#pony rituals

[intherainbowfactory]

Pony Rituals (13/14)

Scratch was getting away. I couldn’t let her. Immediately, I jumped out of the bush and did what none of the other changelings would have in a thousand years: I stood on my two hind legs and waved my hooves in her face like a maniac.

This had the intended effect of confusing her out of her reverie, but unfortunately, it wasn’t quite as stunned of a reaction as I was hoping for. There’s no way she’s seen stranger things, right? She just blinked at me with an eyebrow raised as the uncomfortable taste of awkwardness and exasperation washed over me and—is that a building hatred? Could she really hold me in such—

Nope, don’t care. Trait purged.

I ran up to her and shook her vigorously. “Scratch! Come with me! It’s about—” but then her glasses slid off her scrunched nose. Her eyes were just beautiful, and I lost myself in their sheer redness as I stopped shaking her and her eyes rolled gradually back into place, her mouth set in an O. Awwww… she looks just like a widdwe fwuffy red white and blue albino bunny! “Oh no!” I told her, before letting her go to pick up the strange crimson glasses for her (It’s the nice thing to do! The least I could do for the pony—Augghh! My heart), “I’ll get those for you, you precious little—!”

Nope. No time for that anymore. Trait purged. No more of that. It’s only CHANGELING thoughts, now! They are the only ones that can set me free! No more pony passivity, and no more traitorous thoughts against the Queen! That part of me is DEFINITELY dead! I’m putting my hoof down!

…I put my hoof down, shattering her glasses with an audible crunch. Oops.

Scratch jerked her eyes down to the shards of crimson at my hooves, bewildered, then up to my face, scowling and literally seeing red.

“Hey,” she yelled at me, “you broke my glasses!” A crowd was beginning to form around us.

I scowled and yelled back, emulating the centuries of changeling culture and instruction by emulating my prey. “I don’t care!” I shouted, “Also? Glasses make you look weird!” This was a masterful rhetorical play on my part, since I knew from experience that seeing through glasses made looking weird in all the ponies I replaced that had glasses. The ponies in the crowd—now at a decent, if still small, size—would recognize this fact and cheer me on in my hunt of the mind, allowing me to subdue my opponent, make them do what I want, control the world! Muahahahaha!

Instead, the crowd assaulted me with a vile leafy-green stench of disgust aimed right at my receptors, and also a few rocks in the case of a filly with glasses being dragged away, kicking and screaming, by her parents.

Hmm, I thought again as Scratch sputtered in outrage and looked around for a good response. It appears that my mental state is still clogged with suboptimal behaviours. Now, I’ve already purged my melancholy and my adoration for neoteny. What’s left?

Ah, yes. My ditzy nature. How could I forget such a liability as that? I mentally smacked my hoof into my face, inexplicably launching me into the side of a nearby bakery and embedding my head into it. On the other side, I saw an earth pony mare (so pink???) staring stock-still at me with a cake or something on a tray suspended on gloves stuck onto her hooves. The sight alone was enough to make me cringe. Yes, I told her, I definitely must get rid of my goofy nature. I did so right after the cake-thing deflated, right as the pink pony cried out “My soufflé!”, and right before I felt a tugging on my legs and I’m pulled out of the building and gently onto my back on the hard street.

An orange earth pony mare looked down at me. “Are you okay, hun?” she asks, running a hoof through my hair, no doubt for debris. If I still—I shuddered when I imagined this—felt affection for their race, I might have noticed the irony and supposed novelty of this action.

[lastlovesongonthislittleplanet]

cats milly….its been so long

[cattewife]

thinking about,,, drunk sneezes

not only the possibility of sensitivity to wine/etc itself but just. the alcohol fuzziness meaning maybe they let a sneeze creep up on them without noticing, and the lack of inhibitions meaning they let it out without any shame they may usually have..... maybe even being more dramatic than usual, louder, bending at the waist, dazed after.... accepting care they may usually deny because they are drunk and happy and vulnerable

[travelling-my-little-pony]

Rainbowberry went to Gwithti an Pystri - A Cabinet of Folklore and Magic.

In Falmouth, in Cornwall, England.

Rainbowberry is looking at a display of ritual knives.

[sfaccountant]

"You wanted to know more about us, grayskin?

Do you want to know why humans turn to Chaos?

Sometimes we convert at gunpoint. Sometimes we trade our souls for petty comforts or advantages. Sometimes we need to think that there's some kind of greater intelligence and will standing behind this cruel, merciless universe, and wish to align ourselves with it."

Gaela smiled.

"Sometimes, though, we just need help. And in our fury and desperation, we scream into the darkness, demanding power.

And sometimes... the darkness answers."

By VOID

[mediumsizetex]

douchebag-rituals

[islandofthemisfittoy]

Me: I don't have any rituals

Also me: Literally cannot fall asleep even though its 1pm because I haven't done sudoku in bed while listening to cartoons.

[blueskittlesart]

All children raised religiously are being abused. They're sweet now but in thirty years see who's voting for Trump Jr or who ever the fuck.

ok let's talk about it. for context i've been working with children aged 2-6 in both school and home settings for almost 10 years and have met kids raised in basically every major religion in the world. I was personally raised completely agnostic.

religion is not inherently abuse. religion is a moral framework. All religions have the potential to become high-control groups or perpetuate abuse, and certain religions are more prone to those issues than others. that does not mean that teaching your child about the god you believe in is abusive. the abuse comes when your religion perpetuates a lack of choice, which, as I have already explained, most of the religious children i have worked with are not experiencing. Religion at such a young age is often primarily about stories, which preschool aged children LOVE. The bible functions similarly to, say, a my little pony episode to these children, in the sense that it's a fun story they get to experience which teaches them an age-appropriate moral lesson at the end. (and by and large, these kids are only getting the age-appropriate stories and lessons. I do not know any evangelical children who are being taught about the rapture and i don't condone that kind of fear tactic, but again, that's not what's being discussed here. we're talking about RELIGION, not high-control groups that happen to use god as a mechanism to perpetuate their abuse.)

in that same vein, religion in preschool aged children largely functions as a moral framework, which, in certain situations, can genuinely be very helpful. the christian and muslim children I have worked with especially are very often the ones that are the best at resolving conflict. they understand the concept of "treat others the way you want to be treated" and they're able to articulate it to their peers at an age where their morality is still developing and children often think in very black and white, self-centered ways. With rituals like prayer, church, etc, at such a young age they tend to consider them bonding activities. they have friends at their church or temple. their entire family prays together in the same way an agnostic family may enjoy a family dinner. again, I'm not denying that these rituals have the potential to be used to control or abuse, but they are not INHERENTLY abusive. they're normal. religion is a normal part of life for a VERY large percent of the population. telling your two year old about heaven isn't inherently going to strike the fear of god into their heart. more likely it's going to make them tell their babysitter, very earnestly, that when they go to heaven they're going to bring their legos so that we can all play legos together in heaven.

it is very likely that you, personally, have people in your life who are privately religious and you never even knew, because religion is not inherently a public statement of identity nor is it necessarily conducive to fringe or radical beliefs. it is a part of the human experience. you need to learn to be normal about religion.

[skyscrapergods]

do ponies ever give gifts or make sacrifices to the alicorns?

or did they use to do that and they just were like “stop it it doesn’t do anything”

Gods are powered by belief in them, and their powers are linked to what exactly those beliefs are.

The Sun was long regarded as sublime and benevolent. And she was, as long as she remembered to care about ponies. But as she towered above them, she often forgot to think about mortals while she thought about the planet as a whole, ecosystems and the heavens. Fearing they would be forgotten, the population turned to more and more desperate rituals to command her attention and favor.

Celebrations to her name did more than summon her; they gave her power. Summer sun parties, gift giving, and community feasts caused the nourishing warmth of sunlight. Hospitals erected in her name lent healing touch to the mind in the morning rays. The grander the festival, the more attention The Sun paid. You would surely be blessed with long days and beautiful sunsets as thanks for the artisans crafting stained glass windows for her churches.

Not every pony was happy with happiness. They wanted more. With greater gifts and more breathtaking rituals, surely they could turn her favor toward them and command her aid in matters of war.

The sacrifices began.

They got what they wanted, in the end. The Sun turned her attention on their alters stained with blood and pools running red.

She was not pleased with this new form of worship. She was not pleased with the powers it weaved into her feathers, with the new nature of her lifegiving light.

She smote them all.

In the reeling black of burning villages, she wondered what she had done. She could not wash their stain from her essence. Her act of wrath had cemented their violence into her very being.

Now the sunlight shriveled, it seared, it dried and droughted. To the creatures she loved so much, it caused burns and other illnesses of the flank. She had become one with fire.

The harshness of her love never faded. Society had to adapt. Agriculture now required levies and aqueducts to irrigate the fields and keep the plants from burning. Shade needed to be brought to outdoor events. Flighted ponies created blankets in the sky to give relief from the punishing radiation.

Today, all of this seems normal. Of course the sun burns, that's how it's always been. It seems like such an inevitable part of life that it's hard to remember we caused it.

But we must remember. We must remember to never go there again. We must keep our worship kind, and remember that pain is not holy. Suffering is not divine. Death begets death and fear begets fear. Do not hurt each other for the sake of your god, and do not hurt yourselves.

She doesn't like it.

[greenwitchcrafts]

May 2024 witch guide

Full moon: May 23rd

New moon: May 7th

Sabbats: Beltane-May1st

May Flower Moon

Known as: Bright Moon, Budding Moon, Dyad Moon, Egg Laying Moon, Frog Moon, Hare Moon, Leaf Budding Moon, Merry Moon, Moon of the Shedding Ponies, Planting Moon, Sproutkale, Thrimilcmonath & Winnemanoth

Element: Fire

Zodiac: Taurus & Gemini

Nature spirits: Elves & Faeries

Deities: Aphrodite, Artemis, Bast, Cernunnos, Diana, Frigga, Flora, Horned God, Kali, Maia, Pan, Priapus & Venus

Animals: Cat, leopard & lynx

Birds: Dove, Swallow & Swan

Trees: Hawthorne & rowan

Herbs: Cinnamon, dittany of Crete, Elder, mint, mugwort & thyme

Flowers: Foxglove, lily of the valley & rose

Scents: Rose & sandalwood

Stones: Amber, Apache tear, carnelian, emerald, garnet, malachite, rose quartz, ruby, tourmaline & tsavorite

Colors: Brown, green, orange, pink & yellow

Energy:  Abundance, creative energy, faerie & spirit contact, fertility, intuition, love, marriage, material gains, money, propagation, prosperity, real-estate dealings, relationships & tenacity

May’s Flower Moon name should be no surprise; flowers spring forth across North America in abundance this month!

• “Flower Moon” has been attributed to Algonquin peoples, as confirmed by Christina Ruddy of The Algonquin Way Cultural Centre in Pikwakanagan, Ontario.

May’s Moon was also referred to as the “Month of Flowers” by Jonathan Carver in his 1798 publication, Travels Through the Interior Parts of North America: 1766, 1767, 1768 (pp. 250-252), as a likely Dakota name. Carver stayed with the Naudowessie (Dakota) over a period of time; his expedition covered the Great Lakes region, including the Wisconsin and Minnesota areas.

Beltane

Known as: Beltaine, May day, Roodmas & Cethsamhain

Season: Spring

Symbols: Eggs, faeries, fire, flowers & maypoles

Colors: Blue, dark yellow, green, light pink, orange, red, white yellow & rainbow spectrum

Oils/Incense: Frankincense, lilac, passion flower, rose, tuberose & vanilla

Animals: Bee, cattle, goat & rabbit

Mythical: Faeries

Stones: Bloodstone, emerald, lapis lazuli, orange carnelian, rose quartz & sapphire

Food: Beltane cakes, cherries, dairy foods, farls, green herbal salads, honey, meade, nuts, oat cakes, oats, strawberries & sweets

Herbs/Plants: Almond, ash tree, birch, bramble, cinquefoil, damiana, frankincense, hawthorn, ivy, meadowsweet, mushroom, rosemary, saffron, satyrion root, St.John's wort & woodruff

Flowers: Angelica, bluebell, daisy, hibiscus, honeysuckle, lilac, marigold, primrose, rose, rose hips & yellow cowslips

Trees: Ash, cedar, elder, fir, hawthorn, juniper, linden, mesquite, oak, pine, poplar, rowan & willow

Goddesses: Aphrodite, Areil, Artemis, Cybele, Danu, Diana, Dôn, Eiru, Elen, Eostre, Fand, Flidais, Flora, Freya, Frigga, Maia, Niwalen, Rhea, Rhiannon, Var, Venus & Xochiquetzal

Gods: Baal, Bacchnalia, Balder, Belanos, Belenus, Beli, Beltene, Cernunnos, Cupid, Faunus, Freyr, Grannus, The Green Man, Lares, Lugh, Manawyddan, Odin, Pan, Puck & Taranis

Issues, Intentions & Powers: Agriculture, creativity, fertility, lust, marriage, the otherworld/Underworld, pleasure, psychic ability, purification, sensuality, sex/uality, visions, warmth & youth

Spellwork: Birth, Earth magick, healing, health & pregnancy

Activities:

• Create a daisy chain or floral decorations

• Decorate & dance around a Maypole

• Set up an outdoor altar & leave offerings to faeries

• Prepare a ritual bath with fresh flowers

• Light a bonfire or candles & dance around them

• Set aside time for self care

• Gather flowers & use them to decorate your home or altar

• Prepare a feast to celebrate with friends/family

• Make flower crowns

• Bake bannocks, oat cakes or cookies

• Hang wreaths decorated with ribbons & flowers

• Plant flowers in your garden

• Start a wish book/box/journal

• Go on a walk & gice thanks to nature⁸

• Cast fertility or a bunch spells

• Fill small baskets of flowers & small goodies, then leave them on your friends/neighbors doorstep as a gesture of goodwill & friendship

Beltane is mentioned in the earliest Irish literature and is associated with important events in Irish mythology. Also known as Cétshamhain ('first of summer'), it marked the beginning of summer & was when cattle were driven out to the summer pastures. Rituals were performed to protect cattle, people & crops, and to encourage growth. (Today, Witches who observe the Wheel of the Year celebrate Beltane as the height of Spring.)

Special bonfires were kindled, whose flames, smoke & ashes were deemed to have protective powers. The people and their cattle would walk around or between bonfires & sometimes leap over the flames or embers. All household fires would be doused & then re-lit from the Beltane bonfire.

These gatherings would be accompanied by a feast, and some of the food and drink would be offered to the aos sí. Doors, windows, byres and livestock would be decorated with yellow May flowers, perhaps because they evoked fire.

In parts of Ireland, people would make a May Bush: typically a thorn bush or branch decorated with flowers, ribbons, bright shells & rushlights. Holy wells were also visited, while Beltane dew was thought to bring beauty & maintain youthfulness.

• The aos sí (often referred to as spirits or fairies) were thought to be especially active at Beltane. Like Samhain, which lies directly opposite from Beltane on the Wheel of the Year, this was seen as a time when the veil between worlds was at its thinnest. At Samhain the veil between the worlds of the living & the dead is thin enough that we can connect & convene with our beloved dead, here at Beltane it’s the veil between the human world, and the world of faeries & nature spirits that has grown thin. Offerings would be left at the ancient faerie forts, the wells and in other sacred places in an effort to appease these nature spirits to ensure a successful growing season.

Some believe this is when The Goddess is now the Mother & the God is seen as the Green Man or the wild stag. It celebrates the symbolic union, mating or marriage of the Goddess & God & heralds in the coming summer months. It represents life rather than Samhain on the opposite side of the Wheel of the Year.

Other Celebrations:

• Rosealia- May 23rd

Rosalia or Rosaria was a festival of roses celebrated on various dates, primarily in May, but scattered through mid-July. The observance is sometimes called a rosatio ("rose-adornment") or the dies rosationis, "day of rose-adornment," & could be celebrated also with violets. As a commemoration of the dead, the rosatio developed from the custom of placing flowers at burial sites. It was among the extensive private religious practices by means of which the Romans cared for their dead, reflecting the value placed on tradition (mos maiorum, "the way of the ancestors"), family lineage & memorials ranging from simple inscriptions to grand public works. Several dates on the Roman calendar were set aside as public holidays or memorial days devoted to the dead.

Roses had funerary significance in Greece, but were particularly associated with death & entombment among the Romans. In Greece, roses appear on funerary steles  & in epitaphs most often of girls. Flowers were traditional symbols of rejuvenation, rebirth &memory, with the red & purple of roses & violets felt to evoke the color of blood as a form of propitiation

Sources:

Farmersalmanac .com

Llewellyn's Complete Book of Correspondences by Sandra Kines

Wikipedia

A Witch's Book of Correspondences by Viktorija Briggs

Encyclopedia britannica

Llewellyn 2024 magical almanac Practical magic for everyday living

[intherainbowfactory]

Pony Rituals (oh god/11?)

[A/N i'm really at my wits end with what the fuck i'm even going to do with this mess. i suppose i'll have to buckle down and make some actual chapters instead of the oneshot shitpost this was meant to be. oops. anyway, have some uh um scraps of themes and plot development. FROM THE TOP!]

[A/A/N: hoof! 5400 words? fuck]

Begin report.

I have been commanded to explain the furthest depths of my feelings on the pony race as I have experienced them. I have been commanded to explain as much of the great breadth of pony society as I have seen. I have followed these commands to the best of my ability and to the best of my knowledge.

I have been commanded to be completely honest, to spare no detail, and to exposit the full events as I experienced them and in a manner congruent to how I felt about them at the time, to uphold the total glory of the Queen as she will find intelligence where a lowly drone may only find a total lack of meaning. 

And so I shall begin.

Ponies have just the cutest little social rituals!

Take, for example, the hoof wave. It's a type of greeting or goodbye among friends, obviously. However, when done to complete strangers, an odd (but cute!) behavior emerges. When confronted with a hoof wave, around 95% of Ponyville's population will wave back. This statistic may seem meaningless in how obvious it would be for the social animals, but keep in mind that this is how a small community of ponies reacts to a total outsider in their midst waving to them. You heard that right. The ponies there just give expressions of love instantly and freely when they receive them, and without suspicion as well! It seems that in such a diverse small-town environment, the act of being waved at by anypony at all is, in and of itself, a reason to wave back, which is a truly groundbreaking concept in pony relations, and one that I find fascinating.

Outside of the confines of Ponyville and more specifically in the bigger city of Canterlot, anecdotal evidence suggests that a similarly high percentage (roughly 80%) of ponies wave back when waved to. This metric holds true for random passing pedestrians, ponies sitting at cafes or parks, ponies at work, and even pegasi flying by in the sky and ponies on departing trains or boats! Can you believe that? Ponies so far away from each other perform this greeting of love while bittersweetly knowing that they may never see each other again!

I remember, one time in a pony town, I was at the train station there, and I waved to a group of female ponies with flowers in their hair and they all waved very enthusiastically back to me while shouting goodbyes at me. Heartened and struck with curiosity at this behaviour, I flew onto the top of the train above their car to listen to what they were saying over the whistle of the train (one of the more unpleasant pony inventions). After the question of my presence was raised, they asked each other in turns if they knew me, with each enquiry being responded to in the negative, naturally, and increasing the confusion in the traincar considerably. Unfortunately, I was struck by a mountain placed in front of the train and couldn’t take more extensive notes, but this experience still proved that ponies who didn’t know each other would return hoof-waves!

The only caveat to this wave-back psychology is that the signal can be misconstrued as an invitation if a pony waves too excitedly, for too long, or too "insistently", as a Prince Blueblood pony lectured me when I made that faux pas one time and wound up in his bed that way—not that he was complaining. But even though it was due to a mistake, that was easily one of my most positive formative experiences, and definitely one of the more fun ones I've had, and I thank him for it (internally, since I made a promise to him to mention it to no pony, since we were both the male type of pony at the time), but I digress. (I still wanted to mention how he acted all nervous about it in the sheets until I calmed him down in my own special way, however, so I’m doing it here!)

While I’m on the subject of pony lectures, I might as well talk about another pony ritual that I suspect has a similar nature to the hoof wave while being perhaps less cute and more meaningful: the friendship lesson. In this ritual, one member of a collection of friends purposefully forgets some important aspect of being friendly with another pony. This then allows them to go on an adventure or act wackily towards each other for an unspecified amount of time before they learn an essential life lesson of how to act in harmony and finally tell somepony else, most usually an authority figure. This complicated little tête-à-tête has ponies competing to symbolically and playfully break the bonds of harmony to reforge them stronger again while allowing them to explore their own identity in high-concept situations! Far from being asocial, this seeming reflex plays into their herd manipulation mentalities in a way similar to the hoof wave reflex, all while reaffirming their character!

I observed a couple of instances of this occurring in the wild, but, not believing my own pony eyes, I endeavoured to explore the phenomenon in closer detail. My first opportunity to experiment with such social behaviours came about in Canterlot, in an impromptu fashion. It was when I needed to take the train out of the city but was forced to sneak aboard after its departure because the ticket booth had magical detectors installed that could detect me and allow the guards to burn me at the stake, as I had assumed the ponies to do to infiltrators the same as we do to intruders on our land. 

Anyway, I was on the platform waving excitedly at the ponies sticking their heads out the train windows while I was smiling widely enough to split my face in half from how much love I was getting. (I was able to do this because the ponies on the departing train wouldn’t think I’m inviting them to come with me.) I noticed that one of the unicorn ponies with spiky blue hair and tinted glasses had her whole upper half out the window and was whooping and waving to me with both of her hooves. She shouted at me, “WHOOOOO! I love you, waving pony!” before a brownish also-female pony glared at me through the window, pulled the other one back inside, and drew the shutters. That made me pretty sad and put a bitter taste in my mouth, but I didn’t have much time to think about it before it was time for me to gallop after the train while the unicorn guards tried to chase me down, yelling at me to stop and buy a ticket.

I easily leapt onto the back of the train and made my way to where the cabins were. Sneaking past the ticket-collector pony, I just barely found a cabin that was empty in time, and I crawled under the bed to avoid detection from the train authorities. After a little time, two ponies entered and the atmosphere became thick with despair at first, but hot with angry tears and jealousy in time as the two of them exchanged indistinctly heated words about “loose mares”, “privilege”, and “fooling fillies”. Surprisingly, this was the same cabin that the white unicorn and grey-brown pony were travelling in, as I found out when the one that hollered at me fell to the ground sobbing and heaving, her crimson eyes clouding up with tears that made me feel holes opening up in my veins.

This was terrible! Why would ponies make each other so unhappy for the friendship lessons? I decided that this was the perfect time to observe the lesson ritual in more detail to make sure that both ponies would see it through to the end, and thus, we decided to place long-term clandestine surveillance on both ponies to see when they met back up to complete it and become friends again. The use of such quantities of ponysonnel may seem heavy-handed, but we were still unsure of the emotional stability of the free-thinking ponies at this point, and wished to exercise caution.

Surprisingly, and disappointingly, the reports that came back on the paired ponies were exceedingly negative. The blue-haired pony stayed in her apartment crying under a blanket for sixteen hours a day and only went to the nightclub for the other eight hours, barely gaining sustenance or the appropriate amount of nutrition, while the earth pony stayed exclusively at the orchestral hall, sleeping in a costume chest beyond the notice of security staff at night. This proved to be the unfortunate case, with little improvement and few exceptions, for twenty cycles of the moon.

Finally, against the wishes of my superiors, I had to put an end to their unhappiness! The friendship lesson here was just too taxing on the physical and emotional well-being of these two ponies, and I, for one, couldn’t in good conscience make them go through any more pain! The younger one of the pair with the black hair, for instance, would have been rendered emotionless if it weren’t for constant emotional reassurances performed by agents planted in the orchestral hall. And the rose-glassed one only ate soggy wet noodles all day long! Had one of the ponies forgotten to play their part and make up with the other in this delicate dance of fate? The very idea of it shook my well-ordered soul. My fury at the unfairness of destiny would overtake the sun itself to stop this madness, and damn my supervisors! I vowed that I would not rest, I would not sleep for a single moment until these precious creatures lived in peace and harmony once again!

So, I designed an experiment to see if such a ritual could be artificially hastened. At first, I was at a loss on how to go about this. For inspiration, I decided I must personally examine the pony who hoof-waved at me at her place of work, being careful to change my disguise so that she wouldn’t recognize me. I arrived at night—sneaking past the door guard—where I joined the partiers on the dance floor, who were getting so fluffy the way they brushed up against each others’ coats! But I digress. I tentatively waved to my target, uncertain of her mental faculties after such hardships. To my great surprise and amusement, she waved back again. I started to wave both arms in the air giddily to communicate that I wanted to talk to her, and she reciprocated the gesture but did not immediately step down from her turntables, since she still had a job to do. I had an in!

During a break in the noise, I conversed with her and attempted to subtly implant the seed of reconciliation with her friend in her mind. It didn’t work, causing her to grow despondent, and, caught up with the shame of making her sad, I embarrassingly attempted the “personal hug and mane-petting” ritual with her, rubbing her horn with my own. I confess that even though she may have been most at fault with her stubborn unfinished friendship lesson ritual, she was still precious to me, and I wanted to make her feel welcome to society. Although the hug worked to distract her by replacing her wallowing with an awkwardness and pity that left my mouth feeling greasy, she wouldn’t get back with her friend after that! It was still nice of her to make sure a pony got me to the hospital, even if the overdose-prevention medicine they offered would have certainly proven fatal to me.

Perhaps the other one, the one with the bow-tie and instrument, would be more responsive, I said to myself. The nurse that was about to give me an injection stopped in shock at these words before I grew wings and crashed through the window. After flapping up toI stopped to hover and wave my hoof at the nurse until she tentatively waved back, making me squeal with delight at having partaken in the “goodbye” part of the wave ritual in a novel manner worthy of further study.

I arrived at the clef-cutie-marked pony’s place of business (a so-called high school in Manehattan) immediately before a concert began, taking the place of the violinist in the space behind her and performing admirably during practice. Unfortunately, it was harder to discern the emotions of individual ponies with how many there were. Deduction and listening to the conductor gleaned that the pony-of-interest’s name was “Octavia Melody”, and that she was underperforming in her duties “as usual”. I blanched. It was obvious that she was only doing so because she was under stress in her home situation of sleeping in a box, and doubly obvious that the conductor was not helping with her stress. All of this I told the conductor, who told me to mind my own business. It didn’t stop me, as I further attempted to disabuse him of his quaint misunderstood preconceptions of the world in general and Melody in the specific. The mare herself looked back at me, eyes wide in terror, making a slashing gesture across her neck with a foreleg.

I was horrified.

I immediately divebombed the conductor in attack. How could any pony do such a horrible thing as Melody had signalled to me that the conductor did? He yelped in surprise and quickly bucked me in the face, which was surprising, as he did not seem to be “one of the frat bros” or “part of the initiation” to me before then. This may have been a misunderstanding of mine, a by-product of not being able to figure out others’ emotions with the crowd staring at me. I thought we were “cool”, as is the tradition of Manehattan warriors, but he started to yell at me. This was fine, as several ponies in the audience of high-schoolers were appreciating me for telling him off. Drunk off the attention of the crowd, I gently pushed an interfering principal to the rafters and yelled back at him how despicable it was of him to cut off the heads of ponies who underperformed, as I believed Melody was trying to inform me. Shocks of horror and then fury went through the audience and the orchestra as the conductor attempted to clear his name, sweating profusely in guilt.

Strangely enough, Melody just facehoofed, sighed, and walked out the fire exit after all that. I followed her, trying not paying any attention to the conductor trying to clear his name or the mob of ponies shouting obscenities and throwing secreted mugs of alcohol at him. I did catch a mostly full mug, however, and on the early glittering morning streets of Manehattan’s lower district, I offered it to Ms. Melody. She merely smacked the glass onto the ground and cracked it before bucking me in the face. This time, I could tell the action was done with anger, and I had calmed down enough to realise how rude I was to her and how I had cost her a job.

I immediately prostrated myself before her on the ground glass, grovelling before her and promising her bits. I had broken my promise to keep her in peace and harmony, and I would make things right by allowing her to do whatever she wished with me, as I told her while I kept my ears flattened. Her ears did much the same, but she also put both hooves on her face and shook it at me, telling me that we would be even if I “only” got her another job. I’m afraid I then got excited at the prospect that my ingratiating myself with her in the streets of Manehattan worked so well, and I started scratching her behind the ears and booping her nose before she slapped me and put her head down, grumbling. But even with that, nothing could make my mood worse. I had a fluffy pony companion to poke, sure, but more importantly, I had a real in!!!

Or so I thought. I was still unsure of how to proceed. After all, I didn’t want to upset Melody the same way I did to the other one… After I got her a job with a caravan of travelling musicians and ponies that dress up and a couple of weeks of contact with her went by, I began to worry that she might forget about her friend. Melody visibly tried to push all thoughts of her from her mind, losing more and more of herself in the friendly company of her new companions. The thought of her friend was still obviously there, but it felt like the concept of her in Melody’s mind was withering faster than a rose deprived of water and forced to grow in the catacombs. Incidentally, withering roses taste like eating dust. I was really worried that I would fail Melody and her friend, dooming their friendship to an excruciating, slow end.

That was until she invited me to come see a street-play they were performing. I was confused at first by the nature of the invitation and the play since Melody only wanted a platonic relationship with me while the so-called playbook promised romance. An explanation for why dangled just out of reach of my consciousness, goading me and irritating me. Worse, a sort of electric current in my mind told me that this event had meaning, had weight, in some sort of fashion that I apparently wasn’t meant to know about above the subconscious level. To put events into metaphor, this invitation and the thought of the play felt more like an insistent hoof-wave that wants something rather than a more sedate hoof-wave that acts as a reinforcement of kinship. That image of a desirous hoof-wave taunted me over and over, cackling in amusement that I could not help her with anything, whispering words of doubt in my ears that maybe this was a happy end in itself, with Melody being friendly to me enough to keep me going while still having companions in the caravan to keep her going. Despite the voices, I needed answers. I had to go.

I took my seat in the devoid auditorium, having made an effort to be a half-hour early for the performance so I could think some more about this in peace. Again, why the invitation? I thought back to some of my dealings with other ponies, but none of them provided an explanation for what I felt at this moment. I thought back to my dealings with the two whose relationship I was trying to solve, and wondered now, why the kindness? Now that I was of a level head with no crowds to muddy my thoughts, I recognized that I behaved incredibly strangely to those two ponies that I thought were so cute. The DJ, I acted inappropriately to in the confusing haze of the raving ponies’ ecstasy, while the cellist, I got kicked out of work while my flank was drunk off the students’ amusement. By all appearances, they could have made my life worse for them, should have done. They could have had me drawn and quartered, but the 

As the time for curtains to rise came near, I made a conscious decision to ignore the pessimistic voice that was goading me, instantly releasing me of some of the hollowness that tasted like dussssst in my mouth. Free of these scoldings, I then began to scold myself for my own stupidity, for not being able to see the revelation that I was missing but which seemed to be right in front of my eyes if only I could concentrate. 

My ears bent backwards in reflex. Pony reflex, that is, not that of my own biology. …Actually, why did my ears flatten? I said this out loud, but nopony else noticed.

I put that thought out of my mind as the lights dimmed and the curtains fell back to reveal the scene in front of me. Regular ponies, obviously disguised, pretending that they’re nobility, or even royalty! I hadn’t known ponies could even do this! Still, it was obvious that they weren’t who they presented themselves as: one earth pony dressed as a guard had fake wings, and royalty would never conduct themselves in such a manner or come to a location such as the seaside they attempted to convey with the backgrounds.

My criticisms, however, simply melted away as the orchestra began to softly play and the pony introduced as King Gallowe began to passionately speak of personal hardships and worries for the possibility of civil war between two provinces of his land. I mean, even now, I knew that this wasn’t really happening: he clearly wasn’t who he said he was, he didn’t believe in it, nor was the music with its familiar cello a natural part of the world trying to be conveyed, nor could anypony begin to believe that any of this was real. But, somehow… I wanted it to be true. I knew it was fake, but I didn’t care. 

Maybe our kind and their kind aren’t so incompatible after all, I whispered…

It was during the third act that I finally got a clue. In this act, the duke and duchess of the rivalling provinces tearfully confess their undying love for the other to the same priest. This priest, knowing how they unintentionally hurt each other in the past, writes a letter of apology to the duke with the duchess’s confession and signature, as if it was written by her. He then does the same to the duchess with the duke’s confession and signature. To both letters, he appends a meeting place and time at his church. The plan works perfectly, both duke and duchess show up, and they sing their love for each other with musical accompaniment before getting married and intermission drops.

Epiphany! That was what was needed! There was no way that the two of them would be able to work out their problems on their own; they needed a third observer to bring them together by busting their preconceived notions of what the other thought of them! Manipulation would set them free. In my mind’s eye, I began to picture the ponies as sorts of dolls, marionettes, actors without a sort of driving will to give them anything except the horrible existence they eked out before I came into their lives.

And so I enacted my plan. I would bring both of them to neutral ground to meet and talk things out without them being the wiser for my plot. I would enter the friendship lesson so that I could finish it and get out of there quickly before I arouse any suspicion; I may be an expert infiltrator and... I may somehow be considered a friend to both parties I'm bringing together, but I don't know enough about pony culture to pass for one, and I have a couple of bad physiological habits that wouldn't be able to fool a discerning mob. 

The DJ, whose name I learned was Scratch, would be summoned by a letter I would forge so that she would come to the next town the caravan of actors was travelling towards. I would make it so I would be there to mediate between the two as I surmised that the conversation would be awkward, but not hostile.

Finally, we arrived at the next town of Ponyville right on the date before I would have her and Scratch meet. Success! I knocked repeatedly on the door to Melody's wagon that she built herself with her own four hooves. I was so excited for her! Half-formed future exchanges between Scratch and Melody played out in my mind: in a cafe, over tea and donuts, they start laughing over a shared joke and have so much fun rolling all over the floor laughing and screaming! Or maybe they’ll have a heartbreaking, tearjerking reconciliation in a moodily lit fancy restaurant while lamenting their numerous woes… I love playing with my pony dolls! They’re so much better than stubborn changelings.

Trotting in place at the door for minutes lost in imagination bolstered by my companions, I gradually came to feel that something was wrong. Melody didn’t answer the door.

I knocked again. And again. Oh, no! I thought but did not say since I’ve been getting better at doing that. Did I seriously forget how to knock on doors? That must have been the only reason why Melody was not letting me in! How could I have forgotten! I learned how to knock on doors on my very first infiltration mission, where I replaced the filly of an Appaloosan mare. It was only for two days, but I still got a lot of love, and I learned from the natives that the proper way to knock on a door is to pound on it at all times of day or night and in all situations, so I did.

Melody opened the door a crack, hissed at me to get in, quick, and pulled me into the darkness inside her wagon.

I screamed like a little filly for a while. Boy, does that actor juice mess you up but good! When I stopped, I noticed that Melody had the curtains tightly drawn and wrapped over every window or opening (even the bottom of the door) to stop all light from entering her caravan, and she was holding a candle on an upturned hoof that illuminated a face that bemusedly stated, “Are you done,” before she said those exact words.

Moving over to nuzzle her withers (I had realised long ago that the withers were a very calming, huggable, and extra fluffy spot on my supposed friend to put my muzzle on), I told her that I might be done screaming like a filly depending on how dramatic the moment would feel, earning for my troubles an indulgent expression from her.

…An indulgent expression on a face with reddened eyes, layers of bags evident on them. A face with a wild, unbrushed slept-in coat leading to a wild, unbrushed bed-head mane with several black hairs sticking straight out of it. Noticing this led to me noticing how her tail twitched stiff periodically, or shook with an unnerving rapidity quicker than even my eyes could follow. In turn, this led my eyes to her legs which were also shaking and seemed to have lost some muscle, looking as if they could only barely support her weight. Her weight, which was looking awfully unhealthy.

Diagnosis: sick pony. Time to feed some hay to her, brush her mane, and play sportsball with her to raise her fun levels! Or, that would have been the case if I hadn’t tasted something concerning coming from her emotional eigenvector. It had the faint taste of the same sort of sour yearning, for lack of a better term, for Scratch, but worryingly enough, it was subdued by a pinch of amusement and smothered relentlessly by a gagging sense of shame that I could only barely recognize from my hours as an Appaloosan filly.

And so, the only diagnosis could be that Melody needs emotional support. But would I be able to give it to her? Trying might just make everything worse, after all.

No. I owed it to her to try. She opened my eyes, let me see how simple Equestrian society was, how easily it can be helped along if only a ling would spare the effort and take a chance. And now, now I had to take a chance for her, I had to take action on her behalf. 

But I could tell, I could just tell, she was lying. Lying! To me, the pony she irrationally bonded to! I didn't even know ponies could lie! And yet, to me, her friend (maybe her only true friend left), she would keep something so important from, while acting so rude to me! I could already feel what she was so worried about: this town was the one where she and Scratch met. But even though I already knew what was up, it still hurt to have her not trust me by telling me this!

I felt anger and fear well up through my veins. She was supposed to be a normal, fluffy, cuddly, little helpless pony doll, not... this! This just—it just reminded me of the worst parts of my time in the changeling hive too much: the withholding of love between family members for petty reasons, the falsely smiling faces of changelings that only want something from you and know you can't tell if they're being genuine, the grudging alliances of mutual distrust (I've always hated politics), and the vitriol between every ling in the hive. I remember thinking, "Are ponies like changelings after all?" 

As I trudged out of Melody's self-imposed prison, this thought brought me to tears. It's not right. It's not fair! Ponies are supposed to be the better between us—everyling learns that in school! They're stronger than us, quicker than us, and have a better society! They live with luxuries unknown to even the Queen! Flowers, bread, plumbing, artificial lighting, arcade games! From the moment they are born into the charcoal dust of the catacombs and see what we have made for ourselves, every nymph’s heartfelt dream is to enter pony society, to see their beauty and take it and own it! Every changeling learns to despise their ugly natural forms and put up a facade as the testament to beauty and cuteness that ponies are! 

And the ponies can give love! They give love! Willingly, even! While we can only snatch it up from their loved ones for food so we can achieve even the basest, driest survival in the Badlands! The ponies somehow have so many wonders and comforts in their continued survival, somehow live in peace and harmony in their passive pacifism, while we're just stuck being the violent monsters who leech off them. We each have our own place in society, and only a large upset in the natural order can change that; everyling from the Queen on down has been telling us that every single day of our miserable lives! We've known that truth every night as gangs of changelings buzz around the caves to suck on the blood of the weak and defenceless with noling around to uphold law and order! They don’t have crime like that, they have the Royal Guard! We’ve known that truth while blocking out the sounds of thousands of nymphs crying out in pain and hunger to a mother who will never love us. We’ve known that truth… We’ve seen the truth that…

Everyling always says it’s better to be a pony. To be a creature not born from the miserable, but from the ambitious. To be a creature not burned and buried through our true nature, but turned and tarrying on as a marionette pretending to smile. Happiness over hatred, kindness over indifference, loyalty over self-interest.

But if that's really true, then why would Melody act like that?

Are all ponies like that to strangers? Have I been wrong in basing my assumptions on the only experience I had as a pony, which was replacing those with close friends, family, lovers? Could it be true that not every pony likes each other, and that they have to work towards it?

Are changelings not able to make new friends?

My body had unconsciously marched yards away wracked with sobs behind the empty stage as I was forced to relive the trauma of living in the changeling hive for my formative years.

Finally, I was free. The feelers from my mind quickly reeled back in from Scratch’s own with a snap, freezing my mind in her despair. A few moments later, the feelers in Melody’s mind snapped back to me, plunging my mind into hatred.

I stood up from the bushes. The nearby market bustled and 

No. There’s still one holdout of the good in equinity, one thing that has always proven sacred, one thing that connects everypony to each other. This one thing humbles all, bringing them to the same level. It creates an earnest connection of simple trust between ponies. It brings joy to boredom, assurance to the small, solidarity, and friendship.

The hoofwave.

[redroomreflections]

Hotel California | Track 1: Smoke and Mirrors

Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader

Summary: Natasha Romanoff, frontwoman of the punk rock band Velvet Rebellion, falls hard for a woman she believes is too good for her. Their intense relationship unfolds in the chaotic world of rock 'n' roll, where they struggle to balance fame, personal demons, and their undeniable passion for each other.

W/c: 7k

Chapter 1/12

Masterlist | General Masterlist

Note: I was going to wait to post this since I have fifty-leven WIPs but to make up for me not being able to write for a while and also finishing two stories in the coming weeks - here we are. I'm nervous about posting this one for some reason. Hope y'all like it.

Themes: love, fame, sex, drugs

Track 1 - Smoke and Mirrors (each chapter is a track)

In the world of music, there's no denying that Velvet Rebellion's sound is electric, their melodies are undeniably addictive. But offstage, the drama and chaos surrounding this band have been the subject of endless tabloid fodder. It's a classic case of the music being sweet, but the rest of the package is a tad sour. Will their rock 'n' roll lifestyle ultimately overshadow their undeniable talent? That remains the question on everyone's lips.

The TV channel flicking produced a rapid succession of blips and static.

"You know, when it comes to Velvet Rebellion, it's clear that Natasha Romanoff is the best thing about the band. Her vocals are just on another level!"

"Oh, absolutely! Natasha's stage presence is incredible, and her voice, that raw emotion she pours into every note, it's what sets them apart. But let's not forget the rest of the band; they bring their own magic to the mix!"

Another press of the button. Another channel emitting the same rhetoric. 

"So, what are your thoughts on Velvet Rebellion, the band that seems to be taking the music scene by storm?"

"Look, I won't deny that they've had their moments. Natasha's got a powerful voice, and they've had some catchy tunes. But let's not forget, there's more to rock 'n' roll than just one person. We bring our own unique sound to the table, and we're here to show that rock isn't a one-trick pony."

Suddenly, the screen goes black. The television has been turned off. The room is silent. 

“Whatever,” The mysterious person tsks. There are better things to do. 

In the dimly lit room, the first flicker of a cigarette lighter illuminated a shadowy figure, and a guitar's haunting melody echoed through the air. It was a simple beginning, a humble birth of sound that would eventually become the anthem of a generation.

Images flashed in rapid succession—a chaotic whirlwind of memories and moments that had defined their journey from obscurity to stardom. The flashing lights of a small, dimly lit club, the very place where they had played their first gig, gave way to a sea of screaming fans, arms raised in fervent adoration.

“Bucky! Bucky!”

“Steve, we love you!”

Talk show interviews brought them into living rooms across the nation, their faces beamed into millions of homes as they shared their stories and their music with the world. The camera panned to Natasha, her fierce gaze unyielding as she answered questions with poise and grace.

And then, there were the guitars. Guitars being smashed in a blaze of glory on stage, a ritual that had become their trademark. The destructive catharsis of the act symbolized the release of their raw energy and passion into the world.

Groupies and fans clamored for their attention, their devotion evident in the longing looks and outstretched hands. Each face in the crowd told a story of how Velvet Rebellion's music had touched their lives.

Late-night studio sessions followed, with the band working tirelessly into the early hours, crafting the songs and lyrics that had earned them their place in music history. In the dimly lit room, the flicker of a cigarette lighter once again marked the beginning of a new song.

Magazine covers splashed with their images adorned newsstands across the country. Excerpts from clippings of their first studio album, "Velvet Love," told a tale of raw, unbridled emotion set to music—a story that had resonated with countless souls.

The montage painted a vivid picture of a band that had journeyed through the highs and lows of fame, never losing sight of the music that had brought them together. Velvet Rebellion had carved its path through the music industry, leaving an unforgettable mark on the hearts of those who had listened and loved.

*************

Sunlight filters through the curtains of Natasha and Wanda's cozy Los Angeles apartment. Disheveled yet determined, Natasha sits on the edge of her bed, cradling her guitar. She strums the strings absentmindedly, searching for that inspiration that once fueled Velvet Rebellion. Her fingers danced over the strings of her trusty guitar, each note a whisper in the quiet solitude of the bedroom.

Natasha's hair framed her face, and frustration lined her expression as she strummed the chords once again. The next album's melodies were meant to be born here. Yet, inspiration remained at arm’s length, teasing her like a fading dream.

"Come on Natalia," she whispered gruffly, remembering the name she had left behind long ago.

With a sigh, she shifted her gaze to the muted TV on the dresser. A NEWS REPORTER's face appeared on the screen, accompanied by headlines that could never escape the relentless clutches of the media. She searched for the remote to turn up the volume as the face of one of her bandmates, Tony Stark’s pictures appeared. 

NEWS REPORTER

(on TV)

“In a surprising turn of events, Velvet Rebellion's Tony Stark was arrested last night for public indecency.”

Natasha's eye-roll was instinctive. Tony always had a way of making headlines for all the wrong reasons.

NEWS REPORTER

(on TV)

“...fans and critics alike have noted the band's gradual decline, and it seems the once-revered punk rock indie sensation is now on the verge of falling apart.”

The reporter's words cut through Natasha's indifference, a scalding reminder of the shadows that had been gathering around them. She couldn't deny it; the band had been stagnant for too long.

Fury sparked in her eyes, and she clenched the neck of her guitar, momentarily abandoning the song. The Velvet Rebellion of yesteryears, the band that had ignited stages and won hearts, couldn't be reduced to this—a spectacle of controversies and dwindling star power.

Returning her attention to her guitar Natasha sighed. The room's stillness hung heavy as she gently laid the guitar down on the floor. It felt like a futile effort, the muse remaining frustratingly out of reach, leaving her with an empty canvas and an aching desire to create.

Her gaze dropped to the small, black notebook, its pages filled with aborted attempts to capture the essence of their experiences and emotions in song. But today, those pages mocked her, an unforgiving reminder of the creative void that had taken its home within her.

Just as her frustration reached its peak, the bedroom door swung open with a soft creak, and in walked Wanda, a bowl of popcorn cradled in her hand. She plopped down on the bed beside Natasha, her eyes rolling in a knowing, teasing manner.

“How’s writing going?” Wanda asked, grabbing a handful of popcorn to plop into her mouth. 

Natasha let out a weary sigh, her notebook momentarily forgotten as she shared her woes with her best friend.

“You have no idea. It's like I've hit a wall, and I can't seem to find my way around it.” Natasha said. “How are we supposed to come up with another album with no songs? It’s been two years. We’re going to be known as one-hit wonders.”

“First off that’s a bit dramatic,” Wanda attempted to calm her down. “We made the hot rock and alternative songs billboard charts for our debut. I think the momentum is still there.”

Wanda cast a glance at the muted TV screen, where a news reporter was still busy dissecting Tony's latest escapade. She couldn't help but roll her eyes, mirroring Natasha's exasperation.

“And of course, our dear Tony adds another branch to the publicity tree. It's almost impressive how consistently he manages to get into trouble.” Wanda shook her head. 

After placing her bowl of popcorn on the dresser, Wanda decided to abandon her sitting position and instead flopped onto her belly, propped up on her elbows. She grabbed Natasha's small notebook, a curious glint in her eyes as she skimmed through the handwritten lyrics and scattered notes.

“You know, Nat, I think I see where you're stuck.” Wanda hummed to herself for a moment. 

Turning her attention to Wanda, Natasha felt her frustration momentarily ebb away, replaced by curiosity.

“Oh?” Natasha eyed her. “Please, share your wisdom.”

Wanda's eyes sparkled with an unexpected idea, and she pointed to a particular verse in the notebook. Her voice took on a sultry, poetic quality as she suggested a new lyric.

“How about this: "In the shadows of desire, we ignite the night."

Natasha's eyes widened in surprise as the words resonated deep within her. She quickly reached for her instrument and strummed the guitar, incorporating the new lyric into the melody, and in that instant, it all fell into place. A smile grew on her face, and she turned to Wanda.

“Wanda, that's brilliant! Thank you!” Natasha leaned forward to kiss her cheek. “I know why I keep you around.”

Wanda beamed in response. 

"Speaking of," she began, her voice casual yet laced with an underlying purpose, "we've got a gig this weekend. It's a birthday party for Harley Jameson, you know, the producer's daughter."

Natasha's response was swift and uncompromising, her will clear in her refusal. Her head shook slightly as she firmly voiced her decision, her thoughts already drifting toward the disturbing pattern of her bandmates taking liberties with decisions without consulting her, the lead.

"Absolutely not, Wanda," Natasha declared, her tone leaving no room for negotiation. “Aren’t we better than performing for snot-nosed brats?

Wanda, ever patient and understanding, propped herself up on her elbows. 

“Well, when that snot nose brat is paying us fifty thousand dollars plus a retainer,” Wanda shrugs. “And all the booze and food we want.” Her words were measured, spoken with the calm that came from knowing this conversation was inevitable." Nat, remember," she began, "you're the lead, not the boss. We haven’t been taking gigs because you've been declining. You know we need to keep the momentum going."

Natasha's jaw clenched in frustration. She leaned back, her gaze shifting to the ceiling as she contemplated her response.

"There's a reason, Wanda," Natasha explained, her voice tinged with concern. "Our brand has taken a beating lately with all the scandals we've had over the years. It’s not a good look being so new. I want us to lay low for a while, let the storm pass."

Wanda sighed, her eyes reflecting her understanding of Natasha's concerns. But she also recognized the band's need to keep going ahead despite the challenges.

"Nat," Wanda said, her voice gentle and reassuring, "I get it, I really do. But we'll be fine. Harley's party should be a breeze, and I promise we'll stay out of trouble. We'll stick to the music, no antics."

Natasha's hesitation lingered. Ultimately, the trust she had in Wanda, her lifelong friend and partner-in-crime, began to outweigh her reservations. She finally nodded, a reluctant but willing acceptance of the gig.

"Alright, alright," Natasha conceded. “We'll do it. But just this one, and we'll play it safe."

Wanda's eyes sparkled with a victorious smile, recognizing that she had won this battle for now. With that agreement, they returned to their songwriting. 

**************

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the manicured lawn of Harley Jameson's grand estate, Velvet Rebellion gathered on the makeshift stage. Around them, staff and party planners began to decorate the backyard. Their instruments glistened under the setting and stage lights. 

Natasha, her guitar slung securely across her shoulder, couldn't help but notice Tony, seated behind the drum kit, his sunglasses doing little to hide the lingering effects of his earlier indulgence. She approached him with a stern expression, a hint of frustration in her voice.

"Tony, you better get it together," She warned. "We're not messing this up tonight."

Tony, ever the charmer, brushed off her concerns with an easy smile and a wave of his hand.

"Nat, I promise, I'm fine. See?"

With that, he launched into a lively drum solo, his sticks dancing skillfully across the drumheads. The rhythm was tight, the sound electrifying. Natasha couldn't help but acknowledge his undeniable talent, even as she sighed in resignation.

"Great," she muttered to herself, "the sunglasses are his secret weapon now."

Standing beside Natasha, Steve placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. His quiet and calming presence was a balm to her nerves.

"It's alright, Natasha," He reassured her, his voice steady and comforting. "We'll get through this gig, just like our old days. Tony’s recovering but he seems fine."

Together they glance back to their bandmate who was more than likely inebriated. Tony chugged a bottle of water, before crushing it and dropping it down onto the floor beside him. 

Natasha's gaze softened as she looked at Steve, a small smile forming on her lips. “Yeah, he’s the epitome of fine.”

“Okay,” Steve pulled her gently to the side. “What’s the problem?” 

“Nothing,” Natasha shrugged. “I just can’t help but think that gigs like this are beneath us. I mean we went from performing at the MTV Video Music Awards to this? A sweet sixteen?”

Steve looked at her. He had been through thick and thin with Natasha and knew the depth of her concerns. 

“Natasha,” He replied. “I get your worries, but I promise this is a good thing for us. Todd Jameson is one of the biggest music producers in Hollywood right now. There will be a lot of executives here just to support his daughter. Think of what that could mean for us.”

“Fine,” Natasha nodded. “But if he fucks up I kick his ass.”

“Oh, you bet. Right after I’m done kicking it,” Steve joked causing Natasha to burst into laughter. 

Natasha steps back over to the mic. “Alright let’s take it from the top.” 

As Natasha prepared to lead the band into their rehearsal of the first song, the peacefulness of the backyard rehearsal space was abruptly disrupted by the arrival of Harley Jameson. She swept onto the scene with all the extravagance befitting a Hollywood princess, accompanied by a harried-looking party planner and another woman, who appeared to be a guest.

Harley, the embodiment of a spoiled heiress, immediately began issuing orders with a sense of entitlement that left the party planner flustered.

"No, no, no! These decorations are all wrong! Change them around! The mirror ball should be over here. And I want a live peacock by the pool. It's not too much to ask, is it?" Harley demanded impatiently.

The party planner, clearly overwhelmed, tried to keep up with Harley's demands. "Harley, we only have a few hours before the party starts. It's going to be challenging to make all these changes in such a short time."

Harley huffed, uninterested in the logistical challenges she was causing. "I don't care about that. Just get it done. My dad said I could have whatever I wanted."

Meanwhile, Harley's attention shifted to Velvet Rebellion, her face lighting up with enthusiasm.

"Oh, my God! I've been dying to meet you! I'm a huge fan!" she exclaimed with excitement. “I’m so happy I could get you here.”

She bounded over to the band, seemingly oblivious to the chaos she was creating, and introduced them to the party planner and you.

"This is Velvet Rebellion!" Harley introduced with enthusiasm. "Steve, the keyboardist, Tony on the drums, Bucky on the electric guitar, Wanda, the second lead singer and bass guitar, and Natasha, the incredible lead singer!"

You and the other woman exchanged glances, your expressions a mixture of frustration and amusement at the whirlwind that was Harley Jameson. You gave a small wave, opting to be in the background of this exchange. 

Wanda, ever the peacekeeper, managed to maintain her composure and put on a friendly smile despite Harley's overwhelming energy. She nodded graciously at Harley's enthusiasm.

"Oh, thank you so much, Harley!" Wanda replied with genuine warmth. "We're thrilled to meet you too. Your party looks like it's going to be incredible!"

Harley's energy showed no signs of waning as she delved into the details of the band's performance. When Wanda mentioned their planned first song, "Smoke and Mirrors," Harley immediately piped up with an alternative suggestion.

"No, no, no," Harley interrupted with fervor. "I want you to start with 'Ink and Whiskey.' It's my favorite!"

Natasha, who had been preparing to protest the sudden change to their setlist, hesitated as she saw Wanda's meek demeanor. However, it was clear that Harley's demand had disrupted their carefully planned sequence.

Natasha began to voice her concerns, but Harley's retort was swift and smart-mouthed. 

“We’ve already planned this out for-” Natasha began. 

“Oh, you can change it, can’t you? It’s just a silly setlist,” Harly questioned. 

Before Natasha could respond, you intervened with a calm yet authoritative tone.

"Harley, let's tone it down a bit," You advised, your demeanor oozing an air of authority that surprised Natasha. Harley listened, her earlier defiance giving way to a more composed demeanor.

“Sorry, I’m just excited,” Harley shrugged. 

Natasha found herself intrigued by your presence and the respect Harley seemed to show you.

"Alright," Natasha conceded with a smile, "since it's your birthday, we'll start with 'Ink and Whiskey.'"

Wanda offered a nod of agreement, and the tension in the air began to dissipate.

Harley, feeling triumphant, turned her attention to the party planner.

"Sarah, darling, let's make sure everything is perfect. I want it to be a night to remember!" Harley changed the subject, pulling you both back into a conversation with ease. 

Sarah, the party planner, nodded and tried to hide her relief that the brief crisis had passed. 

"Of course, Harley. Everything will be just as you want it."

Natasha watched the exchange between Harley and Sarah, her curiosity piqued more by you. 

“Who’s the chick?” Natasha pointed over to you with a tilt of her head. She got shrugs from Steve and Bucky. Tony was way too distracted to answer as he flirted with one of the staff. Wanda squinted to see if she could guess. 

“I don’t know,” Wanda said. “She looks vaguely familiar, but I’m guessing it’s not her mom.”

“Interesting,” Natasha mumbled to herself. She shook her head. There was no time for whatever the thumping in her heart was proving to be. She was here for the band and for the music. Also for the money, she couldn’t forget the money. 

As the preparations for the party continued, your cell phone suddenly rang, breaking the conversation flow. You excused yourself with a polite smile and stepped away from the group, heading toward a quieter corner of the backyard a few feet away.

Natasha couldn't help but overhear snippets of your conversation, the tone of your voice suggesting a heartfelt exchange, likely with a significant other. Natasha discreetly glanced in your direction, her curiosity getting the best of her.

Your voice held a gentle warmth as you spoke softly into your phone, your words filled with affection and longing.

 "I miss you too, sweetheart. Yeah, the party's getting started here in a couple of hours. It's not the same without you. Can't wait to see you soon." You smiled. 

Natasha couldn't hear the other end of the conversation, but the tenderness in your voice painted a clear picture of a loving connection between you and someone special.

Meanwhile, Harley, always the inquisitive host, began questioning Steve and Bucky about the band and its music.

"So, guys," Harley started, her interest genuine, "Have you ever thought about going solo? I am dying to know the secret."

Steve and Bucky, accustomed to answering these questions, engaged in a friendly chat with Harley, even if they also found her annoying. 

As Natasha discreetly observed you from the corner of her eye, she couldn't help but be captivated by your natural beauty. You were dressed in a simple white t-shirt and form-fitting jeans, a look that should have been unremarkable, but on you, it was utterly captivating.

The way your hair was styled, framing your face in soft waves, added to your appeal. Your skin had a radiant glow, and your features held an understated elegance that drew Natasha's attention. Despite the casual attire, you exuded a timeless charm that was impossible to ignore.

Natasha found herself admiring the effortless beauty that seemed to emanate from you and she wanted to know more. 

Just as Natasha started to pretend she wasn't eavesdropping, you turned around with a warm smile, catching her off guard. She quickly toyed with her microphone stand, feigning indifference.

You found her reaction amusing but were soon drawn back into your phone conversation. Natasha couldn't help but wonder about the person on the other end of that call and what had sparked such a genuine smile on your face. 

She toyed with the mic stand for as long as possible, physically forcing herself not to look your way. It’s a few more minutes before you returned to the group. You turned your attention to Harley and Sarah.

"Harley, don't forget, you have that hair appointment in an hour," You reminded her, glancing at your watch. "We need to make sure you're all set for your big night."

Harley, momentarily distracted by the band's presence, nodded in agreement.

"Oh, right! Thanks, y/n. I'll head out now," Harley replied with a grin. She turned to the band and offered her farewells. "Catch you all later!"

With that, Harley and Sarah departed, leaving Velvet Rebellion alone in the backyard.

As the group began to disperse, you took a moment to say goodbye to the band. 

“See you guys tonight,” You said. “I’m sure you’ll do great. If you need refreshments just ask one of the staff and they will be happy to help you with anything you need.” 

Natasha responded with a small smile and a nod, a subtle acknowledgment of the brief but pleasant interaction.

Once you, Harley, and Sarah were out of earshot, the rest of the band couldn't resist teasing Natasha. Wanda, with a mischievous twinkle in her eye, chimed in.

"Uh oh, I know that look," Wanda teased, earning a knowing chuckle from the others. Natasha's momentary fascination with you hadn't gone unnoticed, and her bandmates were more than happy to playfully nudge her about it.

“There’s no look, I don’t have a look.” Natasha rolled her eyes. 

“Sure, you don’t,” Wanda grinned. “Any bets on how long until she gets her number?”

“I say within the hour,” Tony raised his hand pulling out a single, crinkled five-dollar bill from his back pocket. 

“Fifteen says they sleep together after the show,” Bucky shrugged. Steve is the only one to remain silent. 

“I don’t know,” Steve scratched the back of his neck. “I think I’ll save my thoughts for later. The girl barely said two words to any of us.”

“Thank you,” Natasha said. “Now, can we rehearse like a proper band?” 

She tried to erase your image from her head as she positioned herself in front of the microphone. 

From the top. 

*****************

The night was alive with energy as Velvet Rebellion took the stage, the crowd gathered around, eager to soak in every note of their music. Natasha oozed confidence and charisma, a star in every sense of the word. The opening chords of "Ink and Whiskey" filled the air, and the crowd erupted in cheers. This birthday party was a rager if she’d ever seen one. Natasha always considered rich people stiff and uptight. Going to plenty of parties once their debut kicked off their careers. Stiff drinks, weird pleasantries, and even more drugs. She was being proven wrong with this particular shindig. 

She moved to the edge of the stage, her presence magnetic. She sang with a passion that could be felt in every corner of the space, her voice carrying the weight of their lyrics. The audience couldn't help but be drawn into her performance, and they eagerly joined in, singing along and dancing to the beat.

Wanda, standing beside Natasha, bled a different kind of cool and calm. Her steady presence provided the perfect balance to Natasha's fiery performance. It was clear to anyone watching that their dynamic was the secret to their success.

Natasha lowered her head, giving Wanda the floor to sing her part of the chorus. Wanda’s hands moved steadily between the chords as she sang into the microphone. 

Ink and whiskey, the pages of our hearts,  

Tangled in the chapters where love starts,  

In the darkness, our secrets we confide,  

With every word written, our souls collide

Natasha steps forward, moving close enough to the microphone so that she and Wanda could harmonize the last verse. Her eyes travel from Wanda’s, smiling as they share in the energy and joy of being on stage before she maneuvers herself to face the crowd. 

In the night's embrace, our love's sweet refrain,  

Ink and whiskey, like a runaway train,  

Through the highs and lows, we'll find our way,  

With every word we write, love's here to stay

In the front row, Harley danced with her friends, reveling in the music and the excitement of the night. The atmosphere was electric, and the joy was contagious.

As Natasha sang, she scanned the crowd, her eyes landing on familiar faces among the sea of B-listers and music enthusiasts. But the one that stood out the most was you. Your eyes locked, and Natasha couldn't resist a playful wink, a silent acknowledgment of your earlier encounter.

You raised your glass in a silent toast and clapped enthusiastically when the song came to an end. You weren’t a huge fan of the music genre but you could see why Velvet Rebellion was such a rising star amongst new artists. Their stage presence was undeniable, the song was catchy and the beat was electrifying. It helped that Natasha was cute. All good things in your book. You can’t take your eyes off the stage as they move into their next song. It’s a bit disjointed considering Harley made them change the setlist around the last minute but it seems smooth either way. Natasha dances a bit for this one, her body movements fluid and effortless. Almost as if she’s had some training. 

You’re momentarily distracted when a distant family member comes to say hello. 

The show must go on as Natasha continues to sing her heart out. 

**********************

The final notes of their setlist rang out, and the crowd roared in appreciation. Velvet Rebellion had given their all, and now it was time for the DJ to take over and keep the party going.

Wanda had convinced Natasha to stay a while longer, promising that the night was still young and full of possibilities. Tony, ever the charmer, remarked with a grin, "I see a few MILFs in the crowd that I wouldn't mind mingling with." He slipped into the crowd with ease, chatting up the first single woman he saw. 

Natasha, however, remained all about business. She stood at the bar, surveying the party and keeping a watchful eye on her bandmates. The chaos and revelry around her seemed to blur into a colorful swirl of dancing bodies and laughter.

It was then that you approached her, catching Natasha's attention. Your presence was a welcome change of pace, and Natasha couldn't help but appreciate the genuine compliment she received.

"You guys were incredible," You said with a smile. "I'm impressed."

Natasha, always a woman of few words in such settings, offered a gracious nod of acknowledgment. 

You extended your hand with a warm smile as you introduced yourself, "I'm y/n. It's a pleasure to meet you."

Natasha shook your hand firmly and replied, "Natasha. Likewise."

You couldn't help but notice Natasha's reserved demeanor. Almost as if she felt too cool to be here. 

"I couldn't help but wonder," You began, your curiosity evident as you raised your voice above the music. "why aren't you out there dancing like the rest of your bandmates?"

Natasha offered a wry smile and shot back, "I could ask you the same thing."

“Touche,” You nodded. “I’m not much of a party girl.” You turn towards the bartender. “Do you want a drink? Eric here makes the best mojitos.”

“Sure, I’ll have a sex on the beach,” Natasha asked. 

“You heard the woman,” You jokingly said to Eric as he began to make your drinks. As you focused your attention on grabbing a few napkins, Natasha gave you a once-over. Your party dress was a delightful balance of simplicity and style. The knee-length and backless dress showcased a flattering silhouette, hugging your curves in all the right places. The deep, midnight-blue fabric was decorated with tiny, shimmering glitter that seemed to twinkle with each movement you made. Its sweetheart neckline and delicate spaghetti straps added a touch of femininity to the ensemble, while the mid-thigh slit allowed for easy movement as you moved. The overall effect was a cute yet elegant dress that perfectly suited the festive atmosphere of the party.

Natasha's observant eye caught the jewelry adorning your wrist. It was subtle but tasteful, hinting at a level of refinement that didn't go unnoticed. It was at least half of her salary for tonight’s show. This only interested her more. She needed to know who you were. She wanted to know the mystery behind you and your name. 

“Here you go,” You step back over to Natasha to hand her a drink. “I hope I’m not being too forward.”

“Not at all,” Natasha shrugged. 

"You know, if you're looking for a bit more quiet, we could step inside for a breather." You suggested, tilting your chin towards the house. 

Natasha considered the offer, realizing that a change of scenery might be a welcome respite from the party's chaos. With a small smile, she agreed, "That sounds like a good idea."

You led Natasha through the sea of people and inside the mansion to a nearby office where the music's relentless thump was muffled, and the atmosphere was quieter. It was a welcome change from the frenzied party outside.

As you settled into seats close to each other on the couch, drinks in hand, Natasha couldn't help herself and began to ask you questions. 

“Why did you ask me in here tonight?” Natasha asked. “Not that I’m complaining. I have been invited into much worse places.”  

“Thanks, I think,” You chuckled. You sensed Natasha's curiosity and offered a simple explanation, your eyes holding Natasha's in an unspoken connection."I enjoy meeting new people," you confessed, your voice soft but sincere. "And I've decided I wanted to talk with you."

You took a sip of your drink, your gaze thoughtful. "I also wanted to apologize for Harley's behavior earlier. She can be... spirited at times."

Natasha waved off the apology with a small smile, understanding that spirited was one way to describe Harley's antics.

You went on to explain, "Usually, I don't speak up like that, but my uncle has a way of spoiling Harley. It's... complicated."

Natasha's curiosity got the better of her, and she asked, "Your uncle? He’s Todd Jameson?"

You took a moment before revealing, "Yes. He and my dad are half-brothers. Making Harley my little cousin. I don’t admit it often."

The revelation left Natasha intrigued. She had heard the name Todd Jameson before, a figure of significance in the entertainment industry. The connection between you and Harley was now becoming clearer, and Natasha couldn't help but wonder about the family connection.

“That would make your dad…” Natasha began. 

“Nick Fury, the one and only,” You finished for her. “Different fathers. My dad is somewhere out there tonight. It’s a thing I don’t like to admit to strangers.”

“I get it,” Natasha nodded. 

The revelation about your family connection to Todd Jameson made Natasha pause for a moment. She had always admired the award-winning jazz player turned talent manager, Nick Fury, from afar. His contributions to the music industry were legendary, and Natasha couldn't deny that she was a fan of his music.

She decided not to fangirl, though, and instead offered a genuine smile. "Your dad is a legend. I've always been a fan of his music."

Your eyes lit up with appreciation. "Thank you, Natasha. I'll be sure to pass that along to him." You set your half-empty cup onto a coaster, before turning back to Natasha. “So, watching you on that stage. Not many people have that star power. I was wondering if you have experience dancing? You were incredible.” 

Natasha's eyes sparkled as she recalled her performance. "The way I danced on stage during our set, it's a part of who I am. I guess you could say it's a bit of my background showing through."

Your curiosity piqued, and you guessed, "Ballet, then?"

Natasha nodded. "Yes, I did ballet for sixteen years as a child. I even got into Juilliard."

Your eyes widened in admiration. "That's amazing, Natasha. How did you get into singing and music?"

Natasha took a sip of her drink and smiled as she delved into the story of how she got into music. It was a story that she didn't often share, but there was something about her conversation with you that made her feel comfortable opening up.

"It all started back in high school," Natasha began. "I was really into dancing, and it was an elective at my school. But then, one day, I decided to join the choir on a whim. And I fell in love with singing and songwriting. I grew up in a rough neighborhood. I needed something to keep me out of the house and off the streets."

She paused for a moment, reminiscing about those early days. "So, I started writing songs, and my friends Wanda and Steve would go over to Steve’s small bedroom. We'd play our rented instruments and experiment with different sounds. It was just a fun little hobby at first."

Natasha's gaze drifted, lost in the memories of those simple beginnings. "Then Bucky, Steve’s best friend well, he's always been a bit of a troublemaker, but he's got a talent for the electric guitar. And Tony...his dad's pretty wealthy and bought us all our equipment. Plus, he's good at the drums."

She chuckled, shaking her head. "It was a bit of a motley crew, but that's how Velvet Rebellion came to be. We started playing in small venues, dive bars, and country clubs. And somehow, we made it here."

Natasha's usually guarded demeanor had softened in your presence, and she found herself enjoying the opportunity to share a piece of her journey with someone who seemed genuinely interested in her story.

“I love that,” You nodded. You and Natasha share a smile before she asked. 

“Is your boyfriend here tonight? I don’t want to keep you too long,” She fished for more information. 

“No, no,” You shake your head. “No boyfriend. You?”

“Not really into monogamy at the moment,” She shrugged. She doesn’t know if this statement will bite her in the ass later but for some reason she trusted you. “Tell me about you. Are you in the family business or?”

"I've always had a bit of a connection to the music world," You began. "As a teenager, I sang a few backup vocals for artists my uncle produced. I guess you could say I almost pursued a career in music, but life had other plans for me. I got pregnant at seventeen. Dedicated to finish school and go to college."

You took a thoughtful swig of your drink and continued, "Now, I'm a publicist. I don't mean to brag, but I'm good at what I do.When I'm not working, I'm taking care of my daughter, Isabella. She's nine years old and the light of my life."

Your face softened as you spoke about your daughter, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of pride and joy. "She's with her dad for the weekend," you added, "and we co-parent quite well."

Natasha was genuinely interested in your life outside of the party scene, and she couldn't resist asking, "Do you have any pictures of Isabella? I'd love to see her."

Your eyes twinkled with delight as you pulled out your phone and began to share a few adorable images of your daughter. Natasha couldn't help but smile as she admired the photos, enjoying this glimpse into your world beyond the music and the party.

“Here she is at gymnastics practice,” You flipped through a few pictures of Isabella’s smiling face. “And swim. She is a little spitfire and she wants to do it all.”

“Wow,” Natasha smiled as if Isabella were her own child. “Do you ever want more?”

“Maybe one day,” You said wistfully. “For now I feel pretty full with everything in life. You?” 

You noticed the change in Natasha's expression and asked, "Is something on your mind?"

Natasha sighed, leaning back into her seat. "I just don't know if I'm cut out for motherhood," she admitted. "I have a younger sister, Yelena, she’s attending the University of Cambridge in England now. She's even developed a bit of a British accent." Natasha couldn't help but chuckle at the thought.

"But," she continued, "I enjoy the fast-paced life, the music, the performances, and the constant movement. A significant other won’t quite understand that I don't always have the time. Not that I don’t ever want that someday but…” Her voice died down. 

You listened empathetically, understanding the complexities of Natasha's life as a musician. "I get that," you acknowledged. "But it's essential to find the right balance for you, whether it's in your music career, personal life, or something in between. My dad was able to do it. When he crossed over into hip-hop there was definitely a lot he missed but he still made things happen"

“Really? Well, I will have to ask him for pointers.” She grinned. 

Just as the conversation was reaching its peak, there came a polite knock at the office door. A member of the party staff popped in to inform you that they were ready to sing "Happy Birthday" to Harley.

You turned to Natasha with a warm smile. "It was nice meeting and talking to you, Natasha," you said genuinely.

Natasha, not wanting the connection to end, began, "You know, I'd love to..."

But before she could finish her sentence, your cheeks flushed, and you interrupted already knowing what she was going to say, your voice bold, "Are you going to call me, or are you going to leave me hanging in the wind?"

Natasha couldn't help but laugh at your sudden assertiveness. It was a pleasant surprise. "I’m not that type of woman," Natasha said. At your look, she laughed again. “You got me there.”

You returned her smile and handed Natasha your phone, saying, "You'll just have to trust me with your number instead, and I'll call." Asking for her number instead eased the pressure off Natasha, and also your nerves at hoping she’d call. 

You gave Natasha a wink and chucked a thumb over your shoulder to indicate you were going back to the party. Natasha nodded and watched you walk away. When her eyes trailed lower she doesn’t even feel guilty about it. 

Natasha left the office, rejoining her bandmates outside in the backyard, just as they were preparing to sing "Happy Birthday" to Harley. The festive atmosphere was in full swing, and the energy of the party was infectious.

As the crowd gathered around Harley, Natasha's eyes scanned the faces, and they landed on you, who was standing among the partygoers. Your eyes met, and you shared a knowing smile, a silent acknowledgment of the connection you had developed.

Tony, always quick to pick up on things, couldn't help but tease Natasha when he noticed her grin. "So, did you get her number?"

Natasha rolled her eyes at Tony's assumption but then burst into laughter. "No," she replied with a playful smirk, "she took mine."

The party was still in full swing when someone on stage stopped the music with a loud, "Hey, everyone! Can I have your attention, please?"

The spotlight shifted to the stage, and all eyes turned toward the source of the interruption. It was a friend of Harley's, and he had a mischievous grin on his face as he spoke into the microphone.

"I have a special surprise for our birthday girl tonight," he announced. "We have someone here who's agreed to sing 'Happy Birthday' to Harley, and I think you're all in for a treat."

A collective cheer and applause erupted from the crowd as they eagerly anticipated the surprise. The spotlight moved to you, highlighting your face and putting you on the spot. You managed to not look like a deer in headlights which was a feat in itself. Natasha's curiosity was piqued, especially considering you had mentioned you weren’t much of a singer.

You tried to protest shyly, but the crowd begged you to come up on stage. Encouraged by their cheers, you reluctantly made your way up to the spotlight.

Once on stage, you cleared your throat and took a deep breath, your nerves palpable. You began with a little birthday speech, your voice tinged with affection and humor.

"I want to wish a happy birthday to my cousin Harley," You began, your smile directed at the birthday girl. "Even though she's a bit of a brat," you teased, earning laughs from the crowd, "she's my brat, and I wouldn't have it any other way."

Then, as expected, you began to sing "Happy Birthday." Your voice, which you had modestly downplayed earlier, was nothing short of remarkable. It was soulful, sweet, and filled with a depth of emotion that resonated through the entire backyard.

The crowd, including Natasha, was utterly blown away by the unexpected talent that you possessed. Your voice filled the air, making the birthday celebration even more special and memorable. It was a moment of pure magic, and Natasha couldn't help but be captivated by your incredible singing ability.

Natasha decided two things then and there. One, she really liked you, and two, boy, was she in for a ride.

---> next part

[shirecorn]

Shirecorn's Ponyverse Masterpost

So for the last 2 months I've fixated on doing redesigns based somewhat loosely on My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic. I've had so much fun filling in the gaps and extrapolating until my version is less of a redesign and more of an AU.

"Ponies" are three species of sentient hoofed creatures that populate Equestria. They worship giant goddesses that fill the sky and ferry the moon and sun across the world.

Tag navigation

#Shire draws mlp - drawings only. Leaves out the lore

#Skyscraper gods lore - drawings, posts, and asks that expand on the world. Talks about biology, genetics, ritual, society, politics, religion, but mostly creature design and magic.

#Skyscraper Gods - Art, asks, posts, and fanart! Everything to do with both my little pony canon and my version of things. Includes drawings without lore, and lore without drawings. This is the tag to browse to make sure you see it all

Characters

In progress: Discord

○ The Mane Six ○ All Alicorns,

○ Rarity ○ Fluttershy ○ Flutterbat ○ Applejack ○ Pinkie Pie ○ Pinkie Pie Pegasus ○ Rainbow Dash ○ Twilight Sparkle ○ Raritwi ○ Spike

○ Princess Celestia + Princess Luna ○ Princess Cadance + Shining Armor + Flurry Heart ○ Sunset Shimmer ○ Sunburst ○ Apple Bloom + Scootaloo + Sweetie Belle (Cutie Mark Crusaders) ○ Big Macintosh/Ochard Blossom (she is a woman) ○ Granny Smith ○ Mr & Mrs Cake + Pound Cake and Pumpkin Cake ○ Maud Pie + Mudbriar ○ Trixie Lulamoon + Starlight Glimmer ○ Cozy Glow ○ Zephyr Breeze ○ Escape Room Guy + Dusty Pages ○ Berry Punch/Berryshine ○ Vapor Trail ○ Bulk Biceps ○ Tempest Shadow ○ Flim and Flam ○ Queen Chrysalis + Thorax + Ocellus (Changelings) ○ Autumn Blaze (kirin) ○ Rain Shine (kirin leader) ○ Sky Beak (hippogriff) ○ Starcatcher and Skywishes (G3)

Lore

○ The 3 pony species ○ Breeding/genetics ○ The 4 Alicorns stories ○ Gods of non-pony species? Seapony god? ○ Unicorn Horns: Starlight physics, Different shapes, Alicorn horns, Horn colors, ○ Where did Spike come from? (1) (2) ○ Your daughter has won the favor of God (fic) ○ Nightmare moon playlist ○ Cutie marks are cultural not physical: (1) (2) ○ Starlight Glimmer's hometown and her cult ○ Alicorns don't fit inside buildings ○ Discord is a headache to behold ○ Government in the world of gods ○ Gender and matriarchy ○ Scootaloo's flightless disability ○ Equestria Girls Vs Skyscraper Gods, existential horror ○ Pinkie Pie breaks the forth wall because she hopped worlds once ○ Vampire fruit bat ecology and virus ○ How ponies caught it

Meta

○ Using Skyscraper Gods as inspiration (2) ○ Why I like expanding on MLP: its simplicity ○ MLP Creature designs are already good ○ If you don't like my designs ○ I'm just having fun: (1) (2) ○ Mane 6 doodle to finished design ○ After ponies ○ Designing based on birds and animals ○ Starcatcher dove

Shitposts and Doodles

○ My fursona in mlp style ○ Daytime! Nighttime! ○ Baby god ○ Local horse fistfights the sun ○ Shining armor alicorn ○ Sunset shimmer becomes god (2) ○ Poodle rarity ○ Zephyr Breeze thinks RD is a man ○ Season 9 ○ Why is EQ an hour long ○ Being held at gunpoint to watch Equestria Girls ○ World's gayest dash ○ 18 pounds of crake

Fanart by others

○ Fanart tag

Commissions

○ People request a lot and that normal ○ Prices are low because I'm already fixated

Ko-fi requests || Classic commissions

Shirecorn Discord

Join any tier of my patreon to access my art discord

○ See WIPs, discussion, the occasional meltdown, and more ○ The content is all done through discord, so if the patreon looks dead it's all just on the server instead.

I hope you enjoy seeing my MLP creations as much as I enjoy making them!

[oakskull]

I wanna see your pony moshang 🥺🤲

ask and you shall receive!!

my drawings do come with worldbuilding rambling, terribly sorry (not sorry at all)

Side note: "windigos" are creatures in My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic (FiM) and I am using them here, but I am changing the name to frost spirits and changing some of their behavior, they look the same.

Design Notes:

SQH has ink stains on his mouth because non magic users write like that. He was a unicorn pre-transmigration and mourns his loss of unicorn magic and technology regularly. The world he transmigrated from is like the far future of FiM, with modern technology and the internet. (not the latest gen, I honestly remember jackshit about the lore in that movie...)

I've seen Earth pony SQH and I get the appeal. But here me out: Pony maigu ridge needs Qinghua to fly! And he's literally a flight risk!

His cutie mark is a brush and a paper airplane, because its his pen name (get it?). PIDW (mlp ver) has a level of technology more similar to SVSSS, but instead of flying swords there's trains. Im taking away xianxia flying swords and giving you trains. Ponies on swords just look too silly! they'd be unstable! (not that this whole AU isnt very silly >w<)

The Northern Kingdom in this au would be the Crystal Empire equivalent, except there is no crystal heart. The Northern desert is kept in a perpetual blizzard by the frost spirits (there is a barrier against storms around the capital created by the northern kings, redone as part of the ascension ritual but otherwise free standing) Instead of love and light protecting the kingdom, the crystal ponies use the power of incredible violence to keep the umbrums at bay.

Additionally, the crystal ponies of PIDW (mlp ver) are physically stronger, have higher base levels of magic, and are generally more cold resistant, due to living near the frost spirits for so long. They are still flesh creatures; the crystal skin is more of a replacement for their coat rather than the skin itself. Crystal ponies are also hypercarnivores, whilst regular ponies are omnivores (this isn't FiM also the horses are magic. they have basically human diets)

I also couldn't decide on a coat color for MBJ so there's two versions. I'm leaning towards the white fur for contrast reasons. And yes, I Did forget to render the crystal part of crystal pony on MBJ, thank you for noticing (lmao)

MBJ's cutiemark is the flag for the crystal empire, because he's part crystal pony, he still has a cutiemark, but all direct descendants have the same cutie mark after they absorb their ancestors power. Before this, they do not have cutiemarks, and gaining a different cutiemark means the frost spirits didn't acknowledge them as a potential decendant, and they can no longer become king.

Pre-Asension Mobei-Jun:

In PIDW (mlp ver) MBJ is a crystal pony decendant of the frost spirits which keep the Northern Desert perpetually cold. They gave the first northern king their power in the war against the umbrums (the things that made King Sombra in FiM). There's no friendship fire to chase away the frost spirits because this is PIDW (mlp ver) it's a stallion novel (pun intended); Instead, the frost spirits are sated by the constant war. There was an umbrum unicorn created to infiltrate the Crystal Empire like in FiM but they just became a regular pony instead of trying to take over and basically just created a new clan of ponies with shadow powers. MBJ's mother was part of this clan, and the abyssal shadow pony ancestry cobined with his frost spirit ancenstry gives him the ability to shadow step/ teleport through the shadows.

MBJ didn't get his pretty hair until he absorbed his ansestors power, which works similar to SVSSS canon. The previous northern kings die and pass on their power to the next generation because they are technically still frost spirits, and not really alive in the same way that regular ponies are.

SQH in an MLP style coat:

Ponies in FiM don't really... wear pants, even when it's cold. In Airplane's world they definately wore pants, and SQH will never go back (like the opposite of SVSSS LOL). In PIDW (mlp ver) ponies don't wear pants for bad porn reasons, Airplane justifies this by pulling the history card (peerless cucumber is not impressed)

Also! you can see SQH's mane better because its profile view, he's not a crystal pony, but he wheres the crystal pony hair bands as an homage to a bun without me actually having to give him one. Because ponies have ears on their head it always feels to me that a bun takes up too much visual space, thus, fancy hair bands.

Moshang flirting:

SQH can dish out flattery all day but he absolutely does Not know what to do when MBJ returns the favour (lol)

Alicorn Shang Qinghua:

In PIDW (mlp ver) I like to imagine that Airplane cut out alicorns because acending through nice things like friendship and love did not fit the vibe. Alicorns were instead like, the old gods who controled elemental stuff, like Celestia and Luna (renamed in PIDW (mlp ver)). Ponies don't control the weather or sun and moon and have less inate magic (earth pony magic, pegasus magic, and unicorn magic), instead, all the alicorns dispersed into spiritual energy that controls the elements and weather and stuff. Ponies cultivate this spiritual energy to gain a golden core of their inate energy, and eventually immortality, but they don't get the trappings of an alicorn.

So, like there aren't really any gods in SVSSS, there aren't any (living) alicorns in PIDW (mlp ver) they're more like myths than anything, and reside in the heavenly realm. I won't be getting into this AUs binghe/ heavenly demon equivalent because this is a moshang post, but Heavenly Demons are changling royalty, which have their FiM powerset on steroids and are sort of corrupted alicorns.

So alicorn SQH is bascially this AUs equivalent of God!SQH. It's not nessisarily canon to the AU but this mostly exists for me and I really like God!SQH so it basically is. Schrödinger's canon.

("Small Matters" style is a reference to the series by Coffeetailor on Ao3)

[listofwhyyouloveher]

Greasers x reader who’s a romantic goth? Like with the dark moody reds and pinks and lace clothing (kind of like Morticia Addams’ style but with slightly more color lol) Do you think any of them would dig it or find it strange?

Summary: outsiders w a romantic goth.

Warnings: mentions of religion and the devil, harmful stereotypes

Author's note: short n different format today x

Ponyboy isn't into your style at first, he isn't exactly a religious person but he knows that the devil is associated with evil and you dress in outfits that would have socs whispering about you doing satanic rituals in the bathroom at school.

Later on, he learns to like your style. He appreciates the artistry and attention to detail that goes into it, especially when the Addam's Family first aired.

Johnny likes your style but refuses to get close to you or even glance your way. He does this because his parents are ultra religious and would give him hell if he was seen hanging out with you.

Sometimes when he's feeling creative he likes to draw you in the dirt of the lot. It's not very good but he thinks he captures your essence and your long flowing black sleeves very well.

Sodapop doesn't dig your style. He's into stereotypical bleach blondes, you are quite the opposite. However he couldn't help but notice when you went from wearing all black to adding splashes of colours to your apparel.

Sometimes, in the streets, he'll compliment something about your outfit, smile when you say thank you, and turn back to watch you walk away.

Steve totally digs your style, he thinks it's tuff and that you'd curse the socs if they made you mad. He's totally one to fall for rumors and believe everything anyone says. Despite his ideas of you being supernatural, he truly might be one of the very few, not including the Curtis gang, to treat you like a human.

He'll always tell you that if you ever find a hearse for a good price that needs fixing to get him on the job and he'll have it done quicker than anything.

Two Bit doesn't think much about your style. It doesn't cross his mind. He does try to stay away from you because he doesn't want any bad influences for his little sister but as soon as he gets to know you he let's go of that idea.

He definitely made you dress like the Bride of Frankenstien for Halloween and he of course was Frankenstein.

Darry tries to keep only the best people around. He's unsure of whether or not your clothes make you a "bad person" but he quickly let's go of that notion because he saw you teaching Pony somethings. He likes your clothes, really. He thinks it's cool how you can get a bunch of random things and put it into an outfit fit for a moon deity.

With much persuasion, he has dressed up as Gomez Addams, you as Morticia and Pony and Soda as Wednesday and Pugsley. He also dressed as Herman Munster and you as his wife. (All for halloweens)

Dallas tries not to engage with you romantically. He thinks your outfits are sick but he knows you won't do what he'd want you to because you are certainly not a conformed. He'd make a lot of weird conclusions about you because of how you dress.

He has a lot of old black clothes that he let's you take and repurpose. He really likes seeing what you can do with them but he always jokes and makes it seem like you stole his stuff.

[vivwritesfics]

Sirius black x reader who is always either painting his nails or playing with his hair 💗💗💝💞

Omg a marauders request I'm so happy

"Fucking Hell, Sirius. Sit still!" Y/N commanded as she grabbed a hold of her boyfriends wrists.

Sirius had been sitting patiently while he waited for Y/N to grab her nail polish. It was a ritual for them, one that usual happened in the middle of the night, when neither of them could sleep.

But, this time, Sirius's previous coat of nail polish had chipped to nearly nothing and she was desperate for sleep that night. Sirius could wait, he could have waited until she wanted to stay up all night to do it, but Y/N wanted to do it now (and Sirius couldn't say no to her).

Sitting in the common room, at one of the many tables, Y/N held Sirius down. Normally, she couldn't have to. Normally, he'd sit there and let her do it. Normally, he loved it.

But, this time, James and Remus sat behind them. The little shits. They giggled, kicking their feet like girls as Sirius got his nails painted. James stood up from the couch in the common room just to stride over and pinch Sirius's cheeks. He'd pulled his hand away from Y/N to bat him away, making her mess up.

"Boys! Stop it!" She commanded, grabbing Sirius's wrist once again and pulling him back. Her grip was like a vice as she continued to paint the nails on his right hand.

Once she was done, she lifted his hand to her face and blew on his nails, trying to quicken the drying process. She blew again before pulling him even closer and kissing the back of his hand.

His left hand continued in much the same fashion. James and Remus made comments like they were astute observations.

***

"Baby, please," said Sirius as Y/N laid on his bed. His head was in her lap as she combed her fingers through his hair. "Slughorn said I need to tie my hair up for potions." He said it with a pout and Y/N couldn't stop herself from kissing him.

"Fine," she said and combed her hands through his hair again.

Sirius had a comb, not a brush. Y/N grabbed it from the small table beside his bed and ran it through his dark locks. As soon as she had the few knots out of his hair (Sirius took really good care of his hair), she began plaiting his hair, starting from the top of his head.

Sirius put his hair up. He put it in a pony tail or a man bun, but he'd never worn it in a French braid. But, upon his request, Y/N put his hair up in a French braid.

She secured it with one of his hair ties and turned him around to kiss him. (With his hair tied back like that, the piercings in his ears were visible. In my head, he at least has his helix pierced, maybe more).