Bombastic Bookpony's Bazaar of Oneshots

by Bombastic Bookpony

Masquerade (Aged Up ScootaBelle and SweetiePie, Sad)

It wasn’t fair. They were supposed to be together forever. Two childhood friends, the headstrong stuntmare and the sweet musician. They were each other’s first love. Sweetie used to call her ‘my sweetie’. Probably still uses that line. Scootaloo loved her, she really did. She didn’t neglect her, she gave her presents and roses, she was damn romantic. But she didn’t love her back. At least, not as much as Pinkie.

“It’s not you, it’s me,” she said. “It just doesn’t feel right,” she said. What she meant is it’s not you, it’s Pinkie. What she meant was Pinkie felt so much better. She never had a chance. When a pony decides that a mare like Pinkie Pie is her type, you can’t compete. Cause there’s nopony like Pinkie Pie. But a pony like Scootaloo? Dime a dozen. All her life she’s spent trying to be Dash, who was trying to be Spitfire or some other Wonderbolt, who was just trying to be their idol. Heck, she was an even worse imitator than the rest. Couldn't even fly. A scrappy, flightless carbon copy of every reckless, daring Pegasus. Of course Sweetie would get bored with her. Everypony else did.

Worst part is? She couldn’t even be mad, yell at Sweetie Belle and her ‘true love’. Cause you can’t yell at ponies like Pinkie and Sweetie and come off as the good guy. She had been forced to read enough of Sweetie’s cheesy novels to know she’d just be the jealous ex, hated by the book and everyone in it and would be punished from above for daring to be hurt, for daring to want some kind of closure.

So she kept her mouth shut. She smiled and joked and ignored the heartache, the urge to punch out that smiling, unknowing pink face. She put on the tears and acted like she was freaking honored to be the best mare at their perfect wedding. It was easy to put on the mask again. She only put it down for one pony. And she wouldn’t make that mistake again.

Better to be rejected with the mask on. You put the mask down, you get rejected for who you are. Or even worse, rejected because you’re good, but not good enough, not perfect, because you don’t have eyes as blue as the sea or an angelic voice or hair that falls into place in perfect disarray.

So she slipped back into the mask, playing her role in the love story of the ages.

Author's Note:

Prompt #142: Sweetie’s first sweetie.

Better than I remembered, but still not that good. The angst and bitterness feel forced.