It was impossible to know where Celestia was at the moment. Oh, her body was right here in front of him and Gosling felt an anxious sense of worry, mostly because there was so much that he just didn’t understand. She had gone into the astral realm just after dawn and her parting words were a terse, cryptic message: “Unsettling things are developing, I must go.”
Then, as she was wont to do, she was gone. This was something that had been happening more and more as of late; sometimes, Celestia went by herself, and at other times she had the company of Cadance. Now was one of those times she had gone by herself, departing from her body and setting her soul free to fly. Gosling, knowing very little about this, worried that her body was something of a husk right now—a living husk—but somehow empty. How did one detach one’s soul anyhow?
The only conclusion that could be drawn was that something big was about to happen.
Hesitant—almost shy even—Gosling approached the giantess in unaware repose. Things had been a little strained between them since the meltdown, though Gosling knew that it was mostly him. Celestia was ready to move on, to move beyond it all, to relegate it to the past of whatever weird timestream she lived by because it was already as good as ancient history to her. But Gosling had trouble letting go; his behaviour had been atrocious and he had acted like a foal. It was, as Celestia had so helpfully pointed out, a reminder that he still was, in fact, a foal in some ways. He had reached the age of adulthood for the First Tribes, but he had not reached the age of wisdom.
Losing his temper had been bad enough, but his behaviour when he was blackout drunk—though he remembered very little—was unforgivable. There was just no excuse. Just because Luna—and to some degree, Celestia—had done him wrong, there was just no justifying his own awful behaviour. So now, he had to fix things somehow, and it started with doubling down on his therapy with Lumina Loveletter.
Pressing his snoot against Celestia’s neck, Gosling snuffled a bit and felt her muscles jerk at his touch. Equestria did not know this pony, she had secrets, she was a being of great mystery. Her eyelids fluttered, but she did not wake. She did, however, react. The whole of her body seemed to glow with a faint light and a curious heat could be felt, a throbbing radiation that seemed to burst in time to her heartbeat. Several times he kissed her, his lips lingering upon the graceful pillar of her neck, and her curious reaction to his affection seemed to intensify.
Now, she glowed with the majesty of the sun and was almost unbearable to gaze upon.
Gosling hoped that whatever had just happened was helpful somehow. Clearly, something had happened, he could see that with his own eyes, but he had no understanding of what. The heat that came off of her in waves was far, far hotter now, not so much standing in the summer sun, but more like standing too close to an over-stoked fire. Why, it was almost hot enough to burn him.
Sighing, he pulled away, regretful that he had other duties.
Sleet and Hazy Breeze fluttered near the ceiling, hanging strings of paper lanterns while Purple Party kept a watchful eye upon them. On the floor, Moon Rose, Soprano Summers, and Flurry Heart all stared upwards, also watching as the lanterns were hung. The Winter Moon Festival was almost upon them, and everything had to be just perfect. With no real budget.
Outside, colossal ice sculptures were being carved; ice was plentiful, cheap, and Canterlot had plenty of it in the heart of winter. Unicorn porters were placing decorative bronze braziers near the door, and these would be going outside on the night of the festival so that ponies could gather around them so they could keep warm.
Gosling had heard the porters speak of a looming coal shortage and he hoped the rumours were not true. This was a brutal winter so far, and the last thing Equestria needed was a crisis of heating. Mister Mariner had owned most of the coal mines, most of the supply chains that kept it moving, and he had owned the means of distribution—a mistake that would never be allowed to happen again. Right now, measures were being taken to nationalise Equestria’s strategic resources, perhaps as much as fifty percent, though the numbers were still hotly debated.
There was an intense dislike for this effort to have Crown controlled strategic resources, and Gosling knew why after a number of heated exchanges; the captains of industry knew that they would have trouble creating artificial resource scarcity and inflating the price if the Crown did not go along with their price-fixing scheme. Of course, Gosling had made it known during that meeting that he was in favour of the Crown controlling one-hundred percent of Equestria’s strategic resources, and that all of them could go fronk themselves.
He knew that his popularity would take a real hit among the industrialists, and it did.
Stepping outside through the double doors, Gosling leaned into the howling wind and felt the biting cold gnaw at his hide. It was near whiteout conditions outside and the wind was downright cruel. Somehow, the festival would go on, no matter how cold it became. A short distance away, a group of carpenters laboured to construct the podium where Luna would raise the moon on the longest night of the year, and no doubt, a number of marriages would happen here. Ponies would brave the cold to take part in this momentous, historical celebration.
The blizzard raging over the city meant very little and Gosling knew that either Celestia or Luna could banish it at any moment. The skies would be clear when Luna raised the moon, because this night was important. His own role was of great importance as well, because he wouldn’t be Gosling, or Prince Gosling, no, he would be Confessor Gosling of the Pegasus Tribe… and given everything that had just happened, the very thought of this was enough to cause him fits of flighty panic.
His position felt even flimsier now than ever. He wasn’t the Confessor because of great learning, or faith, or some means of merit, but solely because he had married. And given the good shakedown his faith had received—he was now in a position where he had nothing but questions, with answers few and far between.
Because this was such an important night for the earth ponies in particular, an enormous banner bearing their tribal standard would be hung from the tower nearest to the podium. Had that tower been there just a few days ago? Gosling couldn’t tell, he couldn’t remember, but he did have a vague awareness that the castle configuration had been changed recently.
Pausing, Gosling tried to remember the earth pony tribal standard, because it was important. Four images in total, some crops, a hill, and what else? Oh, right! Two of Celestia’s standards, a stylised sun and some sunflowers. Yellow flowers? He was pretty sure they were some kind of yellow flowers, and maybe sunflowers. Standing in the driving snow, the distracted pegasus prince cut a confuzzled, windswept figure with his mane and tail billowing about him in a dramatic fashion.
“Prince Consort Gosling,” a low, rumbling voice said, interrupting Gosling’s thoughts. “Your Royal Sovereign, Princess Luna, the Night Lady requests your presence at once. She is in her aerie.”
Well, Gosling thought to himself, this is certainly one way to get my attention.
Turning about, he saw a lunar pegasus that was on the smaller side—by nocturnal pegasus standards. The shaggy brute was smoking in the cold and it appeared as though snowflakes melted before coming in contact with his body. He had seen battle—recently—and Gosling couldn’t help but wonder what sort of uncanny pain tolerance this creature possessed.
“You appear injured,” Gosling said to the guard.
“‘Tis but a scratch, Prince Consort Gosling.”
“If you don’t mind me asking, what happened?”
The corners of the guard’s mouth twitched upwards. “There was a hydra. We decided to take the Maud Pie approach and I volunteered to be swallowed. Things did not go as planned.”
This drew an impressive frown out of Gosling. “Things did not go as planned?”
“It seems this hydra was fond of thoroughly chewing its food, and did not swallow me whole. This led to an abrupt and sudden change of plan.”
“Yeesh, I would hope so.” Gosling snapped out a wing in a respectful salute. “Carry on, I shall go and attend to the needs of my princess.”
“Very good, Sir!”
With that, Gosling was off; flapping his wings, he battled the storm and took to the air.
He had hardly landed upon Luna’s balcony when the doors flew open. Right away, he was grabbed and forcibly yanked inside. The doors slammed shut behind him with a bang and Luna’s room, typically kept at near freezing, was blazing hot. Almost at once, he started sweating, and he watched as Luna paced to and fro, going the length of her room.
“You,” Luna said before Gosling had a chance to say anything, “these preparations for the Winter Moon Festival… you must cease them at once!”
Gosling was almost, but not quite, dumbfounded by Luna’s words. She looked frantic, upset, her lower lip was chewed on and bloody. Her wings had been preened a little too much; she was now missing some feathers and scabs were visible. She had, as a courtesy, dropped her illusion and stood before him as she was.
“Luna… why?”
“I cannot attend—”
“Luna, it seems as though we’re about to have ourselves another fight.”
Halting in place, Luna’s head whipped around and she cast an icy glare in Gosling’s direction. Gosling stared back, even though he knew how much Luna hated him doing it, because she had given him an earful about it in therapy. Her reasons for feeling this way were unknown, but she had mentioned that being stared at in such a way left her feeling insecure.
“Gosling, please, for my sake… don’t do this.”
“But I am doing this for your sake, Luna.”
“I know!” she bellowed and her words were like thunder pealing around the room. “You are spending all of this effort to make certain that this is as perfect as it possibly can be! You are pouring your heart and soul into this.”
“Luna, you’re talking crazy again!”
“Don’t say that to me!” With a huff, she began pacing again and jerked her eyes away from Gosling. After about a dozen quick steps, she said, “We fought. We quarreled. I wronged you in ways I’m still having some trouble understanding. I lied to you, treated you poorly, I have even treated you as less than a servant, and still, you do this for me. You must stop! The guilt is driving me insane! I can’t bear it! It’s driving me mad! I can’t sleep, I can’t focus, and I’m even having trouble going in and out of the dream realm! My concentration is so damaged that everything has turned erratic!”
Ears falling, Gosling stared down at the floor, confused. “I redoubled my efforts because of how I treated you. My behaviour in the library. Being angry. Slapping you.”
“I had that coming!” Luna shrieked in reply. “That’s just the point, Gosling! I deserved all of that! And I don’t deserve all of this! I need to be punished for what I’ve done and not have a festival held in my honour! All morning I’ve been thinking—plotting various ways to have you blow up at me and somehow sabotaging all of this so you’d call the festival off! I thought about leaving! I turned myself into a bat and flew laps around my aerie for several hours trying to escape myself!”
Luna could turn herself into a bat? Gosling lifted his head and watched her while she stormed back and forth, stomping and snorting, with her wings fidgeting and her tail flicking about. As she went marching past, he caught a whiff of arousal that made every muscle in his body go tense, and his stomach muscles began jerking.
“Do you need an emergency therapy session?” Gosling asked.
“NO!” Luna’s response was a high pitched whine that almost became a screech. “I need to be punished! I need to get what I deserve! I need for you to call off the Winter Moon Festival—”
“No.”
“How dare you say no!” Luna came to a halt again, this time near the fire. She stared into the flames, her face twitching, contorting, consumed with her rage. The whole of her body tensing, Luna’s eyes closed as her mouth fell open and she let out an ear piercing shriek that made every object in her room tremble.
Gosling was almost deafened by the sound.
Again she shrieked, and Gosling’s ears twitched in agony.
When it ended, she stood panting, her barrel heaving, and her wings were flared out from her sides. Eyes still closed, her spine arched a bit and her hind hooves scraped against the stone floor when her rear legs spread out a fair bit. Luna’s tail was a cracking whip now and she chewed on her lip in a savage, dreadful manner that drew fresh blood.
When she spoke—letting go of her lip—her voice had a peculiar quiet to it. “When you slapped me, it was the greatest thing ever. I felt better… no, I felt good. I felt relieved, Gosling. I immediately wanted you to do it again. It made the ache in my brain go away. When my sister grabbed me by my ear and gave me a good yank, I was so relieved… I wanted it to happen.”
Now, Gosling was dumbfounded.
“When I was in the bed with you, spooning with you, and you were sound asleep, I thought about you slapping me over and over… and I rubbed one out. I had to be stealthy, because my sister was off in that little alcove reading. That only added to the thrill and I had all kinds of weird fantasies about being caught… and punished.”
Recovering his tongue, Gosling scrambled for a quick reply. “You know, all those times you made jokes about that stuff… I thought you were joking. Now I feel even worse for losing my temper and slapping you.”
Luna whirled about with a suddenness that terrified Gosling, and he almost tripped over his hind hooves when he retreated. She was terrifying and appeared to be utterly unhinged. Left eye twitching, muscles jerking, her tail slashing far too close to the fire, Luna looked a little to much like an inner-city junkie dope fiend. For some reason, Gosling felt as though he was in real danger at the moment.
“Please, call off the Winter Moon Festival,” Luna said and there was an unsettling quaver to her voice. One front leg jerked when she raised it and then she lurched forwards, her hooves scraping against the stone floor.
“I’m not punishing you.” Gosling stared Luna right in the eye and suffered a sweaty belly. Bracing his legs, he stood defiant, not knowing what Luna might do next. She looked a bit like… well, a lunatic, but he wasn’t about to say that aloud, no way. Nothing in therapy had prepared him for this moment though, and he was terrified of Luna.
And, as it turned out, he was right to be afraid, because Luna launched herself at him. She struck with bone-rattling force and his teeth clapped together with enough force to make him see stars. The impact bowled him over backwards; he landed butt first, flipped over onto his back, and then struck the back of his head against the floor. Luna’s body and his own became a confusing, chaotic tangle of limbs, flapping wings, and the rustling of fuzz-against-fuzz caused static to go crackling.
Luna was straddling him—she had her powerful legs wrapped around his middle, just below his ribs—and he could feel the moist humidness of her sweaty, shivering, shuddering body against his belly. It really was a nightmare scenario of the worst sort, because Gosling was pretty certain that parts of him were going to respond, no matter how much he might try to reject what was going on.
In seconds, Luna’s forelegs were around his neck, crushing him, causing his neckbones to creak, and her terrific strength made Gosling feel helpless. Now, she was belly to belly with him, her hind legs had a vice grip around his middle and he feared that his neck might break at any moment. Luna’s face pressed into his neck, just below his jaw, and he almost pissed himself when he felt her horn graze his chin and lips.
Then, much to Gosling’s terror, Luna began bawling. It started with a mournful howl and turned into blubbering. She was clutching him, almost crushing him, and the scissoring of her thighs threatened his innards even as her forelegs felt as though they would break his neck. The whole of her body shook when she sucked in great, whooping gasps, which then escaped as powerful, convulsive sobs.
Crushed to the floor, Gosling did the only thing he could do: he held on.
“Do you feel better?”
Luna was sniffling now and the both of them were in a sitting position on the floor. She still clung to him, shivering, and Gosling’s neck was soaked with her tears. The filly beside him was sweaty, soggy even, and looked awful in a way that a filly never wanted to be seen in. A hiccup escaped, the force of which made her make a pained sound, but the hiccup seemed to be alone and without reinforcements.
“Yes, actually.” Luna’s voice was little more than a scratchy, vulnerable whisper. “Though I must confess, my intentions were less than honourable.”
“I gathered that on my own, thanks.”
“I also feel more guilty… and with the guilt comes the need to be punished. Why can’t I be normal? Why must I exist with these extremes, Confessor?”
She was doing it again—Gosling felt a dreadful tension in his heart and a suspicious part of his mind wondered if he was being played right now. After giving it some thought, he realised it didn’t matter—if Luna wished to confess, he would listen. He could do that, though his suspicion remained.
“It’s hard being our age,” Luna said in a breathy, wavering whisper. “I think my sister forgets that. I also don’t think she appreciates the remarkable control you have for being your age. What makes you so different? Why haven’t you just jumped me?”
Having no answer, Gosling shrugged.
“I really hate puberty,” Luna continued and she pressed herself against Gosling. “And this is the worst. Lumina thinks it is because of better diet and health. She might be right. But this has always been bad… I’ve always been at my most unstable during these years. One time, after one of my rebirths, I hit puberty and something was broken… two decades later, and I am still in the raging throes of puberty. I was stuck.”
“Did it ever get better?” Gosling asked.
“I killed myself to make it go away,” Luna replied.
“I… that’s… I wish you… that’s just…” Gosling stammered, but the words he wanted would not come, so he gave up.
“There are times when I have bad dreams that this cycle of puberty will never end.” Closing her eyes, Luna leaned a little more against Gosling and clutched at his foreleg with one of her own. “I have trouble with the fact that you make me happy, Gosling. I hold a great deal of resentment towards you because this is an element of life that I have no control over. It feels like you rob me of my free will, and I have moments where I fly into a rage because I can’t help but feel a little bit better when I am with you. Lumina told me I need to tell you that in a calm, rational manner, and this is about as close as I get to calm and rational.”
“I suppose you needed to have another blowout?” Angling his head, Gosling peered down his muzzle at Luna, who was clinging to him. When she did not respond, he sighed and knew that he already had the answer. He thought about the assignment given to him by Cadance, the one about getting her to confess to loving him, and wondered that if she did, perhaps, in her own way.
Sounding foalish, Luna asked, “Will you take a nap with me?”
To which he replied, “Do you plan to rub your nub after I’m asleep?”
“Probably.” Luna sounded embarrassed and her face grew warm against his neck.
Rather than say anything, Gosling pulled away, just enough to adjust his body position, and he turned Luna so that she was facing him a little more. Looking down at her, he watched her tremble, and was quite disgusted by the condition of her face. She was snotty, her lip was chewed up, and everything was still soggy from her many tears.
Closing his eyes, he committed himself, bent his neck, and kissed her. She resisted for a moment, and he felt her make a halfhearted, feeble attempt to pull away, but he held on until the moment of resistance had passed. When her lips parted just a little and he could feel her hot breath blowing over his teeth, he knew that she had warmed to his affections. Cautious, he reached out with his tongue, seeking entry, and was greeted by Luna’s rough, bumpy sensory organ.
The kiss devolved into the sort of disgusting, slobbery mess that adolescent kisses do, with no boundaries, no concerns for good manners or taste, and no trace of any sort of romantic, loving sound: no, this sounded like two wrestlers having a no-holds-barred title match in a vat of mayonnaise.
For being vegetarians, some ponies truly loved having some meat in their mouths.