If There's a Reason, I'll Listen, but What After That?

by Leslichu

Rating: teen
Tags: Big Macintosh, Sex, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Sweetie Belle, Romance
Length: 8505

Sweetie Belle sets her sights on Big Macintosh, the stallion she's obsessed with. But can a filly so young have any hope to convince the stallion to put faith in her?

Recently Sweet Apple Acres has been host to a rather enthusiastic young guest, a guest that has her heart set on one of the residents there.

But the obvious problems with her "perfect romance" are surfacing. Can Sweetie Belle hope to have her dreams survive in a stallion's fearful mind?

*Foalcon Warning

Published 2014-08-19 21:10:03 UTC
Last updated 2017-11-25 02:49:28 UTC

Step 2: Know Your Limitations

Macintosh found himself wandering the dirt roads of Ponyville, trying desperately to remember which house it was he had once picked the girls up from. It was a baby-blue two-story set-up if he remember correctly, with windows large enough that he could see the three fillies sprint down the staircase all the way outside into the apple cart he had been pulling. An older stallion and mare had waved to him from the welcome mat, and he had nodded back. Hopefully he would not see this happy couple today, lest they have questions for him.

Macintosh shuddered at the thought of Sweetie Belle's father popping up behind him, just as he had finished saying "Come see me when you are older." Chivalrous or not, he was still talking about potential romantic relations with a stallion's daughter.

As he rounded another corner his stomach leaped as a familiar stallion slammed the front door of an equally familiar house. He watched the stallion rip the dopey straw hat off of his head and run a hoof through his mane, the portion of the mouth Macintosh could actually see under the mustache was parted by clenched teeth.

"No respect at all in my own goddamn house." Sweetie Belle's father was not exactly shouting, but he did not bother to be exactly subtle either about his statement as he crossed the tidy little lawn and threw himself down into a cheap plastic lawnchair. He didn't seem to notice Macintosh staring at him from the street opposite from him, probably because his chair was parked in such a manner for him to stare at the wall of the neighbors' house. From the pocket of the tacky Hawiian shirt he wore he withdrew a carton of cigarettes, the bluish-green label of menthol standing out on its lip.

Taking this as his opportunity, Mac adjusted Sweetie's abandoned bag on his back and set a steady pace for the house. There were relatively few ponies out and about besides the occasional group of foals playing, perhaps due to the market being closed. Whether that was the case or not, Macintosh's hoofsteps drew the attention of the stallion rather quickly in the relative silence of the empty street. Sweetie's father didn't attempt to hide his frown as Macintosh drug his hooves up to the sidewalk lining the house.

"You're not selling nothing are ya?" The stallion asked, a cloud of the menthol smoke escaping from his mouth and trailing through the heavy mustache. Macintosh had never met the stallion up close, but he could tell a lot about somepony based on the tobacco they chose. And menthol was a very "limp-dick" smoke for a stallion, or so said Macintosh's Uncle Tart.

"No sir, I'm Applebloom's brother. Sweetie forgot her saddlebag." Macintosh avoided the eyes of the stallion, like if they caught his gaze Sweetie's father would be able to read his mind. Even if Macintosh was innocent of being receptive of this stallion's daughter's affection, there was some level of coldness that had dropped deep into his stomach.

"I sent her on to her sister's place a little while ago." He trailed off as he looked back at the neighbor's wall, the tiny stick of tobacco held just beyond the touch of his lips.

"Mind if I leave it here?" Truth be told, Macintosh hoped he did mind. He couldn't lie to himself, he had been looking forward to the conversation with Sweetie Belle. Some reclusive voice in the back of his mind, like the gifted outcast in the last seat of the classroom, told him he wanted to see a smile underneath those large eyes.

"Just set it by the door," he motioned with his neck behind him, "I'm swinging by Rarity's later to drop off her toothbrush."

Macintosh made a hesitant step up the cement walkway to the front door, finally noticing the rustle of the blinds in the window. He imagined it was the lady of the household, who perhaps had been ready to follow her husband out to the front yard.

"Is uh...is the missus ok?" Macintosh gestured with the point of his hoof at the window. The stallion motioned with his body to look at the window, but his expression did not change. He let the sissy-smoke curl out from his nostrils, perhaps an effort to lock the scent into his mustach, and turned back around in the chair, seemingly unaffected.

"Oh she'll be fine once she takes half of my home and custody of my daughter." His heavy statement ironically came in the most boring of voices, as if he had been expecting the situation for years.

Macintosh lowered his hoof, expecting the stallion to elaborate. No further words came though, only a motion from the stallion's hoof that Macintosh did not know if was meant to ease the tension or not. The slight wave beckoned him to venture forth to the door, Sweetie's bag suddenly feeling like a security blanket of sorts.

Too late did he notice the shadow sailing away from the window as he stepped onto the welcome mat, the figure moving in exaggerated strides.

"I thought I told you to get--" the mare's face was irate for a second as she swung the door open. She blinked as Macintosh flinched away and she tried to replace the haggard look on her face with an obviously fake, pained smile.

"Sorry, Magnum didn't tell me we were expecting company." She smiled and didn't take her eyes off of Macintosh, but her ears cocked themselves in the direction of the stallion in the yard.

"I didn't know we were expecting any," the stallion paused and took a long and heavy drag on the cigarette, the flame eating down to the filter. "...dear"

Macintosh watched the word swirl away with the cold smoke into the breeze, and the mare's smile dropped like a brick.

"Was there something you wanted Mr. Macintosh?" She asked, staring bullets through the back of the Magnum's head.

"Sweetie Belle left this." Macintosh answered quietly with a nod towards the bag on his back. He was a bit taken aback that she knew his name while her husband did not. Perhaps she had heard the name from Rarity and not Sweetie Belle, or so wishful thinking willed him to believe. Wordlessly he stretched his neck down, allowing the mare to grab the straps.

She gave a tired smile as she closed the door, bag in tow and spoke no further words to either stallion.

Now Macintosh was no dunce, he had one or two spelling bee trophies to prove it shoved away in his closet. He recognized a married couple on their last legs here. Deciding this was no place for him to be, he turned to trot away with no intentions to address Magnum as he passed, and judging by the cigarette lighter held in his hoof and igniting a new sissy-stick he had no intention of speaking to Macintosh either.

He marched away, leaving the broken home of his would-be suitress without a look back to the stallion still planted in his chair.

****

A knock at the door took Sweetie Belle by surprise, the stream of milk she had just let into her mouth running down the wrong tube.

"I got it..." She managed to choke out between the coughing fits.

"Are you ok Sweetie?" Rarity peered over the rim of her glasses, watching Sweetie pound lightly on her chest as she worked the milk out of her windpipe. With a quick wave of her hoof Sweetie signaled she was fine, swallowing as her coughs calmed.

Outside the door Macintosh suddenly felt the self-conscious urge to smooth down his mane as voices perked up after his knock. He licked the edge of his hoof and worked it quickly down the hair, only to let fly a curse as it laid down in front of his eyes like an edgy little colt.

Sweetie poked her nose out the door, the large stallion beyond the wood frame honestly not being a surprise so much as an awkward inconvenience. Awkward because she had cried in front of him only hours before, and also because as she opened the door he was fidgeting with his hair. Macintosh wasn't the kind of stallion who cared for that sort of thing, or so she thought.

"Yeah?" Sweetie's voice was quieter than she wanted, yet it still made Macintosh jump and poke himself in the eye with a hoof that had busied itself with a rather rebellious lock of his mane. He attempted to play it off of course, but he couldn't help rubbing at the watering eye.

"Hey Sweetie." Actually looking at the filly was harder than he had imagined. Her eyes though no longer puffy held the same weight as when he had seen them just a little while ago. The fact that he had made them hold something heavier than the densest lead made his thoughts equally as heavy, and they scraped along his throat as he tried to voice them.

"I jus' wanted to make sure you were ok." Macintosh struggled to make the words sound genuine, which was the least his guilty mind could do for her.

"I-I mean, ah wanted you to understand why I said what I said."

Sweetie frowned and stepped back from the door, her tail swaying a bit and her brow furrowed.

"All I understand is that everypony just thinks I'm some dumb filly." She said as she puffed her chest out. "You don't have to like me like that but..."

Sweetie trailed off and let her steely gaze falter. She kicked at the baby-blue fibers under her hooves and tried to put words to the thought. Macintosh cut her off, voicing a reply before she had even finished her statement.

"I didn't say I didn't like you Sweetie." Macintosh let his eyes roll back in annoyance at himself, realizing too late that his big mouth was leaking a bit too much commitment.

"What I mean is," he began again after he licked his lips. "I'm not saying I couldn't like you one day, when you're older."

Sweetie let one hoof hold onto the door, half of her wanting to slam the door and another, more hopeful half wanted to hear the stallion out.

"You'd meet somepony by then." She replied, thoughts of the day she and her friends had poisoned him and their teacher. At the time she was thrilled by the sight of Applebloom's brother kissing her teacher, but now the thought made her insides burn and her throat tighten.

"Well I haven't had much luck so far..." Macintosh said, recounting the years he had remained single. Looking back, the situation was actually rather sad considering he hadn't bothered to "save himself" for marraige and yet here he was single for more than four years.

Sad, but perhaps not terrible considering he had no foals. Cousin Candy was working on her fifth foal already, and goodness knew it's older siblings were nothing to look at.

"But that doesn't mean you won't look!" Sweetie pointed her hoof accusingly at him before returning it to its secure position on the door. Just the thought that HER stallion could have thoughts about other mares...it made her jealous. Self-esteem came in short bursts for a filly her age, nothing too substantial that she could ignore the endowments even her older sister possessed. Full, swaying hips. Supple teats. Long eyelashes and flowing tails.

Such things were the basic allures of any mare, the proverbial bait to their personality's hook.

Macintosh readied a retort but let it go, knowing she was speaking the truth. Sexual attraction was part of what made a male a male and he wasn't no foal-fiddler, that was for damn sure. Sweetie Belle didn't even have a Cutie Mark yet to signify her approaching adulthood.

Sweetie Belle watched the stallion shift from hoof to hoof, obviously trying to find something to say and coming up short. She was right after all, Miss Cheerilee was still out there. Miss Fluttershy, Miss Twilight, and even her sister were all competition for her. And each one was a mare she knew she couldn't beat with dedication alone.

"Look Sweetie...." Macintosh rubbed the back of his neck, searching for words that wouldn't seal him to the hopes and dreams of an overly-enthusiastic little filly. Sure it was POSSIBLE they might end up dating once she was an adult. But that was a long time to wait with no affection, no hugs or kisses, and especially no sex.

"Sweetie, could you be a dear and go find the tea kettle for me?" Rarity, having been hiding around the corner loomed into view over her sister. Sweetie peered up at her with confusion and agitation evident on her face, that is until she saw one blue eye wink down at her.

"Alright Rarity..." Sweetie said warily, knowing the wink meant business but still worried about the outcome. She turned and walked away, giving Macintosh a soft, hurt glance before she picked up her pace and ran for the kitchen.

"I'm sorry Mr. Macintosh," Rarity put her hoof over her chest and leaned against her door frame, smiling sadly. "Sweetie Belle has put a lot into this little crush."

"I know." Macintosh replied with a sigh. He ran his hoof through the mane he had tried to fix only minutes before and stared at his hooves.

"She says she's been cooking for you?" Rarity feigned surprised interest, knowing full well the extent to which Sweetie Belle's dedication entailed.

"Eeyup, everyday." Macintosh chewed at the side of his mouth as he finished his sentence, still not able to look up at the mare in front of him.

'Here it comes,' he thought. 'This is the part where she tells me to stay away. Far far away.'

"I personally think its endearing." Rarity leaned down to catch Macintosh's eye, a smile and watery eyes making up her features.

"Well yeah but ya think its appropriate?" Macintosh raised a brow as he asked the question, surprised he wasn't getting cold threats and cooler eyes.

"Oh its just a fillyhood crush darling." She waved a hoof and leaned more heavily on the door-frame. "Every girl has them." She said matter-of-factly.

"So she'll grow out of it?" He asked, his guilt receding finally.

"More than likely. I'd just let it play out dear." Rarity closed her eyes and nodded, thinking back to the princes she fantasized about in her foalhood.

"Well I suppose if ya think its best." Macintosh looked at his hooves again, stretching one as a means of diverting his attention from the awkward conversation.

"If you don't mind humoring her for a little longer I'll tell her you'll be waiting for her at lunch time."

Macintosh chuckled at the tinge of humor in the mare's voice. The situation was a little funny after all. Sweetie Belle was just a little filly with a little crush. Who was he not to be a gentleman about it.

"Ya know I went by your parents' place today," he looked up to see the smile fade. Rarity sighed and rubbed a hoof along her snout, knowing full well what Macintosh wanted to ask.

"I take it y'all aren't all peaches n' cream are ya?" Macintosh tried to keep his tone light, so as to not anger the unicorn.

"Let's just say I'm not surprised Sweetie chose now of all times to want to have a coltfriend."

Author's Note

This was written during a new schedule at work (I work during the day instead of at night now. It's getting hard to adjust, but the sunlight feels great in the morning!) so if I've screwed up on my grammar by all means point it out!

Be sure to hit that like button if you like what you see, and if you hate it then feel free to flame the shit outta me in the comments!!!!

Step 3: Stay Positive!

“Finish your greens Sweetie.”

The stallion’s voice was especially cold at the dinner table these days, Sweetie Belle noted. She paused her game of air hockey with the lone green pea she had isolated from the herd to look up at her parents. Her mother, of course, had chosen to busy herself with the crossword puzzle from last week’s Ponyville Advocate, the black ring from her coffee mug staining through to the headline story “NIGHTMARE NIGHT ON THE SQUARE!”

“Sorry Dad,” She answered in hushed voice, the silence of the dining room only broken by her words and the dull hum of the yellow, moribund bulb overhead. Her father, not acknowledging whether or not he had heard his daughter’s words let his own fork clatter down to the plate to fish about in his shirt pocket for his last, bent cigarette.

“Don’t smoke that garbage at the table Magnum,” Cookie said with perfect timing despite her eyes never leaving the faded black letters of her puzzle. Magnum paused before slowly sliding the pack out onto the tabletop and scooting his chair back.

“Last time I checked Cookie,” Her father put emphasis on his wife’s name like that of a clearly unliked stranger, “I paid for this particular table in this particular goddamn house, thank you very much.”

Cookie Crumbles’ eyes shot up from the page at roughly the same time Sweetie felt her stomach lurch. Her mother had always had the habit of letting one of her back legs sway when she was focusing on her puzzles, lest she begin to absentmindedly chewing on the eraser in her mouth. This leg had ceased it’s movements as if the body was tensing up, determining whether or not to engage the larger stallion. After a moment-turned-eternity, the pencil clattered down in much the same way the fork had.

“Sweetie Belle take your plate to the sink.” The newspaper was folded hastily and tossed forward as the mare stood. No further words or glances followed as Cookie scooped up her dish, the long cold chunk of lasagna sliding precariously close to the edge on its short journey to the garbage disposal. With a quick glance at her father, Sweetie pushed back her chair and took the dish into her mouth. The glance wasn’t returned.

*****

As odd as it was for a young filly to treasure the twilight hours, Sweetie was well beyond questioning it. Much like every other night, the arguments would begin shortly after dinner and end sometime just before she fell asleep. Her father would shout something about her mother’s looks, and in turn her mother would shout something in a voice simultaneously hoarse and shrill. As much as Sweetie Belle knew her father was in the wrong, it was her mother’s shrieks that she despised the most nowadays.

The Hello Birdy pillow she pulled down over her ears did little to muffle the shouting creeping out from under her locked bedroom door. As a matter of fact, despite her best efforts to the contrary, she could give a rough description of what exactly had been said for the last few months.

Her father didn’t find her mother attractive anymore. Perhaps it was more complex than that though. Maybe Cookie Crumbles assumed her husband wished to speak in the same way she did with the girls at Thursday night Scrabble. It was equally possible that Magnum simply didn’t treasure his position in life anymore, and instead longed for the days where his accomplishments on the school hoofball team were currency enough for a different mare each week. Either way, what was actually said painted the picture rather clearly to any listeners unlucky enough to hear it.

Hearing and seeing were very different monsters though.

****

As beautiful as the season could be, Rarity would always be the first to remind you of the harshness of Spring humidity. The day was winding down and lampposts flickered to life one by one as Sweetie Belle and Rarity trotted back home.

“Honestly Sweetie, I could have arrangements made for a sleepover at my Boutique for you and your friends,” Rarity paused as she reached into the bushes for a discarded tin can, “I mean not that I mind you spending time with Applebloom but—“

Sweetie rolled her eyes, knowing full well what was coming next. It’s not that it isn’t nice…

“—the walk to Sweet Apple Acres isn’t exactly refreshing this time of year.” Rarity shook a slightly bent key from the can and wiggled it into place in the door lock. “I can’t imagine how badly you must sweat in this heat dear.”

“It’s not so bad when the sun goes down,” Sweetie said as she scrubbed the bottom of her hooves upon the welcome mat. “And I always have a bath before we go to bed.”

“I take it you’re the odd one out there…” Rarity mumbled as she stepped into the bright living room of her parents’ home. The baby-blue carpet below smelled of flowery cleaning powder, and the roaring vacuum in the far right of the room now fell silent.

“Be careful in the kitchen girls, the floor is still drying,” Cookie’s horn had lit up a bright lime green as she coaxed the vacuum’s cable to bundle itself back into its plastic dock. Without the vacuum to drown her out now, the voice of Misty Glamour from the “Nightlife of Canterlot!” show was clear to be heard, the thick and nasally Neigh York accent and all.

“Rumor has it Fleur de Lis has been spotted with a certain backup dancer for Sapphire Shores…Think someone should tell Fancy-Pants??”

Sweetie giggled as she caught a glimpse of her sister’s sour expression, knowing full well her envy for the Canterlot elite. A life in the city of the Unicorns was one her older sister had only tasted, and that was afforded by the gallons of blood, sweat, and tears she poured into an independent fashion line.

“Sweetie dear, are you feeling hungry?” Rarity asked with a quiet sigh, sinking down into one of the dinner table chairs. “Mother saved you and father some of the pancakes.”

“Dad’s not home yet?” Sweetie had busied herself balancing one of her mother’s teacups out of its place in the cupboard, her juvenile magic just enough to coerce the delicate ceramic to hold steady.

Rarity sighed deeper this time, leaning forward to snatch a wrapped chocolate ball from a small glass bowl on the table. Perhaps it was to be expected once or twice from a stallion with her father’s background, but rumor placed it at nine. Nine. She was only too sure her father was holed up in the Lucky Horseshoe, nursing a glass of firewater and trying as best a middle-aged stallion with a mid-life crisis can to pick up an easy mare.

“I…guess not?” Sweetie Belle willed the cupboard to close as quietly as possible, choosing not to pursue her father’s whereabouts. She wasn’t old enough to understand what it was her father was running from, but she was old enough to understand her Mom was part of the problem. Rarity herself took after their mother’s fussyness after all, and Sweetie took after….well definitely not their father that was for sure.

Sweetie nudged her chair back and climbed up the side, letting the teacup hover behind while she gained her footing. Upon reaching her seat, she let the teacup down as gently as she could with a small “clak.” Rarity smirked as she fidgeted with the foil wrapping on the chocolate ball, waiting for the filly’s request for assistance.

“Think you could get some juice sis?” Levitating teacups and balls of yarn were simple tricks for the little filly to master, but she was still too nervous to try pouring liquids lest she lose her “grip.” Letting the smirk turn into a full smile, Rarity lit her own horn and plastic bottle of apple juice danced its way from the refrigerator to Sweetie’s teacup. Even though she was usually awestruck to watch her sister’s control with her magic, Sweetie couldn’t help but look past the stream of amber liquid at the unicorn now thoughtfully chewing.

“Dad was home wasn’t he?”

“You know our parents dear, both are too prideful to just talk.”

Of course not. Screaming was more than adequate these days.

As if on cue, the girls’ mother wandered into the kitchen and set her purse down on the stove. With a faint glow of her magic, she floated a bottle of aspirin down into the waiting maw of the leather bag. Rarity watched wordlessly while Sweetie contented herself with draining her cup, the foil of the chocolate now a tiny and shiny ball shooting into the trashcan.

“Be good for your father Sweetie,” Cookie said as she crossed the room, taking a second to smooth down her youngest daughter’s mane. “Will you be staying the night with us baby?”

Rarity returned the smile her mother offered and stretch her back, suddenly feeling the weight of the day catching up into her shoulders.

“I believe I shall if my old room hasn’t been turned into a storage space.”

Cookie rolled her eyes and leaned over to peck Rarity on the cheek, the smell of flowery perfume mixing with her daughter’s lavender. The frustration that had been on Rarity’s mind melted away a bit at the moment of comfort, letting in a moment of hope that things would soon be good again.

“Go ahead and get cleaned up Sweetie, Mommy will be back in the morning~”

*****

There are moments in the night where sleep graces us in all the most perfect ways. For some of us, it’s quite simple: a fan blowing a cool breeze across our fur, a nightlight that isn’t too bright nor too dim, or perhaps even a pleasant white noise in the background like a beloved family member running a shower faucet. For Sweetie, all of these factors were present in the minutes leading up to midnight. She had a pleasant dream she didn’t quite understand nor remember later, save for the vision of eating an apple under a tree. The time was late afternoon in this faraway land under the tree, the horizon a mesmerizing blend of orange and red paints. She could hear the muffled strings of a guitar being strum on a loop, and the rumble of an electronic kick drum drowned out the crunch of the apple in her mouth. As she swallowed she could feel a weight in her stomach beginning to itch, and the music changed to a more fussy piano riff being played. Another bite and the weight grew, and the itch became a slight burn. The music changed once more before all went quiet, the red and orange blotted out immediately by an inky black.

Pushing herself up from the slightly damp pillow, Sweetie noticed that a muffled hiss and the drone of her fan had replaced the strange music from before. She had also noticed that the weight in her stomach had not left either, signifying a trip to the restroom was in order. Lighting her horn did little to steady her little hooves as she leapt down from her bed, the thick veil of sleep still clinging to her fur like an inky cocoon.

As she stumbled down the hallway, she noticed a pleasant humming mixed in with the hiss of the shower faucet. No doubt one of Rarity’s notorious three-hour showers was in progress, so Sweetie marched past the bathroom door in favor of the toilet joined to her parent’s room. And had Sweetie been a bit more awake to notice the significance, she might have noted that the light was on in this particular bedroom.

The sleep-induced obliviousness also masked the smell of alcohol present in this room, as well as the tie haphazardly thrown across the bed. Had she waited another few seconds before closing the bathroom door and sitting down to do her business, she might have noticed the stallion climbing (perhaps even dragging himself up) the stairs. She sighed in relief as the “apple” left her system and gave herself a quick cleaning with the paper roll that had been sat on the window sill. Sweetie stood then, flushed the toilet, and stepped back out into the bedroom en route to the hallway.

As said before, there are moments in the night where sleep graces us in all the perfect ways. For some us, that feeling of a healthy rest cycle unfortunately comes with a haze that only a quick shower or a mug of coffee can clean away. Sweetie, on that particular night, saw something that only added to the drunken mist swirling about her young mind.

A rather familiar stallion stood at the door to the main bathroom, the light from the inside shining upon a yet even more familiar bushy mustache. His head was cocked in such a way to give his dominant eye a clear view into the bathroom, where a familiar voice sang an equally familiar song about a long lost lover. The stallion smiled a familiar smile and brushed a hoof across the mustache, never for a second taking his gaze away from the unicorn bathing under the tap.

What wasn’t familiar to Sweetie however was the object protruding from this stallion’s stomach. She couldn’t see it clearly in the darkness of the hallway, but it swayed and bobbed with his slight movements. As Sweetie stared, and uncomfortable understanding began to ebb up from the back of her mind.

“Remember, it’s never ok to touch another pony’s ‘special places’ without their permission. And it’s never ok for them to touch your special place either!”

` Mrs. Cheerilee’s cheerful voice felt so out of place in the darkness of that hallway, like a bright color in the background of an old black and white photo. A photo of a sick pony frozen forever with a grimace only the terminally ill could muster.

What finally prompted Sweetie to gallop past her father that night was a quick movement and a sound. The object bobbed once, then bounced up to meet Magnum’s stomach in a wet “slap.”
He didn’t notice his youngest daughter charge past him, instead choosing to focus on the young mare massaging lilac scented shampoo under her tail.

Author's Note

It's been a while Fim, a long long while indeed. A lot has happened in the three years I've been gone and for whatever reason I was drawn back here. Upon arrival there was a message from someone called Biker_Dash waiting for me to finish this story---so here I am.

I've been busy with a lot of different things lately, with particular focus on music. As a matter of fact I jumped back on to a Brony tune I had written with a friend years ago and finally finished it. I submitted it to Equestria Daily, and what do ya know? It made it into the Bonus Music show. I'm honestly a bit surprised it made it in considering the second half of the song is about sex haha....ah well. I'll be dividing my time between my music project and this story. Hopefully I get back into the swing of things soon, as I'm fairly sure my writing has suffered since last you guys saw me.

As always, criticisms and flames are welcome! I didn't have time to scan over this chapter before submission as I have work in a few hours---be sure to point out anything that might need work!
"Irony's Sway" by Hop-Skip & The Chewtoys

Sweetie's Guide to Victory, Step 1: Dedication

The embers in the cigar had climbed high as Macintosh did his daily inspections. He felt the flavored smoke tickle his sinuses and dry his eyes as he poked a hoof about the corn stalks. A few ear rots here and there, but nothing unmanagable, the cornfields would probably bring in a profit equal to or at least near that which came from the orchard.

"Eeyup." Macintosh's single thought left his mouth in a cloud of rolling smoke, the corn stalk that had been held in his hoof now swayed back in a hunch in the opposite direction. He chewed the cap of the cigar for a second as he scanned the rest of the slender, healthy stalks. Spotting nothing of note his first, albeit thorough, inspection did not reveal he turned and tapped his ashes into the dirt.

Out in the orchard, Applejack kicked at a rather stubborn tree with its fruit held in a deathgrip. Applebloom was for once outdoing her sister, her little bucket having long been overflowed. She had neither the strength nor endurance of her older siblings but the trees were far more polite to her, offering their fruit in full in return for her comparatively gentle kicks. Soon she would reach her fourth bucket of fruit, after which she would be allowed to leave the farm to play with her friends.

One such friend, a young filly perhaps known better as the "little tag-along" of the fashion designer Rarity, watched the small clouds of smoke as they traveled to and fro in the corn field. She watched as they would stop and fade away, only to puff out into the atmosphere a few paces away from where they last were. Marking the clouds' positions, she ventured into the long skinny crops she had previously been so very much afraid of, especially after Applejack had placed a rather ugly scarecrow in the middle of it all. However, the thoughts of the sightless button eyes left her mind as she heard his deep voice humming a familiar tune.

"A little birdie told me you skipped breakfast again." She said, skipping down the rows of stalks.

"Sounds like that lil' bird has a big mouth." He said with a grin, plucking the cigar from his mouth to tap out the ashes once more.

"You know that isn't good for you right?" Sweetie Belle said as she sat down her saddle bag. Macintosh rolled his eyes as he occupied himself with another stalk.

"Well, aren't you gonna ask what I got for you today?" She asked, crossing a forehoof over the other and hoping it looked more impatient than nervous. Macintosh turned away to heave the inevitable sigh but answered the filly anyway.

"I suppose I should," Macintosh chewed at the cigar cap to readjust it in his teeth. "But I'm gettin' the feelin' ya got the wrong idea here Sweetie Belle."

"Ugh, not this again." Sweetie strolled up to the towering stallion and gave a gentle kick to the bottom of his forehoof. She craned her head up to see the other's eyes staring down at her, one eyebrow raised high. Sweetie collapsed back on her haunches as the seconds of silence passed by and the weight of Macintosh's glare finally pushed her resolve down.

"What do you think I'm trying to do?" The filly spread her forehooves wide, the sandwich in the saddle bag now forgotten where it lay behind her.

"I think you're gettin' too close for bein' so young. Ya ain't even got your Cutie Mark yet and already tryin' fer older stallions." Macintosh turned away from the filly sitting at his hooves and resumed checking his crops. Truth be told, he did find Sweetie Belle to be endearing. It was her eyes after all. However, cute or not she was simply too young to understand what a relationship truly was and how immoral it would be for one to be held between a full-grown stallion and a foal without so much as a definable Cutie Mark.

Sweetie turned red in the face and hopped to a standing position. She took care to avert her eyes from the stallion standing in front of the sun, feeling cold enough in his long cast shadow and ran back to her saddlebags. Macintosh, sensing he had upset her chose not to face her, knowing that doing so could stimulate further conversation and make the problem worlds more awkward.

Sweetie had the straps of the saddle bag in her teeth, fully intent on dragging it behind her all the way home before she remembered how much care she had put into its contents and let it sag back down to the ground. Though her shame at having her "secret crush" thrown out into the daylight had made her lip quiver and her eyes water, she couldn't help but try to get the last word. She was her sister's sibling after all.

"Well whats wrong with that huh?" She cried stamping a hoof into the loose dirt, a miniature crater from an emotion-driven bomb.

He answered with nothing more than another puff of smoke and the rustle of another healthy ear of corn.

"Well?" Her voice cracked, something Macintosh found every bit as heart-melting as the eyes.

"I know I'm not like my sister or Miss Cheerilee but I-" she paused and kicked at the lip of the crater she had made, dark soil shooting up like muddy water.

"I'm still trying here!" She felt her face grow hot and scrubbed at it. Only little fillies cried in front of stallions after all, and she could do better than her teacher, or she thought. Her sister for that matter too, especially with all her disdain for the hard lifestyle the Apple family lead.

"Sweetie Belle you're just a little filly, you don't know the first thing about what you're trying to get into." Macintosh was losing his patience. Surely she could spend her affections elsewhere, perhaps on a colt a year or two older than her if not one her exact same age. But the little filly stood her ground, eyes watery or not.

"I do understand!" She cried, her voice cracking again as her emotions got the better of her.

"Just cause I'm not as old as you doesn't mean I couldn't..." Sweetie Belle let her eyes drop from the back of Macintosh's head and fall to her hooves, as if there were prompt cards hidden somewhere just under the soil.
"No, you couldn't." Macintosh spoke without giving the words much thought. Whether she meant 'I could be your girlfriend' or 'I could sleep with you', both were things he could even bring himself to think about.

Sweetie Belle let herself go silent, her mouth hung open as the stallion's words left his mouth so carelessly. He wasn't even bothering to look at her, which perhaps wasn't such a bad thing now considering she couldn't control her frustrated tears anymore. She scrubbed them away again roughly and sniffled as quietly as she could.

Big Macintosh heard the sound despite Sweetie's best attempt to cut it off. He swore he could actually feel some physical part of his resolve snap in half like a brittle bone, and he turned to look at her. The little filly had a hoof held over her eyes, not exactly weeping but at the very least noticably crying.

Now once upon a time, some time ago when Macintosh had been a young colt he had found himself in a bad situation. Another colt four years his senior had caught him on his way home, three other older colts at his side for insurance for his planned deeds. The accusation had been that Macintosh had slept with the colt's girlfriend, or rather his ex-girlfriend. The truth of the matter was that the mare had been trying to make her ex-lover jealous and come running back to her, away from the open legs of another mare from the countryside.

This ignorance cost Macintosh a swift kick to his nose and a rather difficult explanation for his Granny. But rather than the pain of having his nose nearly broken, he mostly remembered the smell. Not only of his own blood flooding his nostrils but something else, a kind of smell that was perhaps a figment of a guilty mind. Though he was not at fault for anything other than being the colt that mares put on a pedestal, he had felt guilty for something he couldn't quite put his hoof on. And the smell that came with that feeling was like iron and rain.

As he watched the filly's dignity flood out from her eyes he swore he could smell the blood and iron again, wet from a humid and miserable downpour.

"Sweetie Belle..." He called out to her and he stepped towards her. Macintosh wasn't entirely sure what he intended to do, figuring that a tight hug would defeat his original purpose. But she gave him no time to think as she darted away from him into the corn.

"Hey!" He called, chasing after her. Sweetie didn't look behind her, she just gained more and more speed as the crops she skirted collided with Macintosh's face and knocked the stub of tobacco away.

"Sweetie stop!" The filly ducked her head and ran faster, not caring where the path she took would take her. She did not look up again until Macintosh cried out to her one last time and her hooves met a familiar shadow.

Sweetie Belle screamed as she nearly collided facefirst into the scarecrow's perch's, the soulless button eyes staring down lifelessly at the filly that went crashing down into the dirt. She whimpered as she felt the ground bite at her ribs, pain burning its way through her nerves.

Macintosh was only a few feet away when Sweetie Belle went down. He could have pinned her down in those few seconds, made her listen to why he would not--no, COULD not be who she wanted. He'd also tell her what the law would do to him, how he'd be taken away to a jail cell far away in Canterlot.

But he didn't. He just watched the sniffling filly pull herself up to her hooves, her self-esteem long lost somewhere in the corn behind them.

"Sweetie Belle they'd put me away." She turned to look back at him, her eyes now reading something more than anguish.

"I'd be a criminal." He didn't move after that, just stared at Sweetie Belle with an apologetic gaze.

"Why would I tell anyone?" She stared back, and Macintosh didn't have an answer for her question. No marefriend, regardless of her age, would rat out the stallion she loved.

The problem was that he did not love her in return. Not like she needed him to.

"Just go home Sweetie Belle." Macintosh ducked his head down, feeling the heavy miserable weight of responsibility pulling his shoulders down. He walked out of the cornfield before she had a chance to push at his resolve again.

***

He should have seen this coming, he thought. Sweetie Belle had shown up at the farm for roughly the last two months, each day with either conversation or treats to share with the stallion. And at first that was alright, the topics were innocent and the treats were simple things like caramel lollipops and strawberry taffy.

But then one day she had shown up with a large muffin in her saddle bag that she claimed she had made herself. Macintosh had smiled and took the muffin from her outstretched hoof and pulled off the plastic wrap she had preserved it in.

The blueberries made him question Sweetie's motives. He didn't feel it was quite a coincidence that the filly had not only guessed his favorite flavor, but made the muffin massive enough to kill off even his worst morning hunger. It just seemed like too much effort to be a simple friendly gesture. And then the nurture came, with its shoulder rubs, motherly griping, and reminders that she would IN FACT see him the next day and not to tire himself out too much.

"So uh....you talking to any colts in school?" Macintosh had asked one day, a grape hard-candy courtesy of his little "friend" sweetening the inside of his left cheek. Sweetie Belle was busying herself with the apples Macintosh had bucked, checking them for hungry insects as she had seen Applebloom do on many occassions.

"Ugh, are you kidding?" She dropped her apple back down into the bucket with a look of sincere disgust on her tiny features.

"They're all so....." Sweetie pursed her lips as she racked her mind for an adequate word.

"Irr-i-tating." Sweetie blurted the word out in pieces, doing her best to mimic the word her sister had used so often. The stallion beside her sucked the candy to the other side of his mouth with an audible click of his tongue, saying nothing.

"Do you have a special somepony?" Sweetie looked up at him, an excited glow in her eyes and her tail wagging from side to side slowly.

"Nnope. Can't say ah do." Macintosh immediately regretted those words, catching a full smile from the filly out of the corner of one eye.

***

Big Macintosh trudged back out of the cornfield, having watched Sweetie Belle sprint off in the opposite direction. She had the good graces not to wail at least, because a stallion and a crying filly alone together in a corn field is never a good situation to be caught in. He nosed his way through the crops when he noticed the discarded saddlebag still lying dejected in the soil.

Mac picked up the saddlebag with his teeth, noting that it was made of a jean-like material but dyed a cross between violet and blue. No dount this had been crafted by her older sister, probably due to its compliments to Sweetie Belle's pearly-white fur color. He hooked a hoof through the bags and shook them, noticing a bit of weight in the left bag.

Setting the bag carefully back down to the ground, he poked one hoof under the lip of the flap and unlatched the hook holding it down. With his other hoof he reached into the pack and felt his hoof come into contact with something cold. Pulling the object out revealed it to be a jelly jar filled with cold milk, the jar cleverly having been selected as a piece of glassware nopony would care to miss. A second venture into the bag found a squishy, paper-towel wrapped bundel.

He tore the paper open with the tip of a hoof. Inside was a simple wheat-bread bound combination of peanut butter and red plum jam. Care had obviously been taken to make sure the jam did not dribble between the wheat slices, and there was enough peanut butter to fill but not choke. Altogether a simple snack, but for Macintosh, who sat back on his haunches and stared at the bag it had came from, it was anything but simple considering this was probably the second week in a row that she had brought him lunch each day.

The least that could happen was a heartfelt apology to the filly, and perhaps the offer that he'd seek her out for a date when she was older. Whether or not he followed through with it in the future was all up to fate, but for now she needed his intervention.

Macintosh stuffed both items back in the saddlebag and sprinted after the filly, ghosts of her presence winding through the stalks back out onto the road to Ponyville.

***

"Well......Sweetie." Rarity placed a hoof on her sister's shoulder to emphasize that her next words were straight to the point.

"Mr. Macintosh is just much too old for you Sweetie. I'd be surprised if he wasn't more than twice your age." Rarity felt her stomach turn as the awkward conversation continued. Sure she had known about Sweetie Belle's little crush. Apparently, Scootaloo and herself were the only two ponies to actually know about her admiration for the farm pony. And who could blame her honestly? Sure he was a common laborer, never kept his mane tidy, always had dirt on his hooves, and chain-smoked the most musky smelling and cheap cigars she had ever seen. But he WAS rather tall, and equally muscular. If eye candy was what her baby sister was after then she certainly aimed high.

"But whats wrong with that?" The filly whined, her hooves pressing down on the tabletop in frustration so profound it stood out on her face in a tinge of red.

"Sweetie you're just a little filly," Rarity began, at a loss for how to adequately answer. "and he's a full grown stallion."

"Ugh, that's the same thing he said." Sweetie pushed her juice box away as she jumped down from her perch.

"Honestly Sweetie, not only would it be illegal--"

"Why would I tell anypony?"

"Let me finish." Rarity held a hoof up as she levitated the half-full juice carton away from the table and into the refridgerator.

"What I was going to say was that not only could you get Mr. Macintosh into a lot of trouble, but also you simply wouldn't know how to care for a stallion yet. Goodness knows they can't care for themselves." She flashed her sister a flirty grin.

"I'm already taking care of him." Sweetie Belle said with a stamp of her hoof. Her sister had to stifle her laughter with a hoof pressed firmly over her lips, still in absolute adoration of her baby sister's charm in even these circumstances.

"No really! I make him lunch everyday--"

"That's adorable Sweetie, but really--" Rarity was cut off mid-sentence as she thought of all the simple dishes her sister was probably selecting for the stallion.

"I rub his shoulders."

"Yes but--"

"I yell at him when he doesn't eat breakfast."

"Um--"

"I sneak into his room and clean it up while he's working."

Rarity held a hoof to her chest.

"I got rid of all his dirty magazines and I even put a nightlight in his room so he wouldn't trip if he had to pee."

Rarity's mouth fell open, halfway because of the filly's dedication and the other half at her knowledge of what an "adult magazine" was and her discipline regarding such things. Sweetie mistook Rarity's shock as further inquisition.

"He works really hard," she nodded, "so I figured the nightlight would help if he had sleep-gunk in his eyes at night."

"Sweetie I....I'm not sure what to say." Rarity said the last part to the wall rather than her sister, her mind completely blanking and hoping the teal wallpaper would provide an answer.

"He's a silly stallion sometimes, but that's why he needs me." Sweetie Belle puffed out her chest a little bit, feeling pride swell inside her where frustration burned only minutes before.

Author's Note

As always criticism and flames are encouraged!
They help make me a better writer.
However I ask that you keep an open mind when reading this story!

And if you enjoy it so far, leave a comment and a like!