tavi *semi-nsfw

(these were all separate, fleeting glimpses, and it is encouraged to think of each separate paragraph as separate moments - however, there are a few, populated more towards the very bottom, that have more than one paragraph. those are together and separated by dashs (-))

vinyl scratch snug snug snuggling a very embarrassed octavia

a very lonely octavia, curled up on the couch and staring longingly into the fire.

a incredibly lonely octavia quietly crying herself to sleep.

a grief stricken octavia slowly numbing herself with the memories of a lover passed away

a broken octavia’s cold, emotionless facade that will persist until her dying breath

-

a single night on the town, a momentous realization where octavia realizes that she is hopelessly in love with her bestest and closest friend. for a moment she sits there, just stunned, staring into her friend’s gentle rose coloured eyes as she (her friend) continues to go on talking about something octavia can’t even hear them.

her heart furiously blossoms open but her dry mouth clenches shut

-

octavia covering her beet-red face as her best friend nibbles up and down her haunches and licks her dainty earth pony hooves.

-

octavia mumbling angrily to herself whilst vinyl showers. vinyl has been very very distant lately and it bothers her.

-

it’s octavia’s birthday and she feels awful. even her own mother won’t talk to her. but that’s okay, she tells herself quietly again. mother has never ever taken any interest in the things that mattered to her. it won’t make a difference now - she’s not as important as the ones who really matter. her friends and.. her best friend.

a small ribbon of a smile spreads across tavi’s face. the ones who truly matter

-

tavi sighs to herself. she doesn’t even bother to touch herself now. it feels like such a useless gesture. it would never be as fulfilling and as wonderful as when vinyl touched her.

she straddles the pillow, awkwardly managing it with her hooves. she humps it, gently. she imagines vinyls soft loving voice whispering into her ears. she recalls the way she.. she. could.. her tongue..

octavia slumps over, staring at the wall. it’s no use. she places her damp hoof into her mouth, tasting it’s saltiness. she is hurt and ashamed.

no one else could ever replace her and she’s a damn fool for even thinking otherwise

-

the auditorium is dark, but the stage lights are scintillating.

there are no other ponies here, in one of the few places she feels most at home. that word held little meaning for her. hard to feel welcome or comfortable anywhere. she chuckles to herself, squinting her soft lavender eyes to see past those harsh stage lights. there are no other ponies here. she remembers when there were. it would have made no difference. no pony is still a worthy audience. she’s playing for herself after all.

she draws the bow across the strings, drawing forth a very low, very somber sound.

she remembers another pony who used to come here. a very lively young unicorn. that mare was something else. so transfixed and octavia could hardly stand her. the unicorn came often, but seldom said anything.

the music had a way of speaking for itself. it transcended words in their ability to convey thought, emotion, a story. it was always a better way to speak. octavia was never good at talking to others. she was good like this though

Octavia continued playing, feeling the strings vibrate along with her soul. her eyes were damp with tears, as she stared listlessly into the vacant seats before her.