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Sweetie Belle's Lesson
By glimglam12Created: 2020-12-18 03:21:28
Updated: 2022-08-31 22:39:12
Expiry: Never
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Context:
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EDIT:
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I have no idea how this happened, but apparently the link above links to a different image than it did before. Apologies to anyone who linked to that image and was...extremely confused. This is the image that was supposed to be linked:
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However, I'm going to leave the original link intact because it's funny.
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"Anooooon, do I have to go?"
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>You look back at Sweetie Belle in irritation
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>She's walking several paces behind you, dragging her hooves
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"Yes, you do," you tell her for the umpteenth time
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>she kicks at a pebble and stares sulkily at the ground
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"Why, though?" she mutters, half to herself
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"I don't know, your sister says you need culture and refinement and stuff," you tell her
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>she kicks at the ground again and doesn't answer
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>to be honest, you do feel a little bad about making her do this
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>a three hour harpsichord lesson every Thursday, that's pretty brutal
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>you probably wouldn't have wanted to do it either, when you were a kid
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>and to be fair, you did kind of sign her up without telling her sister
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>but you couldn't help it, the foal has been driving you up the wall
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>and Rarity, that bitch
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>just dumping her little sister on you for the entire summer, while she goes off to Manehattan to do some kind of fashion shit
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>didn't even ask, just assumed you'd be cool with it
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>you used to make fun of Spike for being such a beta cuck, but damned if it's not impossible to say no to that mare when she gives you those bedroom eyes
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>you look over your shoulder
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>Sweetie Belle's fallen even further behind
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>you whistle at her, she reluctantly picks up the pace
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>will Rarity be mad when she finds out about this?
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>there's really no reason she should be
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>I mean, come on
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>harpsichord lessons with Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart?
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>that's like the opportunity of a lifetime, right?
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>and to be fair, she does always say that her sister needs refinement or whatever
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>naw, she won't be mad
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>Rarity loves that kind of fancy shit
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>when she gets home and finds out her little sister can play Concerto #12 or whatever the fuck at all her dinner parties now, she'll go ape shit for it
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>you'll probably be washing dried mare cum out of your pubes for a month
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>and anyway, if you don't get that filly out of the house for a couple hours a week there's a good chance you might actually kill her before the summer ends
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>she had her damn friends over the other day, they were running around your apartment doing their wacky crusader shit
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>a herd of elephants would have done less damage
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>ever seen what tiny horse hooves do to hardwood?
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>there's a security deposit you won't be getting back
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"Come on, damn it!" you shout
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>you immediately feel bad about raising your voice, but her dawdling is getting on your nerves
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"It's just a harpsichord lesson," you tell her, a little more gently. "Just do it and get it over with. How bad could it be?"
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>Sweetie Belle stares at the ground again
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>she's got that weird nervous look on her face she always gets whenever you bring up harpsichords or Mozart
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>something about it feels weird, but you push that feeling aside
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>you're already thinking about three whole hours of time to yourself
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>no tiny hooves scuffing up your floor, no noise, just hot pockets and vidya games
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>anyway, fuck it; you're already here
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>you stop outside the door
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>"Wolfgang A. Mozart" is printed on the glass in those fancy old-timey letters
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>you still can't believe you actually found this guy
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>you were under the impression that he had died in 1791 but nope, he's still around it looks like
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>famous long-dead Austrian composers and pastel cartoon horses walking around all over the place, what a fun century this is
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>anyway, whatever, you open the door
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"Ah, Sweetie Belle!" cries Mozart. "Aren't we looking just scrumptious today! Come on inside, have a seat at the harpsichord."
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>Sweetie Belle gives you one last pleading look, but you've already got hot pockets on the brain
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>reluctantly, she trots over to the harpsichord and jumps up
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"Mmm, that's it my little filly, have a seat right up here on Wolfy's lap..."
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>that Mozart really is kind of a weird guy
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>whatever though
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>you turn to leave
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>on your way out, you pause
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>some nagging, dim little alarm bell is still going off somewhere in the back of your mind
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>you turn around
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>Sweetie Belle is sitting with Mozart at the harpsichord
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>she's staring off at nothing, looking dejected and terrified
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>Mozart turns and gives you the creepiest look you've ever seen
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"Close the door," he says.
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(In a weird and creepy bit of serendipity, when I originally posted this green the text box had exactly 1791 characters remaining. Mozart died in 1791.)
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