Cocoa, a warm fire, and a fluffy unicorn
Cuddles II
Admiral Biscuit
There was something special to seasons in Equestria.
It was something I couldn’t exactly put into words, but I didn’t really need to. I’d been there long enough to know how they celebrated the changing of the seasons. Winter Wrap-Up, Spring Finish, Summer Sun Celebration, Summer’s End, Harvest Festival . . . a chance for ponies to socialize, to bond, and to prepare for what was to come next.
Quite literally in Equestria; the arrival of autumn didn’t just mean cleaning the yard and winterizing the house, it also meant the Running of the Leaves and pegasi escorting migrating birds southward, it meant ponies going around and making sure that all the hibernating animals had proper burrows or nests, it meant raking leaves in public spaces and carting them off to the compost piles where they’d ferment over the winter and provide fertilizer for next year’s crops.
There were also biological milestones. For one, Cami got fluffy again as her winter coat came in. I could have asked if that was a side-effect of running the leaves, but I didn’t.
Some days in summer, I wondered how she managed with her fur coat. I could take off clothes until I was comfortable, but she didn’t have that luxury. I suppose if it got unbearable she could go to the spa and shave off her fur, but she didn’t.
Not for the first time, and probably not for the last, I considered growing a beard for the winter. It would keep my chin warm, at least. The downside was that I looked like a serial killer when I had a beard, something my friends back on Earth had been fond of pointing out. Maybe ponies would be more open to bearded me, but I considered how I’d react if one of the mares in the office noticed my scraggly attempt at facial hair and opined that I looked like a murderer, and decided that it wasn’t worth the risk.
Cami’s schedule was, as always, variable; thus, it fell to me to prepare the first fire of the fall.
For all their schedules and festivals, there wasn't one for the first fire of the season, and there should have been.
We’d held out for longer than some of our neighbors; between my clothes and her fluffy winter coat we were more able to cope than those ponies who’d sacrificed comfort for fashion. But there came a time when the sun's rays didn’t warm, when all the furnishings in the house were cold to the touch, when a sweater wasn’t as warming as it ought to have been, and maybe if she’d been home to cuddle with on the couch I could have held out another day, but she wasn’t.
Of all the things I’d anticipated I’d get good at when I lived in Equestria, building a fire wasn’t even on that list.
There was a time when I’d have to think as I laid out the kindling and the logs, when I’d have to have considered the draft and the way the heat would move, but that time was past. It was second nature as I piled the wood, and presently I had a fire ready to go.
When Cami built a fire, she cheated. She'd dump a bunch of wood in the fireplace, and then use her magic to set it alight: the Earthly equivalent to dousing everything in lighter fluid and then tossing in a road flare just to make sure.
I was stuck with matches, much fatter than their human counterpart. Easy for a non-unicorn to grip in her mouth, and long enough to not risk singed muzzle-hairs upon ignition.
They were strike-anywhere, and the hearth was somewhere, so I dragged the match across the rough bricks and held it to the kindling, watching as the flame guttered and then caught.
The first fire of the season, and it ought to be followed by the first hot chocolate of the season. I’d bought a tin at the market, and now was the time to test it out.
• • •
I could have put the kettle on the stove, but that didn’t feel authentic. In front of the fire was the right place, the enamel kettle silhouetted by the crepitant flames.
A gust disturbed the fire, sending it scuttling back into the fireplace. Then I heard hoofsteps in the hallways, and while I didn’t possess the aural acuity of a pony and likely never would, Cami’s steps sounded heavy, exhausted.
She was still wearing her scarf as she walked into the living room. The glow of her magic surrounded the ends, and as I watched, she unwrapped it from her neck and draped it across the back of the couch, a few raindrops reflecting the fire like jewels.
Cami flopped on the couch dramatically, and I gave her a moment before speaking. I could have asked her how her day had gone, but I already had a pretty good idea. “Cocoa?”
“Please.” She stretched out all four legs, then curled up into herself, a fluffy unicorn ponyloaf.
One thing I’d always relied on as my cue for home was removing my shoes, but she didn’t have that luxury. On days where she wasn't wearing any clothes, I don't know how she made the transition—she certainly couldn't remove her shoes.
I knew how they came off; I’d been with her to the farrier and while the first time I’d imagined in my mind I was the one who was going to lend moral support, it turned out quite the opposite. For as cute as they were, I could forget the occasional monster attacks, but the image of the farrier prying nails out of her hoof and then attacking it with a knife, followed by more nails going in still occasionally haunted my dreams.
I poured her a cup of cocoa and nearly as soon as I’d finished it was levitated out of my hand by her magic, to be brought up to her muzzle so she could smell it. She didn’t drink it right away—it was too hot. Cocoa was meant to be enjoyed slowly, first the anticipation as the cup was being poured and then the feel of a warm mug and only after it had cooled for a bit was the cup to be sampled. Depending on the weather and numbness in the hands, even bad cocoa could be forgiven.
A splash of alcohol would have really set it off, added a touch more flavor and a pleasant burning as it went down, but there hadn’t been any to add. The strongest stuff we had in the house was cherry brandy, and that felt like a risky combination.
My own cup followed, and rather than set it down I held it in my hands, letting the warmth seep in. For all her magical prowess, she was missing a vital step by not touching the mug before partaking.
I leaned back against the couch, against her barrel. We were together, and yet we were both alone in our introspection. Now was not the time to join her on the couch or ask her how her day had gone; now was not the time to complain about my day. Now was not the time to figure out what we wanted for dinner or to decide if we were going to go to the school play or not. Now was the time to center ourselves, knowing that we had our partner to lean on if need be.
Now was the time to watch the fire, to watch the flames creep over the logs, to listen to the hiss and pop of the wood, to watch the shifting glow of the coals.
Finally, she leaned down and brushed my head with her muzzle, then gently nibbled on my ear. I responded by massaging a forehoof, working my fingers around her pastern and up into her fetlock.
• • •
In some cheesy romance novel, we’d have just stayed there on the couch, taking sustenance from each other’s love, but the real world didn’t work like that. I had a small moral victory when it was her stomach that grumbled first, but then I’d also grabbed a snack on the way home.
“You want a sandwich?” I knew we had bread, and putting things between slices of bread always counted as a sandwich.
She nodded her head.
“Should I get up and make one, or can you do that from here?”
Cami shifted around against my chest. “Mmh, I probably can as long as you haven’t been moving things around in the kitchen”
“Can’t promise I haven’t,” I admitted. “And this is one of those situations where you’d wind up putting, I don’t know, the dish towel between two slices of bread and claim that because I’d moved it, you couldn’t tell it apart from the lettuce?”
“Well, when you can’t see what you’re grabbing with your field. . . “
“Can’t you feel it?”
“Sort of, but it’s not the same. There are unicorns that are really good at casting by feel, but I’m more of a generalist.” She dropped her head back down. “Plus, I’m tired.”
“That’s an excuse I’ll accept.” I shifted around on the couch, not wanting to move but telling myself it was only temporary, and as soon as I’d made us dinner, there’d be plenty more time for cuddling on the couch.
• • •
I’d made two sandwiches before she showed up in the kitchen.
“I got bored,” she said by way of explanation. “It’s not the same sitting and watching a fire alone.”
“You just want to make sure I’m not putting things in the wrong place.”
“Maybe.” Her horn lit and she opened a cupboard, floating down a metal tin full of oats. “You won’t be offended if I have a little snack, will you?”
“Not at all.” Their oats made decent oatmeal if boiled long enough. They were also good eaten raw, but it was more effort than my jaw was used to. “Have you ponies ever considered flavoring your oats?”
“Like, add a bit of salt?”
“No, not exactly.” I paused my sandwich assembly. “One of our snack foods back on Earth is potato chips, which are thin-sliced potatoes that are fried.” I wasn’t exactly sure how they were fried. Oil, probably. “Now they come in all kinds of flavors, like sour cream and onion or cheddar cheese or salt and pepper. And we’ve got instant oatmeal that has lots of flavors. Maple and brown sugar is the best.”
“Nopony is stopping you from putting things in your oats.”
“But they don’t come like that from the factory . . . from the market, do they?”
“Not here, anyway. Maybe in Canterlot or Manehattan.” She looked up at me. “Do you want flavored oats?”
I shook my head. “Maybe that’s for the best.” There was a trade-off between convenience and health, wasn’t there? Ponies had cubicles and their own interpretation of Chinese restaurants, did they really need instant oats and TV dinners, too? And what would they call them, since they didn’t have TVs? Fireplace dinners?
“It was just a thought,” I said. “But maybe it’s better this way, where you can just get basic oats and put in whatever you want.”
• • •
The fire had burned down by the time we returned to the living room, and our hot chocolates had cooled.
I solved the first problem by tossing more wood on the fire, while Cami took care of the second with a warming spell, lighting both glasses with a burst of magic.
We sat side-by-side on the couch and ate our sandwiches. I was getting more used to pony tastes, but still wished they’d invented mayonnaise. And, while I was thinking about things that ponies didn’t have, ranch dressing for salads would have been nice, too. Then again, they had bread delivery wagons and that was something that I didn't think had ever existed on Earth.
It wasn’t right to think about what I didn’t have. Better to think about what I did, better to think about the pony scrunched up against my side, the inviting flames of the hearth, the satisfying feel of a full stomach. Our second cups of cocoa sitting on the coffee table, mostly finished.
“What would you do if I suddenly got magic powers?”
Cami shrugged. “Divorce you, probably.”
“We’re not even married.”
“Principle’s the same,” she said. “You know your best quality is your complete lack of magic. It's really nice after a bad day at the office. I don't have to worry about you ever casting a spell and having it get away from you.”
“Is my magical impotence better than my hands?” I ran a finger up her horn, and she shivered involuntarily.
“Okay, it’s a tough call.” She stuck her tongue out at me. “Sometimes I think earth ponies got it easy; their foals don’t ever accidentally summon a salamander, they just make unexpected gardens.”
“Has that happened?” It was kind of a dumb question; if she’d brought it up, she’d probably dealt with it.
Cami sighed. “More than once. And that’s not the only magical beastie you can get with a miscast summoning spell, either. On the plus side, salamanders are big, not too smart, and you can usually follow the trail of fires to find it. Small stuff is the worst. I don’t know how she managed, but a couple years back we had to come in after a filly summoned a swarm of twittermites. Wouldn’t have been so bad, but we didn’t find out until after they’d laid eggs. That’s a month of my life I’ll never get back.”
“Kids are dumb sometimes.”
“Yeah.” She leaned her head up against my shoulder and levitated her cocoa off the table.
• • •
The fire had died down to embers, and neither of us was willing to get off the couch to add more wood. Was that something my ancestors had known that was foreign to me? Did they have a better understanding of levels of comfort? For most of my life, it hadn’t been much of a chore to turn the knob on the thermostat up or down as required; now there was a whole process to it. Too much wood on the fire and it was too hot; too little and it was too cold. Cuddling and blankets offset the cold, at least.
She’d fallen asleep, or nearly so. To get up meant to disturb her, meant the trade-off between warmth now and warmth later; to move the blankets meant to introduce cold air beneath. Maybe it was laziness or maybe it was wisdom to stay put, I couldn’t say for sure. I thought that the scales tipped in the direction of wisdom, though. If we got too cold, there was nothing preventing her from magicking more wood onto the fire, after all, and yet she hadn’t.
I ran my fingers through her mane and she nestled against my chest in response. The fire was nothing more than shifting coals, and outside the first flakes of winter began to fall.
Life was good.
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No blog post this time around, sorry!
Cold metal shoes on your partner as you get into bed is something to get used to. There's plenty of simple homemade mayonnaise recipes if he really wants it. Bread wagons did exist and I will expect a full blog post on it by Friday, young man.
Speaking of winter coats, I found this comic delightful. I suppose when coats are in all colors of the rainbow, a clip is that much more noticeable.
9971330 Talk about a loud screech and a bed partner catapulting out from under the covers.
Women have historically had ice-cold feet in bed. It's a law of nature! Or something. A cuddly, fluffy mare with horse shoes probably isn't any different.
Now that I think about that, clearly Cami doesn't go in for hot shoeing. I don't think our pony-cuddling protagonist would enjoy watching that...
Cute sequel to a cute fic!
There was, at one point. Good ol' Hearth Lighting Day. Like many good things, it came to end one day when five words were uttered: Cutie Mark Crusader Firestarters, YAY!
They still haven't completely rebuilt Ponyville...
- hahaha :] guess your (?) friends watched too much of wrong TV :} For some reason (search) I stumbled upon this collection of links, while not watched any (for some reason). there was joke in ex-USSR about man who looked too much like Marx - so at the end of joke he agreed to shave beard, but added: "But what to do with my great mind?". I definitely don't mind someone out-doing Marx when it comes to social discoveries (there was Fromm, but not much after him?).
- may be ponies (at least unicorns) can do 'holographic' TV/sculptures/animations from hot air and those little particles of smoke ....
-
I also tend to agree with socialization function, in theory ...In practice...well, at least for me it hardly works, may be because things I really want or find interesting not really mainstream (and apparently progressive mainstream is impossibility by definition, for any given moment progressive forces living at the edge, where few understand them, or even around at all ..). I also noticed all those practicatory ads on FB only install in me sense of fakeness, not sure why .... Age of inflatable humans - they look big, but unfortunately quite easily to punctuate , deflate, and follow the {social in nature, but not necessary good for them/us} winds ...
9971486
I'm not protagonist (only if you consider my life as
soapopera ...) yet each time horse shoes come in I tend to recall this:Russian, English (wiki, so much more compromising, from my viewpoint... I mean, overall, according to Nevzorov _you_ must be friend of horse, and not like horse herself can be _used_ for some usual human end. This is not up to discussion .....)
Pretty much every time I get my drivers license renewed, I look like a Manson family member in the photo.
I don't care.
I think you wanna say it's the Equestrian equivalent to dousing everything in lighter fluid.
I feel for this guy, my driver's license photo looks like a mugshot for a murder suspect.
A fluffy unicorn and a fluffy story. You write good fluff, and it's even better if its attached to a narrative arc and character development. You've got the chops to do a lot more with these stories than you tend to do.
I like fluff. Fluff is good. My folks got a new puppy. She is very fluffy. Snuggling her feels so good.
FLUFFY PONIES FLUFFY PONIES FLUFFY PONIES FLUFFY FLUFFY FLUFFY I WANT A FLUFFY PONY NOW.
(Okay, am I the only one who had this Pinkie Pie-like reaction?) The idea of ponies getting winter coats IS SO DANG BRILLIANT!!! ALL THE SNUGGLES!!!! 😍
First fire of the season?
But... when is it NOT time for setting things on fire?
(Somebody really needs to watch Alondro…)
(CIA: We tried. He scared us.)
Figurative and literal fluff.
So what I'm hearing is that Equestria is a culinarily enlightened society.
"Well, other than the party ponies. You don't want to know what their surges are like."
A delightful bit of snuggly fluff, and there was also a human. Thank you for a wonderful little story.
This was cute and fluffy.
Life would be so much better with a pony...
OwO cuddles are heresy!
Sincerely the king of snuggles
9971330
Cold metal shoes on your partner as you get into bed is something to get used to.
I would imagine so. Can’t say I have any personal experience, for better or worse.
Ah, but do such recipes exist in Equestria?
In the sense of wagons which delivered bread, or in the sense of being like milk wagons that delivered fresh bread to your doorstep on a regular schedule? I haven’t been able to find any examples of the latter, but if you know of at least one link, let me know. That’s a thing that I think ponies would go for, and it would make me so happy to know that humans had actually thought of it, too.
9971341
It’s legit one of my personal favorites, and as far as I know, about the only one that has a pony with a clipped coat.
This is where I’ll be honest and say that I haven’t spend enough time around working equines to know if it would be or not. I feel like the depth of the cut and the underlying skin color would play factors, and I don’t think we know for sure what color (or colors) of skin ponies have under their coats. If memory serves, the only ones we’ve seen partially shorn in canon are Snips and Snails.
9971459
Although sometimes there’s something comforting about a partner’s cold hands (or whatever) . . . or maybe I’m just a masochist.
I suppose as long as she didn’t tough him with her frozen shoes straightaway . . . then again, it’s Cami, and she’d totally do it to get a rise out of him.
9971486
Although it’s been my experience that in the morning, the woman’s much warmer, returning the stolen warmth from the night before.
And in this particular situation, the warm floofiness probably completely offsets four cold hooves.
I’ve done a bit of research into shoeing, and I have to think that most ponies wouldn’t be fans of hot shoeing. I do kinda have it in mind that sometimes that would be the best for fitment (maybe on a case-by-case basis) . . . I can say in stories of mine that involve shoeing, the cold-shoe method is used.
9971529
Thanks!
Related, from one of my other stories:*
derpicdn.net/img/view/2012/9/28/108273.png
___________________________
*shameless self-promotion
9971682
Or there are just some people who shouldn’t have beards.
I dunno why it is, but when I don’t have one, I look like a completely different ethnicity in photographs, which is very confusing to me. You wouldn’t think a beard would make that much difference, but it does.
I would imagine at least some unicorns could. I don’t personally think it’s a universal talent, though.
I think that sometimes labels hold us back. It’s perhaps a human desire to quantify things, to put them in little boxes, but at the end of the day, we’re all unique and not so easily classed by one label or another. Some people get caught up in labels, perhaps to their detriment . . . at least where I live, being an auto mechanic is a ‘manly’ job and watching My Little Pony isn’t ‘manly,’ and yet I do both. Another local mechanic loved his vegetable garden and collected rocks from the beach as well. . . .
9971753
Really, that’s something to be proud of. I just look like a sasquatch.
9971803
I changed it to be a bit more clear; does this work?
“When Cami built a fire, she cheated. She'd dump a bunch of wood in the fireplace, and then use her magic to set it alight: the Earthly equivalent to dousing everything in lighter fluid and then tossing in a road flare just to make sure.”
This one time in Ohio, I got mistaken for some wanted felon. That was fun.
At least I eventually got let off with a warning, and the cop forget to mention the many equipment violations the vehicle I was driving had, despite the obviousness of them (equipment that was straight-up missing).
9971875
Thanks!
True fact: fluffiness amount and length of story are often closely tied to how stressed and overworked I am IRL (the more stress, the shorter and fluffier the story). Just this week, I went from being the lead mechanic to the only mechanic when the other guy forgot to come back to work after Thanksgiving.
I do, no question there, it’s just a matter of having the time to do multi-chapter fluffiness.
9971879
Fluff is the best.
9971930
Let’s be honest, we all want a fluffy pony now.
derpicdn.net/img/view/2016/2/25/1096366.jpeg
Thank you!
You’re free to use that headcanon, BTW.
9971949
In all honesty, I don’t know. Fire purifies all.
From Joss Whedon’s Fray:
“He set himself on fire.”
“Maybe he was cold.”
writeups.org/wp-content/uploads/Melaka-Fray-Vampire-Slayer-Buffy-b.jpg
9972181
That was what I was aiming for. Now’s a good time for it, I think.
9972411
As long as we don’t talk about what pizza they prefer.
I mean, the good news is the fallout is a party which probably wasn’t radioactive.
Probably.
You’re welcome!
9972488
Thanks!
9972586
Although their hooves are hell on hardwood floors. Still, a worthwhile tradeoff.
9972923
Never.
derpicdn.net/img/view/2013/6/18/351905.jpg
9972958
George Weston "Eventually, George became a bread salesman and in 1882 went into business for himself, buying a bread route from Bowen. Two years later, with his business prospering, he bought out the bakery of his former employer. Years later, George Weston recalled those early days: "I baked 250 loaves the first day. I delivered them — drove my own waggon — called on every customer myself."
This is ambiguous, he could be talking about grocery stores or individual customers.
This is more concrete.
"Used in the late 19th century, the bread wagon delivered commercially baked bread to individual homes and grocery stores. Although commercial bakeries had been established as early as 1640, most baking was still done in the home until the early 1900s."
And this one. "From basement ovens in this store, the Di Camillo family began baking bread and delivering it to their neighbors in horse-drawn wagons."
cdn.gethypervisual.com/images/shopify/9f0c3d3d-83ef-4983-b4cd-aab9a8f4d903/w1200_666e_Joe__Babe___Bread_Wagon_1929.jpg
I found these by just searching Bread Wagon History.
i.pinimg.com/originals/97/6a/a0/976aa0ef0379afd145d45a2e8381daf2.jpg
9973060
Well, I’ll be damned.
It was a topic that came up over Thanksgiving, and I did some cursory research and couldn’t find anything concrete. I am so happy this was a thing, and thank you for the links as well!
If I ever write a story involving a pony on a bread route, and should I forget to mention you in the blog post, you have my blessing to call me out in the comments.
9973044
Agreed. ‘Tis the season.
9972983
How have I never read this?!? I'm off to go rectify that...
Cuddles II, electric bogaloo.
9972963
I recognize that Snips and Snails disprove it, but here's my headcanon: You know how most of the Equestria Girls characters have a skin color that's slightly lighter than the coats of their pony counterparts? I like to imagine that that's how the ponies' skin color works. The hair that emerges is a slightly darker shade of the skin it grows from. So if you shaved the cutie mark of a pony, you'd see the same design in their skin.
9972992
oh, well... but humans put themselves under specific labels, and even fought for staying under one and not another! I was mostly thinking about "What party is progressive? Anarchists! " kind of stuff (when you realize whole party/big politics spectacle misses something fundamental). Or seeing beyond "animal welfare" and even "animal rights", because they both hit their limits quite early. Basically, by 'progressive' I mean someone who recognizes wrong stuff better than most, define way to live differently, and lives it. Not for show, but.. just because.
Cuter!
9973018
Oh dear. Well, I hope things work out and get sorted for you soon.
This. This is the best part. I expect, that this far into their relationship, our hero has gotten mostly used to the catlike nature of the Camiloaf. Must be interesting to wake up and find the local sunbeams thoroughly occupied though.
9973031
Sir, you have just made my day.
It's.................FLUFFY EPONA.
This was stuck in my mind the first day I saw this on the hot story list! Ever since then, I vowed to make a reading on it! Here ya go, hope you enjoy it!
Link: https://youtu.be/2bE_0Sk6oHI
(I don't mean to offend anyone with this comment!)
9971330
Funnily enough the milk floats I see nowadays are mostly filled with bread.
Glass bottles have made a comeback in my area now too, it's great.
More petting! More ear scratching! More horn touching!
Celestia, this is so cute!