Crowded house

by Cackling Moron

Rating: everyone
Tags: Princess Celestia, Human, Slice of Life, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic
Length: 9146

Horsey house-breaker returns yet again, with more backup. Man puts up with it.

Not even a lazy lie-in is safe from magical horses sneaking in and making a nuisance of themselves.

Still, there are worse things in life, and this time at least she seems to have thought her plans through, and they seem to be going smoothly. Probably because she brought even more help.

Oh well, a man can just go with the flow, can't he? And enjoy himself. Why not? It's not so bad, he's still a softy and she is, all said and done, just plain lovely.

Published 2020-10-18 00:30:01 UTC
Last updated 2020-12-09 22:19:04 UTC

Something comforting in knowing you're on someone else's mind

Author's Note

And now the conclusion.

To one of my more idiosyncratically written thingies, even by my standards. There's meandering, plotless fluff and then there's this!

Oh well. I have a reputation for that sort of thing.

Something comforting in knowing you're on someone else's mind

Someone was blowing in my ear.

At first it had just been folded into the dream I’d been having - a sudden, unexpected breeze upsetting me in the midst of throwing vegetables onto a roundabout, as you do. It had been a dream thing so hadn’t needed to be comprehensible and I’d ignored it. Actually, I hadn’t ignored it, I hadn’t even noticed it enough to know I had to ignore it.

But that had been before it had woken me up. When it woke me up it was confusing because it was still there and my brain was mush and nothing added up.

“What?” I said, which seemed fair enough, and I opened an eye.

It was a horse. My horse. She was blowing in my ear.

On seeing that I’d seen her she stopped her blowing and smiled, and so my vision was just full of happy, beaming, magical horse. I’ve woken up to worse.

“Ngh, you’re here early…” I grunted while attempting to reach for my phone to check the time, only to find myself being gently but firmly pushed back into bed and having my arm tucked back beneath the duvet.

“Shh, no, don’t get up,” she said softly, ensuring I was snug.

Once she was sure she just kept smiling on down at me.

Kind of didn’t want to ruin the moment, kind of had to.

“I need to pee.”

The look that crossed her face - albeit only for a split-second - suggested that this hadn’t been factored into her plan.

“Right this second?” She asked.

“Are you regulating my weeing now?”

“No! No, it’s just, um…”

This was a magical horse that was up to something, I could tell.

But I had other things to worry about right then.

Not waiting for her to cook up an excuse I flung the duvet sideward, swung my legs outward and sprung upward. Luckily for my horse - and for me, I suppose, though this is my home so I can do what I like - I was perfectly decent.

She ran interference as I shambled my way to the bathroom, backing away before me, glancing behind her, keeping her wings as spread as the confines of my poky little place would allow and generally preventing me from seeing or going any further. Fine, whatever. She had plans. I needed to pee.

So that happened. I’m not going into details.

Opening the door I found my horse still there, still blocking me.

“All done?” She asked and I nodded, biting my knuckle to keep from yawning as widely as I might have done in private. Honestly. A man can’t even pee in his own home unmonitored anymore. What are we coming to?

“Surprised you didn’t offer to come in and shake for me, given your apparent interest,” I said once the yawning was done.

She went a little pink about the cheeks, just a touch. Sleepy me is sassy me.

“Well…” She said, taking just the tiniest step towards me.

I tried to scowl at her but it was hard to scowl at the nice horse.

“That was a joke. You know it was a joke you big, beautiful, magical pervert, you,” I said, stifling another yawn. Dear me was I a sleepy boy, not even joking.

Pinker still, this time with a giggle to really set the pink off right.

“No-one’s ever called me a beautiful pervert before.”

Slip of the tongue. And I hadn’t meant it like that. Just beautiful in the general sense. Non-specific. Whatever that meant. My brain wasn’t fully working yet. Leave me alone.

“Oh shush, I’m still half-sleep, it just slipped out, don’t make a thing out of it,” I said. She just grinned at me some more and then very conspicuously dropped her eyes south.

“A few things are slipping out this morning.”

I looked down. Obviously there wasn’t anything, obviously. The point hadn’t been that there was anything that had slipped out, the point had been to make me look, and I had. Giggling became outright laughter, entirely at my expense.

“I’m going back to bed…” I grumbled, screwing up my face and shuffling back bed-ward. She followed. I could hear her following. Could hear some other things, too, sounds of other activity elsewhere in other rooms but I ignored it.

Probably more interloping horses doing something I did not care about at that precise moment.

At that precise moment only bed mattered, and so I clambered back into it. My horse was quick to tuck me back in. Had barely laid down before she was pulling the duvet back into place and once more ensuring I was snug. She really did get a kick out of doing that, I swear. Getting me all comfy and such. Whatever floats your boat, I guess.

“Yes, sleep, sleep. It’s all part of the plan…” She said softly as she telekinetically tucked, looming over me, big magical hair fluttering into that ever-present, ethereal breeze.

“You’re really not supposed to say that it’s part - ah I don’t care.”

And if it was part of the plan why blow in my ear to wake me up in the first-

You know what, I really don’t care. I’m sure it made sense to her. She’s on top of things, she’s got this. Back to sleep for me.

I opened my eyes enough to give her one last departing scowl - to make my displeasure at all this intrusion and fussing known - so got a nice, big, vision-filling look at her nice, big, vision-filling smiling face and only then noticed a teeny tiny detail that had apparently escaped me up until that point.

“Do you have...freckles? Did you have freckles before?” I asked, squinting.

There was indeed a light dusting of something across her face - across the muzzle, I suppose would be the word? Hard to make out exactly what with me squinting and falling asleep and how she was looming against the light, but there was definitely something.

Her smile widened.

“They come and go,” she said.

I could see them more clearly now. They were staggeringly wonderful. Did things to my insides. Unequivocally good things.

But I wasn’t going to tell her that.

“I like freckles,” I instead mumbled, as a compromise, closing my eyes and sinking into my pillow to the sound of yet another bloody giggle.

“I’ll be back…” she said, departing. I did not doubt this. It was a habit of hers.

And I dozed off.

My dreams were troubled. It was back to throwing vegetables again but this time there was a sinister edge. Didn’t last long though, a loud noise caused my eyes to snap open after what felt like mere seconds of sleep. It had sounded a lot like the sound of something about to fall over being prevented from falling over. Something like furniture.

But had I dreamt it?

I lay there, staring at my ceiling, listening. I could hear activity in the kitchen, certainly, and behind that another sound. The sound of childlike mirth and the sound of frazzled efforts to restrain whatever it was the child was doing.

Or so my ears told me. Laughing, basically, a lot of laughing from what was obviously a child and the sound of someone trying to get the child to calm down. Without much success, apparently.

This, as a homeowner, I had to investigate.

Groaning, I rose once again from bed and stumbled my way towards the living room, from where the loudest sounds were coming. I ignored the gentler sounds of the kitchen. I’m sure whoever was in there - dozens of horses, probably, all crammed in - were doing fine. There were no warning or alarming noises coming from the kitchen, just pleasing smells.

I have no issue with pleasing smells. Maybe this time my horse was succeeding in whatever it was she was doing in there, assuming she was in there?

We lived in hope. And also quiet dread, as I approached the lounge and opened the door.

Sat on the sofa and very clearly trying not to smile was the new horse, the one with the dark coat and the glittery hair, the sister of my horse. She and I exchanged silent nods of greeting. That part was fine, but that wasn’t what really caught my attention. What caught my attention was the blur presently doing very fast laps of my living room ceiling.

Something very small and bewinged was zooming about my living room, being pursued (fruitlessly, I might add) by the little horse who liked to read my books. She looked rather frantic. The bewinged small zooming thing - which was also giggling, just for an additional detail - seemed happy enough.

As I stood in the doorway and watched all this occurring, the zooming, giggling thing stopped hugging the ceiling quite so tightly and its trajectory dipped sharply, their circuit of the room taking them alarmingly close to my old, clunky but much-loved television. Which wobbled in their wake. And then started tripping over.

Oh dear.

Luckily the little horse noticed this happening too and was quick off the mark, doing a remarkably good job of stopping dead midway through a dash, reversing course, flinging herself across the room and catching the tilting television in one of those nifty little magical fields these horses all seemed to be able to just whip out on command.

Did beg the question of why she’d felt the need to fling herself given she could just magic it, but I wasn’t going to poke holes in her technique. Instead, I took two strides across the room, grabbed the television myself and set it right for her.

“Thanks for that,” I said.

The little horse, flushed, just puffed weakly and then went limp on the floor, exhausted and defeated. Poor girl.

And the bewinged thing finally noticed me at this point, apparently, as it stopped zooming about and dropped like a stone to land at my feet, staring up at me blankly with huge, huge eyes.

For it was yet another horse, much to my lack of surprise, the smallest one yet.

“Hi,” I said.

It kept on staring, sitting there. Staring.

Thing really was tiny. Smaller than the little horse. Kind of looked like a infant. Would make sense with the blank, fearful staring. I tend to have that effect on children. Can clearly tell that there’s something wrong with me. Adults tend to miss that.

I noticed, lying on the floor nearby, within reach of me, was some manner of soft toy. It wasn’t mine so, by keen process of elimination, I deduced that it must belong to this baby horse. Something brought along to placate them, maybe?

Perhaps it could help ease tensions between us?

Keeping my eyes on the baby horse - and with the baby horse very much keeping their eyes on me - I slowly bent, cautiously grabbed the soft toy and then equally cautiously lent towards the baby horse to pass it over to them. They took it, warily.

“Pleasure doing business with you,” I said. The baby horse nodded, or that might have just been my imagination. Hardly mattered as barely a second later the little horse, having recovered, lunged for the baby horse and grabbed them, wrestling them about and keeping a firmer grip on them despite the baby horse’s protests.

“Oh! You’re up,” came a voice from behind me and I, turning, finding behind me my horse looking mildly, pleasantly surprised and yet another new horse who is pink and wearing an apron. Somehow. Not my apron either.

Too many bloody horses in my personal space. Let’s clear up some of the terminology here, because this is getting confusing even to me, and I am me.

So:

My horse is the big, pleasant one who keeps letting herself into my home without permission to eat my food, invade my personal space, keep me company on long nights and generally make a polite nuisance of herself. The one with the newly-discovered freckles who likes to giggle at my expense. The one I’d actually invite over if she didn’t invite herself. That’s my horse.

The new horse is her sister, roped into my horse’s shenanigans and plainly unhappy to be here. The one with the glittery, sparkly hair and moon on her side. The one sitting on the sofa.

The little horse is the little horse, who appears to have been initially lured along by the promise of being allowed to read my books and who now appears to have been roped in to serve as childcare. Think she’s purple. I don’t know what purple is but I think she’s purple. I get the impression of purple. Something about her says ‘purple’.

The baby horse is the one who requires childcare. The one who’d been flying around the place at great speed. The one with the soft toy. She scares me and I, in turn, apparently scare her. I regard our fledgling relationship as one of cautious, mutual respect and fear.

And finally, bringing up the rear, pink horse. Who can cook, presumably. Or at least can wear an apron, which is suggestive of cooking. At least to me.

Good, yes. That clears things up nicely. I’ve got that all laid out in my head now.

“Is this ruining your plan, me being up?” I asked my horse.

“No, the plan accounts for this,” she said.

“Comforting. Having fun in the kitchen?”

My horse nodded.

“Oh, yes,” she said. And I looked to the pink horse, waving a brief hello. She waved back, also briefly, mouthing ‘hi’ at me.

“This your new assistant? Your sister not willing to be volunteered this time?” I asked.

“I’m making-” the pink horse started to say only for my horse to bump her in the side and give her a sharp look. “I’m helping my aunt make you breakfast,” said the pink horse, keeping an eye on my horse to see if this was acceptable. Apparently it was, as my horse, beaming, closed her eyes and stuck her nose in the air.

“Breakfast in bed! To make up for the buns. And to make up for you buying cake when the cake I was making to make up for the buns hit an unexpected snag,” she said.

“Is the snag that you made a bit of a hash of it?” I asked.

Her nose stopped being in the air immediately and her lip wobbled. A cheap trick but it worked, got me right in the gut, even if I knew she was putting it on. Could play me like a fiddle, my horse.

“Meanie,” she said.

“Your heart was in the right place and that’s what counts,” I said, giving her what I hoped would be taken as a comforting pat on the head, my hand moving before my brain had given this any real thought. Patting people on the head is typically not something you should crack out. It can be read the wrong way.

Luckily, it seemed our bizarre relationship had hit a point where we could both roll with it, as her lip-wobbling ceased immediately and she beamed. I felt buoyed, and even bold enough to use a thumb to just give her a rub behind an ear, something I could tell was very much appreciated.

Weird, but that’s magical horses, I guess? Each to their own, horses for courses, hah.

Oh, but the look on her face though...

Did realise every other horse in the place was staring at us both once I was done, which made me flinch. I stuck my hands behind my back and rocked on my heels while my horse did a poor job of not looking disappointed that the ear-rubbing wasn’t continuing.

“So,” I said, casual-like. “I should probably go back to bed, then? For your plan to go off right?”

“If you wouldn’t mind. We’re nearly done,” my horse said, turning to the pink horse for confirmation. The pink horse nodded, one imagines in confirmation. Odd how many things we share, magical horses and myself. Thumbs excluded.

They seem to get on well enough without.

“Right, well, back to bed for me then. Uh, thank you all for coming,” I said, giving the collected horses a wave and receiving waves in return as I went back to the bedroom.

Probably best I don’t think too hard about any of this, on how my life has become rich with intrusion and strange, friendly gestures from a strange, friendly horse. Just focus on that you’re being indulged and getting breakfast made for you, not on the other parts. The horse parts. Don’t think about those parts. Think about the breakfast.

So I did that. I settled myself under the duvet, stared at the ceiling, lay back and thought of English breakfast. And then other breakfasts. And then I thought my horse and her freckles.

My life took a very strange turn somewhere along the way, it really did.

Fortunately, I was spared from the awful, awful fate of having to think about how nice freckles are and how nice the person who has these specific freckles was by the appearance of the person in question, my horse, who came bearing a tray and a look of immense satisfaction.

“Ta-dah!” she declared, swanning in and closing the door behind her with a bump of the hip. The tray floated to me on a magical cushion as I shuffled about in bed and sat up, breakfast landing literally in my lap.

Pancakes, apparently

But these were not the sort of pancakes I was used to, the ones I sometimes made. No, these ones rather put me in mind of the stereotypical stack you might see in a cartoon, in fact - the sort of thing that must presumably exist somewhere, just not anywhere ever near me. It was a daunting tower of the things, thick and fluffy, drizzled with syrup and the like.

Hefty, hefty breakfast. Could probably beat me up.

Well, I’m game for anything once. Why not?

“Feels rude to eat with you just standing there,” I said as I took up my cutlery.

My horse was indeed just standing there. Watching.

“Don’t mind me,” she said, continuing to watch in a way that made it very hard not to mind. I turned my head and closed one eye, which worked well enough for me to get tucked in on the stack.

Very pleasant. Not what I’d usually go for, but very pleasant all the same. And knowing the intention behind them did rather add something, at least for me.

“My compliments to the chef,” I said after swallowing. “She’s done a bang-up job on these. And compliments to you, for just being nice and thinking of doing it in the first place.”

My horse was almost glowing at this point, so happy she seemed to be.

“You like it?” She asked. I was already carving off my next bite. No idea if I was eating these right but this was my first time so I was willing to make mistakes and missteps.

“I rather do, yes. Both the breakfast itself and the idea. So yes, thank you,” I said, saluting her with a forkful of pancake.

Taking me completely off-guard my horse let out what can only be described as a whinny of delight before promptly inserting herself into my bed beside me. My bed was not really built with this level of occupation in mind but she was determined to make it work.

I focused on keeping the pancakes from going everywhere. By the time my horse had decided she was comfortable we were both very much in one another’s personal space, something that wasn’t unusual for us I’ll admit, but this time felt even more pronounced.

She was basically in my lap. Or I was basically in hers. Beneath the duvet much confusion reigned.

At least the pancakes were okay.

“Hi,” I said to her, her face mere inches from mine. She grinned, outright grinned!

“I was cold,” she said.

“And that explains...this?” I asked, tilting my head to indicate the knot of human and horse we’d become in my bed. She nodded, and her wings slid further around me, very much how wings really shouldn’t.

“Yes,” she said, flatly.

Couldn’t really argue with that. The brass on her.

“Right. Well. Okay then,” I said.

She then ate some of my breakfast, right off my fork. I wasn’t even surprised, and I couldn’t hold it against her. Plainly she enjoyed the experience just as much as I did, and the look on her face was, I think, probably better than any mouthful of pancakes could ever have been.

“Mmm! Those are good. She - I mean we - did do a good job, didn’t we?”

“No doubt,” I said. Then: “You know, all this seems a lot of effort - and a lot of horsepower - just to make me pancakes. Coming in here mob-handed with your sister and all. And the pink one. And the small one. And the baby. All part of the plan, I take it?”

Heh, horsepower. Like manpower, but with horses. Didn’t even really mean that, just slipped out. I’m a funny guy. Comes naturally.

My horse was now giving me side-eye. Probably because of how funny I was.

“I asked Cadence for help with the breakfast, and she agreed but needed somepony to look after Flurry it being on such short notice. Twilight agreed and said she could come along to do it - I think she wanted to read more of your books, though where she thought she’d find the time is anyone’s guess. Luna acts like she didn’t want to come, but I think she enjoys the fuss, if I’m being honest,” said my horse, in the manner of one explaining something they’ve already spent some time convincing themselves is a perfectly fine explanation.

I nodded. Seemed to fit together. If you didn’t poke it too hard.

“Well when you lay it out like that it makes perfect sense. I do have a question though,” I said.

“Yes?”

“Those are names?” I asked. Just so I could be clear.

She blinked at me. I took the opportunity presented to try and count some freckles. Lost count pretty quick. There were definitely enough of them, I could say that.

“Those are names, yes,” she said.

I nodded again. Fine, cool. What else would you call a magical horse but something like Twilight or Luna or Flurry? Wonder what their surnames were, if they had them. Maybe they didn’t go in for that, who’s to say? What a whole new world of things to learn.

There was one glaring gap in my newfound knowledge, however. Something very important.

“What’s your name?” I asked my horse.

That one certainly caught her off guard. She looked honestly bewildered. New look for her.

“You don’t know?” She asked. I got to nod again.

“It’s never come up,” I said.

“It hasn’t?” She asked and I could kind of tell she didn’t fully believe me, but I wasn’t lying - it hadn’t come up. This time I got to shake my head. Such variety.

“Nope. You’ve been sidling into my home - and now my bed - for a good few months now and not once did you ever mention your name. Ate my buns, made a huge mess in my kitchen, ruined my viewing history on all my streaming services, left a noticeable dip in the sofa, never gave me a name.”

She was now staring at me.

“You could have asked,” she said, and she had a point.

“Probably should have done but after the first few weeks it felt like it’d be more awkward to ask then not. Should have done it the first time you showed up. I missed my window,” I said with the lightest of shrugs.

More staring, silent scrutiny that dragged on for second after painful second until whatever awkward tension had built up evaporated, and her smile came back. Like the sun coming out. I got a nuzzle. Since we were so close she didn’t have to move very far to give me one.

A nuzzle, I mean.

“You’re quite strange,” she said, resting her chin on top of my head. Despite our strange, intertwined arrangement I was still able to reach my breakfast, so I had some more. Still good. I’d have to personally thank the pink one - Cadence, I think? - once this was done. Whenever this was done. Whatever this was.

“I have my moments,” I said.

There followed a moment of companionable silence. I could feel her breathing.

“Celestia,” she said, once the moment had elapsed. “That’s my name.”

Rolled off the tongue.

“It’s a nice name,” I said, dumbly, unsure what else to say.

“I’m glad you think so. My parents picked it with your appreciation in mind,” she said, and I didn’t have to see her face to know what expression she’d have. The mere thought made me chuckle and I, in a spirit of diplomacy and general kindness, raised a forkful of pancake up towards where I hoped her mouth was.

I felt a bite. Success!

“Sensible people. Or sensible magical horses. Either way,” I said and she, chewing, hummed in agreement.

Did enjoy how my breakfast in bed was ending up partially hers. She was even in my bed, too, to get the whole experience. Canny horse. Least I had a name for that nice, freckly face now, that was progress. Progress towards something.

Progress towards what, exactly? I frowned to myself.

There followed me attempting to put the tray down and wriggle about to face Celestia better. Given the cramped conditions we were working with - and how wrapped about one another we’d ended up - this was not as simple as it might have been, and eventually involved her having to magically hover the tray out of the way while I concentrated on the wriggling.

Got there in the end though, and it was left with her propped up against the head of the bed looking at me bemused while I sort of half-knelt and half-squatted in front of her. Much dignity.

“Is something wrong?” She asked.

“You know, for all the times you’ve invaded my home to exploit my hospitality I don’t feel we’ve ever got to properly know one another,” I said, to which she quirked an eyebrow. She was very good at that. Most horses I knew weren’t that expressive.

Not that I knew a lot of horses.

Well, more now than I used to, admittedly. But not the normal kind, I mean.

“Oh?” She asked.

“Not really, no. Learning your name is one thing, and that’s good, but all these occasions haven’t given me much insight into you. They’re just sort of sedate occasions these things, really, with lazing around and eating buns and napping.”

A lot - a lot - of napping, given the unbridled, perverse pleasure she seemed to get out of inflicting the things on me after long, tiring days. Worse things have been inflicted, I supposed, but it is hard to get to know someone when you’re asleep.

She considered what I’d said with far more energy than it required, brow furrowed for a moment before she said:

“True.”

Didn’t give me a lot to work with, so I just carried on:

“I mean, I don’t dislike the lazing around or the napping, I just feel that it hasn’t really given us a proper opportunity to get to know one another. On a deeper level, you know? Maybe?”

I couldn’t tell how this was landing with her so decided to play it safe. Always worth sliding in a maybe in here or there, just to keep the door open behind you, as it were. Maybe. Possibly. Perhaps.

“You may be right,” she said, tapping her chin. Then: “What do you suggest we do instead?”

“What?”

“To rectify this. So that we can get to know one another better. What do you think we should do? Together?” She asked, lashes fluttering, face expectant.

Well that’s me put on the spot.

“Um,” I said, playing for time. I was thinking furiously. This was a situation entirely of my own making, a hole for myself dug entirely by myself. Could I climb out? Or should I keep going down?

What, in fact, was I talking about?

“Um,” I said again, acutely aware of her still watching me and having shifted forward a bit to watch me even more intently. I think I was starting to sweat, and not just because she was warm and close - so very close. Out slipped another: “Um.”

She tapped me on the head with a wingtip.

“Are you stuck?” She asked.

“I’m thinking. Slowly.”

“Ah. As long as you’re not stuck,” she said, smiling, continuing to move in closer, leaning her face in towards mine.

Where was I going with this line of thought? I was going somewhere, definitely, but where? I had somewhere in mind but I think I was heading there with my eyes closed, so to speak. Concentrate, relax, and just think clearly.

How you’d like your horse - Celestia, her name is Celestia - to fit into your life going forward, and what you’d personally like to do to make that fit more comfortable. There you go. Was that so hard?

Why is it one always tends to switch to second person for things like this? Maybe it’s just me.

If Celestia was going to insist on continuing to insert herself into my life - as she seemed intent on doing - then it was only sensible to try and get to know her better. Wasn’t it? If only to make my own life easier.

And, well, as much as I did enjoy our sedate little times together with the lazing around and the napping and the food and the whatever, it might be nice to shake it up a little. You know? Maybe do something else. Maybe leave! Go outside!

On second thoughts that might get the neighbours talking. Assuming they aren’t talking already. But I can think that going out on the town with a nice big magical horse is the sort of thing likely to draw comment, and I don’t have time for that.

So what else, what to do…

Think, damnit, think!

“I’ve never...invaded...your home…?” I said, every word like another delicate footstep out across a frozen pond. Celestia’s look of sudden excitement - which she did much to quickly try and subdue - gave me a tiny bit of confidence, but not a whole lot. Could still very easily make it all go very wrong.

I have few talents in life, and that is one of them.

“Are you inviting yourself?” She asked.

I swallowed.

“...yes…?”

A pause, then she beamed. I got that sun-coming-out feeling again. Really was just like standing outside when the clouds broke, wonderful, wonderful.

“I’ve taught you so well,” she said, mock-pride rich in her voice. She even wiped away an imaginary tear. Laying it on thick but I lapped it up anyway.

“Hah,” I said, reaching up again without much thought to worry her ears some more. She delighted in this, practically vibrated, so I kept doing it. Why fight what my life has become?

“Of course, I don’t know all your secret doors and sliding doors and stuff, so you might have to help me out with that,” I said, once the thought of how I was meant to show up at hers without warning crossed my mind.

“Something can be worked out,” she said, eyes blissfully closed.

Nicely vague.

I kept on doing the ear thing for a little bit longer, in silence, until her blatant, naked enjoyment of it became a bit too much to bear. It just got a bit weird. I didn’t stop though, I just cleared my throat.

“We still have those pancakes to finish off. And then compliments to give to the chef. And should probably go see how your entourage is doing anyway - discourteous to leave them out there for too long, probably. Me being the host and all,” I said.

Do you count as the host if people just let themselves in? I’m not clear on what the rules are in a situation like that, but my gut tells me that, yes, you’re still the host, that’s how hospitality works.

“They can wait a little longer,” Celestia said, wings reaching out to gently but firmly guide me in towards her, where I found myself thoroughly embraced, very warm and very comfortable.

Oh God, she was going to make me nap again, wasn’t she? Right on top of her, right here. In my own bed for her own sick pleasure. If I wasn’t so bloody happy about it I’d give her a stern word but, really, I think we’d left those boundaries behind us a considerable while ago now.

She even smells like the sun. How does that work? Probably more like the smell of a hot day, but still, it’s where my mind goes. Hot, happy days. Oh it’s all too much.

“And I’m the strange one…” I muttered through a yawn.

“I have my moments, too,” I hear her say as she pulls the duvet up over both of us.

Epilogue: A random bit of bonus

Author's Note

It's Robcakeran's fault.

Epilogue: A random bit of bonus

Another evening at home, but I am not home alone.

I am instead sat cross-legged on the floor of my lounge across from a tiny, magical infant horse, who I am looking after.

This was something I’d somehow ended up doing more than once, though I am utterly unable to recall ever actually ever explicitly agreeing to it even once. Somehow it just kept happening, keeps happening and will likely continue to keep happening.

I don’t mind, much. The tiny child is fair enough company and we seem to have something of a rapport. Might even go so far as to say she likes me, if all the smiling is anything to go by, at least. I think that might actually be why I keep getting lumbered with looking after them, honestly. Because of our rapport.

Or just because I’m always too slow to say no. Either way.

Luckily childcare turns out to not really have any great secret to it. It’s just exhausting. Children never stop. Until they do, and then you have to rush around doing all the things you couldn’t do because before the child was too busy not stopping.

Still, that rapport of ours helps keep her usually destructive tendencies to a minimum. I’ve heard some dark stories indeed, but only as stories, never seen any of it myself other than one time she was zipping about the living room ceiling, and that hadn’t been so bad, really.

Thank heaven for small mercies, I suppose.

This was the first time I’d ever had to look after her at my place, though.

All the previous times had been the other side of that secret doorway, over in horse country, somewhere I seem to be spending an increasing amount of my time these days. Over there it had always just been me being left holding the bag - or the baby - when everyone else had buggered off to do something. There at least it had felt organic and less planned.

Not so this time. This time I’d just had the tiny one thrust into my grasp alongside a bag of things to keep them clean and fed and told that they’d be being picked up in an hour or three. And with that the pink one and the small one - Cadence and Twilight, I really must remember to use the names - were off to do who-knows-what together, giggling all the way.

The presumption of these horses, I tell you.

Suppose it’s nice to be trusted, though. They didn’t seem to have even an inkling of doubt that I’d be able to handle it, just took that as a given. Which is something. Quite nice, in a way. Nice to know you’re seen as a safe pair of hands, suggests you’re held in some high regard, doesn’t it? Quite nice. Once you get past being a puppet to the whim of royal horses, which was me all over anyway, really.

Celestia long had me wrapped right around her little finger. Or hoof.

And speaking of Celestia.

“I’ll trade you this Luna for that Celestia,” I said, proffering the doll I had and pointing to the doll she had. She gave this some consideration, eyes flicking from doll to doll to me and then back to the dolls. Eventually she must have felt that what I was offering was good because we swapped.

She was happy, I was happy, everyone was happy.

Oh yes, the dolls. That happened.

Turns out that apparently my horse and all the other horses are also cartoon characters with merchandise and everything. I had previously been unaware of this but, while out and about one day, I passed something that made me do a double-take. A large display of all of them. With toys.

A lot of toys.

Obviously I bought a bunch, once I got over my initial shock. How could I not? I’m not going to turn my nose up at providence, especially not when it’s so brightly-coloured.

The toys themselves aren’t really that much to write home about. The ones I got were just hunks of plastic at the end of the day, no articulation at all. Not a very good likeness of any of the horses - obviously I got all the ones I’d met, obviously - and the hair in particular is just plain rubbish looking.

Certainly doesn’t capture how nice Celestia’s mane is, but I guess it’s hard to mould mystic waviness and sparkliness into plastic. And they meant well, presumably, and the dolls did have a certain novelty.

Who’s in the palm of whose hand now, Celestia? Who? Etcetera.

I got some odd looks when I bought them but I get odd looks whatever I do so it wasn’t that bad. I was used to that.

And who cares, really? I’ll buy what I want.

A brief look online showed me that had I been willing to splash out there was no shortage of steady-handed craftpersons willing to make far high quality items but that was after the fact and, really, the dolls got the job done anyway, cheap and cheerful as they were (though not as cheap as I might have liked).

A further look online also showed me that the show was quite alarmingly popular, not to mention prolific. Films and all sorts, even the kind you get in the cinema.

Surprising I hadn’t heard about it before, really. Really should learn to pay more attention.

I’m not even going to bother thinking about what the existence of the show means in the context of having characters from it visit me. That way madness lies. I’m just going to continue on as if nothing had happened.

This approach has worked well for me in the past, and I imagine it’ll work well here, too.

With the exception, of course, of asking what they thought about it.

I hadn’t had a chance to bring up the ‘You are a cartoon’ thing to Celestia or any of other other horses as of yet. The opportunity just hadn’t presented itself, not properly at least. Was kind of looking forward to it. Specifically bringing it up to Celestia, with her doll and everything.

It’s the little things.

Celestia was meant to be coming later, after the pink one - Cadence, Cadence, use the names - comes to collect her spawn. I could do it then. Would be a laugh. Then the cuddling would start.

What a busy life I lead now. Better than before, I’ll admit. Less sitting on my own. More cuddles.

More naps. Never been so rested in my life.

Playing with the dolls continued for some time. The child - Flurry, use names - and I wove a complex and multi-layered narrative full of drama and character development. It looked like bashing dolls together and making explosions sounds, but it was a lot more than that.

I also gave her some apple, which she enjoyed. She then rode me like a horse around the lounge for a bit, something which she plainly found hilarious in the way children find a lot of things hilarious and which I found amusing in an ironic sort of a way - the best kind of way. All was well.

Was that irony? I always forget. Was amusing, that I do know. Horses riding people! That’s the wrong way round!

Hilarious.

And it was while I was there, shuffling about on my hands and knees, that Cadence and Twilight returned. Not that I noticed. I only noticed when my shuffling brought me around to find them both standing in my doorway, laden with shopping bags and both beaming ear-to-ear. Guess they liked the irony, too, or whatever it was I was doing.

“Having fun?” Cadence asked.

“Whale of a time,” I said, tramping over and dipping so Flurry slid forward down my back and into the magical grasp of her mother, something she did while gurgling in naked delight the whole while. For my part I stood up again and stretched.

Being a horse does a number on one’s back, let me tell you.

While Cadence said hello to Flurry and asked - in those special tones one uses for children - if she’d had fun and what she’d spent the day doing, Twilight sidled up towards me. I recognised that sidle. It only ever led to one thing.

“Do you want to borrow another book?” I asked, pre-emptively. She blushed only a little on being so transparent and blurted:

“Just the History of Western Philosophy. If you don’t mind!”

I frowned. A dry volume but fun if you’re into that sort of thing.

“I thought you read that one already?” I asked.

Fairly certain she’d read all of my books at this point.

“I have.”

So she had then, not that this seemed to deflate her eagerness to keep borrowing. Her enthusiasm was incandescent. Who was I to stand in the way?

“...by all means, go ahead,” I said, waving her past me.

“Thank you!”

In she trotted, setting her bags down first and then heading straight for the bookshelf. She was very familiar with where things on there, now, primarily as she’d been the one to reorganise the thing. Twice.

I turned back to Cadence, finding Flurry somehow fast asleep and the bag I’d been given alongside her also having been collected. She works fast. That’s motherhood for you, I suppose. Everywhere at once.

“We really are grateful for you looking after her, you know,” she said. I shrugged.

“It’s fine, not a problem. I’m not exactly a child-minded child-minder but we have a good time, I like to think.”

For a man with no prior experience I seemed to do alright. Certainly, Flurry was still alive, which had to count for something. Cadence gave me a warm smile and a companionable pat on the hip.

“Aww, you’re so nice.”

I’m really not. I am not what I seem to be; I am awful.

She then gave Flurry enough of a gentle bounce to rouse her, if only for a moment, those big eyes halfway opening and looking around to see what the deal was.

“Say ‘Goodbye uncle’, now,” Cadence said.

Flurry grizzled out something that sounded more like ‘uncah’ than anything else but was still enough to melt the heart - even my heart. She does make some very cute noises. And she of course then went right back to sleep, plainly pooped from having-

Wait. I’m sorry, what?

“Did you say-” was all I managed to ask Cadence’s retreating back before she’d disappeared around the corner, passed just in time by Luna and Celestia coming the other way, only just having arrived.

Celestia’s face lit up like the sun itself when she clapped eyes on me, the sight of which was enough to have my already sputtering brain start melting completely.

Uncle? Sorry? What?

“You look confused,” Celestia said, moving up to nuzzle me as she usually did when saying hello these days. I put an arm around her neck. Didn’t really think about it, didn’t even really notice that much. I just pointed to where Cadence had been mere seconds before.

“The pin- Cadence said for Flurry to call me uncle,” I said, dumbly, still processing. Celestia just blinked and tilted her head slightly, continuing to smile serenely at me. Like this was all fine and normal.

“Yes,” she said.

“Doesn’t she call you aunt?” I asked. I’d heard Cadence call her that.

“Yes,” she said.

Her utter lack of reaction left me stranded.

“...what does that make me?” I asked, bereft. I got another nuzzle.

“An uncle?” Celestia suggested, mid-nuzzle. This did not help me in any way, shape or form.

“...as in...just a general term or...specifically...familialy?”

Mean, ‘uncle’ gets thrown around a lot, doesn’t it? And doesn’t always mean anything official, does it? Doesn’t reflect any change in relationship or how one is perceived as regards...arrangements and...things…

Am I an uncle to a baby horse now?

And where does that put me with Celestia? If she’s the aunt and I’m the uncle that makes me…

Did I miss a memo?

Celestia’s smile took on a slight pitying aspect.

“I wouldn’t worry about it,” she said.

“But-”

Whatever I had been about to say - and, honestly, I’m not even sure what I had been about to say - was cut short by Twilight bumping into my leg with what might well have been affection. She’d found the book she’d been looking for. And several others from the looks of things.

“I think you’re a great uncle,” she said, scooping up her bags from where she’d left them. “Not to me, obviously! You know that’d be, heh - that’d be weird. But Flurry loves you. You’re really good with her.”

“I - since when - but - “ I blurted, but Twilight had gone too, apparently having said all she needed to and having given my leg a farewell hug.

This left me, Celestia and Luna standing around like a trio of sinking puddings.

“Uncle?” I managed to say.

My foot knocked something. Looking down, I saw the Celestia doll. Somehow it was by my foot. How was that? How had that happened? I knew not. I just stooped to pick it up and then held it before me.

“This is you,” I said, dumbly. She took the doll from grasp and hovered it in for a closer look. I could tell she was not particularly impressed.

“Is it?” She asked.

“The box said it was you.”

The doll was passed back to me.

“I’d ask for your money back, if I were you. The hair isn’t right at all.”

I lost the thread completely, what little thread I’d had to start with. Thoughts of bringing up the cartoon evaporated, thoughts of seeking clarification on exactly what sort of uncle I was drifted out of my head. I was just bamboozled, head to toe. Did anything in my life make sense anymore?

Celestia’s smile was nice. That was consistent.

There came a polite but forceful clearing of a throat, and I tore my attention away from Celestia to look toward her sister, who’d been the one to do it.

Luna had been waiting this whole time. I would say waiting patiently but the look on her face was anything but patient.

“We are given to understand that there is a new series of The Crown on the Net Flicks?” She asked, seeing she now had my attention. This took me a second to work out, as it was so astoundingly mundane I had to reel my mind in to get it to make sense.

But she wasn’t wrong. There was. Bit too much Diana for my tastes, but passable stuff. I gave her the nod and off she went, the nod all she needed as far as permission went.

Big fan of my many subscriptions, was Luna. Ruined my recommendations. Should have got her her own profile, really, but she’d gone roaring ahead before that thought had crossed my mind. Too late now. Horse, stable, bolted, etcetera.

I had tried to see whether you could take something from my place over to their place and still have streaming work but no. Guess wifi doesn’t go across dimensions. Honestly probably should have seen that one coming, but we live in hope, don’t we?

So now it was just me and Celestia standing in the doorway, Luna making herself comfortable on my sofa as she got things loaded up and running. I hugged Celestia, just so I had something solid in my life for a moment. She made a delightful cooing sound. All was well. Confusing still, of course, but well.

It broke, and I gave her a smile. She gave me one too.

I pointed back over my shoulder.

“Well, what are we going to be doing if she’s nabbed the television?” I asked.

“Snuggling,” Celestia said with a frankly unsettling level of relish.

Ask a stupid question.

-

“...so I guess I’m part of this equine family unit now, somehow. That happened.”

There were nods from around the group. The other guys knew how I felt. Even for those it hadn’t also happened to with their Celestia they could well sympathise. The horses were insidious, sliding in your life and pulling you into theirs. You barely even noticed it happening.

I sure as balls hadn’t.

One man was not nodding, I noticed. Minigolf guy looked perplexed, and he had his hand raised.

“Question?” I asked. His hand lowered.

“What was that about the dolls and the show?” He asked.

Seemed an odd part to ask a question about. I’d have perhaps asked for more detail on how I’d apparently ended up an uncle without even noticing, but to each their own.

“That it exists? I’m not sure I understand the question,” I said.

“No, I mean what show?”

Fair enough. I hadn’t heard of it, stood to reason that at least one other member of our illustrious group hadn’t. Unlikely, sure, but possible. I looked to the others.

“I’m probably a bit late in coming to learn about the show,” I said to them, but now they all looked perplexed too, and the nodding had stopped. I got an ill feeling in my waters.

“The show? The series? That just-so happens to contain these horses? And Celestia? Mean, no idea which came first or how any of it happened but the show definitely exists, I’ve seen it. I saw an episode. Was pretty good, actually,” I said, looking around to see if this made it clearer to anyone. Perplexed looks continued.

“Are you sure?” Trampoline guy asked.

Was I sure? Was I sure? Did they think I was making this up?

“Pretty bloody sure. I saw it with my eyes. It was on television. Proper television, I mean. And online. I looked this all up online.”

“I’ve never seen anything like what you’re describing,” minigolf guy said.

Were they having me on? Was this a joke?

“Look, I’ll find the damn thing again, give me a second,” I said, whipping out my phone and moving to search for it. Hell, I just went straight to Wikipedia - that’d have it, that’d sort it out for certain.

My phone refused to load anything. Not that the page didn’t exist, just my phone started acting up. Failure to load. Connection issues. I refreshed and refreshed and turned things off and on again but this problem persisted. Before too long I gave up in disgust.

“You all have phones, you look it up,” I said, in defeat. A few did so, most didn’t. Those that did were soon shaking their heads.

“Nope, nothing. What did you say it was called again?”

I told them. They searched again. They shook their heads again.

Is this what going mad feels like? I thought having a magical horse invade my home on a regular basis might have been what going mad felt like but that had been serene bliss compared to this.

With increasing, uncomfortable panic I reached down into the pocket of my coat hanging off the back of my chair and pulled out the doll that I’d shoved there, holding it out for all to see.

“I have the bloody doll! Look!” I said, raising it higher on my palm where everyone peered at it.

I’d brought Celestia, obviously. That should really go without saying.

“Can I see that?” Asked the man to my immediate left. I handed it over.

“Pass it round,” I said, not meaning for it to sound like a command or to sound desperate but apparently achieving at least one as that was what then happened.
The doll was duly passed around through curious hands, turned this way and that and subjected to intense scrutiny. No-one thought very highly of the hair, and as well they shouldn’t, the hair was rubbish.

“Did you make these?” Steeplechase guy asked, holding the doll up close to his face and eyeing me over the top of it. Did I look like the sort of man with the competence to make a sandwich, let alone a doll? And if the answer to that question was yes, did they take me for the sort of man who’d then choose to make the hair like that?

“No, I bought them,” I said.

He stared at the doll some more and frowned, eyes then flicking back up to me.

“Where?” He asked.

“In a shop. Where one typically buys things.”

He went quiet then sighed, shrugged and passed the doll along.

“Huh. Weird…” He said.

I slumped in my seat and rubbed my eyes. Eventually the doll passed back to me and I, without comment, put it back into my coat pocket. There didn’t seem a lot of point in pressing the issue.

This was probably one of Celestia’s jokes anyway.

Somehow.