Smolder and Ocellus find hundreds of reasons to be close to one another, and hundreds of ways of making it happen. These are just a few of them.
Life has pushed Smolder and Ocellus into close proximity; hundreds of reasons now exist for them to be in physical contact with one another, and hundreds of ways now exist for them to make it happen. Good or bad, neither Smolder nor Ocellus would change such moments for the world.
These are a just few of them.
A collection of micro-fiction that originated from a weekly blog of mine.
Smolder dropped the quill onto her desk and leaned back, watching the wedge of amber light steal her essay from the paper it was written on. Her neck hurt, her wrist hurt, her brain hurt. But it was done. Somehow, she had survived.
She glanced sidelong at the open window, unwilling to give the stupid essay another moment inside of her head. The sun was barely visible above the Everfree, heavy clouds masking its retreat, and the breeze carried with it the promise of rain.
The day was over, of that there was no doubt. The others had by now finished their swim at the lake, picked up some records from that shop on Saltlick Lane, and were now probably eating their body weight in cookies at Sugarcube Corner. For a moment Smolder debated the idea of joining them, but the thought quickly soured. Tapping in at the end had never been her thing; it was selfish, she knew, but you either got her company for the whole experience, or not at all. It was definitely not because she hated the sense of having to play catch up, or of feeling silly about the whole situation.
Stupid essay.
The warmth of the dorm room suddenly increased, became more complete, as Smolder felt a pair of forelegs wrap around her shoulders and neck.
"You're an idiot," she said, though there was no malice in her voice. After a moment she leaned back and felt her head brush against Ocellus' cheek.
"I'm a caring girlfriend," the changeling corrected her. "You used the wrong synonym. I think you might be grammar drunk."
"I wish I was a different drunk,' Smolder replied with a laugh. She exhaled, pushing out her frustration and allowing Ocellus' comfort and affection to fill the resulting void. "Really, though, you should have gone too."
"I've had lots of fun today." Ocellus squeezed Smolder tighter. "I got to nap, I read almost an entire book on the politics of plant life, and I got to plan my week ahead."
"Damn, and I thought I had it bad." Smolder waited a moment before angling her head and placing a kiss on the underside of Ocellus' snout. "Thank you, though. You didn't have to do this, but I... I'm glad that you were here. It felt nice not doing this alone."
Ocellus hummed, her body seeming to be taken by a nervous energy. Even from her seated position Smolder could feel the changeling's wings fluttering.
"Hey, seeing as you didn't mind spending the day indoors, how about you join me at the desk next time? You know, we could write together."
Ocellus laughed, though Smolder was sure she could feel the roll of her eyes through her embrace.
"Or maybe you could not leave it to the last minute next time? Do you want to see if we can find and join the others?"
Smolder returned her smile. "Sure, why not? We can tell them about the awesome day they missed."
And, just in case Ocellus had missed the point, she turned around and hugged her.
Ocellus inhaled sharply before turning to meet Smolder's searching gaze with as much patience as she could muster.
"Um, you're standing on me."
Realisation dripped slowly into Smolder's eyes, forcing them into the shape of saucers. "A—Again? You just keep finding your way under me, huh?"
Ocellus giggled as Smolder removed her foot, the sharp stab of pain quickly forgotten. "I know, right?" she replied above the beautiful swell of the music filling the hall. "I think I've got two left feet today."
Smolder flashed her a look that was somewhere between embarrassment and gratitude. "Honestly? You're not the only one."
Ocellus smiled, or at least tried to. Taking the form of a dragon had been beneficial in learning to dance ballroom—she had the height to lead like this, the ability to properly grip Smolder's hands with her own—but dragon faces just didn't seem to want to smile easily.
"Do you want to go again?"
Smolder looked as though she was trying to keep down her breakfast. "Do you?"
"Of course! I'm having so much fun!"
"Right… Uh, me too." Smolder exhaled, looking down at their linked hands, and then at their feet. She straightened her frame in erratic snaps, her lips working as she moved herself into the correct position. Ocellus watched as anxious colour began to stain her girlfriend's scales. She had never seen Smolder as vulnerable as she looked right now, and as much as she wanted to pull her into a protective embrace, she also felt a guilty sense of relief. It was all too easy to worry that she was the only one in the relationship staving off anxiety or self-doubt: the range of Smolder's expressions since they had started the lesson was honest, unguarded, and wonderfully reassuring.
Perhaps it was that relief that spurred her on, or perhaps it was something more mischievous altogether, but Ocellus found herself stepping forward so that her ventral scales was pressing against Smolder's. Her hand became insistent against the base of her girlfriend's shoulder blades, keeping her in place, close.
Smolder gasped and spluttered, her face turning crimson. She glanced up at Ocellus, and for a moment something beautiful and nourishing flashed in her eyes before they narrowed.
"You suck!" she hissed.
"I lead," Ocellus replied, and so she did.
They stumbled and tripped and stomped across the sprung floor of the hall, their feet clipping, their hands and arms slipping out of place and their wings flexing and flapping as they tried to keep their balance. They were awful, but Ocellus didn't care, and if the other dancers were watching them, well she didn't care about that either. She kept her eyes on Smolder's, she kept her smile on her lips, and she kept the blush on her face.
And oh! How her heart fluttered, keeping pace with the the rhythm of the music pouring from the phonograph. One two three, one two three, one two three.
At some point they gave up trying; their positions and frames collapsed entirely. With her lip between her teeth, Smolder closed her eyes and leaned into Ocellus' hold. Her arms wrapped around Ocellus, her claws dancing their own routine before gripping tight. Unable to do anything else, Ocellus copied her girlfriend's actions, leading her into a slow rotation on their part of the dancefloor.
"Are you having fun?" she whispered, enjoying the feel of her jaw moving against the top of Smolder's head and spines.
"Yeah, this is actually the best." Smolder's voice was muffled by Ocellus' scales, but it sounded warm, relieved, genuine. "Thanks for coming and trying this with me."
Smolder paused in the doorway of the dorm she shared with Ocellus, her heart full of sharp, knotted things. She had known what she would find there the moment her girlfriend failed to show in the canteen for lunch, and that knowledge had clung to her legs and squatted on her shoulders the entire way there.
The bright midday sun was fighting valiantly against the drawn curtains; its marginal success exposed dust motes in the air and old scratch marks on the furniture, but elsewhere the room had been betrayed to the shadows and gloom. Darkened planes and muted shapes reached out towards her, warning Smolder that she was not wanted here, that she did not belong. The air was stale and oppressive as she breathed it in, and the way it congealed around her senses told her everything she already knew, but didn't want to acknowledge.
That she was a coward.
More than anything, Smolder wanted to keep walking. The things hiding within the room were too dangerous, too painful to confront. She wanted to keep walking, maybe to School Counsellor Glimmer's office, or even back to the canteen to round up the others. Both options were easier, both options were still helpful.
But Ocellus needed her.
Smolder's claws left marks in the door frame as she pulled herself through. She kept her distance from the window as she approached the bed; the first couple of times Smolder had thought that allowing clean brightness into the room would help, but it turned out that that had just been another way for her to run away from her feelings.
Because seeing Ocellus like this broke her heart. And that terrified her.
The bundle of blankets on the lower bunk bed twitched as she approached, but otherwise made no attempt to relinquish its prisoner. Smolder stared at it for a few moments before taking a seat at the end of the bed.
Silence draped itself once more across the room. Smolder folded her arms, her brows furrowed. A thousand brittle sentences fought inside her head, each one sounding perfect for a fraction of a second before self-doubt and fear snapped them in two. She hated this, just hated it. She needed to be strong, to be reassuring, but in these moments she just couldn't. Her heart was beating itself to death against her ribs, her lungs trembling like startled butterflies. She knew that at best she was going to be unhelpful, and at worst, harmful.
Her gaze returned to the duvet, which she could now see was rising and falling in a gentle rhythm. Watching it, Smolder felt a spark of irritation, and for a few seconds indulged the idea of allowing it to grow into an inferno that would consume both Ocellus and herself, leaving nothing behind except ashes and the honest remains of their heritage, their essence.
But she wasn't that dragon anymore. In fact, it hurt how much that part of her slumbered these days. Aspects of her had being discarded, both willingly and reluctantly, but there didn't seem to be any rules or maps for the replacements. That was a sickening thought, and once again Smolder wanted to turn and run—to keep running and flying and whatever else it took to get someplace far away and safe and secure.
But she cared about Ocellus, so she would stand her ground. She would stand her ground and let the elements do to her as they wished.
"I'm worried about you," she said, flinching at the fragility in her voice. After a moment she placed a hand on Ocellus' buried form. "I mean, really worried, 'Cel. I don't know what to say, what will help."
After a moment, a pair of dull eyes peeked out from under the blanket.
"I'll be fine," Ocellus mumbled.
Smolder bit down the first response that came to her, choosing to exhale the hurt and anxiety instead.
"Bad day, huh?"
"Something like that."
Needles pressed down beneath Smolder's scales. She wanted to grab Ocellus and shake her, to show her how much she was worrying her, how much Smolder cared about her, but she knew from painful experience the flaws in that plan.
So instead she swallowed down another breath.
"Do you want to talk to me about any of it?"
Ocellus stared at the floor, the concealed window, anywhere but at Smolder. Smolder pretended not to notice the same way she had pretended not to notice the lethargy in her girlfriend's voice.
"Um, not really. There's not much to talk about anyway."
"Okay, no problem."
Smolder swung her dangling legs, trying to ignore the sensation of her stomach tying itself into knots. After a moment, she turned back to Ocellus.
"Do you want to just lie there and steal some cuddles from me instead?"
The range of emotions that briefly crossed Ocellus' face were like muted echoes, ghosts lost quickly to the gloom. Then, slowly, she nodded her head.
"All right then." Smolder tried on a smile. "You know, I wanted to skip out this afternoon anyway. Dressmaking and Makeup 101? Please!"
"I'm sorry!" Ocellus shrank back, and Smolder cursed under her breath. Obviously her girlfriend would see right through that.
"It was a joke, and it's fine," she replied firmly, moving up to lie beside Ocellus. She wrapped her arms around her—duvet and all—and pulled her in close. She wondered if Ocellus could feel her heartbeat through all of that.
She hoped Ocellus could feel her heartbeat through all of that.
"I'm top of the class anyway, remember," she added, hoping to spark a little fight, a little motivation. "Teacher's pet, in fact. It'll be fine, promise. 'Sides, there's nowhere else I want to be right now." She met Ocellus' gaze and smiled again. "I care about you, 'Cel."
"I care about you too," Ocellus replied, a faint smile on her lips. Her eyes closed as she exhaled. Smolder felt the tension leave her girlfriend's body, her own tension dissipating with it.
In the dim light of the store, Smolder glanced between the item in her hand and the salespony with the piercings standing behind the counter. She couldn't decide whether he was deep in thought or just bored, but either way it amounted to the same thing. He was distracted, and that was going to cost him dear.
Making a show of nodding her head to the pounding anthem coming from the speakers above, Smolder lowered a hand and unfastened one of the buckles of her satchel. She froze as the salespony moved, but a quick sideways glance confirmed that he had just reached for the sleeve of the album that was playing. She held her position for a few more moments, watching him read and listening to the crunching riffs drowning out the downpour outside. It would have been easier to steal something from beyond his line of sight, but where was the fun in that? Besides, she had to do something to reignite the old thrill. Indulging her heritage had become an increasingly frustrating experience of late.
Keeping an eye on the salespony, she moved to place the item in her satchel.
"This place is amazing!"
Smolder bit back a cry of surprise as Ocellus appeared at her side, brandishing a bulging plastic bag and chittering excitedly. The smile on her face was one that only Ocellus could wear, balanced precariously between genuine, unguarded pleasure and the anxiety of having that pleasure judged.
"Look," she continued, so busy pulling things from the bag that she didn't see Smolder hastily thrusting the item back on the shelf. "I bought some t-shirts! And records!"
Smolder glanced past her at the salespony, who was now half-watching them, and swallowed down her frustration. Taking the proffered t-shirts, she unfolded them.
"Redemption Hypocrisy and... Tartarus Apocalypse? Check you out, 'Cel, diving straight in to the magma chamber." She raised an eyebrow, only half in jest. "What's next? Planning on giving out black eyes with me at the next BloodFest or something?"
Ocellus' angled cheeks darkened as she pushed the t-shirts back into the bag. "Oh! Well, um... Not really, no. It's just that we're still learning so much about music back home, you see. I hadn't even heard of metal until I came to Ponyville." Her smile became almost wistful for a moment, before Ocellus realised that it was under scrutiny. "And then you played that record last week. It's so..."
"Awesome?"
"Powerful!" Ocellus' head twitched as she considered her assessment. Then she nodded. "It's hard to describe. Listening to it, um, I just get this feeling, like I have so much energy, like I can do anything I want and who cares what anyone thinks... Within reason, of course."
"Of course." A teasing wisp of smoke escaped from Smolder's mouth as she laughed. "So no black eyes then."
Ocellus hid her smile with a hoof. "No black eyes." Her gaze dropped to Smolder's hands. "Aren't you going to buy something? I thought you wanted to come here?"
"I wanted to get out of the rain, but sure." Smolder's eyes returned to the shelf beside her. "I dunno, I keep coming back to these collars. Y'know, for my tail." She retrieved the one she had almost stole and turned it over in her hand. "I mean, it looks pretty cool, right? Spikes and all that."
Ocellus clapped her hooves together, her smile widening. "Oh definitely, and pink really suits you."
Smolder felt warmth spreading across her face. "Spikes suit me too," she replied, although her muted hiss didn't stand a chance against the fury now spilling out from the speakers.
Ocellus stepped closer and tapped Smolder's cheek. "Definitely suits you," she said with a laugh. Her expression fell as Smolder wordlessly returned the collar to its shelf. "Did I say something wrong? You should buy it if you want it... It really would suit you."
Smolder glared at the floor. It felt as though someone had started stabbing needles beneath her scales, and the sensation became worse every time she entertained the idea of actually paying for the collar. When she looked back up at Ocellus, it was clear that her girlfriend had been reading her mind.
"You're going to steal it, aren't you?"
Smolder exhaled, then shrugged, hoping that it made her look more indifferent than she felt. "I was thinking about it."
Ocellus tilted her head, her expression was unreadable. Then she nodded.
"I'll go distract the salespony."
She turned and walked towards the counter without waiting for a response, which was good because Smolder didn't actually have one. Feelings that were still weird and ill-fitting made their presence known, feelings like gratitude and appreciation, but it didn't take long for the needling discomfort to return and smother them. Was it really okay for her to still be like this? Wasn't she supposed to make at least some concessions now that she had actual friends, now that she had an actual girlfriend? Ocellus didn't agree with the dragon principle that if something can be taken it should be taken, but she was putting those doubts aside, along with her own timidity, to make Smolder's life easier, to make her happy.
Her hands balled into fists. Knowing that actually made her feel worse. Grabbing the collar from the shelf, Smolder decided to do the right thing.
"Hey!" Her voice roared over the music. Both the salespony and Ocellus looked across the store at her, nonplussed. Smolder held the collar aloft and glared at them. "I'm taking this and I'm not paying!"
And then she ran from the shop.
Ocellus found her beneath the vaulted shelter of the market cross a few minutes later. Her girlfriend was clearly trying, and failing, to disguise her mirth, which actually made Smolder feel better about the whole experience.
"So... That happened," she said, taking a seat beside Smolder and flicking the rain from her carapace.
"That it did," Smolder replied.
Ocellus nodded, and then pulled a small bag from her own satchel. "Do you want some lunch?"
"Maybe in a bit." Smolder looked at her askance. "Sorry for, y'know," she waved a hand, "everything. Sometimes I wish I could change how I am; sometimes I wish I could just stop changing."
Ocellus unwrapped a sandwich and nibbled on it, leaning her head against Smolder's shoulder.
"I feel the same," she replied. "But at least we're changing and fighting change together. I don't want you to ever feel like you're doing it alone. I don't want you to ever feel like you want to do it alone."
They sat quietly for a moment, enjoying the contact and watching the rain smash against the cobblestones. Smolder turned the collar over and over in her hands.
"You paid for it, didn't you?"
Ocellus coughed and spluttered, fragments of sandwich spraying to the ground. She looked away, her snout upturned.
"I also don't want you going to jail. Now give me that collar."
Smolder tossed it to her, a smile on her lips. Ocellus worked deftly and gently, tightening the collar until it was snug against the scales on Smolder's tail. "It really does suit you," she said, the smile in her voice obvious.
"I know," Smolder replied around the rest of Ocellus' sandwich.
It's like the sun is rising in my chest—that's the nearest I can come to putting it into words. When our hands touch, our fingers locking in place like jigsaw pieces, it feels just like that. And it terrifies me, honestly; the sun is so radiant and beautiful and nourishing, and yet it has this tremendous potential to burn and scorch, leaving nothing behind of the world but the husk of a dream that was too weak to survive. It makes me dizzy if I think about it, but I want to think about it. I want to lose myself in the painful longing and the greedy desire because, although I can't be certain, I think this is what it's supposed to feel like.
We sit on branches, our backs pressed against a trunk that's too gnarled to be truly comfortable, but it makes the fact that we are comfortable all the more satisfying. The hanging clusters of leaves, stained by the light of the new day, flutter and brush against my face. I don't know whether to be irritated by their attempts to share the moment—to be honest, there is still so much about all of this that I don't know, about what I feel and what I should feel.
All I do know is that I want to be here. With her.
Smolder's eyes are closed, but I can tell she's awake, sort of. I still don't quite understand how dragons nap, how Smolder manages to remain alert and ready when her gentle snoring suggests the contrary. Even when I take on their form, as I'm doing now, the gifts of their species eludes me.
But taking on their form creates opportunities for other experiences, like being able to hold things differently. I know it probably doesn't sound like much, but the sensation of being connected with Smolder in that way, of feeling her fingers tightening between my own, is so intense, so wonderful. It's a simple thing to her, I guess, but oh, how I've grown to crave these moments of unique intimacy.
There's a strange fragility to the air that I'm reluctant to disturb, so I gaze askance rather than risk turning my head. Our fingers are threaded, flaxen scales meeting orange scales meeting flaxen scales, the colours of dawn overseeing the union. Smolder's grip is strong, and I wish that I could match it. I wish I could show her how much I want to keep holding on to her in this way, to keep our jigsaw pieces pressed tight. Because they're strange, our pieces, from different boxes, and it frightens me how rare it is for pieces from separate puzzles to fit together the way our fingers do, the way we do.
I've never felt like this before; nothing I've ever experienced in my life has prepared me for how she makes me feel. But the sun inside of me will continue rising, and I know I'm going to give it everything I've got to keep it radiant and nourishing, and from burning us both.
In these moments, I often find myself wondering if Smolder thinks about these things too.
But when she finally stirs, turning to look at me with those blue eyes, I know that I have my answer.
They left Ponyville at dawn because Ocellus wanted to enjoy the forest coming alive around them. Smolder had been indifferent about that, but she wanted to enjoy Ocellus coming alive around her and so had agreed to the idea without complaint.
And the forest had duly obliged; the air between the mossy trees ran with pink and lavender hues, sparkling dew studding the leaves and flowers which shivered from the attention. As Smolder and Ocellus walked, the snap-snapping of the undergrowth beneath them was joined by the songs of birds and crickets. The forest bore the birth of every adventure, every journey, and though she wasn't a dragon prone to introspection, or admitting she was wrong, Smolder felt a yearning deep within her as she gazed around.
But Ocellus had been right about too many things already that week, and so Smolder refused to acknowledge the growing feeling, even to herself.
Around her the forest continued to be beautiful, out of either ignorance or spite.
Ocellus was dropping further and further behind, and Smolder glanced over her shoulder as she climbed past a stricken tree. The camping trip was supposed to last a couple of days, and they had packed accordingly. Although Smolder had shouldered the burden of their tent, bedding and utensils, her girlfriend had still been left with all of their provisions and technical equipment, and it was clear she was struggling under the weight of her saddlebags. Her gait had become laboured, her breath disturbing the calm of the forest in erratic bursts.
As she scaled the tree trunk, Ocellus' eyes met Smolder's. For a moment, Smolder found herself wanting to give voice to the question that had been on her lips for the past hour. She swallowed it back down though, and instead pulled free one of the canteens tied to the belt around her waist. Tossing it to Ocellus, Smolder stretched her arms above her head as she watched her girlfriend drink her fill.
And then, without a word, they continued.
Smolder wasn't a dragon prone to introspection, but such moments still caused discomfort. She wanted to help Ocellus for lots of reasons, but mainly because she cared about her. Well, she cared about her and it felt good to show off how much she had started to own the recent changes in her values. But mainly it was the caring thing.
She knew however that Ocellus didn't want help, at least not now. It was for the same reason that she had waved off Silverstream's suggestion of turning into something big and strong to help manage the load. Silverstream might not have seen the way Ocellus had flinched at the word, but Smolder was used to noticing when something was amiss with her hoard. Her girlfriend had fought with herself for the best part of the year to feel comfortable wanting to be noticed; this latest battle was seemingly now about being worthy of that notice.
Smolder didn't know if she agreed with Ocellus' reasons, but it was enough for her that she had reasons. Besides, Smolder was a dragon, and if there was any desire a dragon could respect others having it was that of wanting to become stronger.
And within a minute of walking her girlfriend was keeping pace at her side once again. Her lip was still pressed tight between her teeth and her chest was still heaving, but her expression was now fierce, painted by the shadows from the morning sun. She bumped her side into Smolder's, looking up at her with a grin that carried both gratitude and a challenge.
And though she wasn't a dragon prone to introspection, Smolder realised then that she had fallen completely in love.
Ocellus didn't mean for the words to spill out like a challenge, but the growing pressure from carrying them around in her head all day had made anything more polite a luxury. She became a rigid line, afraid of showing the slightest trace of anxiety. Anxiety in others reassured Smolder, and Ocellus didn't want her girlfriend feeling reassured at a moment like this.
"I'm not being 'distant'." Smolder didn't look up, choosing instead to frown at the pot bubbling in front of her. Echoes of the campfire danced across her scales as she stirred, fighting with the afternoon light for dominion. The contest made Smolder into something ethereal, a creature without a permanent form, and after a moment of battling with her feelings Ocellus was forced to look away.
"This field trip is hard work, that's all," Smolder continued, taking out the ladle and setting it aside. "I'm beat, 'Cel, and it's hoarding season. I should have had at least two naps today already."
Ocellus tried to sigh, but it escaped as a whimpered hiss. She looked around the clearing where they had set up camp, watching the amber hues soak the world around her. The others would be back from their own duties soon, but until then it was just her and Smolder, and she needed to make the time count. The tents shifted in the breeze, puffing and relaxing within its grasp. They had it easy, she decided. By contrast it felt as though her insides were being ripped out and tossed about.
She held her position for as long as she could bear, her eyes fixed on the mossy ground, her entire being willing Smolder to bridge the silence with something reassuring. But that effort created a void inside of her that needed filling, and in the absence of reassurance doubt and fear crept in.
"You're not being honest with me," she murmured. "There's something's wrong, isn't there?"
There must have been something telling in her tone, because Smolder flinched as though she had been bitten. She looked up at Ocellus with eyes like cracked ice. Her mouth opened, and then closed again.
Ocellus stared at her, numb, trying to find some weakness in her girlfriend's posture she could latch onto. The words had felt like poison on her tongue, and a dizzy despair settled under her chitin as she waited for Smolder to respond.
Without warning, Smolder lashed her tail against the ground. "Nothing's wrong," she replied. Her eyes courted the flickering shadows as she hugged her knees close. "And we're great, if that's what you're worried about. I'm just... I need to..." She shook her head.
Ocellus felt something flutter within her chest. She yearned to close the distance between them, to take Smolder in her forelegs and let that contact make everything okay again, but fear held her back. "Just what? Need what? You've been acting strange with me all day, Smolder. You vanished before breakfast and you've barely said two words to me since. I had to switch duties with Yona just so I could cook camp dinner with you."
"Believe me, you did everyone a favour there."
"Smolder!"
Smolder's eyes narrowed, a sharp veneer draping itself across her frame. "'Cel, I've been a little bit quiet for, like, one day. You don't need to... You don't have to be so worried about us all the time."
"Well one of us has to be!" Ocellus swallowed, listening to the shrill echo of her voice fleeing the clearing. She took a breath, reaching a foreleg towards her girlfriend. "Sorry. I care about you, about us. And I know it's just one day, and I know what I'm like, but it's weird you being like this. I told you before that I didn't want us to go through problems alone. It feels like you're trying to."
Smolder held her gaze for a moment, her eyes hardening and softening in rapid sequence. Then her shoulders sagged. Thin wisps of smoke trailed from her mouth, a fleeting white flag that was quickly lost to the sky.
"Look, it's just... It's just something I have to do alone, okay?" She placed a hand on Ocellus' leg. "There's stuff in me I have to deal with. I'm not trying to make you feel bad."
Ocellus stared at the orange scales against the faded blue of her chitin, wishing that the contact would become something more. "Dragon stuff, or us stuff?"
"Eh? Oh." Smolder chewed her lip for a moment, then sat up straight. "Kinda both, I guess."
Ocellus felt her stomach twist itself into a knot. Something began to fill her—a warmth that was determined, but which masked a sickly afterglow. "Both? Um... Should I be—?"
"No." Smolder squeezed her foreleg. "Don't be stupid. Don't ever be that stupid." She looked at Ocellus, the irritation on her face fading away to be replaced by something else, something vulnerable and brittle.
Ocellus blinked as the warmth within her began to suddenly blossom, pushing itself into every nook and chink within her chitin. She inclined her head, her tongue probing the edges of her lips. It was like a dream had been made real inside of her, nourishing her body with its immense vitality despite being frightened of its own existence.
And it felt delicious. Ocellus could barely bite back a gasp as the warmth wrapped itself around her heart. She closed her eyes and leaned towards the source, craving more. She felt the anxiety of the sensation, the fragility of it. And as a beautiful sleepiness overcame her, Ocellus felt the love.
Love!?
Her eyes snapped open. "S—Smolder...?"
Smolder had stiffened, her knuckles pale around the shaft of the ladle, her wings appearing as though they had been trapped mid-flap. The only concession to motion her girlfriend was making was the deep blush spreading across her cheeks. Her eyes shone like the setting sun.
"Oh damn, y—you felt that? Oh damn!" She backed away as though Ocellus had turned into an tatzlwurm. "Look, I didn't... I'm not..." She shook her head fiercely, her face turning crimson.
Ocellus felt pinpricks of heat beneath her chitin. "Smolder, I didn't mean to, it just—"
"No, wait... Gimme a minute. It wasn't supposed to happen like this. Urgh, what am I even doing?" Smolder shook her head, scrubbing a hand across her eyes. Dew-like beads dribbled down her scales to her clawtips, and for the first time since Ocellus had known her, Smolder looked genuinely terrified.
"You... You weren't supposed to know, not yet." Smolder's chest heaved. "I'm not even... I need..."
A shudder ran the length of her body, and then with an awful look in her eyes Smolder pumped her wings and soared into the sky.
Ocellus didn't know how long she remained staring at the point where her girlfriend had vanished. But when the voices of her friends and the smell of burning stew came into focus, she realised it had been too long, and what that probably meant.
Smolder had only cried once before in her life; the memory of letting her first hoard—a collection of basalt rocks that had been flecked like the night sky—being taken by another dragon still made her toes curl from embarrassment. But as her brother had advised her, after he had finished pummelling her for the stones and again for her moment of weakness, if someone steals something from you, you just hit them hard and steal it back.
And that had proved to be a simple solution to a simple problem.
Smolder knew though, the moment that they had forced her to abandon her flight, that these tears would not be solved so quickly and effectively. As she skulked in a tree like a fearful whelp, it felt as though her whole body was being ripped in two—the pony side and the dragon side—and the fragile stitches that had bound them together were unravelling under the strain. Her heart ached exactly like she knew it would, even though a dragon's really shouldn't. She could barely draw breath, her regrets and frustrations spat into the cooling air in ragged bursts. Her eyes burned, the dull pain alien and unnerving.
She had blown it. She had blown it big time. Not with Ocellus, maybe, but with herself. She couldn't say it, she couldn't even admit it, own it, despite how much she had tried. At the end of everything, she was still a dragon, still a hard, tough, uncompromising force of nature. But Ocellus had slowly made her feel something, had made her feel as though she could be something a little different, as though she didn't have to be hard and tough and uncompromising, but caring and honest and vulnerable.
And as she sat in the tree, watching the breeze harass the branches, the scent of pine taking the opportunity to escape, Smolder realised how much she wanted to be different. How much she wanted that caring and honest and vulnerable skin to be as comfortable and as natural as her own.
She straightened, ripping the nearby branches free and throwing pine cones at passing birds and squirrels, but such spiteful defences were easily scaled by the rising, frothing emotions within her. She could suddenly feel the sensation of Ocellus leaning against her, their bodies fitting together in ways that shouldn't really have worked; she could hear the wild staccato of her girlfriend's giggles, the intakes of breath whenever she discovered something new and wonderful.
And it had been she who had made Ocellus laugh, she who had discovered those things with her. Those memories, those feelings, it had been those which had bound her competing pieces together, and which, now exposed, were instead becoming the thinnest of blades. They slipped beneath her scales, jabbing and slicing in time with every heartbeat, every ragged breath.
For a few moments her blood raged against such traitorous things. She pulled back her hand and struck the trunk of the tree again and again, her claws turning it into a mass of scar tissue and oozing wounds. She continued to strike it long after her hand had become numb.
And then her fire went out.
Smolder pawed at her eyes, leaning her horns against the forgiving strength of the tree. Her lips tried to rediscover the shape of the word she had wanted to say, but it remained a stranger to them. Every time it crept close, jagged icicles formed in the pit of her stomach, and panic surged between her scales.
She was scared. By Cinderfoot's hoard, she was so scared.
Tears escaped her eyes, huddling into beads across her scales and turning the evening sunlight into something savage. Sensing an opening, Smolder's darkest fears moved to consume her.
Maybe she had changed. Maybe the terrible reality wasn't that she couldn't change, but that she would never be able to change enough.
(ii)
Ocellus had lost track of the number of times in her life that she had cried. It wasn't an act she was particularly ashamed of—sad or scary things happened, and you cried. It was simple cause and effect. Sometimes she was ashamed of the things that made her cry though. Things that no doubt seemed quite trivial to her friends, things like not having the energy to climb out of bed to face the day, or feeling so anxious about presenting her poetry to the rest of the class that she would throw up. It was still a source of shame for Ocellus just how easily she could fall apart, and how easily falling apart made her cry until her chest burned and her throat felt full of glass.
Ocellus knew though, the moment she had tried to explain to the others at the camp what had happened, that she was not going to let this become one of those moments. With barely an explanation chittered to Headmare Twilight and her friends, Ocellus pulled herself apart and into the familiar frame of a dragon, and soared above the forest in pursuit of her girlfriend.
It felt like her head had been turned into one of the battlefields that so fascinated her during history class. A part of her, desperate, unyielding and unwilling to become a single entity again now that she had tasted a union more potent than the distant echoes of her life as part of the old Changeling hive. Opposing it, the part of her that was tempered by and anchored to the world of ponies and friendship, the part of her that knew that Smolder was hurting and confused.
Because she was in love. For the first time, Smolder was in love—with her.
Ocellus scanned the treeline beneath her, a giddy flush spreading across her face. Smolder loved her. Smolder loved her. She allowed the memory of that delicious sensation to soak into her being, suddenly afraid that she would otherwise forget or reimagine it into something less genuine.
For a moment she could feel the sensation of Smolder leaning against her, their bodies fitting together in ways that shouldn't really have worked; she could the hesitant rasp of her voice as they took turns reading the pages of novels during sunny afternoons, and she could see the flames in her eyes whenever they were separated by a chessboard.
And for the first time, Ocellus felt her own flames grow in earnest, consuming both her body and mind. She felt the determination within her that Smolder had helped to nurse into existence, and silently demanded it to grow further still.
She loved Smolder. She loved Smolder with all of her heart, and even if her girlfriend could never reciprocate those words, Ocellus wanted to be able tell her that.
A tremor passed through her body as she swooped lower, the tips of the trees tickling her feet.
She had changed—they both had. Ocellus just hoped that they hadn't changed too much.
Shock had transformed Ocellus' body into a twisted edifice of ridges and angles. Her lungs strained under the change, pumping with an alien rhythm that was at odds with the staccato beat of her heart. Her mouth opened and closed, trying to find some purchase on the words that were clinging to her tongue, dizzy and uncoordinated. She had rehearsed them over and over during her flight, and their betrayal smothered the confidence she had been nurturing.
And all the while Smolder simply held her tight, her head nestled in the crook of her neck.
Ocellus inhaled warm air, her eyes fixed on the waves of heather dancing around them as she tried to figure out what to do. All of the words and gestures, all of the vulnerabilities she wanted to expose, had been lost to the wind the moment she had seen her girlfriend heading back towards the campsite. Smolder had been stomping through the scruffy fields of heather with such purpose, her shoulders like mountains and her tail whipping shadows across the amber light, that Ocellus' resolve had been eroded before she had even landed.
The memory of Smolder's eyes resurfaced, and Ocellus' body succumbed willfully to a terrible, wonderful shudder. Like glass glittering in the dusk, those eyes had momentarily betrayed her girlfriend. Ocellus had felt her throat tighten at the sight of them, but she had pinned down her doubts and returned the stare. As chitin replaced scale and hoof replaced claw, Ocellus had tried to ignore the sensation that her courage too was little more than just false skin.
And then suddenly Smolder had moved, and the world had spun as Ocellus was pulled into an embrace so tight that she had almost felt her carapace crack and give way. It had never been like Smolder to be so unguarded, and the honesty of it had left her reeling.
It was all so clear now. Everything made sense. Ocellus braced her hind legs and pressed her mouth to her girlfriend's ear.
"You're an idiot."
Smolder laughed. It was a beautiful sound, a broken mess of raspy mirth, brittle glass and shuddering sobs. "I'm a scared girlfriend," she replied. "You used the wrong synonym. I think you might be emotion drunk."
Ocellus wrapped her forelegs around Smolder's waist, the memory from that evening in their dorm room returning strong. There was a fragility to her girlfriend's voice, as though it was floating on water and likely to sink beneath the surface at any moment. It snagged in Ocellus' throat, but she couldn't deny that she also felt relieved. She was with Smolder. She was holding the real Smolder.
"You're not a scared girlfriend," she murmured. "You're just scared. I am too you know."
"It's not the same." Smolder's claws pressed a little tighter into Ocellus' back. "You don't understand."
Ocellus pressed her lips against the side of one of Smolder's horns. The sawdust purr that escaped from her girlfriend's mouth pushed back against the growing dusk, and as she followed its trajectory Ocellus realised she had been getting it wrong. It wasn't about disproving Smolder's fears at all.
"I'm... I'm scared of losing myself to be with you."
It was about letting them exist. It was about letting hers exist too.
Smolder pulled back to look at her, disbelief and uncertainty fighting for control of her face. As she moved the light caught the thin streams drying on her scales, turning them into glittering arcs. Smolder must have noticed her staring, for her hand flew up as though to scrub them from existence. Then she paused, her whole body growing tense.
Ocellus kept her eyes on Smolder's, her breath bursting to escape her throat.
Slowly, Smolder's hand returned to Ocellus' waist. Her girlfriend's snout was lifted in defiance, though her eyes again betrayed her.
"I was coming back to you," she said, her voice scratchy. "I wasn't running away."
Ocellus resisted the urge to pull her back into an embrace. "I know. At least, I realised after a lot of thinking."
Smolder winced, her tail lashing the heather behind her. "I made a mess of that, huh?"
"You handled it about as well as I usually do," Ocellus replied with a laugh. "We're, uh, we're pretty bad at this aren't we?"
A toothy grin bloomed across Smolder's face. "We're the absolute worst," she said, and suddenly Ocellus was back in her arms. "But we're also the best."
Ocellus nodded, and for a moment enjoyed the sensation of being so close to Smolder again. The darkening amber hues stained their bodies, muting the tones into one beautiful spectrum. A shiver rippled through her body as she pressed her face against her girlfriend's ventral scales.
Smolder cleared her throat. "Hey... I just wanted to say... I, uh, I don't know when I'm going to feel comfortable with all this. You know, really comfortable and... stuff."
Ocellus pressed a kiss against her scales. "Me neither. Honestly."
The weight of Smolder's head came down gently on top of her own. "I can't promise... I'm probably gonna do something stupid again, you know? At some point. Probably." A hiss escaped her mouth. "Lost hoards, I'm making a mess of this."
"I know." Ocellus leaned back so that she could meet Smolder's gaze. Her smile resisted all efforts to keep it under control, and eventually she gave up trying. Everything felt perfect. Everything felt honest. "I know you can't promise, I mean. And again, me too."
Smolder laughed at that. "You're so damn reasonable."
"That's because you're so dramatic."
"You ass!" Smolder leapt forward, tackling Ocellus playfully. The pair of them fell giggling amongst the heather and grass, the scent of disturbed magic catching in the breeze, staining the cooling air around them. Then they lay still, side by side, arms and forelegs linked, and stared up up at the jigsaw of reds and browns above.
"I love you," Ocellus whispered.
Smolder opened her mouth for what felt like the longest time before closing it again. Ocellus smiled. It didn't matter, she knew what her girlfriend was trying to say.
And when Smolder turned to look at her, when it suddenly felt as though her heart was drowning in the sun and the stars and everything wonderful, she knew that Smolder did too.
Ocellus kept her eyes fixed on the table beneath her forelegs. Her lungs twitched against her carapace, a double-beat warning that she accepted without challenge or complaint. Slowly, she exhaled, and tried to focus on smoothing out the jagged rattle escaping her lips.
The rest of the library crept back to life. It was always quiet during the hours before breakfast, and if she concentrated, Ocellus knew she would almost be able to hear the books on the shelves stirring as the morning light invaded their surfaces and cracks.
And Ocellus concentrated. She concentrated like her life depended on it.
Opposite her, Smolder was sat with her arms folded. Ocellus knew that her girlfriend's eyes were still wide and incredulous, the same way she knew that they were still underlined by hues of candy floss and cinnamon. She knew because the taste was threatening to intoxicate her in the way only Smolder's feelings could.
"Awful?" Her girlfriend's rasping voice bent the word into a strange shape. "Wow."
Ocellus' head snapped up. "I didn't say awful, Smolder! I would never say that." Her lungs twitched again as Smolder raised an eyebrow. Slowly, she traced the echo that was still pressed against her lips. "I, um, said it was sharp, and a little bit pointy—" she cleared her throat "—and, um, cold."
Smudges of charcoal snaked out from Smolder's nose. "My bad. That definitely doesn't sound like awful."
Despite the erratic violence of her heart, Ocellus felt frustration begin to stir within. She wanted to be the better beast, but her own embarrassment and disappointment demanded acknowledgement too. The taste of Smolder's emotions mixing with her own, becoming an inseparable mess as they fused and shattered into galaxies of flavours, was usually like nothing else she had ever experienced. This time was no different, of course, only now the flavours were acrid and sharp, and reluctant to be swallowed. It was all so frustrating.
"Well if you want to abridge what I was saying," she snapped, "then yes. It was. Awful!"
Smolder's face momentarily betrayed her. In the warm silence of the library her features tightened, her smile forgetting its duty to look dangerous or predatory, or whatever it was that Smolder liked to hide behind during their arguments. It only lasted a second, but Ocellus was convinced she would never be able to forget how those changes tasted. They were delicious, but oh how they stung; in that moment Ocellus felt like a hunter who was about to consume her last living prey.
Her frustration only lasted a second too. Acknowledged, it slunk back down into whatever dark cavity it grew nourishment from, and Ocellus felt a craving to fill the void in her body with something kinder. She lunged across the table and swept up Smolder's claw between her hooves. Her girlfriend tensed, but after a moment Ocellus felt claws tighten around her.
A heartbeat later, she tried on a smile. "I bet I was awful, too."
A heartbeat later, Smolder allowed her eyes to meet Ocellus'. "Sharp, pointy and cold, if I remember right."
A heartbeat later, they burst out laughing.
"It was a dumb idea anyway," Smolder continued, once the librarian had finished chastising them. Her face had begun to relax into the safe angles Ocellus so often loved to lose herself in. "Dragons don't kiss and changelings don't kiss. It's just some dumb pony custom when you think about it."
Ocellus giggled, but she had heard the forced edge to her girlfriend's mocking words. More importantly, she had noticed Smolder had made no attempt to hide it from her either. Ocellus studied her as she scratched trenches into the table with her claws.
"I wanted it to work, too, you know," she replied. "I wanted to taste, to feel, everything we were told kissing means, and I wanted to feel it with you."
Smolder opened her mouth, but whatever words she had planned to say had sharpened into a laugh by the time they emerged. "Yeah... You get me, 'Cell."
"And you me, my love." Ocellus held Smolder's gaze, revelling in the heat prickling between the gaps in her carapace. "I think it was worth trying, too. It would be nice to share something like a kiss, don't you think? Ponies seem to enjoy it as a real act of intimacy."
"Intimacy, huh?" Smolder scratched her snout before leaning closer across the table. Her hand tightened around Ocellus' hooves again. "Hey, 'Cell. So... I've got this idea. How about we go outside—somewhere quiet, you know? And then maybe I can—"
"Yes?" The word squeaked from Ocellus as though it had a mind of its own. Heat stung her cheeks as she pressed her hooves against her mouth, nodding for Smolder to continue. Smolder studied her for a moment, and then her smile became something dangerous.
"I was saying, how about we go outside, find somewhere quiet, and I could—"
Ocellus squeaked again. Her wings fluttered and spasmed, scattering the scrolls and notepaper from the table.
"—drop a rock on your head!"
Ocellus blushed madly. Then her brain caught up. "Wait, what!?"
"S'what dragons do, of course." Smolder sat back and shrugged. "Why, what did you think I was talking about?"
"N—Nothing!" Ocellus snapped. She tore her hoof away and glared at Smolder. "And why would I let you do that to me anyway? You're awful sometimes, Smolder!"
"Only sometimes?" Smolder laughed. "Seriously though, 'Cell, it works and it's straight to the point. Wanna let a dragon know you're into 'em?" Just drop a rock straight onto their nut. The bigger the rock, the mushier you feel."
"And the mushier they feel too, I bet!"
Smolder burst out laughing, her eyes catching the sunlight like broken glass. "Yeah, that is a danger, sure." She drummed her claws on the table, and despite herself Ocellus was pleased that her girlfriend seemed happier. "What do you think we should do then? It's not like I can go around chowing down on intimacy like you do."
"Another con to dating you, true." Ocellus drummed her hooves on the table as she thought. "Something we can both do..."
She closed her eyes, trying to imagine something that would feel as real to her and Smolder as kissing did to ponies. Something that expressed love and affection, that nursed an intimacy they could both feel. Something that connected them together in a way that felt childishly infinite, but which could in time grow into something more mature, more wise.
She grunted as something gently bumped against her head. Then every star in the universe was suddenly thrust into her heart, each one fighting for space to bloom and shine. Ocellus felt her horn press against something solid, yet yielding; jagged edges of chitin slid and bumped along the surface of the object, before finally coming to rest within tight embracing grooves.
It felt like home. Ocellus shivered. No, it felt like every home she had ever known, and it felt like every home she would ever know. She could feel her heartbeat travelling up and out through her horn, becoming one with the heartbeat that was pulsing through the object. She opened her eyes, already certain of what she would see.
Smolder had climbed onto the table on all fours, her head bowed just above Ocellus', their horns locked tight.
"So... How about this?" Smolder's voice was a brittle rasp, and her cheeks looked as though they were ready to burn the library down. Somehow, it made Ocellus want to touch them even more.
Taking her girlfriend's face in her hooves, Ocellus placed a small kiss on her snout. It was sharp. It was pointy. It was cold.
"You know, when Professor Applejack told me you were staying behind after classes today, I didn't expect to find you here."
Smolder pulled her gaze away from her efforts long enough to throw a lazy smile over her shoulder. Standing back in one of the arched entrances to the school quad, Ocellus was wearing an expression that was shifting between curiosity and excitement. Like the dutiful girlfriend she was, Smolder indulged the latter first.
"So where did you expect to find me?"
"Detention of course!" Ocellus' face allowed her smile a moment's grace before dumping it onto the lush grass at her hooves. "You know, that sounded a lot better in my head."
Smolder looked back and grinned. "Well, we can't both be the cool, funny one everyone has the hots for. Being socially awkward and nerding it up in class is your half of our whole, remember?"
Ocellus blew a raspberry before setting off across the smooth marble circles studding the lawn. Her snout lifted slightly as she trotted, her wings following suit and trembling with demure outrage. "So says the dragon who is 'absolutely destined to follow in my hoofsteps, darling'."
"You know it's creepy when you only change your voice, yeah?"
"Duly noted." Ocellus craned her head as she walked, trying to peek behind Smolder. Responding the only way she knew how, Smolder shifted her kneeling position, placing herself between her hoard and the interloper. A frown darkened Ocellus' face, one that was only just more curious than affronted.
"So what are you doing here?"
"Gardening, duh."
The frown faded like a shadow being chased by the sun. Suddenly, Ocellus was wearing the same expression Professor Applejack had worn when Smolder had told her that her dog had eaten her homework. She had been telling the truth then, too—Professor Applejack's dog had eaten her homework.
"Gardening."
"What are you looking at me like that for, 'Cel?" Smolder crammed every inch of her smile with fangs. "You don't think gardening is cool?"
"What!? I—I never said..." Ocellus spluttered at the accusation. "I know it's cool, Smolder! I tell you that all of the time! I've just never seen you do any."
Smolder lifted her arms high and stretched until her muscles prickled. "I planted some periwinkles here a few weeks back, and I come every day to help them grow. Something Professor Applejack said really stirred up my magma, you know? When she was talking about how you can't always see that a plant is growing, but they are anyway. Every day they get tougher and stronger and, uh," Smolder almost had to shake the word from her mouth, "prettier. It kinda reminded me of us."
A blush more intense and beautiful than anything in the garden spread across Ocellus' face. She leaned in to bump horns, and Smolder felt complete once again.
"That is so cheesy," Ocellus giggled.
"It's definitely creepy when you're doing my voice." Smolder laughed, pushing Ocellus away. "And yeah, it's cheesy. But I dunno, 'Cel, I guess you make being cheesy okay. Uh, sometimes."
Her girlfriend hummed softly as she sat down beside her. "So, are you saying that these periwinkles a symbol of our... Love?"
"Ocellus!" Smolder spluttered as the fire inside of her chest surged outwards. She breathed out the embarrassment, and made sure she sighed extra-loud, just so her girlfriend didn't think she was getting everything her way. "I guess it is, if you want it to be."
"So let me see them, then!" Ocellus chittered, shoving Smolder aside with surprising strength. "I want to see how our love is blooming!"
Silence filled the quad as they stared at the bed of dead periwinkles.
"I'm choosing to not read anything into this," Ocellus whispered.
So I found this dumb old diary in the stash beneath my pillow. Well, I guess Ocellus found it really. I lovelove her and all, but by Firestorm's wrath she can be so fussy! So what if I've got 'half of the school' (as if, I'm not that greedy) under there? Have you tried sleeping on a pony pillow? It's like being eaten alive by a hug. So I put a few things under there to keep it nice and hard and pointy—you know, some gems and stuff, the pot Ocellus made in ceramics class that I totally didn't break and totally didn't hide. Oh, and Thistledown's Spear of Temperance, and that weird lock of Star Swirl the Bearded's mane that Headmare Twilight keeps in her desk for some reason. Probably some other stuff too, I guess.
Point is, Ocellus said she couldn't get comfortable, so I had to take it all out. And now I can't get comfortable while she's snoring like a whelp. Are you supposed to have to give so much in a relationship? This feels like a pretty epic sacrifice.
But yeah, I found this diary. Didn't Counsellor Glimmer give us these at the start of the year? Well, whatever. Mine was empty, of course. I have way too many things to do without having to write down my thoughts and feelings, or whatever sappy felsic crap we were supposed to be doing with it.
But here I am, huh.
So I thought I'd write about Ocellus This is stupid. Ocellus is stupid.
Huh, I even feel bad when I write it. Even when it's not true.
Anyway, I'm in our dorm room and I'm bored. Ocellus is asleep in my bed, on my crappy soft death pillow, and I don't want to leave her on her own. She kinda had a rough day at school. I mean, a rough day for her is still a better day than most of us can manage, but still. It's Ocellus. She's totally lame at dealing with things like bad grades or not being able to work out some theorem the first time of asking. And I guess she just had too many of those little things today. Enough fractures will wreck a magma chamber, after all.
Huh. This is easier than I thought.Whatever.
Ocellus is fine, though. She's got this awesome-cool new way of dealing with the hard days. And it kinda makes me feel bad because I like watching her dealing with them. Does that mean I like it when she has hard days? I do kinda look forward to them.
I'm a good dragon. Does that make me a bad girlfriend?
Whatever. I think. Maybe I could speak to Counsellor Glimmer about this. Beats writing dumb stuff down in this thing anyway. I mean, how is this even supposed to help? Not like it can talk back or give me answers or anything.
So yeah. Ocellus rocks out when she's had a bad day.
It's probably the coolest thing I've ever seen.
You can hear she's had a bad day first. On the way back to the dorms, I mean. She always gets her loudest records out—Tartarus Apocalypse are her favourite band at the moment—and she just stays in our dorm room screaming along and moshin' about the place. And wow, she can really scream. Today I just watched her for I don't know how long. Uh, it was a while though. It made me want to laugh when she was singing to herself in the mirror, and when she knocked my lamp off the side table and didn't even stop when it smashed...
I think I love her. I mean I think I really love her. I don't even mind saying it anymore either, and it's funny, but I totally don't dislike the way my heart bounces around when I say it.
I love you, Ocellus.
Weird.
I left her to it in the end. I kinda wanted to join in, but I think if somebeast tried to steal away my time alone I'd be pretty pissed. At least, I think that's why I did. I dunno. I get this lousy feeling in my chest when I think about it—like, what if she says I can't? It's not that I'm scared of the answer or anything. Okay, maybe that bothers me a little. Anyway, I left her to it, and I came back when she had finished. Ocellus always gets tired pretty quickly, and I kinda want to be the one to find her like that. It's nicealright nice to look after her and to make sure she's all settled and resting, you know? She's all ragged and glowing and, yeah, all that felsic crap.
Sometimes it's fun doing something a little different, I guess. Ocellus has her rocking out, and I get to play whelpmaiden. I'd probably punch you if you said it to my face, but honestly, once in a while actually isn't that bad.
Okay, diary. I'm gonna go and make her something nice and warm to drink for when she wakes up. Maybe next time I'll try and be brave enough join in and show her how to really rock out. And then maybe I'll tell you how it goes. I guess you aren't that bad after all.
She wiped at her snout, having a minor panic attack until she realised that the lumps of green floating in the soup was the uncooked broccoli. For the very first time she found herself thankful that Smolder couldn't cook to save her life.
She sneezed again. She inspected the soup again.
What. A. Day.
They were supposed to have gone to the museum first thing, but a freak thunderstorm had damaged the roof and forced it to close. The same thunderstorm that had drenched them from horn to tail in icy, unforgiving rain the moment they had stepped outside.
They were supposed to have had lunch at that cute and glamorous café on Saltlick Lane, but Smolder had forgotten to make a reservation. Instead, Ocellus had watched Smolder arguing with the staff about a fictitious booking they had supposedly failed to record. They ended up eating some takeout arancini con funghi in the park. In the rain.
They were supposed to have gone dancing in the afternoon, but Smolder had twisted her ankle trying to copy some elaborate professional move two minutes in. They were supposed to have gone to the theatre in Canterlot that evening, but Ocellus had accidentally dropped the tickets out the window of the train.
Smolder had forgotten to buy the tickets for the train, so of course they were fined for that.
They were supposed to have curled up with a nice book and a warm duvet that night, but Ocellus was feeling so sick by then that Smolder had to nurse her instead. That included wrapping herself around Ocellus and accidentally stabbing her with her horns.
Ocellus sneezed again. Then she looked down at Smolder, still coiled around her body and still snoring.
The dragon before her is imperfectly perfect. It looms and it shrinks, an edifice of contrasting angles and conflicted ideals. Flat planes of worked bronze and copper, each curving away from scrutiny. Sharp twists of jadeite conceal and protect; even so, Smolder is not content. Not yet. She uses snips and rasps to nurture the hollow beyond, grasps files and shears and adds weight to the void. Her vulnerability is vast, because it has to hold so much. It's the thing that Smolder admires the most about her. It's the thing that Smolder would change the most if she was looking in a mirror and the hollow was her own.
She beats and twists, ignoring the glittering equipment of the workshop in favour of her own tools. Her throat is soon irritated by the constant need for control; the flames of a dragon are like the dragon itself—wild and carefree, and yet tame them she must. Smolder strikes the incandescent metal until her hands begin to feel numb, and then she carries on striking it anyway. For pride is yet another tool for her to use, and for all of the lessons she is still enough of a dragon to find satisfaction in how much better at her craft that makes her.
Smolder stops and plunges the metal into the slack tub. The colours of the sun are betrayed by water and steam; through the fizzing, swirling dance she can see life bleed from the metal. She tries to ignore the looks from her classmates as she takes the delicate curl in her hands and kisses it with yet more flame. Rasping tongues dance across her scales, and they shine the way she knows the metal will once it's been polished and buffed. There's something about the association that makes Smolder smile. Sometimes it's reassuring to be the one lighting the way, to guide others through the mirages of body and mind. It's a rare enough pleasure for her to recognise it for what it is, and Smolder commits it to memory with the rest of the treasures too precious to be allowed material shape.
She wonders whether her choice of form is wrong. Will it be seen as a preference? Or for the deeper meaning she wants it to convey? It's a debate potent enough to still her hands, and she swears loudly as the metal within them yields a fraction too much.
The dragon before her is imperfectly perfect. The imperfections are her own.
Smolder can only hope that she understands when she sees it. She beats yet more metal into submission, painfully aware that the perfect representation will be the most fragile, a form liable to shatter from even the slightest pressure incorrectly applied. Smolder can only hope that she can read the message within the twists and curves and plates and points. She hasn't made her into a dragon because she prefers her that way. She has made her into a dragon because that's what she is. She is strength and she is courage, she is wisdom and she is vitality. She is avarice and she is fortitude. She can wear so many layers, but her virtues are her strongest forms, and her most consistent. She is the fragility that Smolder has begun to admire so much—the kind that is buried deep but still visible, the sun beyond the clouds. She is her heart, beating in a cavity exposed to both predators and lovers alike. She is brittle fragility and she is surging hope.
She found Smolder in the school quad. Her girlfriend was sprawled out on the grass beside the flower beds, her body almost glowing in the midday sunlight. Nearby, the fruits of her labour danced like lavender starfields, flourishing from weeks of Smolder's stubbornness and Professor Applejack's tutelage.
Ocellus shuffled across the quad on legs that threatened to betray her with every step. The wind carried warm kisses to her carapace, and she turned her body this way and that as she approached, encouraging her damp wings to open and drink their fill. A smile tugged at her lips; Smolder had told her once that she looked like a drunk moth when she courted the sun, dancing to a terrible song that only she could hear. Ocellus had taken the joke badly at the time, but these days she felt encouraged by the memory to track down such melodies, if only for the purpose of distraction. The sounds of the other students in the quad were too much like spears to her still-vulnerable heart. Even now, even in a place like the School of Friendship, it was hard to not interpret any sound as danger to a growing changeling.
Resisting the urge to touch horns with her girlfriend, Ocellus satisfied herself with studying her instead. She had come to learn and understand the different sleeping patterns of dragons; Smolder's inner lids were closed, her eyes milky and full of swirling half-dreams, but Ocellus knew that her girlfriend was still somehow alert to her surroundings. Lowering the neatly wrapped basket to the grass beside her, Ocellus seated herself on the other side of it and flexed her jaw. To her relief, she didn't have to wait for long.
"It's creepy when you do that, you know?"
"What, bring you lunch?" Ocellus giggled. Even though she shared a room with Smolder, she had barely been aware of her presence for the past week. Her rasping voice was like a balm to frayed nerves and the sting of loneliness.
"No, stare at—wait, lunch?" Smolder's eyes blinked open, and Ocellus hummed at the sight of the sun settling across them. Her girlfriend twitched, clearly trying to fight back the urge to look straight at the offering. Instead, after a moment, Smolder sat up and smiled a smile that slayed the lingering regrets Ocellus had about leaving the dorm early.
"Should you really be out, 'Cel?"
Ocellus bobbed her head. "Sunlight is good for me, after all." It was true enough, particularly now that the nutrients from her old inner layer had been mostly digested and she could now turn her attention elsewhere. A few eruptions of colour here and there, a few dizzy spells and moments when it felt as though her limbs were going to drop off one by one, but the worst part of molting was almost over.
Smolder folded her legs beneath her. She noticed the mud caking her claws and, with a frown, wiped it off on the grass. "You know we had our lessons outside this morning, right? The sun was good then, too, you skiving bug."
Ocellus blew a raspberry, but the vibrations of her tongue found sharp echoes inside of her skull. She shook her head, and was almost immediately drowned in the warmth of paprika and sulphur as Smolder's expression softened. Ocellus tried to focus instead on the pollen-heavy air pressing down on the quad; rich and delicious as it was, Smolder's love and concern wasn't the food her body needed right now.
"You okay?"
"Yeah, it's mostly just the itchy, um, stretchy stage now." Ocellus lifted a foreleg. The pale blue of her chitin looked even more so under the ministrations of the sun, and there were still parts of her body where her carapace didn't feel as though it had grown out enough yet. "I'll be fine. I'm going to go back to the dorm to rest soon, but I wanted to at least have lunch with you. You know I miss you when I molt."
"You miss classes when you molt," Smolder laughed. "I'm just an awesome bonus."
"That too." Ocellus gently nudged the basket closer to her girlfriend. "I hope you like it. I made it myself."
"You did, huh?" Smolder's words didn't convey much, but the thick, rich flavours that nibbled at Ocellus filled in the blanks and then some. "Let's eat then! Turns out gardening gives me an appetite."
"Smolder, sleeping gives you an appetite."
"That too." Smolder's harsh laugh filled the quad, and for a moment Ocellus was convinced that the sound of it would warm her new carapace faster than the sun ever could.
Her girlfriend untied the ribbon and opened the basket. Her expression froze.
Then her scales lost some of their lustre.
"Uh, 'kay. This is... What, some kind of bug food?"
Ocellus beamed at her. "That's right. Well, sort of." She inched her body closer, trying to keep her expression neutral. "That's my heart."
Flames exploded from Smolder's nose. "W—What!? Come again?"
"It's my heart," Ocellus repeated. "I want you to have it. I want you to eat it."
Smolder held her gaze for a moment. Then she burst out laughing. "Oh that's gross, 'Cel, even for me. Did you vomit this up or something? How are you not even dead, anyway?"
Ocellus giggled. "Okay, so specifically it's the molted shell of my heart chamber—my heart needs to grow too, you know. Especially because someone keeps giving me seconds and thirds every mealtime. And snacktime."
"Huh, that's..." Smolder lifted up the hard, twisted mass of chitin. Strands of mucus and other viscous fluids oozed and dripped into the basket. She wrinkled her snout. "Nah, I was right the first time. This is gross."
Ocellus mock glared at her. "You mean you aren't going to eat my lovingly prepared lunch? I eat your love all the time, Smolder; I want to be able to give you the chance to do the same!"
"Yeah, that's..." Smolder swallowed down the rest of her words as she studied the shell. After a moment, her expression became almost thoughtful. "You know, I suppose you're right, kinda. Alright, I'm game for this, 'Cel."
Ocellus blinked. "What?"
She tasted burnt paprika, and before she could move, Smolder had grabbed the shell of her heart cavity and shoved it into her mouth.
"Oh... Ack!" Smolder winced as she crunched down, and something green dribbled out of her mouth. "What is that? How can it—How can it be sharp and soft?"
"What are you doing?" Ocellus shrieked, her hooves flying to her mouth. She was dimly aware of the other students in the quad looking their way. "Smolder, I was joking!"
"It's so... gooey," Smolder hissed, ignoring her. Her scales had become as muted as Ocellus' chitin. "Ugh, is that hair or something?" Her body twitched, her throat spasming. "N—No way... I think I'm gonna—"
"Smolder, stop! I needed that!" Ocellus cried. "It was a joke. I brought you gems, you idiot. S—Stop stealing my nutrients!"
"Uh... Uh," Smolder froze, mid-chew. "Who jokes about something like that?" she gasped around the shell. "Bleh... Hang on."
She grabbed the basket and spat. And retched. Then she spat some more.
"Ugh," she hissed, before lifting her face to the sun and belching out great plumes of flame. "That's better. By Cinderfoot's hoard, 'Cel, you taste disgusting."
"D—Don't be so rude!" Ocellus snapped, pulling the basket back towards her. Heat pricked at her cheeks. "I taste wonderful! You just don't get it because you... Because you eat shiny rocks!"
Smolder raised her eyebrows at that. "Shiny rocks?"
"What? I've just molted!" Ocellus chittered. "My brain is busy doing more important things than having to remember grammar!"
"Syntax," Smolder corrected her behind the safety of a cough.
"Smolder!"
"Okay, okay! Here." Smolder reached into the basket and tossed her the half-eaten, twice-regurgitated heart chamber. Then she dug out the bag of gemstones and crunched on one desperately. "I mean, I think I swallowed... something, but it still looks... Fine?"
Ocellus was outraged. "I'm not eating this now, Smolder—it's been in your mouth!"
Ocellus snuggles herself into the plush fabric of the chair and closes her eyes.
Almost straight away Sugarcube Corner prods her with the scent of sugar and marzipan and warm dough. The other customers become beacons of lemon zest and lavender-soaked cotton, avatars of spiced cocoa and sea-salt rain. Professor Pie is an apparating beach of flavour; crashing waves of ginseng and smoke against intangible stretches of sherbet. Somewhere deep deep down, the sting of grapefruit is pushing back, wanting to be acknowledged.
As always, Smolder fills Ocellus' world with the taste of paprika. Ocellus chitters appreciatively whenever the flavour is smothered by nutmeg; she knows that if she opens her eyes during these moments, she will briefly catch the rarest one of Smolder's many gazes before her girlfriend can hide it.
The collection of flavours is heady and intoxicating. And at the end of a day full of exams, they are almost always the perfect balm.
But sometimes Ocellus needs something else. More importantly, she needs to be something else—just for a moment.
She snaps her eyes open and on cue Smolder looks away. Nutmeg savages her tongue and her heart. Ocellus licks her lips and waits for her girlfriend to stop pretending to read her book.
A textbook, no less.
Ocellus smiles back at the passage of time.
"Do you ever think," she says, "about how much fun we'll have coming here with a brood of our own?"
Smolder splutters, the orange of her face bleeding red. The taste of nutmeg burns.
Ocellus laps it up, smiles, and closes her eyes once again.
"Sparkshine's wrath, it's been hours now and they still haven't moved." Smolder turned away from the horizon and rubbed her eyes. "You were right, 'Cel, this is like nothing I've experienced before."
Ocellus gave her a wan smile before turning back to her log book. After a few moments she started scribbling something in it. When a muted giggle escaped from around the pencil in her mouth, Smolder glared at her.
"You're writing about me again, aren't you?"
"22:13. No change in the frostwing swarm's oscillations. No change in Smolder's demeanour."
"You ass!" Smolder leaned back, trying to ignore the way her girlfriend's carefree giggles nibbled at her heart. She thought about stifling a yawn as she stretched out on the grass, before deciding against the polite gesture. Then, as was the case all too often these days, she decided against being spiteful too and stifled the yawn anyway. The long grass, painted silver by the moonlight, tried to return the kindness, but Smolder resisted it with glares and growls. She shuffled about, trying to find a sharp rock or two in the spongy ground; the frustration was bubbling up inside of her, as it had been for—
Smolder scratched her snout. How long had she been feeling like this, anyway? She hadn't given it too much thought before—she was a creature of action, not reflection. What happened earlier had made it worse, but it had already been there, growing, and resistant to any attempt at release. She felt like a volcano being denied an eruption.
"This is the most boring field trip since the time Professor Applejack took us on a trip around actual fields."
She saw Ocellus stiffen the way she had expected—or was it hoped? But the flames within her refused to obey; if anything they punished her. Smolder felt cold. Cold and wretched.
But then her girlfriend smiled. It was only a small smile, unable to conceal the wound from Smolder's blow, but it offered hope and forgiveness anyway, and Smolder was surprised by how desperately she embraced the offering.
"It's not a field trip," Ocellus said softly, picking up the monocular that lay discarded beside Smolder. "It's a hobby, and I've been looking forward to seeing the frostwing migration all year. Besides, I thought Professor Applejack was clever interpreting her trip literally like that."
Smolder studied her girlfriend's face, before deciding that she didn't want an offer, she wanted a deal.
"Sorry," she muttered. "I'm being an ass tonight."
"You certainly are." Ocellus held the monocular up to her eye and busied herself with adjusting the focus. Smolder watched her as she grew increasingly frustrated with the device, before eventually placing it back on the ground. A frown caught the moonlight, and then Ocellus transformed. Suddenly she was a dragon again—a lithe, irresistible dragon—bronze eyes blinking as she acclimatised to her changed senses.
"That's better," she sighed, and the rasp in her voice succeeded where Smolder's jibe had failed. Ocellus turned back to the horizon, her body twitching as extra muscles demanded her attention. "I forgot how amazing the eyes of dragons are. The, uh, fewer colours always takes some getting used to, though."
Despite herself, Smolder laughed. "And dragons get called greedy."
Ocellus giggled, but soon fell silent. She clutched the log book tightly in her claws as her eyes narrowed, and this time Smolder followed her gaze. Far away, nestled at the closest tip of Fairweather Vale, the bloom of the frostwings pulsed against the night. Smolder watched their glow bleed across the land, a glacier shivering under scrutiny.
"Are they ever going to move?" she muttered eventually. It was more to herself than Ocellus, but that didn't stop her girlfriend from turning back with a worried look on her face.
"Do you want to talk about it? You've normally exploded by now."
"Don't I know it!" Smolder grimaced. It was true enough; normally she would have, but for some reason Smolder just couldn't dislodge or break down the terrible thing growing within her. She hadn't been able to spit it out when walking back to the dorms with Ocellus, nor could she shake it free when they were packing for the evening flight out to the woods. And it wasn't as though the problem was speaking to Ocellus herself; Smolder had found herself unable to talk to any of her friends about it either.
It kept growing all the same though, stifling her lungs and gripping her heart. Smolder was a dragon, and so she prided herself on her ability to take things in her stride and to not panic.
It was getting harder though. These days, Smolder could almost taste the panic.
Ocellus studied her for a few seconds, before she then dropped down onto the grass beside her. Smolder swallowed. It had taken a long time for her to reconcile her feelings of attraction toward her girlfriend's different forms. In the end, she figured that Ocellus wouldn't be offended by her biological urges, even less so by the knowledge that Smolder thought she was a hot dragon.
Though nothing compared to the part of Ocellus that never changed.
"I asked if you wanted to talk, not letch."
"Can't I do both?" Smolder laughed, but even to her ears it sounded hollow. She rolled onto her back and studied the star-dappled sky. Ocellus' hot breath on her face was too much of a distraction anyway.
"So... Professor Rarity gave me the key today. Well, a copy of it anyway."
"The key?" Ocellus didn't try to hide her confusion. Smolder didn't try to hide her irritation either, unfair though it was.
"You know, the key! For the textiles and haberdashery storage room."
"Okay..." Ocellus twisted onto her side, her tail twitching and thrashing in exaggerated, unpractised arcs. "It was a surprise then?"
"I, uh, I dunno." Smolder felt her breath tug around that terrible hardness. "I mean, yes, obviously. I said before that I've been, er, having extra lessons after school, right? Well, they've been going really well. Professor Rarity says I've got promise and potential."
Ocellus' smile briefly smothered the night sky. "That's been obvious to everyone in her class except you."
"It's not about that, it's like... Rrg, damn it!" Smolder hissed, and thrashed her tail, but the words were getting stuck again. She felt a dull pain growing behind her eyes.
Then Ocellus' hand was pressing against her ventral scales.
"Take your time," her girlfriend said.
Smolder met her gaze, looked away, and then looked back again. When she was satisfied that she had at least wrestled some control back, Smolder continued.
"Basically, Professor Rarity decided that I could have access to the supplies and the workshop, so I can come and practice whenever I like."
Ocellus' frown matched her own. "But?"
"She said she trusts me, 'Cel. I made a joke—you know, some crap about leaving a dragon alone with lots of shiny things, and she told me that she trusts me."
"Smolder, I—"
"Please don't tell me that you understand, 'Cel, 'cos you don't. You really don't."
Ocellus closed her mouth and nodded. Her snout wrinkled as she silently debated something. Then she lifted a hand to Smolder's face.
"So help me. Why is that such a bad thing?"
Smolder sighed, but it seemed nothing would make the fire light. She instead allowed Ocellus' touch to guide her; rolling onto her side, she locked her eyes on what she hoped was sanctuary.
"You know, I thought about stealing some stuff from there earlier—I didn't," she quickly added, "not that that was any less annoying. Do you know that I... I enjoy it?"
"Stealing?"
"I wish." Smolder laughed, but it snagged the way her earlier words had. The ragged sob that instead erupted from her lips surprised her, and she could tell from Ocellus' wide eyes that she wasn't alone. She set her jaw and tried again.
"I enjoy being... Nice. No, maybe it's not that, but... I enjoy this. I enjoy working hard for things, and making everyone laugh. I enjoy doing things, for others. Things I never would have thought I'd enjoy doing." Smolder felt her claws dig into Ocellus' scales, and the fact that her girlfriend didn't even so much as grunt made Smolder love her even more than she already did.
For the briefest of moments, she felt that hardness within her yield. Smolder inhaled, and the cool air encouraged her further.
"I enjoy—no, I love gardening," she said. "Helping stuff grow and taking care of it? I don't... I've never felt anything like that before, 'Cel. And it's the same with making dresses and clothes. I never knew dragons—I—could be like this, not really. These feelings? I don't know if I'll ever be able to deal with them, but I know I can't deal without them.
She swallowed thickly as something again cracked within her. "When Professor Rarity said she trusted me, I almost... Heh, you know, I think I still might."
Ocellus' face had become a mess of expressions. Smolder watched fear and pain and something else she couldn't name fight for dominance, but it was warmth that ultimately won out. A warmth that was knowing, reassuring. A warmth that promised answers.
"So then cry," she whispered, as though it was the easiest thing in the world to do.
And Smolder did, because suddenly it was.
Her vision exploded first, shattering the sky and the grass and the greatest treasure she had ever known into a million blurry pieces. Smolder clutched Ocellus to her as the first guttural sob broke free. A second followed, and then Smolder was howling and mewling and bawling into Ocellus' shoulder, while her girlfriend held her with a strength Smolder had never known her to possess.
The hardness within yielded once more, and then it finally, blissfully shattered. It shattered into words and feelings and sensations, all forcing their way from her body in ways that Smolder could not parse or use. She gasped as she finally became a volcano, erupting unintelligible concepts until one that she did understand surfaced.
"I'm scared," she hissed into Ocellus' scales. "'Cell, I'm so damn scared."
"It's okay." Her girlfriend's voice was soft to her ears, but still hard enough to be the anchor Smolder needed. She held onto those words as the thing inside of her continued to dissolve, pouring out in her tears. Smolder felt Ocellus' heartbeat reach out to her own, soothing it and guiding it home.
"I'm scared," she gasped again. "I'm scared that I... I don't care anymore—about any of it! I don't care that I'm changing, and I don't care about what that makes me. I don't care, 'Cel, and it's terrifying me."
"Remember, my love." Ocellus' voice was thick and heavy, like a blanket made of the warmest affections. "Remember, that we do this together. I'm scared almost every day, about my feelings, about who I really am. But I know that I have you, and you... You must know by now that you'll always have me."
"My love..." Smolder tried the words out, shaping them between sobs and snuffles and throwing them back out into a world that was still struggling to exist. "Heh... I like that, you know... My love."
As the last traces of the hardness bled out from her, Smolder felt her body itself crack and break. For the first time, she could feel her heart pushing itself free—to be open and exposed to the world, and vulnerable. It was the skin she had always wanted, since the very first time she had noticed Ocellus wearing it.
And now it was hers to wear too.
Nothing so immediate or neat as answers surfaced with the tears, but Smolder didn't mind that. She wondered whether she needed them more than the tears anyway. And when no more tears would come, when her body and head and heart—oh her heart!—were tired and drained and sore, Smolder found herself instead starting to laugh. She pulled her head back to gaze at the face of her love. Ocellus' eyes were warm and bronze and like home.
"We're probably missing the swarm move by now, huh," Smolder said.
Ocellus grinned and pulled Smolder back into an embrace. "It's okay," she replied. "I got to see something even more beautiful."
"Smolder, I'm a little, uh, nervous." Ocellus stared down the busy street, her eyes flecked with shades of wild panic. "Okay... Make that a lot nervous! I don't think I can do this."
"Come on, 'Cel, you're gonna be great!" Smolder offered her an encouraging smile, before returning her attention to the amp Professor Pie's friend had lent them. The gesture was lost on Ocellus, however. As her girlfriend's thin wings threatened to shake themselves from her body, Smolder decided to change tack.
"Look", she added, reaching for the microphone stand beside her, "if it's any consolation, everyone has come for the morning markets, not to listen to you."
Ocellus gave her a look that was pure murder. "Thank you. Not helping!" She began to cradle the guitar in her forelegs, her chest fluttering erratically as she restarted another breathing technique. Smolder didn't know why she was bothering; they had been failing her all morning.
"'Cel," she tried again. When her girlfriend ignored her, instead fiddling with her collar as though it was some kind of protective charm, Smolder growled and stomped over.
"Hey," she hissed, tapping Ocellus lightly on the head. "If you're going to drop dead can I at least have all of your stuff?"
"Yes," her girlfriend replied tonelessly. Her wide eyes stared off into the distance, unblinking.
"Ah, geez." Smolder scratched one of her horns. She had a broken bug—how was she supposed to fix something like that? Watching the ponies as they set up their market stalls, Smolder ran through her available options. It didn't take long.
With a shrug, she turned and kissed Ocellus on the lips.
"Eep!" Ocellus stiffened, her cheeks turning scarlet. Smolder raised her mouth to her girlfriend's ear.
"Still awful," she said.
"I know," Ocellus replied. And then they both began to laugh.
"Look, we both know you don't have to do this if you don't want to," Smolder said as she returned to adjusting the mic stand. "It's your call, 'Cell, but if you want my opinion then you've gotta start somewhere. After all, you did say this is what you wanted to do after graduating from school." She looked back and grinned a grin full of fangs. "I know you can write pretty, inspiring songs, and so do you. And soon, so will everyone else."
Ocellus stared at the dirt track in front of her. Slowly, a timid smile formed on her lips. For a few seconds it threatened to break itself against the morning sunlight, but then it began to grow in confidence.
"Thank you, my love." Ocellus met Smolder's gaze. "I... I think I really needed to hear that."
"Any time, my love." A pleasurable warmth rippled within Smolder's body as she repeated the words. "Now go on—slay Ponyville with your best ballads!"
"Right!" Ocellus took a deep breath, nodded, and then approached the mic. Smolder carried out one final check on the amp before perching herself on it and waiting.
Ocellus looked up and down the street, inhaled another shaky breath, and then introduced herself at a volume barely audible.
Then she began to shred. And scream.
Smolder closed her eyes and sighed. She had never heard anything so beautiful in her life.
Ocellus scrunched her eyes shut and wrapped the duvet even tighter. Her body responded to the physical memory, twitching as warmth bloomed beneath her carapace. It felt safe and snug. It felt like a strange and wonderful new home, and yet a place where she had always known she belonged.
She giggled softly to herself, her wings buzzing beneath the heavy fabric. Sleep would not come, but that wasn't a bad thing. She didn't want to miss a single second of the night.
"Is this gonna become a habit?" Smolder's voice pierced the warm veil. "'Cos I'm seriously regretting sharing my bed with you right now."
"Just tonight... Probably." Ocellus giggled again. She stretched one of her hindlegs behind her, lightly pressing it against Smolder's... knee, was it?
"That's my stomach and it hurts." Smolder roughly re-positioned Ocellus' limb between her longer legs. "We're gonna need to somehow get the school to buy us a double if we're sleeping together from now on. I need space to sprawl."
"So sprawl, my love." Ocellus felt the warmth inside of her increase by a few hundred degrees. Every thought, every touch and sound, was a blade severing her senses from the material world. She could taste Smolder's love, slightly burnt by tired irritation, but everything else was a fog of intangible delights. "I don't mind if you—oof!"
Smolder sprawled.
After a few blissful moments, Ocellus felt her girlfriend's body stir again.
"You okay under there?"
Ocellus tilted her head up and planted a kiss at the base of Smolder's neck. The shiver that passed through her girlfriend's body delighted her—the purr that escaped from her lips even more. Ocellus closed her eyes and enjoyed the heavy weight of Smolder against her body, and the growing spears of love against her heart.
And sleep would not come.
Opening her eyes again, Ocellus studied the scales running down the back of Smolder's neck. She studied the curve and shape of her shoulders and she studied the ridges of her spines and the angles of her muscles. Ocellus studied her girlfriend until the warmth within her turned sick and feverish.
The percussion of her heart was threatening to shake her carapace from her body. Ocellus licked her lips.
"Smolder," she whispered. She could hear the crack of her voice, feel the heat bleed out with every heavy breath. "I—I..."
"Yeah." Smolder's voice was dry. "M—Me too."
"Mm," Ocellus replied. "Good."
Slowly, Smolder uncoiled herself from Ocellus, repositioning her body so that they were lying side by side, face beside face. Ocellus was barely able to look at her girlfriend, such was the way she radiated love and desire and far too many other feelings for Ocellus to be able to process.
She didn't try to, though. A wild smile pulled at her lips as Ocellus instead surrendered herself to it. Her brain popped and fizzed, misfiring and miscuing as her body tried to make sense of a love that was like nothing she had tasted before. A feverish clarity attempted to surface, but Ocellus was desperate in her denial. She closed the gap with kisses and caresses, with bites and growls. She tried to take every wave, every pulse of almost painful delight, and turned them into something she could give back. Ocellus wanted Smolder to feel her love they way she felt Smolder's, and as she opened up her senses further, as she absorbed not only the taste, but the sound her girlfriend's voice and the touch of her body, Ocellus knew she was succeeding.
Later, they both lay entangled amongst a cocoon of blankets and the sharpness of broken wood.
