Just trying to make your mark...
Author's Note
Written for Rat.
Read this: This takes place and was written before the Crusaders managed to get their cutie marks.
There's...really no substance to this. Believe me, it's just emotional abuse. This is just Scootaloo suffering for the purpose of a joke. If such things amuse you, well then enjoy. If not...yeah, there's nothing else to this, heh.
...and I even LIKE Scoots. :'(
-Pencil
Just trying to make your mark...
The day is warm, the sun is shining, and it's the perfect day for you to tell Scootaloo of your plans. You've picked your words carefully, chosen the tone of voice to say them in, and as you stand over her now and say them, you can see the way the light of joy flickers and begin to burn inside her. The little orange filly looks up with big doleful eyes and smiles a hopeful smile at you. The very sight of this misplaced happiness makes you hard with anticipation.
“R-really?” She squeaks out, “You'll adopt me?”
“I swear it,” you say calmly, trying to hide your internal gleeful giggles.
This is too much fun. You can see her getting her hopes up, feel her slowly falling in love with you. Soon she'll be devoted to you, just at the promise of a forever home. Soon she'll do whatever you say. You smile as warmly as you can at her, and she gasps.
“Wow, I've never...never had a dad before! Can...can I call you dad?”
“Sure you can, Pumpkin,” you say gently.
You can see tears brimming in her tiny eyes as you use a nickname. Maybe her first ever 'loving' nickname.
“Will we go to the park together?”
“You betcha.”
“Will you help me learn how to fly?”
“Of course, darling.”
“W-will you tell me you love me every night?”
“Every. Single. Night.”
She gasps, her little cheeks glowing a bright red and wet lines slowly tracing their way down through the fur on her face. She's so happy, so relieved. Maybe her life won't be shit. Maybe she'll finally have someone to look out for her 24/7. You clear your throat to seal the deal.
“I'll even tell you I love you right this minute...”
“You WILL?”
“If...”
You see her smile waver just a little bit, but she stays hopeful. Foolish girl. You raise a finger in front of her, almost like you're telling her to pause her enthusiasm.
“If,” you go on. “You are able to earn your cutie mark.”
Now she really does seem to sag at the edges a little. You knew that would get her. Then, nearly right away, she perks up again, shrugging off any sadness that had begun to consumer her. The younger ones do tend to be more resilient and optimistic, but you can't help being impressed that she's still smiling. Somehow, you're all the harder for it.
“W-well,” she says, trying to stay bright. “I'm sure I'll manage after a while. I'll do my best, d-dad! For you!”
Hynnnngh your dick. You can't keep from smiling fiendishly.
“I don't mean eventually,” you say slowly. “I mean now. I can't possibly have a daughter who doesn't have her cutie mark yet.”
She winces. All of that confidence, that internal message she's taken to heart that bing a blank flank is no big deal...right out the window. You can see she's getitng worried. She's doing the math in her head. Trying to adjust.
“So how long-”
Before she can go on, you lean down very close to her face, so you're almost kissing her. Almost. You smile broadly and a low laugh rumbles in your throat. This time, you allow it to echoe a little, like the sound of distant thunder.
“You have,” you say very slowly, enjoying each syllable. “One. Minute.”
As the color drains from her face, the happy tear lines suddenly look cold and fearful. Her smile is gone, and in its place is a gaunt, horrified expression. Her mouth works, but no sounds come out, and her little, useless wings quiver.
“Ready? Go,” you hiss.
For a moment, she can't seem to move, frozen by your words. Then, all at once, she's completely in motion in every direction at the same time. Her little orange carrot-stick legs flail through the air.
“Um, um, um...” she says endlessly.
You can't stop smiling.
Scootaloo looks around frantically, her mind obviously racing to think. Struck with useless inspiration, she rushes to the fence and grabs up a rope in her mouth. Desperately she tries to spin it like a lasso like she's seen Applejack do so many times, but instead it catches her back leg and she topples forward onto the ground with a tiny “uff.” The rope continues to coil around her until she's well bound.
God, if only you were into pony bondage. Then at least saddles would be sexy.
She glances up at you pleadingly as you calmly tap your wrist. With a whine of frustration, she rushes to her her feet and tries to shake off the rope. What's next little one? How will you next try to win my love? She spots a bucket and quickly runs to it. With a feverish groan through clenched teeth, she tries to balance the bucket atop her head like a circus perfromer, or maybe like Pinkie Pie. It sways there precariously for a moment, then topples forward onto her head like a hat, splashing her with the muddy contents. You hear her cry of desperation echo from inside. She pulls up the bucket to look at you.
Again, you simply tap your wrist.
Still saying 'um' over and over again, she rushes to stand in front of you, then suddenly breaks out into an awkward, flailing song-and-dance routine.
“W-winter wrap up winter wrap uuuup...” she sings out, way off key.
You snicker to yourself under your breath. With a sudden flurry of failure, she slips and falls onto her face. More mud flecks the orange fur on her face, clinging to the lines from her tears. She looks up at you, eyes pleading and despairing.
In one final attempt, she stands, flapping her tiny wings. She leaps into the air, cheeks red with effort, and hovers there just for an instant. For a second, she huffs and strains and manages to stay aloft. Her face becomes a little purple, and her eyes clench shut as tight as they can. Then her muscles at last give out and she falls to the ground, panting and spent. She glances at her back haunch and, once more, finds it lacking. Her body shudders as she feels her complete failure setting in.
“Five,” you say.
Her head whips around and her pupils dilate fully as you smile down at her. She flops pathetically forward across your feet, tears springing fresh from her eyes.
“Please! I'll do anything!"
“Four.
She kisses at your shoes.
“I'm trying, I'm trying!”
“Three.”
She hugs tightly to her legs, as if that might keep you there. As if she might somehow win your love just by loving you hard enough.
“I promise, I'll try harder. Please stop counting."
“Two.”
She crushes her tear-stained face against your leg, shaking her head back and forth vigorously.
“No, no no no no...”
“One.”
She waits out the final second curled possessively around your legs, whining out that she loves you and wants so much to be your daughter, to be good enough for you. At last, you shrug your shoulders and shake your head at her. She sniffles as she looks up at you.
“Time's up,” you say wistfully.
“B-but...”
You lean down and gently wipe a tear from her cheek, almost lovingly. For a moment, you see hope spring anew in her eyes. Then, slowly, you put your finger tip to your lips, and lick the tear away.
“Your tears,” you say softly. “are delicious."
She stares up at you, horrified, as you turn away from her.
“Pathetic,” you toss the indictment over your shoulder.
You hear her break into sobs as you begin to walk away, and you don't turn back to see her collapse onto the ground.
It's her fault though, really. None of this would have happened if she and her two dumb fucking friends hadn't fucking come into your house to try to get their cutie marks. If they hadn't gone through your stuff like little theives, if they hadn't "borrowed" something you own...
You had only one dragon dildo, ok? One. And they painted it with edible gold glitter and made it into a royal scepter for Celestia, in the hopes of earning some arts and crafts cutie marks. Now, every time the princess's in town, you have to see your beautiful Vergil dildo bobbing up and down in gold and glitters at her side. And you can't say it's yours, because you're sure that princess knows exactly what that thing is. The side-eye she gives you every now and then sends shivers up your spine, and you're not itching to tell her you want it back. Who knows what she'd want in return?
You said you'd never forgive. You said you'd never forget. And you haven't. You never will, but at least you can have vengeance. And your vengeance tastes sweet.
No one fucks with a man's dildo....well, except that man's ass.
You chuckle as you leave Scootaloo weeping openly in the mud, and consider what you're going to do once you reach Applebloom's house.
-End-
