached out and pulled it from the shelf, the worn cover feeling oddly heavy in his hooves. You’d think they’d either hide or destroy something like this, considering how important it was to Equestria’s greatest defense. But then again, ponies were ponies—naive and trusting.

Flipping it open, he skimmed through the contents. The familiar names of the Elements of Harmony were listed—Magic, Generosity, Laughter, Loyalty, Honesty, and Kindness—but there was more here than he expected. As he flipped through the pages, he found references to other magical artifacts, some he recognized, and others that were completely new to him.

His eyes narrowed as he hit the table of contents. The book not only covered the Elements, but also detailed various magical relics scattered across Equestria. As he scanned through the chapters, one caught his eye.

The Tree of Harmony.

The description was... odd. It mentioned the location of the tree, but it wasn’t called the same thing here. Different name. Different place. If he hadn’t seen the show, he wouldn’t even know where to look.

Anon frowned. Is this deliberate? He made a mental note. Ponies probably wouldn’t connect the dots unless they had prior knowledge.

He continued flipping through the book, skimming sections that delved into the magical properties of the Elements. They weren’t described purely as instruments of friendship, but more as defensive weapons, powered by harmony and friendship. It struck him how differently they were framed compared to what the show presented—more like tools for battle than for peace.

As he read on, he noticed that the book also contained details on the creation of the Elements, with mention of Starswirl the Bearded and the original Pillars. They made the Tree of Harmony, which housed the Elements. That wasn’t surprising, but the book was written almost like a construction guide, a manual on how to build and use magical tools rather than a historical document. This was more than just a reference. It was a blueprint.

The more he read, the more unsettling it became. Were the Elements always meant to be weapons first and foremost? It wasn’t what the show had led him to believe. He wondered what else this book might reveal.

An hour passed quickly, the knowledge swirling in Anon’s mind as he absorbed more from the guide. His thoughts drifted back to Twilight and how much she likely knew about this, more than she ever let on. Did she understand what she was wielding?

His musings were interrupted by the sound of Spike returning, carrying a large stack of books.

"Here ya go," Spike said, dropping the pile onto a nearby desk with a thud. He walked over to a bean bag in the corner and flopped down, pulling out a comic book.

Anon looked at the massive pile and let out a low whistle. "Wow, that’s... a lot."

Spike shrugged. "You asked for it. Anything else?"

"No, this should be good for now," Anon said, placing the Elements of Harmony guide aside. He reached for the first book on dreamwalking and cracked it open, eager to dive in.

Spike was already engrossed in his comic book, lounging comfortably in the bean bag. "Let me know if you need anything else."

Anon nodded, his mind already shifting gears as he started his research.

The title read "Dreamwalking: Understanding the Art and Its Dangers", and as Anon flipped through the pages, he noticed it wasn’t written by Luna herself, but rather by a secondary source with her guidance. The opening chapters explained that much of the ancient dreamwalking techniques had been lost, only now being rediscovered since Luna’s return.

Anon’s attention was quickly drawn to the section explaining the difference between nightmares and dream demons. The book clarified that nightmares were harmless, mere shadows that caused bad dreams and fed off negative emotions like fear. They were more like background noise—something unpleasant but not inherently dangerous.

But dream demons were a different story entirely. They had the ability to physically interact with dreamers, twisting and warping dreams to create lasting harm, sometimes even affecting a pony’s physical body in the waking world. There were even cases of ponies waking up with bruises or marks after their encounters. "42 known dream demons... and 101 nightmares. And that’s just what they know about," Anon muttered to himself. "The dreamscape’s infinite. No telling how many are really out there."

As he read, his mind wandered back to the My Little Pony comics and TV episodes he had watched. Nightmare Rarity came to mind, the comic arc where Nightmare Moon’s essence had taken over Rarity, transforming her into a darker version of herself. It was surreal, realizing that those comics and episodes he once thought were just fiction might have real implications here. Did the Nightmare Forces really work like that? It was starting to make more sense now—what if there were entities or forces in this world that could do that? Nightmare Moon, Nightmare Rarity—could the Nightmare Force have been behind them?

There was a section dedicated to Nightmare Moon, though it was largely speculative. Scholars had debated the nature of her transformation for years, and while some suspected the Nightmare Force had played a role, there were no concrete answers. Luna, it seemed, had remained silent on the matter, refusing to comment on how much of Nightmare Moon had been her and how much had been something else.

The mention of Nightmare Force sent a shiver down his spine. According to the book, it was less a creature and more of an entity, capable of corrupting dreamwalkers and feeding off their negative emotions. It was a force that had existed long before Luna’s time and would likely continue long after.

Anon’s thoughts kept drifting back to the comics and TV show. If the Nightmare Force exists, how many other things I’ve read or seen could be real? It wasn’t just Nightmare Rarity that came to mind—he thought of the gauntlet of fire, the dragon migrations, and the various magical artifacts that had been featured in the series. What else is out there, lurking in the dreamscape or beyond?

The book also detailed the pitfalls of dreamwalking. It stressed that new dreamwalkers should only attempt the practice under the guidance of an experienced dreamwalker, preferably one of Luna’s staff. There was a heavy emphasis on the dangers of encountering dream demons and other malevolent entities, and the book warned of becoming lost in the dreamscape without proper training.

In the final chapters, Anon found a strange symbol at the bottom of the page. It looked like some kind of rune, and it caught his attention. He called over to Spike, who was lounging nearby, flipping through a comic book.

"Hey, Spike, what’s this symbol mean?" Anon asked, pointing to the page.

Spike hopped off his bean bag, leaning over to take a look. "Oh, that? That’s a sending rune. If you touch that, it sends a request to Luna’s staff. But honestly, it’s probably faster to just write a letter. That rune system’s kinda slow."

Anon stared at the rune for a moment, thinking. "So it sends directly to Luna’s people, huh?" He tapped the page thoughtfully. Not now, but it’s good to know. He filed the information away for later, closing the book with a slight frown.

It was unsettling how much this world mirrored the comics and TV show, but with higher stakes. The ponies here weren’t just characters—they were living, breathing creatures with real dangers surrounding them, and that included the dreamscape. Anon realized just how out of his depth he was—if he was going to dreamwalk, he needed to take this seriously.

The final warning in the book was clear: "If you are attempting dreamwalking, only do so with a trained professional." There was that sending rune again at the bottom of the page, as if to reinforce the point.

Anon sighed, closing the book. Nightmares, dream demons, and the Nightmare Force. This world is way more dangerous than I thought.

He grabbed the next book, "The Physical and Magical Anatomy of Ponies," ready to dive into his research.

Anon flipped open the book titled "Pony Biology and the Nature of Magic", settling into his chair. His eyes skimmed the title page and then focused on the first chapter: "Thaumatic Networks and Pony Physiology."

The book explained that magic wasn’t just something unicorns wielded with their horns or that pegasi used to control weather. All ponies had a magicinfused body, tied to their thaumatic networks—the magical pathways that channeled energy through their bodies like veins. Magic wasn’t just for spells or flight; it was embedded into their very biology.

"All ponies possess a network of magical pathways known as the thaumatic network. These pathways conduct thauma, the raw magical essence of the world, allowing ponies to interact with their environment. Each tribe uses this magic differently

Unicorns channel magic through their horns, using it to cast spells and manipulate the world around them. Their horns are the focal points of their magic, and they can concentrate large amounts of thauma into powerful, directed bursts.

Pegasi have magical nodes concentrated in their wings and hooves, allowing them to manipulate clouds and weather, and to defy gravity with flight. Their magic also helps them resist harsh conditions like cold or wind while flying at high altitudes.

Earth Ponies, however, are unique in their connection to the earth itself. They channel magic through their hooves, enabling them to interact with nature in a profound way. Their magic enhances their strength, stamina, and ability to nurture plant life.

Anon blinked as he read through the section. So Earth ponies aren’t magicless after all... It’s just subtle. He glanced down at his hooves, pondering how much magic might be coursing through them without him even realizing it. He read on.

These focal points of magic are areas where thauma is concentrated. Ponies use these nodes to tap into their magical reserves and interact with the world. Some nodes are more developed than others, depending on the tribe. For example, a unicorn’s horn is one large thaumatic node, while a pegasus has multiple nodes spread through their wings. Earth ponies have their primary nodes in their hooves.

"Telekinesis: A New Study."

One of the latest developments in pony magic is the rediscovery of Telekinesis. Historically, this ability has been associated exclusively with unicorns, who focus telekinetic magic through their horns. However, recent studies led by Lyra Heartstrings suggest that all ponies—Earth ponies and Pegasi included—possess latent telekinetic abilities. These abilities allow ponies to grasp and manipulate objects, even without hands or fingers. The magical field generated by their hooves acts as an invisible 'grip' on the object.

"Telekinesis, huh?" Anon muttered, gripping the edge of the book with his hoof, realizing how easy it was. He hadn’t even thought about it, but now it made sense. Ponies were able to grab things all the time without fingers. Unicorns just got the flashier version of the ability.

Lyra’s research has shown that ponies, especially Earth ponies, can strengthen their telekinetic grip through practice and intent. Visualization exercises can help those who struggle with grasping or lifting objects with their hooves.

Anon raised an eyebrow. "So I’ve been using magic this whole time without realizing it." It explained why holding objects felt so natural, like a faint sensation of gripping them with invisible fingers. Lyra Heartstrings’ studies really turned things around. He could practically hear her boasting about how she cracked the mystery.

As he continued reading, the book expanded on Thaumatic Disruption, describing how injuries or overuse of magic could lead to significant problems for all three pony tribes.

"If the thaumatic network is disrupted, it may result in longterm or permanent damage to a pony’s abilities. Unicorns may experience uncontrollable magic bursts, pegasi may lose their ability to fly, and earth ponies may lose their connection to the earth, becoming physically weaker."

Anon shivered slightly. Thaumatic disruption sounded dangerous. His transformation had probably messed with his magical network somehow—honestly, he still didn’t fully understand how this body functioned. Maybe that’s why I’m having such a hard time controlling this pony magic.

He turned the page to the section on Earth Pony Magic and found himself leaning closer to the book.

"Earth Pony Magic: Strength and Endurance."

Earth ponies have a profound connection to the land, channeling their magic in a more passive, yet powerful, way. While unicorns and pegasi can focus and direct their magic outward, earth ponies draw magic from the earth itself, enhancing their physical strength, stamina, and durability. This connection enables earth ponies to thrive in agricultural roles, using their magic to encourage plant growth and enrich the soil.

Additionally, earth ponies possess a latent magical ability that strengthens their physical resilience. Their bones and muscles are reinforced by a constant flow of thauma, which makes them more durable and less prone to injury compared to the other tribes.

Earth ponies, though often underestimated in magical potential, have proven to be an essential component in the stability and growth of Equestria’s natural world.

Anon pondered the section for a long moment. Stronger bones and muscles... That explained why he’d felt more physically capable despite being in a filly’s body. It’s not just strength; it’s magical reinforcement.

He continued reading, reaching the final segment on Thauma Manipulation.

"Though traditionally viewed as ‘magicless,’ Earth ponies have recently begun exploring their capacity to manipulate their magical reserves more actively. Some Earth ponies have developed techniques to channel their inner thauma in specific tasks, beyond their natural talents. This is an emerging field of study, with promising results in the realm of physical augmentation and enhanced durability during highstress activities."

Interesting... sounds like there’s a lot more to Earth pony magic than I thought. Anon thought, closing the book and staring down at his hooves again. He had underestimated how much potential this body had.

His mind drifted to Scootaloo, wondering if her problem with flying was related to this. If Pegasi have thaumatic disruptions, maybe that’s why she can’t fly... Could be something in her magical nodes.

Anon leaned back in his chair, his brain buzzing with new information. There’s a lot more to Earth pony magic than I thought... I just need to figure out how to use it.

Anon turned to the next section of the book, his eyes catching the title: "Estrus and Stallion Cycles in Ponies." He paused for a moment, knowing that this part of the book was going to delve into some uncomfortable details. But curiosity got the better of him, and he started reading.

Estrus and Stallion Cycles in Ponies

Estrus is a natural biological cycle for all ponies, playing a crucial role in reproduction and general health. While mares experience this process more visibly, stallions undergo their own cycles that influence their behavior and biology, though in a more subtle way. These cycles are tied directly to a pony's magical pool, and how their body processes magic.

For fillies (and mares), estrus typically follows a seasonal pattern. However, the size of their magical pool and their body's relationship to thaumatic energy can alter the length and intensity of their cycles.

Normal Estrus: A typical estrus cycle will last anywhere from three days to a week, with mares experiencing heightened physical sensations, increased libido, and a stronger desire to mate during this time. The magic flowing through their bodies amplifies these feelings, pushing them toward reproduction. Many describe this sensation as a “burning heat,” as their magical reserves become more active during the cycle.

Overbearing Estrus (as related to Magical Bearing): For mares and fillies with larger magical pools, this process becomes far more intense. These ponies endure an extended estrus period with greater intensity, often requiring external tools such as magical suppressants or remedies to manage their overwhelming desires. The heightened magical activity also increases their physical stamina, allowing them to endure longer periods of physical exertion, including sexual activities, without tiring as quickly.

Creatures in this state might experience their estrus more frequently than others, sometimes multiple times per season, which can be both physically and emotionally draining.

Anon blinked at the description of overbearing estrus. So, basically, if your magic pool is too big, you end up with a libido you can’t control? He thought back to how his body had reacted earlier with Spike, wondering if his own condition might be related to this. Let’s hope not.

For stallions, their biological cycle is known as the Cycle of Surge. Unlike mares, whose cycles are focused on fertility, stallions experience periodic surges of magical energy that increase their aggression, libido, and physical stamina. These surges are often triggered by environmental factors such as proximity to mares in estrus or changes in season.

Normal Surge: Stallions experience regular spikes in thaumatic energy, which manifest as an increase in physical prowess and libido. This is the body’s way of preparing for potential mating and ensuring the stallion is in peak condition to attract mates.

Overbearing Surge: In rare cases, stallions with a larger magic pool will experience overbearing surges, which result in extreme sexual drive, prolonged stamina, and difficulty controlling their urges. These stallions may engage in long bouts of physical activity, whether in training, fighting, or mating, often going far beyond the limits of an ordinary pony. Like with overbearing estrus, the use of magical suppressants is often required to control these intense cycles.

In both fillies and stallions, estrus and surges are natural processes, but when influenced by large magic pools, they can spiral out of control, leading to physical and emotional exhaustion. Ponies suffering from these conditions should seek regular medical and magical assistance to ensure they are able to live healthy, balanced lives.

Anon couldn’t help but shake his head. So, overbearing magic basically turns you into some kind of... I don’t know, sexcrazed athlete. Great. He had to admit, this world’s biology was far more complicated than anything he’d dealt with before. The more magic you have, the more it messes with your body.

He continued reading, reaching the part about Magical Bearing.

Magical Bearing and Its Effects on Estrus and Surge:

As previously mentioned, Magical Bearing refers to the unique condition that occurs when a pony or creature possesses an especially large magic pool. While this can lead to increased abilities, it also results in abnormal biological functions. There are three main types of Magical Bearing, as outlined earlier:

Overbearing Appetite: Creatures with a massive magic pool often develop an insatiable appetite for food, which helps fuel their body’s increased energy consumption. Their heightened awareness may also tie into this, giving them an almost preternatural ability to sense their surroundings.

Overbearing Estrus/Surge: As detailed above, ponies with large magic pools can experience heightened and prolonged sexual drive during estrus or surges. Their bodies are able to endure long periods of activity without tiring, and they may find it difficult to suppress their urges.

The Third Form: The most mysterious and least understood form of Magical Bearing is said to affect only a few individuals throughout history. While details are scarce, it is believed that those suffering from this third form undergo drastic physical and magical changes, with significant implications for their future. Princess Celestia is among the few who have suffered from this rare condition, though further details remain classified.

Anon tapped the side of the book, trying to make sense of all of this. The third form... It was mentioned again, but still no real details. Whatever Celestia had gone through was clearly serious enough to keep under wraps. Makes you wonder what kind of magic she’s really dealing with.

He flipped back through the pages about estrus and surges, thinking about how these cycles shaped the lives of ponies. So, if you’re a stallion or mare with a huge magic pool, you’re basically cursed to deal with this nonstop unless you get help. He thought again of Twilight’s toys and her organized approach to everything. Maybe she’s just keeping herself balanced.

Conclusion

Ponies and other magical creatures in Equestria are highly influenced by their magical pool and its connection to their biological cycles. Whether it’s the insatiable hunger seen in overbearing appetites, the overwhelming sexual drive found in overbearing estrus or surges, or the enigmatic third form of Magical Bearing, magic shapes every aspect of a pony’s life, even their most intimate moments.

Ponies experiencing any of these symptoms are encouraged to seek assistance from trained medical professionals, who can provide both physical and magical support to help regulate these effects.

Anon sighed as he closed the book. Magic affects everything in this world. It was a lot to take in, but at least now he had a better understanding of the biology that made ponies tick—and what could happen when things went wrong.

Anon leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temples. The biology book had been intense enough, but Equestrian Law was proving to be even more of a mental slog. He glanced over at Spike, who was still sprawled on a bean bag, absorbed in a comic book. How is he still at that? Anon thought. Hours had passed, but Spike showed no signs of moving.

Turning back to the thick tome in front of him, Anon flipped to the next chapter: "Spoils of War and Territorial Rights." He scanned the pages, trying to absorb what he could.

In ancient Equestria, particularly under Pegasus law, victors in battle held the right to claim spoils from the defeated. This included both territory and captured creatures, who were often treated as property. The purpose of these laws was to consolidate power for the ruling class, rewarding military victory with land and labor.

Spoils of war included not only the defeated soldiers but also their offspring, such as eggs or young creatures, who could be claimed and raised under the authority of the victor. In modern Equestrian law, while slavery is formally abolished, the legal framework still allows for royal decrees to claim certain individuals—particularly in cases of conflict or conquest.

One key example involves the dragon egg taken during the last conflict with the Dragonlands, which was later given to Princess Celestia. The egg hatched into what is now known as Spike, the personal ward of Twilight Sparkle, though legally, he remained a product of these old laws. Under these traditions, Spike was initially considered a spoil of war, only later to be given a more formal role as an assistant and companion to Twilight.

Anon blinked at the words, feeling a chill. Spike’s egg had been taken as spoils? It was unsettling to think of Spike not as Twilight’s loyal assistant, but as something closer to property, at least in the eyes of ancient law. It’s still in effect, he reminded himself. Even now, those old rules still hovered over creatures like Spike.

He flipped the page, moving into the next section about royal power and treaties.

Equestrian law grants extraordinary powers to the princesses, but their authority is moderated by certain checks and balances. The structure of the government is designed to prevent any one princess from holding absolute power, though in practice, their control is considerable.

Princesses can issue royal decrees, which have the force of law. These decrees can only be overturned by a majority vote from the other ruling princesses, or by a rare fivefourths majority of the Council of Nobles. While such vetoes are possible, they are exceedingly difficult to achieve, given the political power of the princesses.

Princesses are allowed to form treaties with foreign nations or territories without prior approval. These treaties are subject to review by the Council of Nobles, who may amend or nullify the terms if deemed necessary. In cases of national emergencies, a princess’s authority to make treaties or decisions is absolute until the council convenes to review the actions taken.

The Royal Guard, though under the command of the princesses, serves only as an emergency army in times of crisis. The three tribes maintain their own militias and mercenary groups, ensuring that military power is not fully centralized. Only in rare cases of dire threat does the Royal Guard assume full military responsibilities, often under Princess Celestia’s direct command.

While Celestia’s treasury is separate from Equestria’s national funds, she has the authority to loan money to the government during times of financial need. These loans must be repaid, though the Council of Nobles manages national spending to ensure that no princess’s personal wealth dominates government policy.

The princesses also have the power to classify or declassify any information they deem sensitive. Such decisions must be reviewed by the other ruling princesses within a year, and classification can only continue with a majority vote. In cases where public safety is at risk, information may remain classified for extended periods, though it is subject to review.

"Classified information," Anon muttered. The princesses had so many layers of control it was hard to keep track of. They could wield immense power with little interference, and even though the Council of Nobles and other princesses had the right to oppose them, it seemed rare that anyone would.

He turned the page, now curious about the laws surrounding wards and students.

The distinction between a ward and a personal student is crucial in Equestrian law. Both involve being claimed by a princess, but they differ significantly in rights and responsibilities.

A ward is a creature claimed under the ancient Pegasus law of patrocinium. This law grants the princess complete guardianship over the individual, allowing them to make decisions on behalf of the ward. Parental rights are overridden, though parents retain visitation rights. The ward has little autonomy and is fully subject to the authority of the princess.

In contrast, a personal student is granted more autonomy. While they are still under the guidance and control of the princess, their role focuses on education and training. A personal student may retain more freedom, but their fate is closely tied to their mentor. Parental rights are still diminished, but students are not as restricted as wards.

Historically, personal students have gone on to become powerful figures in their own right, though the authority of the princess remains supreme in their education and development.

So that’s the difference, Anon thought grimly. I’m a ward, not a student. Twilight hadn’t taken him on to teach him; she had simply claimed him, and with that came the full authority over his life. Not much room to breathe there.

He read further, hoping for some clarification that might offer a way out of his predicament, but instead found himself drifting into the laws regarding royal marriage.

When a princess chooses to marry, their spouse’s title depends on their status before the marriage and whether they hold land or magical authority.

If a spouse holds royal status or significant magical power, they may be granted the title of Prince or Princess, sharing in the authority of the kingdom. Such individuals may also issue royal decrees and preside over their own court. Upon marriage, the spouse may be elevated to the title of King or Queen, provided they meet the required conditions and receive a majority vote from the other princesses.

A consort, on the other hand, holds no official authority. While they may influence their spouse, they do not have the power to issue decrees or affect state policy. Consorts often serve ceremonial roles and are often nobles or foreign rulers who do not possess the magical or political power necessary to gain full royal status.

There are cases where a consort may be elevated to royal status, but this requires the unanimous approval of all ruling princesses and a special council vote.

In rare cases, a male alicorn—whether created, born, or arriving in Equestria—automatically assumes the title of Prince and, if married to a ruling princess, becomes King. This law is an exception due to the rarity and power of male alicorns, whose magical authority places them directly in line for rulership.

That explains Shining Armor, Anon thought as he read. Though he held the title of Prince, it was clear that his role was tied directly to Cadence’s authority. He was a princeconsort, lacking the full power of a King unless he held land or magical authority on his own.

The rules seemed both strict and flexible, depending on the circumstances, but the distinction between a consort and a prince was clear—power wasn’t given lightly.

Anon rubbed his temples, feeling overwhelmed by the endless rules and laws of Equestria. He stared at the pile of books in front of him, each one thick with confusing text about ancient customs and modern decrees. Glancing at the clock, he noted that only a few hours had passed, but it felt like a lifetime.

Spike was still lost in his comic, lying lazily in his bean bag across the room. The dragon seemed oblivious to the gravity of everything Anon was wading through. Anon wished he could just sit back and relax too, but the weight of his situation pressed down on him.

He flipped through the next section of the law book, eyes scanning over the pages that outlined the pegasus law of patrocinium, the very law that had bound him to Twilight. As the words sunk in, the enormity of his predicament became clearer.

The law was old, stemming from the warrior tradition of the pegasi. Back in the days before Equestria's unification, patrocinium allowed a military leader or noble to claim guardianship over an individual without a family or home. The law had been passed down and modified over the centuries, but the core remained the same—those claimed under patrocinium were wards, with little say over their fate.

In modern Equestria, a princess could invoke this law to claim any unclaimed creature or pony under their protection. Once invoked, the ward was under their guardianship until they came of age or were deemed mentally fit to live independently. The only ways to escape this claim were to become a personal student of the princess or to marry one of the princesses, thus elevating the individual to royalty.

Anon sighed deeply. Twilight could’ve made him a student, which would have at least given him some control over his life. But she didn’t. Now, he was stuck—under her control until she decided he was ready to be free. Marriage or student status were his only options for freedom. Great.

His eyes flicked to the map lying open on the table. He had more pressing concerns. If he could figure out where exactly in the timeline he was, he might be able to plan ahead. Knowing what disasters lay ahead would be invaluable.

Anon spread the map wide, his eyes roaming over the familiar places—Ponyville, Canterlot, Cloudsdale, Manehattan. It felt strange to see them drawn out so precisely, no longer abstract locations on a screen but real places, each brimming with potential danger.

The trick was figuring out when he was. He needed to piece together the timeline of events based on what was happening around him. Anon thought hard about the show, trying to recall specific details that could help him place himself in the right season.

Turning to Spike, he asked casually, “Hey, Spike… the Cutie Mark Crusaders—how are they doing these days?”

Spike glanced up from his comic, raising an eyebrow. “Uh, same as always, I guess? Still trying to earn their cutie marks. They’ve been working hard on that for a while now.”

Anon’s heart skipped a beat. The Cutie Mark Crusaders didn’t have their cutie marks yet? That meant he was still in Season 5—likely near the middle or end of it. He breathed a sigh of relief. The Crusaders’ cutie mark episode hadn’t happened yet, which gave him a bit of time before Season 6 kicked off.

“Yeah, they’ve been trying all sorts of stuff, but nothing’s stuck yet,” Spike added, flipping another page of his comic.

Anon nodded, barely listening as his mind raced. If the Cutie Mark Crusaders were still blank flanks, then he hadn’t hit some of the bigger story arcs yet—Starlight Glimmer was still lurking in the background, but Thorax, Tirek, and the Storm King hadn’t appeared in any real capacity. That meant he had time to maneuver, to figure out what his next steps should be.

He scanned the map again, now viewing it through the lens of what he knew from the show. Canterlot had already faced Tirek, but the big changeling arcs were still on the horizon. If he could stay ahead of the major plot points, he might have a shot at avoiding some of the chaos.

“What about Twilight and Starlight Glimmer?” he asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

Spike shrugged. “Twilight’s still working on redeeming her, I think. She’s been spending a lot of time teaching Starlight stuff in the castle.”

That confirmed it. Season 5, right before Starlight’s redemption arc was fully realized. Anon breathed a little easier. No Thorax, no big changeling problems yet.

Anon kept asking small, carefully worded questions, trying not to draw Spike’s suspicion. Everything Spike said lined up perfectly with the timeline from Season 5. Rainbow Dash hadn’t joined the Wonderbolts yet, Tirek was still locked away in Tartarus, and Flurry Heart hadn’t been born.

It was all falling into place. Anon had landed squarely in Season 5, but that only gave him a little breathing room. Big events were coming, and he needed to be ready for them. His heart raced as he thought about all the things that could go wrong—the changelings, Discord, Tirek’s escape, and who knew what else.

Closing the map, Anon sat back in his chair, staring at the ceiling. He was stuck under Twilight’s guardianship, and now he had to figure out how to survive the chaos of Season 5 and beyond. He needed to plan, to stay ahead of the game, because if he didn’t, this world was going to swallow him whole.