Something comforting in knowing you're on someone else's mind
Someone was blowing in my ear.
At first it had just been folded into the dream I’d been having - a sudden, unexpected breeze upsetting me in the midst of throwing vegetables onto a roundabout, as you do. It had been a dream thing so hadn’t needed to be comprehensible and I’d ignored it. Actually, I hadn’t ignored it, I hadn’t even noticed it enough to know I had to ignore it.
But that had been before it had woken me up. When it woke me up it was confusing because it was still there and my brain was mush and nothing added up.
“What?” I said, which seemed fair enough, and I opened an eye.
It was a horse. My horse. She was blowing in my ear.
On seeing that I’d seen her she stopped her blowing and smiled, and so my vision was just full of happy, beaming, magical horse. I’ve woken up to worse.
“Ngh, you’re here early…” I grunted while attempting to reach for my phone to check the time, only to find myself being gently but firmly pushed back into bed and having my arm tucked back beneath the duvet.
“Shh, no, don’t get up,” she said softly, ensuring I was snug.
Once she was sure she just kept smiling on down at me.
Kind of didn’t want to ruin the moment, kind of had to.
“I need to pee.”
The look that crossed her face - albeit only for a split-second - suggested that this hadn’t been factored into her plan.
“Right this second?” She asked.
“Are you regulating my weeing now?”
“No! No, it’s just, um…”
This was a magical horse that was up to something, I could tell.
But I had other things to worry about right then.
Not waiting for her to cook up an excuse I flung the duvet sideward, swung my legs outward and sprung upward. Luckily for my horse - and for me, I suppose, though this is my home so I can do what I like - I was perfectly decent.
She ran interference as I shambled my way to the bathroom, backing away before me, glancing behind her, keeping her wings as spread as the confines of my poky little place would allow and generally preventing me from seeing or going any further. Fine, whatever. She had plans. I needed to pee.
So that happened. I’m not going into details.
Opening the door I found my horse still there, still blocking me.
“All done?” She asked and I nodded, biting my knuckle to keep from yawning as widely as I might have done in private. Honestly. A man can’t even pee in his own home unmonitored anymore. What are we coming to?
“Surprised you didn’t offer to come in and shake for me, given your apparent interest,” I said once the yawning was done.
She went a little pink about the cheeks, just a touch. Sleepy me is sassy me.
“Well…” She said, taking just the tiniest step towards me.
I tried to scowl at her but it was hard to scowl at the nice horse.
“That was a joke. You know it was a joke you big, beautiful, magical pervert, you,” I said, stifling another yawn. Dear me was I a sleepy boy, not even joking.
Pinker still, this time with a giggle to really set the pink off right.
“No-one’s ever called me a beautiful pervert before.”
Slip of the tongue. And I hadn’t meant it like that. Just beautiful in the general sense. Non-specific. Whatever that meant. My brain wasn’t fully working yet. Leave me alone.
“Oh shush, I’m still half-sleep, it just slipped out, don’t make a thing out of it,” I said. She just grinned at me some more and then very conspicuously dropped her eyes south.
“A few things are slipping out this morning.”
I looked down. Obviously there wasn’t anything, obviously. The point hadn’t been that there was anything that had slipped out, the point had been to make me look, and I had. Giggling became outright laughter, entirely at my expense.
“I’m going back to bed…” I grumbled, screwing up my face and shuffling back bed-ward. She followed. I could hear her following. Could hear some other things, too, sounds of other activity elsewhere in other rooms but I ignored it.
Probably more interloping horses doing something I did not care about at that precise moment.
At that precise moment only bed mattered, and so I clambered back into it. My horse was quick to tuck me back in. Had barely laid down before she was pulling the duvet back into place and once more ensuring I was snug. She really did get a kick out of doing that, I swear. Getting me all comfy and such. Whatever floats your boat, I guess.
“Yes, sleep, sleep. It’s all part of the plan…” She said softly as she telekinetically tucked, looming over me, big magical hair fluttering into that ever-present, ethereal breeze.
“You’re really not supposed to say that it’s part - ah I don’t care.”
And if it was part of the plan why blow in my ear to wake me up in the first-
You know what, I really don’t care. I’m sure it made sense to her. She’s on top of things, she’s got this. Back to sleep for me.
I opened my eyes enough to give her one last departing scowl - to make my displeasure at all this intrusion and fussing known - so got a nice, big, vision-filling look at her nice, big, vision-filling smiling face and only then noticed a teeny tiny detail that had apparently escaped me up until that point.
“Do you have...freckles? Did you have freckles before?” I asked, squinting.
There was indeed a light dusting of something across her face - across the muzzle, I suppose would be the word? Hard to make out exactly what with me squinting and falling asleep and how she was looming against the light, but there was definitely something.
Her smile widened.
“They come and go,” she said.
I could see them more clearly now. They were staggeringly wonderful. Did things to my insides. Unequivocally good things.
But I wasn’t going to tell her that.
“I like freckles,” I instead mumbled, as a compromise, closing my eyes and sinking into my pillow to the sound of yet another bloody giggle.
“I’ll be back…” she said, departing. I did not doubt this. It was a habit of hers.
And I dozed off.
My dreams were troubled. It was back to throwing vegetables again but this time there was a sinister edge. Didn’t last long though, a loud noise caused my eyes to snap open after what felt like mere seconds of sleep. It had sounded a lot like the sound of something about to fall over being prevented from falling over. Something like furniture.
But had I dreamt it?
I lay there, staring at my ceiling, listening. I could hear activity in the kitchen, certainly, and behind that another sound. The sound of childlike mirth and the sound of frazzled efforts to restrain whatever it was the child was doing.
Or so my ears told me. Laughing, basically, a lot of laughing from what was obviously a child and the sound of someone trying to get the child to calm down. Without much success, apparently.
This, as a homeowner, I had to investigate.
Groaning, I rose once again from bed and stumbled my way towards the living room, from where the loudest sounds were coming. I ignored the gentler sounds of the kitchen. I’m sure whoever was in there - dozens of horses, probably, all crammed in - were doing fine. There were no warning or alarming noises coming from the kitchen, just pleasing smells.
I have no issue with pleasing smells. Maybe this time my horse was succeeding in whatever it was she was doing in there, assuming she was in there?
We lived in hope. And also quiet dread, as I approached the lounge and opened the door.
Sat on the sofa and very clearly trying not to smile was the new horse, the one with the dark coat and the glittery hair, the sister of my horse. She and I exchanged silent nods of greeting. That part was fine, but that wasn’t what really caught my attention. What caught my attention was the blur presently doing very fast laps of my living room ceiling.
Something very small and bewinged was zooming about my living room, being pursued (fruitlessly, I might add) by the little horse who liked to read my books. She looked rather frantic. The bewinged small zooming thing - which was also giggling, just for an additional detail - seemed happy enough.
As I stood in the doorway and watched all this occurring, the zooming, giggling thing stopped hugging the ceiling quite so tightly and its trajectory dipped sharply, their circuit of the room taking them alarmingly close to my old, clunky but much-loved television. Which wobbled in their wake. And then started tripping over.
Oh dear.
Luckily the little horse noticed this happening too and was quick off the mark, doing a remarkably good job of stopping dead midway through a dash, reversing course, flinging herself across the room and catching the tilting television in one of those nifty little magical fields these horses all seemed to be able to just whip out on command.
Did beg the question of why she’d felt the need to fling herself given she could just magic it, but I wasn’t going to poke holes in her technique. Instead, I took two strides across the room, grabbed the television myself and set it right for her.
“Thanks for that,” I said.
The little horse, flushed, just puffed weakly and then went limp on the floor, exhausted and defeated. Poor girl.
And the bewinged thing finally noticed me at this point, apparently, as it stopped zooming about and dropped like a stone to land at my feet, staring up at me blankly with huge, huge eyes.
For it was yet another horse, much to my lack of surprise, the smallest one yet.
“Hi,” I said.
It kept on staring, sitting there. Staring.
Thing really was tiny. Smaller than the little horse. Kind of looked like a infant. Would make sense with the blank, fearful staring. I tend to have that effect on children. Can clearly tell that there’s something wrong with me. Adults tend to miss that.
I noticed, lying on the floor nearby, within reach of me, was some manner of soft toy. It wasn’t mine so, by keen process of elimination, I deduced that it must belong to this baby horse. Something brought along to placate them, maybe?
Perhaps it could help ease tensions between us?
Keeping my eyes on the baby horse - and with the baby horse very much keeping their eyes on me - I slowly bent, cautiously grabbed the soft toy and then equally cautiously lent towards the baby horse to pass it over to them. They took it, warily.
“Pleasure doing business with you,” I said. The baby horse nodded, or that might have just been my imagination. Hardly mattered as barely a second later the little horse, having recovered, lunged for the baby horse and grabbed them, wrestling them about and keeping a firmer grip on them despite the baby horse’s protests.
“Oh! You’re up,” came a voice from behind me and I, turning, finding behind me my horse looking mildly, pleasantly surprised and yet another new horse who is pink and wearing an apron. Somehow. Not my apron either.
Too many bloody horses in my personal space. Let’s clear up some of the terminology here, because this is getting confusing even to me, and I am me.
So:
My horse is the big, pleasant one who keeps letting herself into my home without permission to eat my food, invade my personal space, keep me company on long nights and generally make a polite nuisance of herself. The one with the newly-discovered freckles who likes to giggle at my expense. The one I’d actually invite over if she didn’t invite herself. That’s my horse.
The new horse is her sister, roped into my horse’s shenanigans and plainly unhappy to be here. The one with the glittery, sparkly hair and moon on her side. The one sitting on the sofa.
The little horse is the little horse, who appears to have been initially lured along by the promise of being allowed to read my books and who now appears to have been roped in to serve as childcare. Think she’s purple. I don’t know what purple is but I think she’s purple. I get the impression of purple. Something about her says ‘purple’.
The baby horse is the one who requires childcare. The one who’d been flying around the place at great speed. The one with the soft toy. She scares me and I, in turn, apparently scare her. I regard our fledgling relationship as one of cautious, mutual respect and fear.
And finally, bringing up the rear, pink horse. Who can cook, presumably. Or at least can wear an apron, which is suggestive of cooking. At least to me.
Good, yes. That clears things up nicely. I’ve got that all laid out in my head now.
“Is this ruining your plan, me being up?” I asked my horse.
“No, the plan accounts for this,” she said.
“Comforting. Having fun in the kitchen?”
My horse nodded.
“Oh, yes,” she said. And I looked to the pink horse, waving a brief hello. She waved back, also briefly, mouthing ‘hi’ at me.
“This your new assistant? Your sister not willing to be volunteered this time?” I asked.
“I’m making-” the pink horse started to say only for my horse to bump her in the side and give her a sharp look. “I’m helping my aunt make you breakfast,” said the pink horse, keeping an eye on my horse to see if this was acceptable. Apparently it was, as my horse, beaming, closed her eyes and stuck her nose in the air.
“Breakfast in bed! To make up for the buns. And to make up for you buying cake when the cake I was making to make up for the buns hit an unexpected snag,” she said.
“Is the snag that you made a bit of a hash of it?” I asked.
Her nose stopped being in the air immediately and her lip wobbled. A cheap trick but it worked, got me right in the gut, even if I knew she was putting it on. Could play me like a fiddle, my horse.
“Meanie,” she said.
“Your heart was in the right place and that’s what counts,” I said, giving her what I hoped would be taken as a comforting pat on the head, my hand moving before my brain had given this any real thought. Patting people on the head is typically not something you should crack out. It can be read the wrong way.
Luckily, it seemed our bizarre relationship had hit a point where we could both roll with it, as her lip-wobbling ceased immediately and she beamed. I felt buoyed, and even bold enough to use a thumb to just give her a rub behind an ear, something I could tell was very much appreciated.
Weird, but that’s magical horses, I guess? Each to their own, horses for courses, hah.
Oh, but the look on her face though...
Did realise every other horse in the place was staring at us both once I was done, which made me flinch. I stuck my hands behind my back and rocked on my heels while my horse did a poor job of not looking disappointed that the ear-rubbing wasn’t continuing.
“So,” I said, casual-like. “I should probably go back to bed, then? For your plan to go off right?”
“If you wouldn’t mind. We’re nearly done,” my horse said, turning to the pink horse for confirmation. The pink horse nodded, one imagines in confirmation. Odd how many things we share, magical horses and myself. Thumbs excluded.
They seem to get on well enough without.
“Right, well, back to bed for me then. Uh, thank you all for coming,” I said, giving the collected horses a wave and receiving waves in return as I went back to the bedroom.
Probably best I don’t think too hard about any of this, on how my life has become rich with intrusion and strange, friendly gestures from a strange, friendly horse. Just focus on that you’re being indulged and getting breakfast made for you, not on the other parts. The horse parts. Don’t think about those parts. Think about the breakfast.
So I did that. I settled myself under the duvet, stared at the ceiling, lay back and thought of English breakfast. And then other breakfasts. And then I thought my horse and her freckles.
My life took a very strange turn somewhere along the way, it really did.
Fortunately, I was spared from the awful, awful fate of having to think about how nice freckles are and how nice the person who has these specific freckles was by the appearance of the person in question, my horse, who came bearing a tray and a look of immense satisfaction.
“Ta-dah!” she declared, swanning in and closing the door behind her with a bump of the hip. The tray floated to me on a magical cushion as I shuffled about in bed and sat up, breakfast landing literally in my lap.
Pancakes, apparently
But these were not the sort of pancakes I was used to, the ones I sometimes made. No, these ones rather put me in mind of the stereotypical stack you might see in a cartoon, in fact - the sort of thing that must presumably exist somewhere, just not anywhere ever near me. It was a daunting tower of the things, thick and fluffy, drizzled with syrup and the like.
Hefty, hefty breakfast. Could probably beat me up.
Well, I’m game for anything once. Why not?
“Feels rude to eat with you just standing there,” I said as I took up my cutlery.
My horse was indeed just standing there. Watching.
“Don’t mind me,” she said, continuing to watch in a way that made it very hard not to mind. I turned my head and closed one eye, which worked well enough for me to get tucked in on the stack.
Very pleasant. Not what I’d usually go for, but very pleasant all the same. And knowing the intention behind them did rather add something, at least for me.
“My compliments to the chef,” I said after swallowing. “She’s done a bang-up job on these. And compliments to you, for just being nice and thinking of doing it in the first place.”
My horse was almost glowing at this point, so happy she seemed to be.
“You like it?” She asked. I was already carving off my next bite. No idea if I was eating these right but this was my first time so I was willing to make mistakes and missteps.
“I rather do, yes. Both the breakfast itself and the idea. So yes, thank you,” I said, saluting her with a forkful of pancake.
Taking me completely off-guard my horse let out what can only be described as a whinny of delight before promptly inserting herself into my bed beside me. My bed was not really built with this level of occupation in mind but she was determined to make it work.
I focused on keeping the pancakes from going everywhere. By the time my horse had decided she was comfortable we were both very much in one another’s personal space, something that wasn’t unusual for us I’ll admit, but this time felt even more pronounced.
She was basically in my lap. Or I was basically in hers. Beneath the duvet much confusion reigned.
At least the pancakes were okay.
“Hi,” I said to her, her face mere inches from mine. She grinned, outright grinned!
“I was cold,” she said.
“And that explains...this?” I asked, tilting my head to indicate the knot of human and horse we’d become in my bed. She nodded, and her wings slid further around me, very much how wings really shouldn’t.
“Yes,” she said, flatly.
Couldn’t really argue with that. The brass on her.
“Right. Well. Okay then,” I said.
She then ate some of my breakfast, right off my fork. I wasn’t even surprised, and I couldn’t hold it against her. Plainly she enjoyed the experience just as much as I did, and the look on her face was, I think, probably better than any mouthful of pancakes could ever have been.
“Mmm! Those are good. She - I mean we - did do a good job, didn’t we?”
“No doubt,” I said. Then: “You know, all this seems a lot of effort - and a lot of horsepower - just to make me pancakes. Coming in here mob-handed with your sister and all. And the pink one. And the small one. And the baby. All part of the plan, I take it?”
Heh, horsepower. Like manpower, but with horses. Didn’t even really mean that, just slipped out. I’m a funny guy. Comes naturally.
My horse was now giving me side-eye. Probably because of how funny I was.
“I asked Cadence for help with the breakfast, and she agreed but needed somepony to look after Flurry it being on such short notice. Twilight agreed and said she could come along to do it - I think she wanted to read more of your books, though where she thought she’d find the time is anyone’s guess. Luna acts like she didn’t want to come, but I think she enjoys the fuss, if I’m being honest,” said my horse, in the manner of one explaining something they’ve already spent some time convincing themselves is a perfectly fine explanation.
I nodded. Seemed to fit together. If you didn’t poke it too hard.
“Well when you lay it out like that it makes perfect sense. I do have a question though,” I said.
“Yes?”
“Those are names?” I asked. Just so I could be clear.
She blinked at me. I took the opportunity presented to try and count some freckles. Lost count pretty quick. There were definitely enough of them, I could say that.
“Those are names, yes,” she said.
I nodded again. Fine, cool. What else would you call a magical horse but something like Twilight or Luna or Flurry? Wonder what their surnames were, if they had them. Maybe they didn’t go in for that, who’s to say? What a whole new world of things to learn.
There was one glaring gap in my newfound knowledge, however. Something very important.
“What’s your name?” I asked my horse.
That one certainly caught her off guard. She looked honestly bewildered. New look for her.
“You don’t know?” She asked. I got to nod again.
“It’s never come up,” I said.
“It hasn’t?” She asked and I could kind of tell she didn’t fully believe me, but I wasn’t lying - it hadn’t come up. This time I got to shake my head. Such variety.
“Nope. You’ve been sidling into my home - and now my bed - for a good few months now and not once did you ever mention your name. Ate my buns, made a huge mess in my kitchen, ruined my viewing history on all my streaming services, left a noticeable dip in the sofa, never gave me a name.”
She was now staring at me.
“You could have asked,” she said, and she had a point.
“Probably should have done but after the first few weeks it felt like it’d be more awkward to ask then not. Should have done it the first time you showed up. I missed my window,” I said with the lightest of shrugs.
More staring, silent scrutiny that dragged on for second after painful second until whatever awkward tension had built up evaporated, and her smile came back. Like the sun coming out. I got a nuzzle. Since we were so close she didn’t have to move very far to give me one.
A nuzzle, I mean.
“You’re quite strange,” she said, resting her chin on top of my head. Despite our strange, intertwined arrangement I was still able to reach my breakfast, so I had some more. Still good. I’d have to personally thank the pink one - Cadence, I think? - once this was done. Whenever this was done. Whatever this was.
“I have my moments,” I said.
There followed a moment of companionable silence. I could feel her breathing.
“Celestia,” she said, once the moment had elapsed. “That’s my name.”
Rolled off the tongue.
“It’s a nice name,” I said, dumbly, unsure what else to say.
“I’m glad you think so. My parents picked it with your appreciation in mind,” she said, and I didn’t have to see her face to know what expression she’d have. The mere thought made me chuckle and I, in a spirit of diplomacy and general kindness, raised a forkful of pancake up towards where I hoped her mouth was.
I felt a bite. Success!
“Sensible people. Or sensible magical horses. Either way,” I said and she, chewing, hummed in agreement.
Did enjoy how my breakfast in bed was ending up partially hers. She was even in my bed, too, to get the whole experience. Canny horse. Least I had a name for that nice, freckly face now, that was progress. Progress towards something.
Progress towards what, exactly? I frowned to myself.
There followed me attempting to put the tray down and wriggle about to face Celestia better. Given the cramped conditions we were working with - and how wrapped about one another we’d ended up - this was not as simple as it might have been, and eventually involved her having to magically hover the tray out of the way while I concentrated on the wriggling.
Got there in the end though, and it was left with her propped up against the head of the bed looking at me bemused while I sort of half-knelt and half-squatted in front of her. Much dignity.
“Is something wrong?” She asked.
“You know, for all the times you’ve invaded my home to exploit my hospitality I don’t feel we’ve ever got to properly know one another,” I said, to which she quirked an eyebrow. She was very good at that. Most horses I knew weren’t that expressive.
Not that I knew a lot of horses.
Well, more now than I used to, admittedly. But not the normal kind, I mean.
“Oh?” She asked.
“Not really, no. Learning your name is one thing, and that’s good, but all these occasions haven’t given me much insight into you. They’re just sort of sedate occasions these things, really, with lazing around and eating buns and napping.”
A lot - a lot - of napping, given the unbridled, perverse pleasure she seemed to get out of inflicting the things on me after long, tiring days. Worse things have been inflicted, I supposed, but it is hard to get to know someone when you’re asleep.
She considered what I’d said with far more energy than it required, brow furrowed for a moment before she said:
“True.”
Didn’t give me a lot to work with, so I just carried on:
“I mean, I don’t dislike the lazing around or the napping, I just feel that it hasn’t really given us a proper opportunity to get to know one another. On a deeper level, you know? Maybe?”
I couldn’t tell how this was landing with her so decided to play it safe. Always worth sliding in a maybe in here or there, just to keep the door open behind you, as it were. Maybe. Possibly. Perhaps.
“You may be right,” she said, tapping her chin. Then: “What do you suggest we do instead?”
“What?”
“To rectify this. So that we can get to know one another better. What do you think we should do? Together?” She asked, lashes fluttering, face expectant.
Well that’s me put on the spot.
“Um,” I said, playing for time. I was thinking furiously. This was a situation entirely of my own making, a hole for myself dug entirely by myself. Could I climb out? Or should I keep going down?
What, in fact, was I talking about?
“Um,” I said again, acutely aware of her still watching me and having shifted forward a bit to watch me even more intently. I think I was starting to sweat, and not just because she was warm and close - so very close. Out slipped another: “Um.”
She tapped me on the head with a wingtip.
“Are you stuck?” She asked.
“I’m thinking. Slowly.”
“Ah. As long as you’re not stuck,” she said, smiling, continuing to move in closer, leaning her face in towards mine.
Where was I going with this line of thought? I was going somewhere, definitely, but where? I had somewhere in mind but I think I was heading there with my eyes closed, so to speak. Concentrate, relax, and just think clearly.
How you’d like your horse - Celestia, her name is Celestia - to fit into your life going forward, and what you’d personally like to do to make that fit more comfortable. There you go. Was that so hard?
Why is it one always tends to switch to second person for things like this? Maybe it’s just me.
If Celestia was going to insist on continuing to insert herself into my life - as she seemed intent on doing - then it was only sensible to try and get to know her better. Wasn’t it? If only to make my own life easier.
And, well, as much as I did enjoy our sedate little times together with the lazing around and the napping and the food and the whatever, it might be nice to shake it up a little. You know? Maybe do something else. Maybe leave! Go outside!
On second thoughts that might get the neighbours talking. Assuming they aren’t talking already. But I can think that going out on the town with a nice big magical horse is the sort of thing likely to draw comment, and I don’t have time for that.
So what else, what to do…
Think, damnit, think!
“I’ve never...invaded...your home…?” I said, every word like another delicate footstep out across a frozen pond. Celestia’s look of sudden excitement - which she did much to quickly try and subdue - gave me a tiny bit of confidence, but not a whole lot. Could still very easily make it all go very wrong.
I have few talents in life, and that is one of them.
“Are you inviting yourself?” She asked.
I swallowed.
“...yes…?”
A pause, then she beamed. I got that sun-coming-out feeling again. Really was just like standing outside when the clouds broke, wonderful, wonderful.
“I’ve taught you so well,” she said, mock-pride rich in her voice. She even wiped away an imaginary tear. Laying it on thick but I lapped it up anyway.
“Hah,” I said, reaching up again without much thought to worry her ears some more. She delighted in this, practically vibrated, so I kept doing it. Why fight what my life has become?
“Of course, I don’t know all your secret doors and sliding doors and stuff, so you might have to help me out with that,” I said, once the thought of how I was meant to show up at hers without warning crossed my mind.
“Something can be worked out,” she said, eyes blissfully closed.
Nicely vague.
I kept on doing the ear thing for a little bit longer, in silence, until her blatant, naked enjoyment of it became a bit too much to bear. It just got a bit weird. I didn’t stop though, I just cleared my throat.
“We still have those pancakes to finish off. And then compliments to give to the chef. And should probably go see how your entourage is doing anyway - discourteous to leave them out there for too long, probably. Me being the host and all,” I said.
Do you count as the host if people just let themselves in? I’m not clear on what the rules are in a situation like that, but my gut tells me that, yes, you’re still the host, that’s how hospitality works.
“They can wait a little longer,” Celestia said, wings reaching out to gently but firmly guide me in towards her, where I found myself thoroughly embraced, very warm and very comfortable.
Oh God, she was going to make me nap again, wasn’t she? Right on top of her, right here. In my own bed for her own sick pleasure. If I wasn’t so bloody happy about it I’d give her a stern word but, really, I think we’d left those boundaries behind us a considerable while ago now.
She even smells like the sun. How does that work? Probably more like the smell of a hot day, but still, it’s where my mind goes. Hot, happy days. Oh it’s all too much.
“And I’m the strange one…” I muttered through a yawn.
“I have my moments, too,” I hear her say as she pulls the duvet up over both of us.
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I smiled when I saw this in my feed which turned into delighted laughter that greatly confused my roommate. I mean it's a bit tricky to explain things when all you can say is "I'm reading pure distilled happiness and peace."
In short, thank you for this. You've made productive day even more lovely.
(Hope the kidlet is doing well.)
Heh, sunspots.
I do enjoy this greatly.
Glad you still have time to write.
Actually, you forgot the line that it's all part of the plan.
Every time I see a new story from you, I drop everything to read it immediately. Your style is an absolute treat to read every time, with the kind of humor I vibe with on a level that is, frankly, probably very unhealthy. This one is cute and wholesome and gave me a couple of good chuckles, and like most everything else of yours, it's very comfy. I can't wait to read more of your delightful works.
~GjallarFox
10487104
I primarily write to confuse roommates.
And I've learnt that fresh babies mainly have two volumes: So quiet you wonder if something has gone wrong and extremely loud so you know something is wrong but now you have to work out what exactly it is this time.
10487121
There was a particular picture I had in mind for that, but I'm not sure where it is right now...
10487236
More finishing off something I mostly wrote before, but still, I found time!
And bah, how on earth did that get so badly splinched? Probably while I was scrolling about the doc, hurgh. Fixed now, I think.
10487275
Based on my own experience with tiny humans, I have noticed that yes.
A friend's mum tells of the first time he slept through the night as a tiny babe. She woke up from a deep sleep convinced he must've died.
10487277
This one?
derpicdn.net/img/2018/11/19/1886341/large.jpeg
Or perhaps this one?
derpicdn.net/img/2015/12/12/1042826/large.jpg
10487272
Oh, you're far too kind! I'm just glad this one came out coherent enough to be readable.
10487296
Story of my last few weeks, vision of my future...
10487298
The second one! That one!
10487313
Ah ha! Glad to have been of assistance!
10487277
Perhaps this one?
derpicdn.net/img/view/2015/12/12/1042826__safe_artist-colon-silfoe_princess+celestia_royal+sketchbook_cute_cutelestia_female_freckles_mare_open+mouth_pony_portrait_simple+background_so.jpg
That Silfoe picture is just the one I was thinking of.
In many respects, now is the easy time. As Flurry demonstrates here, just wait til they're mobile. Then again, they're more emotionally rewarding then, too. The more options they have, the better it feels when they choose you.
Gosh darnit I love how sickeningly cute these two are together.
I hadn't realized how fluff-deficient I was until this story showed up.
10487121
So if sunspots are freckles, does that mean flares are acne?
Adorable :)
Wonderful! And heart warming!
Bloody horses
And then Flurry pooped.
Undoubtly.
But did you ever got woken better?
Did she say it like this?
Keeps you from going crazy.
I wonder what she is watching.
Says the speaking magical horse who regulary appears out of nowhere.
Yay! Celly can be proud of herself.
Good story!
I enjoyed reading it.
The good old "I Know You Know" roulette.
Your stuff is just so nice to read...even when the subject is not, home invasion is serious businesses
... God only knows what's going to happen when Celly retires! Oh, right
Probably above
Hecking adorable. The sass in the beginning, so wonderful! And I love how Celestia is just My Horse. So fitting, and at the end, I imagine at least Candy is peeking in through the crack of the door, grinning ear to ear with Luna rolling her eyes and Twilight still struggling with Flurry.
You're a magnificent bastard, you know that Cackling? Never change.
I had a smile on my face throughout the entire story. It's just so warm and fluffy, like a fresh towel out of the dryer ready to use after taking a shower.
Really, quite a joy.
Alternative title: they live... and 'among us' :p
10487451
It's a quality picture. And freckles are great anyway, so hell.
The wife and I got buddies with a kid heading towards two years now, so I'm very aware of what I'm in for.
10487489
They have an odd relationship based on trespassing and sleeping and weird shared humour.
10487506
My own levels were running low.
10488151
Eh, poop ain't shit.
Which is to say, it's not as bad as all that, really.
10487950
Ah but we love 'em really.
10488203
I like to imagine that she watched every single programme to do with baking cakes.
Got to stay on-trend and in-character, after all. Ooh, reminds me, Bake Off is on in like half an hour...
10488682
I'll take the seriousest of situations and make plotless fluff out of it all.
Also, your picture always makes me miss EVE. Even if I was rubbish at it.
10489139
I'll find a way to fill her.
Fill her empty hours, I mean.
10489527
I like to imagine - for the sake of the visuals - that Cadence made extra pancakes and she and Luna are enjoying them while also spying/eavesdropping. Twilight also has some, but is too busy desperately attempting to keep Flurry from destroying something.
Visuals are important in a written medium, dontchaknow.
10489663
My towels are scratchy, so I write fluff to compensate.
10489895
Pffbt, far too modern.
This was just an excuse to see if anyone went "Hey now, hey now, don't dream it's over" but so far no-one has.
10491326
Fabric softener might help.
10491330
I like it rough
10491340
That's what SHE said.
10491323
Mate, 99% of Eve players are rubbish...just good at hiding it. (I was so space poor, never got to 1 biil ISK ...had too much fun losing it all in fights)
10491328
Should... i?
10491431
No, it'd be weird now.
10491433
Hm... i would tell you a chemist joke... but all the good ones Argon...
10491295
Right, but I'm obligated by social convention to spout sentimentally at any parent of a child younger than mine. I believe my contractual next line is "Ahh, X! That's a fun age," or one of several acceptable listed rephrasings.