Velvet and You

How do you know you’re alive? You don’t, not really. In fact, you know you’ve died. How you died doesn’t really matter. Maybe it was sad, maybe it hurt, maybe you didn’t deserve it. The fact of the matter was that it was over. You died, and now you are alive. Well, mostly.

At first you hadn’t been so sure. You woke up in the street, blinded by the sun as voices around you chattered in excitement and confusion. The clattering noises were too sharp and loud, and everything smelled oddly crisp and clean. As you blinked, trying to adjust to the far too bright light, the blurry shapes and colors came into view.

Weirdly, you were surrounded by oddly brightly colored small horse things. Even more strangely, you didn’t feel panicked at all. A surreal sense of calm overcame you. Everything was fine. Smiling, you waved at them, and their frightened voices came quick.

“It’s alive!”
“Is it looking at me?”
“Look at those teeth!”
“Is it dangerous?”
“Call the princess!”

The last voice seemingly found footing, and the others began to echo it.

That about catches you up to the present. You shrug, putting your hands down while the creatures watch you intently. No need to scare them, you know most ponies startle easily.

The thought gives you pause. How do you know they are called ponies? And how do you know they startle? Curiously, you try to remember other facts about them.

They are mammals, like you. They come in three tribes: One that’s tough, one that flies, and one that does magic. They also come in every possible color, and have as many personalities. Like ice cream. The little tattoo on their butt is important to their destiny, or something like that. They are ruled by a pony princess that was part of all three tribes.

Oh! You figure that must be her as something catches your eye. Smiling, you wave at the extra tall purple pony with wings, a horn, and a crown.

“Hello, ah, Princess?” You aren’t sure how to address horse royalty, and your voice lifts at the end like you’d sucked up a helium balloon just to say her title.

She furrows her brow in confusion, but shakes her head and smiles. “Hello… And who are you?”

You look down at yourself, curious as to how to answer her question. What is your name? You aren’t sure. You’re wearing a nice black suit. Odd, had you always been a guy? You sort of remember how much your boobs got in the way and how nice it was to have fucking pockets in your clothes. Well, you certainly are a guy now! There is definitely a trouser snake in your trousers. No sense dwelling on it. But really, what was your name? Is that even an important thing for you to know?

Still sitting, you look at her questioningly. Maybe she knows more than she’s letting on. She seems to be less alarmed than her subjects. “I’m not sure! I don’t think that’s important anymore.”

She frowns, and then bites her lips. “Look, there is… a lot going on right now. Are you planning on eating anypony?”

You gasp. “Of course not! I’m a Buddhist! I’d never hurt a soul.”

Oh that was neat. You always wondered what it would be like to be Buddhist, and now you know. Wait, that didn’t make sense…

Twilight nods. Cool. Her name is Twilight. You try not to think about how you know that. “Good. Then I’m assuming you have no plans to take over Equestria, either?”

You shrug. “I don’t think I have any plans for anything. Like, anything at all.” Wait, that wasn’t right. “Oh! I have one plan!”

She blinks. “And it is?”

You smile wide. “Any place to get some banging tofu soup here? I’m really craving that soup that’s like, a broth with white cubes… Youso? Or Weso?”

Twilight takes a deep breath, calming herself as she clearly makes a decision. “Miso. It’s a Neighponese soy based soup.”

What a clever pun! Neighpon, like Nippon, but with horses, and in the Ja… Neighponese language. It sounded like “Neigh Ponies,” which is even funnier. “Yeah! That’s my plan! I’m going to get some of that!”

Twilight sighs, then looks nervously over her shoulder. “Okay. You seem harmless enough for now. I’m terribly sorry, but I really have to go, so, uh, welcome to Equestria. Just until I get back, you’re under royal protection. Also, please don’t hurt anypony—you’ll go to jail for that. See you in a week after we beat the Spirit Dancer and his army.”

You laugh. “Ha! Suck it, nerds! I just got isekai’d by Twilight Sparkle!” Oh, that was her last name!

Twilight Sparkle frowns as she looks back to you. “I’m really very sorry, but we’ll pick this up after I get back.” Then she glances through the crowd, settling on a yellow unicorn, “Double Take, can you take, uh, this guy, to…” She pauses, seemingly unsure, then settling on something, “My mom? And let her know that I’d really appreciate if she could look out for him and make sure he’s taken care of.”

Double Take nervously steps forward and bows, “O...of course, your majesty.”

Twilight smiles. “Thank you, Double.” Then she looks at you. “Please be good to my little ponies. I’m awfully sorry that I can’t offer more hospitality, but I have to go. Be nice to my Mom! She’ll take care of you.” She flaps her wings. “Good bye!”

You don’t see a problem with this. Smiling, you wave at her as she leaves. Boy, you’ve sure smiled and waved a lot. “Bye Twilight! Have fun with your dancing!”

All the ponies wince as you say it, but you don’t really notice. Double Take, who you oddly know nothing about (And why is that odd? You just met her.) looks nervously at you.

“Hello, Mr..?”

You smile back, lowering your arm. “Hello!”

She looks curiously from the left to the right as the other ponies part around her. Sighing, she lowers her head. “Follow me please, Mister… I’ll take you to Mrs. Velvet.”

Jovially, you stand all the way up and brush off your super fine suit with your hands. “Thank you, Mrs. Take.”

She looks at you with a confused stare then blinks once, before tossing her head forward with a faux confidence. “It’s Miss, thank you very much. And I’m on a royal mission from Her Highness! So, ah, please follow me?”

You laugh. “You’re very much welcome, Miss Take. Lead the way!”

Double leads you through the brightly colored winding streets with a hollow confidence. Even now that she’s used to you, something about her manner seems off. Maybe she’s a model? Most ponies seem to look at her, then at you in surprise, then back at her. It’s kind of fun to make faces when they look at you to try and trick them into a second look.

Oh! Now you get it. Double Take! That’s why all the ponies keep looking at her. You laugh. Equestria sure is funny!

“How’d you get a name like Double Take?”

She glances back over her shoulder, tossing her cream colored hair out of her eyes. “I was named by my mother, the same as most ponies.”

“Coolio. So your moms all like, can read destiny?”

She groans in frustration, whipping her head forward. “No…”

“But, like, how can they know what to name you? You’re Double Take, and all the ponies are looking at you! Even with the tall alien behind you.”

She doesn’t look back at you, treating you to the back of her well manicured mane instead of her face. At least her ears flick back when she speaks, “Yes. That’s because they’re checking to see if I’m panicking. I’m not, so they don’t. If I was panicking, every pony would take one look and turn tail.”

You wave at a passing foal, and it waves back only for it’s mom to usher it quickly away. Rude. “What? Why would they run?”

“You’re huge and scary. I’m okay with it because the princess said you were safe and I trust her. Even if I have other things to do right now.”

“Neat! So if I went somewhere without you, the ponies would all run from me in abject terror, impressed by my sheer physicality.”

Her ears flick forward, and her tail swishes as she searches the streets. “Something like that. Lets hurry up and find Twilight Velvet.”

It sounds like a super power. Maybe you could take advantage of it somehow. If you’re lucky you can ditch this grumpy pony and become the terror of Canterlot. “What else do you have to do anyways?”

She speaks quietly as she continues to look. “I run a donation based thrift shop. Ponies in this city throw out clothes like candy wrappers. It’s wasteful, so I run a little business recycling them to benefit ponies who don’t have the money or time to worry about the newest fashions.”

Pleased, you think you’ve figured it out. “Oooh. Double take because the clothes get bought twice! Or worn twice.”

She turns to glare at you, clearly annoyed. “What? No. Don’t be weird.”

“But why Double Take? It’s such an odd name for a pony.”

She narrows her eyes. “At least I gave you my name, Mister. It’s pretty rude to not introduce yourself.”

Hmm… Maybe she has a point. “I’m sorry! I just can’t remember. I think it might come back to me! Some things are! Like Windy Whistles and Pear Butter.”

She looks at you confused. “Are those your names? Those are mare names. Are you a girl?”

You shrug. “No. At least, not anymore, I think. I have a dick and it is huge.”

She blinks, glances down at your trousers, then glances back up in pity. “Okaaay…”

“And those aren’t my names, those are the other moms.”

Double Take furrows her brow in confusion. “I’m not sure I can do this for much longer. Lets find Twilight Velvet before I go crazy.”

You groan. “Why do we have to find her? Can’t we find miso soup? I’m hungry! I feel like I haven’t eaten in years.”

She sighs. “Do you have any bits to buy soup with?”

You check your pockets to find that they are empty except for the device. “Nope. Just a thing that I cannot speak of. No money.”

She turns her head back to the milling crowd. “Well, I’m not buying you any soup. I’ll bet Mrs. Velvet will, though.”

“Aren’t you curious about my thing?”

She takes a deep breath. “No.”

“But it’s unspeakable!”

“Good for you.” She mutters, her tail beginning to twitch.

“It’s maniacal!”

“That’s nice.”

You sigh, disappointed that she doesn’t want to see the unspeakable thing that you can’t show her. “Fine… Why are we sitting here anyways? This is dumb. She’s probably at her house or something.”

Double Take furrows her brow in concentration. “It’s common sense. There’s a higher PPM at this intersection.”

Now you’re confused. “What?”

“Ponies per minute. There is a high density of ponies, and they constantly change. This is the busiest intersection in Canterlot. If each pony has a one in a million chance of being Twilight Velvet, and we go through a thousand ponies a minute, we’ll likely find Twilight Velvet in just over five hundred minutes, or a little over eight hours.”

You stare at her for a full minute as nowhere near a thousand ponies come by. “There is so much wrong with what you just said.”

She groans. “No, the math checks out.”

“Uhh…. Not really.” You glance nervously around. Maybe you could just run for it.

She answers with no inflection, cleanly exasperated. “Yes, it does. I should know, I’m an accountant.”

You clap your hands together, startling her. “Ah hah! That’s what it is!”

Double Take whips around in a rush, startled by the noise. “Don’t do that!”

You smile. “But I figured it out!”

“Fine… what did you figure out?”

“Your name! You’re an accountant, and you’re named Double Take!”

She looks at you like you’re crazy, so you explain it better.

“You embezzle! Or maybe it’s tax fraud? Ah heck, why not both!”

Her eyes get wide as dinner plates, and her yellow fur pales. Her voice is soft, like the wind through a dandelion, “What? No… I mean… I’d… It’s not…”

You smile wide and pump your arm in victory. “Nailed it. Either that or stripper, and you’re pretty naked already.”

She glances over you, suddenly relieved. “Oh look, it’s Twilight Velvet.”

“Pfhh. Yeah, right.”

A voice chimes up from behind you. “Double! It’s so nice to see you! And who’s this friend of yours?”

You turn around in surprise to see a white unicorn with purple stripes. Her butt tattoo is a few stars, and you realize that Double Take had been right. “Holy shit!”

Twilight Velvet’s eyes get wide and her mouth opens slightly in surprise before Double Take rapidly chimes in.

“Velvet! Likewise, it’s always a pleasure to see you! Meet, uh, this guy! We don’t know his name, but your daughter, Her Royal Highness The Princess, kindly asked me to bring him to you so you can take care of him in her stead while she’s off on some adventure.”

Velvet frowns in confusion. “What?”

You make to compliment her meticulously cared for hair, but something keeps you from saying anything. Literally, and it tingles. Your lips are held shut by some aura that seems to be lightly yellow greenish in hue, and tastes slightly like lemons.

Double Take finishes her introduction. “Well, he doesn’t eat ponies and isn’t interested in taking over Equestria. I think he wants some sort of soup. I’ve got to go now, good luck!”

Twilight Velvet keeps frowning. “What?”

Double take looks back at you, then back at Twilight Velvet just to be sure. “One more thing. If he says anything about me, it’s probably a lie. Bye!”

You lock eyes with Velvet as the lemony tingle fades from your lips.

“Don’t let her file your taxes. She’s a scoundrel.”

Velvet blinks, and furrows her eyes in confusion. “Miss Take?”

“No, I’m pretty sure that I’m right.”

“What?” Velvet stares at you in utter confusion.

You sip on your soup, noting that it’s a whole new level of DELICIOUS. The salt, the broth, the soy, the sheer miso experience is unlike any other you’ve had. Even the steam wafting into your nostrils is loosening up your mind with its warm and savory smell. It very nearly gives you an erection, then your brain remembers that your tongue needs the blood more than your dick does. Just barely.

Velvet watches you with a curious interest. She’s been peppering you with questions that you can’t quite answer, but she’s loaded with bits and has a heart stopping adorable face, so you put up with it.

“So, Mister… what planet are you from again?” She smiles sweetly, trying to disarm you.

You smile back, slurping the soup first. “Earth! And boy, are you cute!”

She blushes, then laughs confidently. “My, how forward! I’m happy to say that I’m already married though, so your flattery is wasted.”

You pause your miso soup munch to furrow your brow. “I wasn’t hitting on you? I was just saying that you’re cute.”

Her laugh redoubles. “Oh, am I then?” She smirks, “I haven’t been called cute by a stranger in a few decades, and being called cute in public is a little embarrassing for a mare my age, Mister. I’m not sure how to interpret it if it wasn’t an awkward pickup line.”

You shrug, “I just mean that you’re cute. If I wanted to pick you up, I’d pick you up. You’re tiny.”

Slowly you sip your soup, making sure to slurp noisily while you maintain eye contact with her. The other patrons turn to watch your now obscenely distracting slurping. Velvet frowns uncomfortably, “Do you not have any manners?”

You sigh, “Oh. You really are old. Weird. You really don’t look old at all.”

Velvet’s smile returns, “You’re a strange one. I am, indeed, old.” She leans forward, emphasizing the word with her voice and her eyes, “I’m a proud grandmother, you know. Be careful which mares you go around calling old. Some aren’t as content in their age as me.”

The soup bowl is empty, and your stomach feels full. Your body is content, but you are a general malcontent. “I’m not supposed to call ponies cute, and now I shouldn’t call ponies old. It’s not like I’m trying to fuck you, I just don’t know how to act in Equestria. Maybe you could give me lessons on that?”

She blinks, her blue eyes wide as the restaurant goes quiet in disbelief. Everyone had been listening to your charming conversation, and clearly the way you phrased your dissatisfaction swayed them wholeheartedly.

Velvet quickly looks around the now silent and staring room before she makes to stand up. “Actually, Mister, that’s probably a good idea. I’d like to avoid being banned from any future restaurants.”

You frown, looking around as the large orange stallion who brought your soup comes angrily stomping toward your table. You glance him over in confusion. Pony body language isn’t your forte, but that dude is pissed. You decide just to ask him what’s up, “What the fuck is your problem, my dude?”

The server almost falls forward, and the patrons at the restaurant gasp. Velvet grabs your hand with her hoof (How does that work?), and pulls you rapidly as she throws some bits on the table. The shiny gold coins distract you as she tugs. She’s surprisingly strong for a cute little fuzzball with hooves. You let her tug you along as she shouts over her shoulder to the rapidly approaching waiter, “Sorry, royal business. I added in some extra, a bonus from the crown!”

The waiter frowns, looks at the bits on the table, then looks back at your now fleeing form, and he frowns again. That’s the last you see of him as Velvet drags you into the street and quickly around the corner.

“Velvet, what the fu...” You’re cut off as something tingles around your lips again. This time it tastes more like wild berries.

She glares angrily at you. “No. Bad human. Do not say the bad words in public.”

You smile at her angry face. It’s slightly pudgy, and super soft looking. Like a friendly pillow. Is her horn sparkling? You hum your response, “Mm-Hmm.”

She sighs as her horn glow fades and the tingling around your lips stops, “Let's just get home quickly. I’m beginning to think that it’s dangerous in public. The PPM is too high today, and you're a little too animated for me to be comfortable with. You need to learn proper pony manners before you cause a panic.”

You groan and roll your eyes dramatically. “Whatever you say, Mom.”

Her house is nice. It wasn’t designed for a human, but has more than enough head room for you. “Swanky digs, Miss Velvet.”

She glares, then sighs in exasperation. “I told you, I’m happily married. I’m Mrs. Velvet, not Miss Velvet.”

You nod, only partially ignoring her. “Yeah. The only thing you’re going to miss is deez nuts!”

Velvet’s impassive glare turns into a disappointed frown, “While I appreciate—and even empathize with your exuberance and candor, could you pass on the vulgarity long enough to have a sensible conversation?”

Something clicks, and you realize that she’s honestly upset with you. “Oh. Sorry about that. It’s just that everything is so strange and new. When I’m not sure what to say, I just say the first thing on my mind.”

She blinks, surprised at your honest answer. “Oh. I suppose this all must be very unsettling for you.”

You nod, trying to explain, “It’s like, all the things I know, I don’t? But then I do? And it’s running wild and you’re different. You’re supposed to be flat. Not like, cake flat, because that’s gross, but like, picture flat. And I’m not supposed to be like this. I’m supposed to be shorter, rounder, softer, and more… feminine?”

She seems concerned, “Are you okay?”

You smile to re-assure her, “Sister, I am the most okay mundane normal human being you will ever meet. I’m so okay that without me, rock is just the letters RC. And nobody even drinks RC anymore, let alone listens to it!”

Velvet squints, “Are you saying you want a drink? I have milk and tea.”

You pump your fist, “Yeah! Milk! It comes from boobs!”

She crunches up her face in abject disgust, “Tea it is.”

Eh, good enough. Milk has to come from like, cow titties. Actually, thinking on it, you remember that cows are sentient here. That’s weird, right? You wouldn’t want anyone drinking your milk. Not that your boobs ever made milk. You never even got proper laid, let alone had kids.

She slips out of the room, “Make yourself comfortable on the couch. We have a television set. Feel free to use it.”

The couch is easy enough to find. You sit down, surprised at how “human” sized the couch is. Looking around the room you notice artifacts from Velvet’s life. Pictures of Shining Armor, Twilight, Spike, Night Light, and her adorn the wall. There are homey little knickknacks everywhere, piles of books in the corners, on tables, shoved under things, and generally kitschy things all around. Nothing vulgar, per-say, but all those little emotional things that make you uncomfortable—miniature ceramic pony figurines cuddling, cartoon hearts sewn on a knit throw, and you’re pretty sure one of the wall decorations says “Live, laugh, love” but you can’t read the cursive scrawl. It even smells vaguely like a grandmother’s home, that faint scent of some mysterious cleaner and old fabric.

The room visibly saturated in familial love, and it suddenly makes you sick. You always hated your family. Those fuckers got what they deserved.

Velvet comes back to find you angrily staring at the floor. Her voice is laced with concern, real concern and not that fake crap she had earlier. “Are you alright, Mister?”

The musical note in her voice shakes you, and you look up at her. Her large, blue eyes are focused on you, slightly squinted. Her mouth is flat, and she’s slightly chewing on her lip. Two cups float near by surrounded in a pale purple aura. You smile.

Her lip bite turns into a frown. “Were you… crying?”

You nod your head up and down as you vocally deny it. “I’m physically unable to cry. I’m too manly for that girly stuff.”

Velvet slides the tea over to you. You grab it. It’s hot, but not too hot. The warmth is comforting, almost cozy. She sits next to you and floats a book to herself. “I’ll just be here. If you need to talk, I’m ready to listen. If you need to think, here’s probably the best place in Equestria.”

You stare forward, looking around the room. In the back of your mind, you’re grateful for her patience. Somehow though, something isn’t right. You look at all the trophies on the shelf. The certificates, letters, and diplomas that line the walls. Her whole family is in this room. Even little Flurry Heart is there in pictures. The comfort that permeates the room is palpable. This is her space, and here it is peaceful and she is loved.

Velvet is reading her book. You watch as the golden sun filters through the blinds, filling the room with light. Time passes, and you’re both quiet. It’s hard to be quiet. You have the urge to move, or to shout. You need to tell her how cute her whole family is. How hot her son is. How her mane glints in the light, and how you’re a thirty foot tall monster from the Mesozoic age that needs three dollars and fifty cents.

You blurt it out, “This isn’t me.”

She doesn’t say anything.

“This isn’t who I am.”

Velvet turns to look at you with a patient smile, “Then who are you, Mister?”

You look at her. Her ears are forward, sticking out of her straight cut mane. It makes her look almost like a cat. You try, you really do.

“I’m Rick James, Bitch.” You stare at her, your lips quivering.

She raises an eyebrow, momentarily offended, “I see. I don’t think that’s entirely accurate. I’m going to keep calling you Mister.”

You slam your hand into your head, frustrated. “Not me!” You shout.

She grabs your hand with her magic, her grip is iron. “You seem to be doing worse. We could hold a conversation when we first met. Now you’re trying to hurt yourself.”

Your hand can’t move at all. Her telekinesis is strong, much stronger than her size leads you to believe. Maybe Twilight didn’t just send you to Velvet because of familiarity. Maybe Velvet is someone she knew could reign you in—one way or another. The thought actually calms you. Velvet is in control, so you can relax. Your hand relaxes and it falls to the side. “Sorry.”

She smiles, “Sorry is a good start.”

She’s nice. Too nice. Nobody is this nice to you. They’re mean, they make fun of you. They use you. They always want something. Your eyes dart around the room. She doesn’t want anything. You know that. It’s soothing.

She’s not even real. She’s a cartoon character from a show you’ve seen. She’s just a supporting character, so she doesn’t matter. The thought relaxes you and you sink back into the couch. The tea is delicious.

You try again. They’re all cartoon characters. None of it matters. “I’m not me. I’m not a guy. I’m not this guy.” You point at yourself.

Her eyes dart form the book to you, “I see. And I guess you’re not human either?”

You shake your head, “No. I am human. But this is all different. Something is wrong. I’m not me, and I’m all wrong. Even my thoughts aren’t mine.” You gesture around you, “This is all wrong. It’s too bright, too lively. Too living color.” Shaking your head some more, you add, “I can’t think like me.”

She nods her head at the TV, “Would black and white help?”

The TV clicks on, and there is a show. It’s two ponies dancing. The color is black and white. It’s like watching a movie from the fifties. You settle back into the couch and relax, eyes focusing on it. “Thanks.”

She smiles deeply into her book, not that you can see, “You’re welcome, Mister.”

It’s dark out. She’s still reading. The shows are over, and the station is transmitting static. You feel more calm. More in control. You can think your own thoughts, and that is both relieving and terrifying. What happened to his thoughts?

“Velvet? Can we talk?”

She seems startled. She must have forgotten that you were here. “Of course.”

“I’m a little more together now. I remember things. I think I’ll remember more things, but it might be a while.” You speak calmly and don’t have the urge to shout. That’s a win, right?

She blinks, looking around the room and taking a breath. “Do you know your name?”

“Just Mister is fine. I’m sorry that you have to babysit me. I know I’m cramping your style.” It’s obvious that she probably doesn’t usually spend all evening on the couch.

Velvet smiles, “My daughter asked me to keep an eye on you, and I intend to. I don’t think you’re dangerous, but you’ll have to excuse me for not trusting you entirely. You’re a bit of a wildcard, Mister.”

You shrug, “I’m no Tom Brady, but I will need somewhere to drop my balls.” And He’s back again.

She squints, frowning again, “Are you asking if you can stay here?”

You aren’t sure, “I guess? Where should I crash?”

Velvet smiles, “For the time being, please stay here. It will make keeping an eye on you much easier. You’ll fit just fine on the couch. Let me get you a blanket and a pillow. It’s later than I thought…”

You answer nervously, “Cool. Cool. Cool.” The TV static is bothering you, “Uh, can you turn off the snowstorm? I don’t want it to get all ‘Ringu’ in here.”

She furrows her brow, “What?”

You point your hand at the TV. “It’s too much static. It’s making my hair stand on end.”

She quickly turns it off. “I’d forgotten it was on. You’ll have to excuse me, I’m a little forgetful in my age.”

You lean your head down to eye level with hers. You can’t see any wrinkles. Her fur is smooth, her eyes are bright and clear, and her hair has a thick, full bodied gloss., “Nope. You look like you should be in college.”

She takes a step back, and a hint of rose shows in her cheeks. “I teach college, Mister. My current courses cover academic writing, runic translations, and media engagement. But I appreciate the compliment.”

You reach a hand to her retreating face, and she watches nervously as you lightly touch her cheek. She isn’t just cute, she’s soft. Her fur feels warm, like a luxury teddy bear. You just want to hug her. “Yup. GILF confirmed.”

Without any hesitation, she uses her magic to forcefully push your hand out of her face, “I’m a happily married mare, Mister. Please don’t touch. And what’s a ‘gilf’? Is it something cute?”

Some part of you is embarrassed by your behavior. That part is new. Neat! The rest of you just smiles. “Yup. It’s fucking cute all right.”

She frowns, and it is adorable.

You try to sleep on the couch. It doesn’t work well. You keep having this dream of falling. You just keep falling. When you hit the ground, you fall through the ground and fall some more. It scares you. The fall, the ground, and then the fall after the fall.

Then you wake up. You’re laying on the overly large couch, staring at a well loved living room. There’s a TV that’s not on, an old clock, books, family photos and little bits of memorabilia. Two dirty tea-cups sit on the coffee table.

Should you have picked them up? It’s not your house. You’re staying here. You’re a guest.

Or are you a prisoner? Would Velvet stop you if you just tried to leave? Would she even know? Uncomfortably, you get out of the makeshift couch bed and stand up. Your limbs ache strangely.

This isn’t your body.

It’s too muscled. Too large, to strangely proportioned. And you sure as hell aren’t used to this dick yet. It just feels weird. Sitting there in your pants like some kind of monster waiting to strike. You turn your head and walk to the window, using it as a mirror as you lift the blinds and peak under.

The face that looks back from the inky black darkness isn’t yours. It’s too manly. You’re body isn’t quite Chadwick the Chad of Chad’s, but you have more male features than you remember. Your face is supposed to be softer, rounder. You’re supposed to be cuter.

Were you a twink?

Yeah, you were probably some hot little boy toy. That tracks. You’d look good as a girly guy. All this muscle and those chiseled abs are throwing you off.

You look down your body. Fuck. You’re hot. Yeah, you’d let you plow you.

You yawn. It’s late. You’re tired. Something is wrong and you know it. There’s a reason you keep falling. There’s a reason your mind is a mess. You know that you aren’t you.

So what are you?

No, that’s not the question. That question isn’t important. You glance at your chiseled face in the makeshift glass mirror, and realize the real question.

What were you?

It’s halfway through the next day. Velvet is distressed. She’s been reading on the couch all morning and nervously looking towards the kitchen while you’ve been watching weird pony soap operas. It seems like ponies take nuzzles very, very seriously. No wonder Velvet freaked out when you stroked her cheek. It wasn’t quite a nuzzle, but according to the pony soap, “Days of our Livestock”, it was close enough to warrant a duel from a lover.

Lucky for you, Velvet seems to live alone. Wait, that’s not right.

“Where’s Night Light?”

Velvet slowly closes her book. When she goes to look at you, you notice bags under her eyes. “He didn’t come home last night.”

You grunt in disgust. “Men. Feh.”

Velvet looks at you oddly, “Are ‘Men’ your version of stallions?”

You cock your head, “Yeah. Why?”

She frowns, “He’s not doing anything untoward. He normally works late, but he’s working over time to handle castle affairs while Twilight is gone.”

You roll your eyes, “That’s what they all say. Working late. Overtime. Big projects. It’s all lies. They’re getting wasted at the bar and plowing sluts.”

Velvet’s eyes get wide and she leans away from you, “Night Light would never!”

You shrug, “Okay, boomer.”

She settles back into the couch and looks at her book in contemplation, not actually reading it. “Aren’t you a ‘Men’ then?”

You laugh, “Eew. No. I’m a … a…” You look down. Oh. That’s what’s wrong. “Huh.” is all you can say.

Velvet looks concerned.

You look back at her, “And I have you all call me ‘Mister’! Ha! How fucked up is this?”

She winces when you say fuck, but doesn’t try to chide you. “How long have you had this body?”

That’s an easy question, “Yesterday. I got it after I died.”

Velvet’s eyes get wide again, but this time she leans forward. “Oh… You poor dear.”

You laugh, “Poor? Hah! I haven’t a dollary doo to my name! So yeah, poor cuts it pretty close. You don’t like to mince words, do you, Velvet? Maybe you should be the Twilight Knife instead? Or is that too edgy?”

Yeah, Twilight Knife was probably too edgy. And if she was Twilight Knife, she’d have a cool backstory about how she was assassinated and stuff. Not anything dumb like fell out of a window while trying to save a cat. That would be real stupid. Only a real idiot would die that way.

She stays quiet. You don’t like how quiet she is. You don’t like how caring she is. It makes you angry. It makes you uncomfortable.

“Can you stop?”

Her big blue eyes are so innocent, so earnest. “Stop what, Mister?”

You turn away. It’s not like you don’t like being stared at. “Nothing. I’m just… It’s a lot.”

She puts a hoof on your leg, trying to reassure you. It’s surprisingly soft. “Sometimes we all need time.”

You turn back to look at her, afraid to ask the question, but you do it anyways, “Is this Heaven.”

She shakes her head, “No. This is Equestria.”

You try again, this time the fear makes your voice shake. It’s probably more what you deserve. “Is this Hell?”

She shakes her head again. “No, Mister. This is Equestria. I don’t know how you got here, but this isn’t an afterlife.” Her eyes dance across the walls and a small smile teases her lips, “This is my only life.”

Something inside you is shaking. Things are falling into place, and you don’t like it. “I… I need a hug.”

You stare impassively forward, lost in terrible realizations as Velvet climbs up on the couch and wraps her hooves around you. She’s kind of weak, but she’s soft and warm. She gently puts her head in your chest, and you wrap your arms around her. You start to sniffle. Tears run down your cheeks.

You’re dead. You knew that before, you’ve known it since you got here. But now you’ve realized it. You are dead.

Her horn is actually kind of sharp, resting against your chest. You take a breath, and a sob comes out. She squeezes you. “It’s okay, Mister. Let it out. Everything is okay now.”

You had cats. Three of them. You can’t remember their names just yet, but you worry if they are doing fine without you. You cry. Not just a sob, or some tears, but full on ugly cry. It’s not pretty. Velvet holds you, her head nestled in your chest and her arms around you.

She didn’t hesitate, and she still doesn’t. Without a thought, she threw her heart at you. Between sobs, you have a traitorous thought. A gentle soothing one, but one that you know isn’t true. You ask anyways.

“Are you an angel?”

She chuckles. “Stop. I’m married. If this really isn’t another awkward pickup line then, no. I’m just an old pony. I can tell when somepony needs a little kindness. And right now, you need kindness.”

You can’t ask the follow up question.

Your mind feels more stable. It’s late. She’s been reading and you’ve been watching the television. This isn’t heaven or hell. The TV is too… normal. Sure, it’s old, but it’s not perfect and it’s not terrible. It’s just like soap operas on earth.

Velvet herself is no angel, and no devil either. She’s getting angry again, but not with you. Your eyes flicker to the wall, seeing pictures of her family.

“Is he late again?”

She glances up at the clock before answering. “Yes.”

You take a breath. The urge to tell her that you're never late, you’re always exactly when you mean to be fades. You’re getting in control of these strange urges. You guess now that you understand more of what happened, you’re trying to make this body yours instead of his. Should you feel guilty? Did he need it? He’s kind of an asshole. Instead of being rude, you try to alleviate her concern.

“It was some sort of emergency when Twilight flew off and sent me with the corrupt accountant pony. If Night is covering things, he probably doesn’t have much time.”

Velvet blinks, then looks at you in surprise, “Don’t talk poorly about Double. She’s nice. I suppose there is an emergency of sorts with Spirit Dancer. But Night could at least call me! Then I would know that he isn’t dead in a ditch somewhere.” She mutters, “Or off at a bar…”

You wince, that thought is your fault. “He wouldn’t do that. You know it.”

She shivers, “I know. I just… well… I married him because I love him. I think about him all the time. It's why I’m distracting myself with these books. I’m a reader, but not this much of one. I usually like to get out and about! Go do something exciting! Not sit around and read trashy books and watch soap operas all day.”

You lick your lips in anticipation. You could go for some miso again. “We could go out for a bit. I think I’m better behaved now. I only had one bad word today!”

She looks at you, “I’d like to get out, and you are acting much better today. Being cooped up is driving me crazy. But I can’t leave to take you on a date. As I’ve made abundantly clear, I am married. I need to be here if he calls, or if he comes home, or if one of his coworkers drops by. Sorry, but we’re staying in. This time you’re stuck with me instead of me being stuck with you.” Then she buries herself back in her book.

You groan. It’s too late. You want to go do something but you can’t. Before you died, you’d sometimes stay up and pet your cats. They loved it. Velvet doesn’t have any pets. You look at her. She’s about the size of a dog.

Without thinking, your hand ends up on her head as you gently pat it.

She tears her eyes away from her book and silently judges you. You ignore her slight frown of disapproval as you pet her with an uncontrollable grin on your face. She looks like she’s going to chide you, but instead sighs and deflates slightly. “Don’t… touch my horn.”

Her warning peters out. Clearly she was going to say something else. Well, this is better than doing nothing and listening to TV static. Or, god forbid, reading.

Velvet awkwardly refocuses on her book while you stroke her hair. It’s silky smooth and impossibly soft. No wonder she’s called Velvet. This pony is probably the softest thing you’ve ever felt. The minutes drip by easier and lighter with each pat. She completely ignores your petting and her previously tense posture is now calm and relaxed.

While it might have been a little weird, you don’t think she thinks it’s weird. Ponies in the pony soap operas were always touching each other for comfort or even just greetings, so just petting her head doesn’t cross any boundaries that you know of. It wasn’t like you were nuzzling her or anything. Certainly not as risque as the taboo nose-boop!

You chuckled, imagining her scrunching up her little nose. Maybe you would boop her later. You start to play with her hair a little, pulling it gently through your fingers. It almost feels like magic.

“How do you get your hair like this, Velvet? It’s beautiful.”

She stays focused on her book as she answers, “With magic.”

You murmur in agreement, “It’s magic all right.”

Your hand lightly touches behind her ear, and her ear flicks backwards. You do it again, teasing out the response. She doesn’t seem to notice; her reaction is an unconscious reflex. Curious, you give her a light scratch behind her ear, slightly but firmly digging into her scalp. She sighs. You can’t tell if she enjoyed it or not, but she doesn’t complain.

Your cats loved it when you did that. Absentmindedly, your hand drops lower under her ear and you give her a light scratch under her chin. She shivers, then abruptly pulls away, glaring at you. “Mister, I’ve told you before. I am married.”

You hold your hands up in defense, “Sorry, Sorry… It’s just… well, my cats used to love that. I sort of forgot where I was.”

She stares at you, “I am not a cat.”

Awkwardly you look to the side, “Yes. I know that. Can we go back to what we were doing?”

She bites her lip, looks at her book, then looks at you. “Fine. But don’t touch my horn, or my face.”

Carefully you ask, “But behind your ear is okay?”

She settles back down in her seat and opens her book. “That’s fine.”

Fuck yes. You smile loosely as you reach to pat her head.

It’s much later. Velvet is still on the couch. You’ve been gently scratching and petting her head for at least an hour, probably more. She truly feels luxurious. She’s also much more relaxed now as well. Soon she’ll fall asleep.

You’ve been thinking while you pet her. About how unfair it all was. How everything is gone, and now you’re here in this strange body. About how Velvet is weird, and sort of alien, but also so familiar and so caring. In some ways, she makes you angry.

Why is she so amazing? Why can’t she be flawed like you? You were always flawed. A little dumber than the rest, or a little slower. A little uglier, far more selfish, the list goes on. You were never perfect, even before you died. Your cats didn’t care. But the rest of the world always did its best to remind you how much you sucked. No money, no friends, no future, and now no life.

And here was Velvet. Her kids were royalty, she was so beautiful, so cute, and also incredibly commanding. She had presence when she wanted to, but she also had compassion. She was smart, kind, and now that you got a look at who all these trophies are for, very athletic. Everything you couldn’t be before you died.

Yet, here she was under the palm of your hand. Why were you a man now? Was that who you really were, or was that just what you needed to be to be here with her? Still, she wasn’t yours. She wasn’t one of your cats even if she acted like one. Even if you wanted her to be.

She was, as she kept saying, Married. Angrily you let your hand dip a little too low. From just under her ear to softly touching her cheek. The lightest of touches, barely in the no-go zone. She doesn’t say anything, but her body tenses.

You can almost hear her growl in warning. Before she says anything, your hand is back behind her ears. She likes that, and she calms down quickly.

Carefully, you keep from snorting in amusement. She is such a fucking cat. Everything about her right now reminds you of one. Even her soft white coat could be one particular little fluff ball you used to have. You miss your cats, even if you can’t specifically remember them.

You test her cheek again, your singular finger dipping from under her ears to her cheek bone to lightly trace it’s length. With excitement, you wait for her growl. It starts with her body tensing. Slowly her eyes drift from the book to you. She’s angry. You scratch behind her ear while you gently touch her cheek.

She stiffens, unsure of what to do. Her eyes drift from you, to the book. The growl dies in her throat. Without saying anything, she makes a quiet decision and her eyes settle lazily on the book. Your finger is still lightly touching her cheek.

It’s your territory now. You have free access to it. Decadently, you rub into her soft cheek while you soothingly scratch behind her ear.

What a fucking cat.

You keep petting her, gently running your hand through her hair and lightly scratching her head. You’re using both of your hands, completely focused on her. One hand is always somewhere it’s supposed to be—her hair, behind her ear, or gently running down her head. The other hand visits your conquered territories.

The bad hand makes sure they still belong to you. The jawbone under her ear where she glared at you for half a minute before she relinquished it. The soft little space to the side of her neck that caused her to shiver when you quickly touched it twenty three times before she stopped responding to your trespass. The base of her horn, a fiercely fought battle where you clumsily excused bumping into it with your hand over and over until she finally stopped commenting on it. A dangerous little trail of claimed territory that runs down her forehead where she curiously and intently watched your finger the first several times it “slipped” down her forehead.

You haven’t made it to her nose, you haven’t risked anything actually taboo in pony culture just yet. But these little no-mans lands of “almost” were yours now. Each individual visit or trespass could be excused as an accident.

Soon, they are far less defensible. Your hand isn’t slipping anymore when you reach a little too far forward down her forehead. Your finger drops and firmly touches her jaw, curiously pressing into her soft cheek on the way. You bump the base of her horn regularly now, clearly not avoiding it. The neck visits aren’t quick anymore—now you linger, spreading your palm across the side of her neck.

Maybe you could have excused one of them, once. But not anymore. Now it was obvious. You have no accidental excuse when your fingers curl around the base of her horn. You can’t think of a reason why you’d accidentally draw little circles on her forehead with your finger, but you do it anyway. You don’t even tease around her jawbone anymore, you softly grab it, probing it and her soft cheek flesh. Even her neck is warmer now as your palm lingers on her pulse, sometimes tapping her. The bad hand isn’t petting her anymore, not in any way you can defend, but she isn’t stopping you either.

As long as your other hand is where it belongs, she concedes the fallen territory. One good hand, and one bad hand. You don’t know why teasing out her cat like behavior is making your pulse race. You have no real reason to push past her clearly communicated boundaries as far as you have. Maybe you just enjoy being bad. Maybe you want some level of control. Maybe she just makes you angry, and this is petty vengeance. Her calm, lithe demeanor does irk you in some inexplicable way. She’s not a cat. More so, she’s certainly not your cat.

Some part of you isn’t so sure of that fact as she leans into your ear scratch one more time. You wonder exactly how cat-like she is. When your kitties were bad, you’d move them. Pick them up by the scruff of their neck. Curiously, you wondered something.

How angry would she get? Does this go beyond petty vengeance for her perfection? Is this desire out of pure curiosity on her cat-like nature? Is it the strange unbidden need for chaos that’s seemed to plague you since you’ve arrived? Does the reason why even matter? The thought’s been planted. You can’t stop yourself.

Your bad hand wanders up to her head and becomes good while your good hand slides down to the base of her neck. It’s about to be bad.

Firmly, you squeeze the base of her neck. Your fist grips a surprising amount of neck scruff as you easily lift her off the couch. She’s lighter than you thought.

Her response is immediate. She goes limp in your grip, just like a cat. The book drops, missing the couch and landing spine up, pages down on the floor. Its sensible words are hidden in the carpet, the pages spread wide open underneath the hardback cover that’s holding them together. There is a quarter second of squirming as her legs kick out straight and then stiffen. You lift her all the way off the couch and spin her around so she’s facing you.

You’re literally holding her in the air in front of you. She weighs almost nothing. Her blue eyes are wider than you’ve ever seen them and she’s staring right at you. Her pupils are pinpricks, and her ears are flat back against her head. The only movement she makes is some shallow breathing and her mouth moving softly, but nothing comes out and it’s locked open by her slack jaw. Her soft little lips are strangely puckering and quivering, like she’s trying to say a word, any word, but can’t make them move.

You snort, amused at her complete paralysis, “What a fucking pussy cat you are, Velvet.”

She breathes quicker, but doesn’t say anything or properly move. Her eyes stay focused on yours. “You let me pet you, but only in weird ways. You say one thing, then let me do another. You growl, and you even do the kitten carry. How can you say you're not a cat?”

Velvet doesn’t say anything, she just limply hangs.

“Lounging around, reading books, acting all weird about space but desperately wanting to be touched… I can’t get over how much of a cat you are. It’s crazy. I mean, I’m crazy, but you denying that you’re a cat is even more crazy.”

She hiccups as she takes a sharp breath.

Something in the back of your mind pushes you forward. You don’t know why. Maybe you just want a cat again. Maybe it’s him and not you. You stare at her as she dangles helplessly from your grip. Your voice is as certain as you are. “I think you are a cat. You’re a cat.”

Of course, she doesn’t say anything. Her mouth is moving slightly, but you can’t make it out. Her eyes are still wide as saucers and her ears are still pinned to her head. Her legs give a weak kick, shiver, and then dangle limply again. You know you’ve crossed a line, but you aren’t sure how it got to this. Her magic was strong, and you weren’t grabbing her horn. She could have zapped you, you think. She probably still can. Still, in for a penny, in for the whole goddamned pound.

“Meow for me kitty-cat.”

She stares at you, seemingly uncomprehending.

“I see your lips moving. Meow for me, and I’ll put you down.”

Her lips freeze. Clearly she heard you.

You pull her into your face, bringing her snout to your nose. You can feel her breath on your mouth. Her nose is impossibly soft as it touches yours. Her eyes are right in yours. Your voice is low, coming from your chest. “Do it. Meow for me.”

Her eyes water, and a light puff of air graces your lips. You hear the faintest noise emanating from her chest. The word is whispered, a secret that only travels the centimeter of distance from her mouth to yours, but you hear it regardless.

“Meow.”

You even see it in her eyes. Some cognition flashes in her mind, and you know that you’ve conquered territory of some kind. Some little patch of her that your bad hand can visit now. You smile a wicked smile, feeling a confident rush you’ve never felt before as you encourage her, “That’s a good pussy cat.”

Carefully, you gently put her on the ground, letting her limp legs settle before you slowly release her neck scruff. She’s standing stiffly on her legs, staring at you as she regains her balance. As your hand lifts, she shuffles awkwardly on her hooves, and her tail swishes aggressively from side to side. In cat body language, she’s angry. You’d guess pony body language is the same. Her eyes are still watery as she stares at you. She takes a long, shaky breath, forcing the air deep into her belly.

You don’t say anything as you watch her take several deep breaths before stiffly moving. Her voice is low and strange, you’ve never heard her this angry before. “I’ll be in the bathroom.” She turns, and nearly gallops away, which is almost comical given how stiff her legs are.

You relax. Angry as she seemed to be, she ran off quick without scolding you. If it was full body paralysis, it might be the pony equivalent of the brown note. Still, feeling her face on yours was something else. And forcing her to meow was a whole new rush. Exerting that much direct control over another intelligent creature was something you’d never experienced before. Your heart was still racing from that. Was it wrong? She didn’t stop you. Maybe she couldn’t?

Idly, you wait. That had been beyond strange. You still don’t know what compelled you to do it. But her response had been worth it in every way. Minutes pass and eventually she comes back. Her hair looks straighter and her posture is more relaxed and confident. She also smells of soap, that lavender business she keeps next to the toilet because it reminds her of her daughter. A glance at her hooves shows that they’re shiny; she washed them.

Velvet opens her mouth, but then closes it as anger flashes across her face. Apparently she’s changed her mind. She glares at you, then sighs and shakes her head. “Do not do that again.”

You smugly cross your arms, “And why not?”

She takes a breath, and you notice a hint of embarrassment. Yup—all signs point to the shitter. Her awkward response isn’t particularly convincing, either. “I don’t need to explain. I am telling you to not do that again. Both physically and verbally, that is not an appropriate way to treat anypony.” She sparks her horn menacingly and points it at you.

You sigh and lift your hands defensively. “Message received.”

Velvet relaxes her aggressive posture, then magics her book back up. She’s still visibly pissed, but at least she’s not pointing her horn at you anymore. Her answer is terse. “Good.”

The night is decidedly over, so you turn to look for your pillow. As you reach over the top of the couch for it, you feel her settle next to you on the couch. She’s sitting there, absorbed in her book again.

Confused, you look around the room, then back at her. Her posture seems even more relaxed than before you picked her up. There’s plenty of room further away on the couch, and yet she sat next to you. It had to have been on purpose. You scoot slightly over to give her some space. She looks up at you in clear confusion.

You don’t have any idea what’s going on, but you scoot back, and she looks back down at her book. She seems increasingly irritated, and she’s clearly frustrated over something. Timidly, you reach out your hand and put it on her head. Instantly, she relaxes.

Realization strikes you, and a simple thought rings in your head. What a fucking cat.

You pet her again. At first you play it safe, carefully sticking to the places that are absolutely fine. After only a minute or so, your finger dips to her jaw. When there’s no response, your hand bumps her horn. She turns the page, and before you know it you have one good hand and one bad hand again.

The game is back on, but it’s different now. She doesn’t growl at all, even as your bad hand strokes all the way under her jaw to her chin. The chin isn’t an unsure no man’s land, it’s definitely off limits and you both know it. She had explicitly told you that her face is not for your use. Clearly, the rules have changed somehow. She presses her chin firmly into your light scratching. Slowly she tilts her head forward pressing her snout into the palm of your hand.

Your fingers find purchase on her lips and you’re startled by how warm they are. As you trace them, you expect her to rip away and chastise you again, but it doesn’t happen. Instead, your finger wanders up over her lips and gently dances across her nose. It wasn’t a boop, not officially, but it was far more than you should have been allowed for casual contact. Instead of threatening you, she responds in a wholly unexpected way. Slowly, her face pushes forward and tilts up, inviting your hand to wander under her jaw and then down to the nape of her neck.

What the fuck. You are confused as heck. She’s moving exactly like a cat now, and you get the inkling in the back of your brain that it’s no longer a mindless reflex on her part. It’s on purpose. She’s playing with you some how.

You’re confident that this is some passive aggressive response to making her meow for you. It doesn’t bother you, so you’re not sure why she’d do it. As you ponder it, your gears start turning. if she can fuck with you, then you can fuck with her. With an evil grin, your good hand slips down to the base of her neck while the bad hand gently grasps her throat.

She doesn’t seem to respond. There’s no growl, she doesn’t say anything, and she doesn’t even stop aggressively rubbing her throat into your hand. But the moment your hand starts to squeeze, her horn responds with a bright flash, causing a sudden stinging spark to shoot through your hand. For a moment, your hand feels like it’s on fire, then it can’t feel anything. Suitably chastised, you slide your now numb hand back up her neck and settle it in her mane.

She doesn’t look up from her book, but she purrs a response as she tilts her head forward, drawing your still good hand back up her throat and to her chin, “I’m a married mare.”