Chapters The Amorous Adventures of Scootaloo's Helmet
Applebloom and Sweetie Belle were in the tree house, weaving a net. Or a sweater. Or a dog house. After countless misadventures, the two fillies had given up on predicting the outcomes of their actions. Instead, they had decided to embrace the way chaos seemed to work out in their favor.
Their unstudious labor was interrupted by a scrambling of hooves and excited squealing as Scootaloo bounced into the room.
“Did I tell you? Did I tell you?”
“Yes,” replied Applebloom, pounding a nail through the fabric, “We all know about the booger y’all found yesterday.”
“No, that’s not it!”
“We also know how it tasted, what color it was, what shape it was, and what we said about it at the time,” said Sweetie Belle as she carefully cross-stitched a Take-Out menu to their work in progress.
“No,” insisted Scootaloo, “this has nothing to do with my boogers. This is even more amazing than that!” She could hardly contain her excitement as she burst out, “Rainbow Dash is going to adopt me!”
“Adopt …” Applebloom stared quizzically at her friend, “adoption is for orphans. Y’all have parents. They live on the other side of town.”
“But that’s the boring side of town where boring ponies with stable jobs live.”
Sweetie Belle nodded in agreement. Her parents lived on the boring side of town, which was why she spent as much time as possible at Rarity’s or Applebloom’s. Or wandering in the woods. Or hiding under the tables of her classmates. Anywhere that wasn’t the boring side of town.
“Okay,” said Applebloom, dropping her hacksaw and resigning herself that she was not going to finish her project, “when did she say she was going to adopt y’all?”
Earlier that Day :
Rainbow Dash reclined restlessly upon her cloud. Well, maybe she couldn’t “own” a cloud, but she was making use of it. It is very rude to interrupt people who are trying to nap in public.
However, no amount of trying could stop her mind from returning to Rarity’s words earlier that day: “You need something hard in your life, Rainbow. It can't be healthy to spend all your time alone in soft, fluffy clouds. You need something hard, long, and perhaps administered by a close friend.”
Something about the ferocious longing illuminating her friend’s lilac eyeshadow had spooked the daredevil, and Rainbow Dash made an excuse before fleeing the boutique.
Still, as the Pegasus reclined in her cloud, those words tickled something in the back of her mind. She certainly liked hard things. The more difficult, the better. She wasn’t sure about long, though. Attention span had never been her strong suit.
It was at that moment, she looked down from her cloud and saw something short, hard and being carried by a friend. Well, by a Scootaloo. That was close enough.
She stared at the round surface of Scootaloo’s helmet. Little beads of liquid rolled across the purple surface. With each stroke of the filly’s leg, her head bobbed and wiggled the headgear slightly. Each wiggle, in turn, sent a shudder down Rainbow Dash’s spine until it came to rest somewhere in front of her hips.
It was then the Pegasus knew she had to have it.
“Pipsqueak! I mean, uh, Scootaloo!”
The orange Pegasus stopped and turned toward the sky where her idol was descending from a cloud. The sun streamed around Rainbow Dash's wings, casting her into angelic relief as her hooves spread to touch the ground.
“Rainbow Dash,” she squealed.
“So, Scootaloo, you like me, right?”
“Of course, you’re the most awesome Pegasus ever!”
“So, you wouldn’t mind if I … could I …” her voice caught in her throat. The filly had begun bouncing in excitement, causing the light reflecting from the white surface of her helmet to glint merrily. The light held Raindow's eyes with magpie fascination, demanding her attention. How could she even begin to explain herself, what she wanted, what she needed. Her heart was speaking a language that the filly wasn’t old enough to understand. “...come to my house,” was all she could finish with.
The filly stared at her hero, uncertain if she had just heard what she thought she just heard.
“I mean, you seem to have a good head on your shoulders, so maybe …”
Scootaloo wasn’t certain what to make of the first compliment her intelligence had ever received. Still, a compliment! From her hero, her elation continued to build as she manufactured bizarre fantasies in her head.
“Here let me take that helmet off your hooves,” said Rainbow Dash, “and you can … you can come by later and I’ll give it back?” It ended as a question. Stupid Dash. Stupid, stupid Dash.
“Of course!” shouted the orange Pegasus to the Pegasus of another color.
Rainbow Dash couldn’t believe her luck as she rested the helmet upon on her couch. It sat uncertainly on the uneven surface.
“Oh, don’t worry about Scootaloo,” the Pegasus reassured the headgear, “she’ll be fine without you for awhile.”
The helmet leaned indecisively.
“Come now, don’t you think you should take a little time for yourself?” Rainbow Dash was now openly pleading. This was stupid, she was behaving like a little filly. Or Fluttershy … ugh. She was better than begging. She was The Rainbow Dash. Best Young Flier. Sonic Rainboom Boomer. Bold, reckless.
The Pegasus steeled herself, and made the impossible possible. With sudden lunge she planted her lips on the brim of the helmet.
As she pulled back, she resisted the urge to wince. What if she was going too fast? Had she just ruined everything? The helmet fell under the caress of her lips, revealing its soft, inviting interior and sexy ENSI logo.
Rainbow Dash didn’t need any further invitation.
“I knew you’d come around."
Scootaloo felt some trepidation as she hurtled down the streets of Ponyville. Without her ENSI-approved helmet, she felt exposed and also a bad example to children. Still, Pegasi didn’t wear helmets to fly, and that was much more dangerous than riding a scooter. The filly had to grow up sometime.
She pulled to a stop below Rainbow Dash’s house. Now, how was she going to make it up there? She could call for assistance, but that was the boring way that her boring parents would do it. No, she was going to get up there on her own.
A pile of crates with several boards leaning against them caught her eye, and she made for the makeshift ramp at full speed.
Her bones rattled as she bounced up the ramp, now using just her wings to accelerate her. Scootaloo leapt into the air from the edge of the ramp. Wind tugged at her mane as she lost contact with the ground beneath her. Her spirit trilled at the air swirling freely around her ears. This was why Pegasi never wore helmets.
Rainbow Dash’s porch was there, almost close enough to spit at. The air filled her nostrils and pressed against her eyes, drawing tears. She could make it, she was going to make it. Her wings flipped rapidly, propelling the scooter forward. She was above the porch. Almost.
She was even with the porch. Not quite.
She was lower than the porch. Oops.
She wasn’t going to make it.
Gravity, the meanest nag in Equestria, pulled at her. She saw Rainbow Dash’s front porch pass by her head. Her unprotected head, which was very soon to meet the ground. She never should have been so foolish as to attempt a trick without proper protection.
Well, maybe there would be something soft to break her fall.
“Greta?” called a voice beneath her, “Where do you want these large crates full of rusty nails and assorted metal hoof-tools?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Just leave it there beside the enormous metal spikes and bales of razor wire for a moment.”
Shit.
With her life approaching a very pointy and violent end, Scootaloo did the one thing she swore she’d never do. She prayed.
“Celestia …” well, she wasn’t really a deity, so, “Discord …” but he was encased in stone again, “Nightmare Moon …” no longer in commission, “Faust …” was a character in that boring story Cheerilee had made her read.
Well, praying wasn’t going to work.
As her mind wandered, her wings took over. They slowed their frenzied fluttering, smoothing out into even strokes. Snapping the air, catching it and pushing it down, generating lift.
The metal spikes below her slowed, then came to rest a couple feet away from her face. It took Scootaloo a moment to realize that her death had been averted.
She was flying.
Her scooter dropped to the ground below her and clattered among the large metal spikes pointing toward the sky. One of the spears fell over in disappointment.
She was flying!
The orange Pegasus turned in the air, letting it wash around her. Cool and brisk, parting like water over her fur. She traced a thermal draft toward the sun, basking in the glow on her skin.
She could fly!
Scootaloo spun her body, relishing the freedom from the ground. The attempted barrel roll nearly crashed her into the side of a house as she lost control. Steadying out, she realized she was starting to tire. Scootaloo turned toward Rainbow Dash’s home. She couldn’t wait to tell her hero. This was possibly the greatest day in her entire life. Although, the booger yesterday was still pretty awesome.
The Pegasus would adopt her and they’d live forever in the clouds and everything would be perfect. Her boring family and the loving environment they had provided to her for over a decade could go suck eggs.
The excited filly alighted on her hero’s porch. If she hadn’t been so busy congratulating herself, she would have heard the low moans coming from within the house. The filly wouldn’t have understood what those sounds meant, but she might have heard them.
Not even bothering to knock, the orange Pegaus banged through the front door grinning from ear to ear. There was Rainbow Dash on the couch, waiting for her, and there was her helmet …
Rainbow Dash’s wings were flared wide and sweat glistened off her body. The daredevil’s mouth hung open in strange ecstasy as she pounded her lower body against the helmet, smearing it with her love juices.
“Oooh... Scootaloo’s helmet … can I … can I call you dad … dy-” Rainbow Dash’s dirty talk died as she made eye contact with her number one fan. Her enthusiastic humping continued.
For several moments, the couch squeaking as Dash continued to grind her genitals against her plastic playmate was the only sound. The two Pegasi stared at each other in still silence. Scootaloo's mouth hung open, her tongue swaying gently in the air like a banner.
Rainbow Dash finally broke the quiet.
"No," she said and flipped her wings. The helmet was still clutched between her muscled thighs as she floated to the front door.
Scootaloo retreated backwards onto the porch.
"No," Rainbow Dash repeated before closing the door in the orange pony's face.
The moans of ecstasy from within resumed.
“Oh, Scootaloo’s helmet, don’t- don’t stop.”
Below, Greta, owner of the Very Dangerous Metal Things Emporium, tossed a foal’s scooter aside and collected the rest of her wares. Scootaloo continued to stare at the door, barely noticing the clattering beneath her.
A filly passed beneath excitedly telling her mother how she had earned her Supernumerary Cutie Mark.
Scootaloo continued to stand, her entire body locked rigidly in place. What had she done wrong? She’d … how could this have happened to her? Maybe she’d neglected her helmet’s feelings on occasion, leaving it alone in the closet on snowy days. And sometimes she didn’t clean it up right away, letting the mud cake on its surface, but … she’d been a good owner, right? How could her helmet betray her like that, and with her idol, too.
As the sun set, a single tear slid down the orange face. It splashed through the cloud floor and landed in the road. The door cracked open slightly, revealing a single violet eye.
"No."
The door closed again.
The Amorous Adventures of Scootaloo's Helmet
The next morning, a freshly showered Rainbow Dash stepped out onto her porch. There was a bounce in her step, a twinkle in her eye, and her mane was slightly more disheveled than usual. She was so busy giggling like a school filly that she almost tripped over the pitiful, orange wretch curled into a ball by her door.
A part of the blue Pegasus felt elated. Maybe the little squirt would think twice before abandoning somepony to go follow the latest superhero trend. Despite having suddenly discovered the joys of passive-aggressive behavior, the Pegasus knew it wasn’t polite to gloat. Nor would it be productive. If she was going to get the emotional train wreck off her property, it would take some Rarity-level finesse.
“Uh, Scoots, do you want to talk?”
“No,” replied the orange and purple ball of misery.
“Are you sure?”
“I’m fine.”
“Ok, then.” Rainbow Dash dragged a hoof through her mane. She was running out of excuses to be late to work. “Do you ... want to get off my porch?”
“Can’t fly.” The orange filly turned upward, hurling unspoken daggers at her hero. Daring the blue Pegasus to say it would be better if she just jumped. Daring her to say that she didn’t care.
“I … I’ll fly you down.” How had she gotten up here in the first place? Dash's passive-aggressive satisfaction and post-coital ecstasy withered before those accusing eyes. “Do you need a ride to school?”
Yesterday, Scootaloo would have been elated at the offer. She would have shown off to the entire class and spent weeks telling everypony about it. Sure, Diamond Tiara had money, a Cutie Mark, social status and a guaranteed college education, but she didn't get casual, platonic affection from an amateur athlete.
This morning, however, it was only a reminder of the elaborate fantasy life that had come crashing down around her.
“No, just take me to the ground. I’ll walk.”
The two floated down to the ground in awkward silence. Words fought to break into the open. Explanations and accusations thrashed against the undertow in their brains, but nothing came up for air.
“Are you sure you won’t need help getting to school? I don't want you to be late.”
“I’m sure,” replied Scootaloo as she walked over to the ditch where her scooter had been tossed. She pulled the soiled scooter out of the slime. As she shook some of the water from it, she became aware that she hadn't bathed last night. The scooter and the Pegasus were a perfect fit. Dirty and discarded.
She planted one hoof on the deck, perhaps a bit more violently than necessary, and prepared to take off.
“You shouldn’t ride that without a …” Oops. Rainbow Dash sucked air in through her teeth, but the words couldn’t be brought back.
They stared at each other for a long moment. Somewhere, a dog was barking into the wind, fighting the weather as it tugged its fluffy tail. Dogs are stupid like that, never able to recognize a battle they can’t win.
Wincing, Rainbow Dash took to the sky. Why did love have to be so hard? It wasn’t fair, and she felt very teenaged for the thought.
Scootaloo didn’t go to school, the thought of telling her friends about yesterday was too much to bear. So was the idea of holding her humiliation inside her.
Instead, she tooled along the edge of the Everfree forest. Her hooves kicked idly at the dirt. Orange wings remained pressed in position at her sides. She would never fly again. If she deliberately crippled herself and spend the rest of her life impoverished of joy, that would teach Rainbow Dash and her stupid helmet a lesson.
While she pouted, she deliberately kept her face turned away from Ponyville, as if she could will the entire town away. Her eyes traced the tortured twigs and bitter branches of the forest, and, eventually, her thoughts faded into the background, lost in the tangled wooden labyrinth. It was peaceful out here. There were no ponies around to disrupt her or tell her she wasn't good enough. Nopony could hurt her in this solipsist isolation.
She traveled for hours. The sun was almost directly overhead when she saw a flash of light among the green. At first, she thought it was a trick of the light. Then, she saw it again. White and purple hidden amongst the foliage.
Scootaloo leaned her scooter against a tree and pressed through the branches on hoof. Occasionally, she lost sight of the object, but never for long.
The orange Pegasus soon found herself in a clearing. The canopy above opened up, allowing a single shaft of light to fall and bathe a stump in unearthly glow. On top of the stump, rested a helmet. Its white finish reflected the sun's rays, emphasizing the bold purple stripes that ran from front to back. The black chinstrap was folded before it in quiet dignity, like a hunting cat at rest. Scootaloo's breath caught in her throat at the sight of something so noble and majestic.
Slowly, so as not to startle the helmet and cause it to run away, Scootaloo approached the stump. When she was within a few inches of the object of her focus, she noticed a bunch of fur resting on the brim of the helmet like a fat caterpillar.
"Hello," she said, and immediately regretted opening her mouth. What if she was disturbing this fine piece of headgear? It might have sought out this spot far from everypony for its own private meditations.
The helmet didn't reply, apparently lost in thought.
“Did somepony abandon you, too?" Scootaloo asked as her hoof went to sweep the caterpillar away. However, the bristles remained attached the brim.
The touch caused the helmet to rock silently, nodding its agreement.
"I guess we're in the same boat. Do you mind if I hang out with you for awhile?"
Hearing no objection from the object, Scootaloo slumped against the stump.
Her sudden impact caused the helmet to creak silently. The Pegasus looked up expectantly, but the headgear didn’t finish its thought. Scootaloo turned her eyes back to her hooves beneath her.
“I just … I just don’t know what I did wrong, but I’m sure you don’t want to hear about it,” Scootaloo said, and looked back to the helmet.
Against her expectations, it made no effort to escape or complain. It only waited for her to pour out her soul to it.
“My helmet … and Rainbow Dash ... I saw them ... I’m not sure. Maybe it just started, or maybe it's been going on for months. I don't know how I didn't see the signs."
The helmet didn’t move or break its gaze.
“I’m sure you have someone who owns you, but … maybe? I just want to ...”
The silence continued. It was a wise silence, filled with stoicism and strength.
The filly scooped up the headgear in her forelegs and hugged it to her chest. The plastic was warm from the sun and firm against her.
They lay together for at least an hour. Neither asked for anything more than the presence of another body. The salve to their mutual loneliness.
“I love you, helmet,” the filly whispered.
Elsewhere in the land of amazing technicolor equines, all was not going well for Rainbow Dash.
“Rrrainbow Dashu,” bellowed her supervisor, Strange Fixture, as he descended slowly from above. The immense, yellow Pegasus bore an image of a water faucet twisting around to pipe the water back into itself on his haunch and spoke with a Yonaguni accent. “I have heard about your rendezvous yesterday evening.”
Rainbow Dash had expected some resistance to her new love from the other citizens of Ponyville. No one could understand the special love that might exist between a helmet and a pony.
“You have taken in that kawaii filly who wears a purple mop on her head,” Strange Fixture said in his deep, drawling accent.
“Wait, no," Rainbow Dash shook her head, "I'm not like that. It's not fillyphilia-”
“You misunderstand me, Dash-kun. I am proud to hear that you have taken on a young ward. Where I come from-”
“Cloudsdale. You're from Cloudsdale. You lived across the street from me for eight years.”
“Where I vacationed one summer-”
“One week.”
“Where I spent one week, it is natural for adult mares to take in a Joza. You will teach her the ways of love, philosophy, and how to become a great samurai.”
Rainbow Dash shook her head again, trying to rattle something into place. The world just didn't make any sense today, and all she wanted to do was rush back to the sanity of her house and the helmet she had spent six hours fornicating yesterday. She wanted to smack Strange Fixture between his ears, which were always pointed straight up like a pair of spears.
Instead, she smiled. "Oh, yes, of course. I'm going teach Scootaloo the way of the samurai."
"However, you must be cautious in your ambitions. Not all ponies are as worldly as myself. For instance, the filly's parents are rather concerned that she never came home last night, and apparently she didn't go to school this morning, either."
Oh shit.
Scootaloo made her way to the tree house. She couldn't wait to introduce Sweetie Belle and Applebloom to her new helmet, but she could certainly wait to return home and receive another boring lecture from her boring parents.
"I just know you're going to love them," she gushed.
The helmet said nothing quizzically.
"Oh no," Scootaloo laughed, "not like that. Not like us. I mean, you'll get along great. I bet Applebloom's bow will have all kinds of things to talk about with you. Like heads and head lice and head sweat and sitting on top of heads."
Something about her partner’s silence was so mysterious. It was fascinating, and reminded her of the few moments she had seen Rainbow Dash and her old helmet together.
The filly poked her head out the door and looked around the orchard. Nopony was around, and her friends probably wouldn't be back for another hour.
She returned to the helmet, and leaned forward to whisper into its ear flap, "I think we'll be alone for a little while longer, if you want to ..."
Her breathy whisper faded off at the scent of fresh sweat emanating from the helmet. It was a strong smell. Musky, yet feminine.
She teased the helmet's mustache and then slid her hoof along the rim. Slowly, the hoof pressed the headgear backward, meeting no resistance as the horny headgear reclined back and revealed its lush interior. Scootaloo dipped her head inside, her nostrils flaring to soak in as much of the helmet's musk as possible. She turned her head, feeling the caress of plastic against her mane and neck.
That was all the invitation she needed, and the orange Pegasus pushed forward. Her tongue slid along the foam interior, tasting the bitterness contained there. With skill that belied her age and inexperience, she sought out every cranny and crevice. Her tongue swirled along the hard plastic, teasing it.
Orange hooves, guided by instinct, slid around the behind the helmet and grasped the firm curvature of its dome. With a sudden push, she shoved her snout into the helmet's padding. When she could hold her breath no longer, she came up gasping for air. A strand of saliva hung from the corner of her mouth, stretching back to the welcoming padding of her plastic paramour.
“Did you like that, helmet?” she asked, fluttering her eyes like she’d seen Rarity do when bargaining with stallions.
A bead of her sweat slid across the helmet’s brim.
“Oh, helmet,” she moaned, before lowering her head to nibble on the chin strap.
When Sweetie Belle opened the door to the tree house, she was greeted by the sight of Scootaloo rubbing her new helmet’s mustache against her nose, feeling the stiff bristles. There was a definite moistness spreading from between the hindlegs of the Pegasus and her wings were flared out to the side.
"Sweetie Belle," Scootaloo turned to her friend, sweat dripping from her mane, "you came!"
"Yes," replied the Unicorn.
After a long pause, Sweetie Belle added, “your parents were at school looking for you. Everypony is talking about how you just disappeared.”
The Pegasus rolled her eyes. Of course they’d go looking for her at school, or talk to the police, or ask around town. It would never occur to them to go running off into the woods on an impulse, risking their lives in a desperate attempt to find their foal. Sensible decisions like that were what kept her parents on the boring side of town. Also alive, if you could call that boring existence living.
“I’ll go back home when I’m ready,” she replied, moving the helmet to rub against her cheek.
“What are you doing with that helmet?”
“We’re in love.” Scootaloo mentally prepared herself to defend her unconventional romance. Instead, Sweetie Belle's focus was on the interior brim of the helmet flashing at her seductively.
The Unicorn pointed in horror. “Look!”
“Look at what?”
“That helmet doesn’t have a logo on it indicating it meets the specifications of the Equestrian National Standards Institute, or any other nationally recognized board of safety.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Scootaloo replied, “I love it.”
“That helmet is unsafe! You have to get rid of it.”
“You’re just jealous of my hot and heavy helmet love!”
"It's evil!" Sweetie Belle lunged, gripping the helmet with her hooves and attempting to tug it away from her friend.
“I can’t lose another helmet,” cried Scootaloo, desperately clinging to the seductive safety gear with her forelegs. Her eyes brimmed with tears.
“It's not ENSI approved,” Sweetie Belle grunted, pulling on the helmet, "it's evil!"
"Well, I'm not ENSI approved, either. Are you going to throw me away?"
Scootaloo's athleticism should have given her the advantage in this contest. However, her poor sleep the night before and the sweat on her body put her at a disadvantage. The Pegasus lost her grip and Sweetie Belle toppled backwards, stumbling over a chair and crashing to the ground. The helmet landed on the filly's chest, pinning her to the ground.
"Helmet, no! She didn't mean it!" Scootaloo pleaded.
The helmet did not respond, only glowered menacingly at the Unicorn who had tried to stand between it and its new owner. Sweetie Belle kept her eyes shut, feeling the black chin strap draped across her face. The leather brushing her lips.
-To Be Continued-
The Amorous Adventures of Scootaloo's Helmet
This Is What You Get From Me
Sweetie Belle lay on her back, her eyes locked closed. Don't open, don't look. Whatever it is, don't look. The strap lay across her face, tickling her nose. She held still, but the fibers of the chinstrap tickled her nostrils. No. No. No. Please. No.
She sneezed.
The instant the filly's lips parted, the chinstrap thrust into her mouth, filling her with a strange taste of dirt and sweat. Unclean. Vile. The Unicorn lay paralyzed with fear, trying to fight back without moving as the fibers brushed the back of her throat. Her curious tongue rolled against the object in he mouth. The rough texture pressed to the roof of her mouth as it forced its way further back until it tickled her tonsils.
She gagged, trying to clear it away. Silent tears slid down the white face. It was a taste that would never leave her mouth. No matter how many times she might brush her teeth or how many coffee beans she'd chew, it would be there. A permanent reminder of her defilement at the hands of her friend's helmet.
“Helmet! Noooo!” Scootaloo cried in anguish, as much despairing at the betrayal of yet another piece of headgear as at her friend’s distress. It lay there, silently smug as its strap probed the deepest regions of Sweetie Belle’s virgin throat.
Sweetie Belle licked at the helmet, begging for the moment to end. Begging to breathe again and be free. What would her sister say if she knew? She wanted to bite down, but knew it would make no difference. Her teeth, her whole body was useless.
Scootaloo’s orange wings had folded down again, and her face was buried in her hooves. How could this be happening?
The moment came. Sweetie Belle’s tonsils could take no more of the helmets ceaseless tickling, and she gagged, twisting her head as first saliva and then vomit spatter-spread across the floor. Thin fluid grew thicker as it rolled from her mouth; chunks of carrot and traces of blood from her tortured throat join the yellow fluid. The puddle matted to her fur, joining her tears and defiling her once white coat.
As the Unicorn heaved and tossed, the helmet left her chest and rolled away contentedly. Having completed its foul labor, it came back to rest before Scootaloo. The mustache stood proud on the brim of the sport's apparel, pointed directly at the orange filly. It still wanted more.
“No, helmet, I’m not old enough to go all the way yet.”
The helmet didn’t respond, only sat in silent preparation. Though it had just finished with the Unicorn, it was still hard. Helmets are like that because they are made of hard materials.
Scootaloo sobbed, terrified for her sake and the sake of her still vomiting friend, but her young heart still loved the thing before her. She gripped the helmet in her hooves, still slick with her friend’s saliva and vomit and gently moved it toward her secret spot.
The mustached tickled her, and she felt blood rushing downward in response. The orange Pegasus, against her will, felt her wings stiffening again. Her own body was betraying her as the brim parted her virginal folds.
“Please,” she asked one last time. One last prayer for herself.
The helmet didn’t respond. It had no mercy.
Rainbow Dash's entire day had been spent in a zombified state. She had pushed through overly specific interrogations from Strange Fixture about her juvenile affair, the movements of weather patrol, and her paperwork without paying attention to any details. She might have to pay for her lack of attention later, but it didn't matter. Only one thing was on her mind, returning home to the helmet of her life.
She burst through her door, sing-songing, “Scootaloo’s helmet, I’m home.”
The words struck her. Scootaloo’s helmet. Even after last night, she still knew it wasn’t hers. The Pegasus hadn’t paid for it, hadn’t picked the one helmet out of hundreds of others in the sporting goods store. She’d only seen it on a little, orange head and grabbed it.
She found the helmet in the living room where she had left it. The headgear rested by the window. The opening for a filly-sized head was pointed outward, like a dog staring from a window or a bird in a cage.
“Were you thinking about her?” Rainbow Dash asked, knowing the answer to the question already.
The helmet didn’t respond. How could it express its feelings in words? Especially since it didn’t have a mouth.
“But this can’t be about her. We’re made for each other.”
The helmet didn’t have to point out the obvious flaw in that reasoning. It was a filly’s helmet, not a mare’s. It had been fit for Scootaloo, and it always would be hers.
“I don’t know how I can live without you,” Rainbow Dash pleaded, dropping to her knees before the helmet. Tears brimmed at the corners of her eyes.
The headgear maintained its stoic silence in the face of her words.
“Fine.” The Pegasus stood up and tearfully gave her first love a tender kiss. “If you must go, then there is nothing I can do to stop you. I could never hold you prisoner.”
Rainbow Dash gripped the helmet in her mouth and carried it to the front porch. She set it down and whispered into its earflap, “I’ll always love you.”
She then performed the ceremonial Kicking of the Former Lover Off Your Front Porch as Hard as You Can.
Applebloom entered the tree house to find Scootaloo tearfully humping a helmet and Sweetie Belle curled into the fetal position, sobbing in a puddle of her own vomit.
Sometimes, the yellow Earth Pony imagined what her life must look like to an outsider. If someone were in the distance, silently observing her and her friends, what would they think? Would they laugh or cringe at the embarrassment of her misadventures? It wasn't often that the filly experienced such self-reflection, but sometimes in the night, feeling tree sap patch her fur to the covers, she couldn't help but wonder.
Walking into the tree house, she realized they'd probably just be confused.
“What, exactly, are y’all doing?”
“The helmet is evil! Save yourself!” Sweetie Belle cried from the floor.
“He isn’t evil!” Scootaloo protested. The distraction threw off her inexperienced rhythm and the helmet tumbled away.
It came to rest before Applebloom, slick with the body fluids of two fillies. Its chinstrap was strung out before it, a silent invitation.
"It's a helmet," Applebloom said after a long moment. She reached out with her front hooves and gingerly picked the object up.
The helmet glared back in baleful silence, daring her to break eye contact.
"Hel-met," she stretched the syllables out, as if trying to understand it herself.
"It's evil!" Sweetie Belle wailed.
"He's not. He's just misunderstood."
"No," said Applebloom.
The sound of that hated word, said in the same unemotional tone Rainbow Dash had used, caused Scootaloo to break down completely.
Applebloom turned to stare at her sobbing friends, and then looked back at the helmet.
"Run away while you can!" Sweetie Belle wailed, "just leave us!"
The last statement was too much for Applebloom. She held the helmet up before her two friends and released a torrent of words that she had heard her brother use once when applebucking a particularly difficult tree.
“WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU FUCKING MORONS?! IT'S A FUCKING HELMET! LOOK AT IT! IT'S A FUCKING HELMET! IT CAN'T DO ANYTHING! WHY DOES NO ONE SEEM TO UNDERSTAND THAT IT IS JUST A FUCKING HELMET?” Applebloom shook the helmet between her hooves as she screamed, "AM I THE ONLY ONE HERE WHO ISN'T A COMPLETE, FUCKING IDIOT?!"
Sweetie Belle tried to moan one last warning, but it was too late. The helmet, greased as it was, slid free of Applebloom's hooves. It leapt up and smashed into the yellow snout, drawing blood. Applebloom reeled away from the attack on two legs. She stumbled over a chair and smacked the back of her head on a table.
The helmet bounced free and came to rest, triumphantly, in front of the door. The three fillies were all here, its harem was complete.
Scootaloo's once and future helmet soared through the air in silence. It's chinstrap fluttered behind it in the wind.
Like an avenging angel, it parted the air before it and sought its master in her hour of need.
Hopefully, it wouldn't be too late.
The floorboards rubbed against Scootaloo's orange belly as she slid across the floor toward her helmet. There was no hope for her, but maybe if she offered herself entirely as a sacrifice, she could save the lives of her friends.
Her crawl was interrupted by the sound of shattering glass as her old helmet hurled itself into the room.
“Helmet! No! It’s too dangerous!” Scootaloo cried as the purple plastic bounced against the wooden floor.
The helmet didn't listen. The helmet never listened to her.
Scootaloo reeled back in shock as her two lovers collided, clattering across the floor.
Chinstraps flailed wildly, slapping against plastic and each other in a display of ferocious, territorial violence. They rolled across the floor, bound together in rage. First the mustached helmet was on top, pressing its opponent down to the floor and then they reversed. The old helmet swung its strap across, tearing the mustache of its foe loose. They broke apart and rejoined.
Their deadly momentum carried them out the open door and onto the edge of the tree house’s porch. The mustached helmet vanished over the edge, but stopped in the air. It hung by its chinstrap, which had become entwined with that of its rival.
An ENSI approved helmet is a life saving device, not a life taking one. It couldn't kill its rival, no matter how much it may want to. The old helmet hung suspended in the air, gloating at the weakness of its foe.
But, a helmet only saves one life, and that is the life of its owner. Even ENSI doesn't rate helmets for their ability to save other participants in a collision.
The straps released each other and the mustached helmet plummeted to its death. There was a thunk as it struck a rock below.
Scootaloo ran over and gripped her helmet in her hooves, holding it close.
“You came back for me,” she wept.
Sweetie Belle dragged herself over to where Applebloom was lying on the floor, a trickle of blood leaking from the back of her head.
“Are you okay?” Sweetie Belle whispered hoarsely.
“What is wrong with y'all idiots?” Applebloom groaned, rubbing the back of her head and wondering, not for the first time, why she hadn’t just stuck around with Twist. She may have had that lisp, a cutie mark, and generally been annoying, but at least the red maned pony wasn’t completely insane.
Applejack peeked her head through the window of the tree house, holding a section of the helmet in her mouth. She spat it onto the ground before speaking, “Hey did y’all see the orange one? Her family was asking about her, and then I found this broken … helmet …”
She paused. The orange one, her younger sister, and the goofy Unicorn were all laying on the floor. They were panting heavily. Scootaloo appeared to be making out with a helmet, her barely pubescent vagina dripping on the floor. Applebloom was in Sweetie Belle’s hooves, and the entire room stank of adolescent pheromones.
Also, she realized what tasted familiar about the purple helmet section she’d carried in her mouth. It tasted like Twilight’s …
But it was her sister’s …
And they were ...
“Ok. It is good to see that y’all are ok. And that I am ok. And I’m very sorry. I should have,” the tan mare tried to smile it off, “really should have knocked before peeking in.”
The three fillies were frozen in place, staring at the adult who had suddenly walked into their world.
“I’m gonna go, um, gonna go kick some trees. I,” she stumbled slightly at the edge of the steps, “I hope y’all will remember to wash your hooves before … wash up before dinner. Ok, Applebloom? I’m … I’ll remember to knock next time.”
After the elder Apple sister was gone, Sweetie Belle turned to Scootaloo and pointed at the helmet fragment.
“See! I told you it wasn’t safe to wear a non-ENSI approved helmet. That would have provided no protection in a crash.”
The Amorous Adventures of Scootaloo's Helmet
Epilogue: Where Words Go to Die
Scootaloo eventually came to forgive Rainbow Dash. They now live together (with a helmet). Their struggle to have their marriage (to a helmet) officially recognized led them to form the Love Doesn’t Care If You’re Inanimate movement, and was chronicled in a documentary funded through Buckstarter.
Scootaloo’s parents remained boring and accepted their daughter for what she was, which was very disappointing and also boring. They do, however, make sure to keep their bicycle helmets locked up whenever their daughter and her spouse (and helmet) visit.
Applejack was never able to get the image of Applebloom and her friends in the clubhouse out of her mind. Eventually, she convinced herself it was a dream and turned herself in for secret fillyphilia. While at the corrections facility, she met Strange Fixation. The two married after release, and engage in frequent sexually deviant roleplay. Sometimes these roleplays include Strange Fixation dressing up as a schoolboy, complete with helmet and very short shorts. Applejack has never been able to figure out why this unnerves her so much.
Sweetie Belle became a member of the Equestrian National Standards Institute, where she tests helmets for evil. Also their ability to absorb and distribute the impact of a frontal, side, or rear collision. Mostly evil.
Applebloom did some things, too. I guess. Probably related to apples. Not helmets, though. Whatever.
The moral of the story is , never ride any open passenger vehicle without appropriate headgear, and always check your helmet to make sure it has been approved by one of the following organizations: ANSI, Snell Memorial Foundation, CEN, or BSI.
