Butterscotch (Final Version - Dec 15)
You know, on Sundays she tastes like butterscotch—oh! Oh! And on Tuesdays too, when I bake her those super-scrummy butterscotch and popping candy cupcakes that she likes so much. You’d never know it until you saw it, but she can totally fit two in her mouth at once.
And that’s okay.
On our very first date we made muffins together in Sugarcube Corner. Well, we tried to, but she totally kept burning them—they were like rock cakes, so we painted them with grey icing. A little bird later told me it was because I kept distracting her with my eyes, but I don’t know if that’s true. I can’t really understand birds anyway, even ones that look like Fluttershy.
But that’s okay.
She’s the reason I love cress. You know, I hadn’t even looked at the stuff before I met her, and now I can’t get enough of it.
And that’s okay.
A week after Winter Wrap Up we skipped out of a stuffy old booooooring royal event to sit out in the rain eating ice-pops. I had a strawberry one—and you know how amazing Sweetcream Scoop’s strawberry ice-pops are—but she kept stealing it out of my mouth.
And that’s super okay.
She’s awful at pranking, I mean really awful. One time, she got all muddled and placed a bucket of chilli sauce on top of the open door and laced the punch with water. But she still puts away her books and tries, and that makes my chest go all shaky-wakey.
And that’s okay.
When I cry—like that one time when Gold Crust didn’t like her birthday party and was super mean to me—she hugs me like she’s become the strongest yak in the world.
And that's really really okay.
One night, she came round to the Corner because the silly filly was getting all nervous about some ol’ princess exam coming up. We made popcorn and sat under sheets and pretended we were camping in the wilderness; she wouldn’t let me be the Timberwolf, not even once.
But that's okay.
I love her. I love her more than the biggest double-triple chocolate cake (and that’s like, six times the chocolaty awesomeness), and even more than Party Cannon #4. I’ve thought of blowing my heart up like a balloon so I could fit more love in there, but I wouldn’t want it to pop.
And that's okay.
She tells me that she loves me: that I’m her stabiliser. I used to love my pair of stabilisers when I was a filly—I had awful balance riding my bike.
And that's, like, the best okay ever!
We don't argue. Not ever. Nup.
And that's okay.
There was a really fun summer’s night when we couldn’t decide which film we were going to see at the cinema, so we just picked one neither of us liked the look of. We had an a-maz-ing time—you can have a lot of fun in those back row seats!
And that's okay.
When I have a really big cake order to get finished she always spends as much of the day as she can helping me, even though she gets super grumpy about the ‘lack of order’ in the kitchen and that I never have any manenets.
And that's okay.
I can’t enter the Running of the Leaves with her anymore—we just keep getting too distracted by bouncing in the all of the puddles and end up finishing last. Like, hours last.
And that's okay.
We’ve never done anything romantic on Hearts and Hooves day, not even once. It’s great though—we first decided to date because we never had a special somepony to spend the day with, so we always ended up spending it together just playing games or sleeping in the park.
And that's okay.
If you look through some of her notebooks, you can see my cutie mark scribbled in the margins.
And that's cheesy-cake kind of okay—I’m talking camembert fudge sundae here!
She’s a super-important princess now, and has to leave early to go to work. There’s always a note hiding under my pillow with a ‘joke of a day’ on it though. She copies them from some joke book she bought in Canterlot. They’re really really bad, but they do make me giggle.
And that's okay.
When she has to study late I bring round some coffee cupcakes and stay up with her. I know I can’t help much, apart from finding a book or two, but she tells me it really keeps her calm knowing I’m there.
And that's okay.
Okay, so sometimes we argue—when one of us is acting like a mean ol’ grumpy-pants—but we never go to bed on one.
And that's okay.
"What did one wall say to the other? Meet you at the corner!" See, I told you they were really bad.
And that’s okay.
She’s always trying to find ways to finish early so we can spend more time together. One time, she pretended she had a tummy bug so we could lie in bed all day eating lots and lots of chilli pancakes and blueberry cream fritters. But then she really did get a tummy bug, so she didn’t lie really.
You have no idea how okay that was.
Even though she gets nervous about singing she still lets me bring a ukulele and hooffulls of cider round for secret karaoke night surprises.
And that's okay.
At night, she makes super-cool noises.
And that's okay.
One year she bought me an amazing vintage baking book filled to the tippy-tip-top with really ancient cake recipes. I totally need to remember to ask Princess Celestia if she knows any of them.
And that was really awesome.
The stars remind me of her—every single one of them—and I always feel like she is with me when I look up at them. She tried to show me all the constellations once, but it had been a busy day and I ended up falling asleep. I woke up across her back, and she smelt of rain—oh, it turned my stomach into baked alaska.
And that's okay.
She threw me a surprise party when I moved into the library. I knew it was going to happen—I mean, what kind of party pony would I be if I didn’t know when a party was going down—but I was still all trembly and nervous.
And that's okay.
Sometimes, we would sit outside and play a guessing game as to what our wedding day would be like. I always get a little bit whoooa when I realise that marrying her would make me a princess. A Party Princess? Hah hah hah. Weird.
And that's okay.
Fun fact! The Pinkie Sense for her sneaking a kiss on me is: butterfly-belly, left-rear hoof twinge and tail poof. Sometimes I suppress it, because her victorious face makes me want her real bad.
Oh Celestia, that’s definitely okay.
I snuck into the library’s secret bookshelf once to surprise her. I had to wait for days before she finally pulled a book out, but it was totally worth it.
And that's okay.
She's found my super-weak spot, and I love it.
And that's okay.
When she tells me that she’s been thinking about me it’s the bestest, most wonderful sound in the world.
And that's okay.
Sometimes, I miss her when she's not here.
And that's sad, but okay.
We both got really bad pony-flu one winter, but we surprised each other with homemade soup. I still don’t know how she managed to make cotton candy soup, but it went great with the burnt bread.
And that's okay.
I eat loudly, apparently. I need to work on that.
I suppose that's okay…
She totally tidied up all my party equipment and put the wine coloured balloons in with the plum ones. She knows wine and plum balloons don’t get along! I mean, sheeesh!
That’s so not okay.
Turns out her voice can go much higher than mine. It just needs a helping hoof.
And that's su-per okay.
For our first Hearth's Warming together I gave her rock carvings of us both sitting on a star. For a moment I thought she just didn’t like purple jasper, but it turns out she cries loudly when she’s happy too.
And that's okay.
She brings round doughnuts that you can’t buy in any shop. I guess she’s been researching flavours again.
And that's okay.
You know what? Sometimes, just sometimes, she’s ever so slightly selfish. Just a smidge.
… and that's okay.
Oh, she works so much these days.
But that's not okay.
When I catch her in the kitchen in the middle of the night and she’s covered in icing and flour and looking really flushed and wild-eyed? Well… we really don’t sleep much those nights.
And that's okay.
My angry voice sounds like a dragon gargling a griffon. It would be totally hilarious if I enjoyed using my angry voice… but I don’t, so it isn’t.
Nope. Not okay.
I get all frowny-faced at the fact that she can fly and I can’t, but she lets me ride on her back and I get to eat all the scrummy clouds we can find.
And that's okay.
She snores. And she steals the blanket. It’s super annoying.
And that's not okay.
Sometimes we get to sleepy-tight time and I realise we’ve forgotten to ask each other how our days have been.
And that's not okay.
We made a big ol’ snow Timberwolf one winter, but it melted twice as fast as Rainbow Dash and Big Mac’s. It made me sad, but she told me that it isn’t how long something lasts, but how amazing it was whilst it lasted.
That's kinda a 'there’s only one slice of cake left' okay.
When I wake up in the night sometimes, she's got her legs around me and I feel like I’ve been locked away in a super-snug safe. With feathers.
And that's okay.
She told me that I didn’t have to come along to a royal function, because it would probably be boring for me. I wouldn’t have minded though.
That’s not okay.
Just once, I want to be able to bake something without having to test and measure everything first. It's… exhausting.
And that's not okay either.
Another fun fact! Her hooves and mine are a perfect fit. We can stand in each other’s prints in the snow without breaking them. I don’t think she has realised it yet though, because I’m usually the one walking behind.
That's kinda okay.
She stopped doing that curly-wurly thing with her mane that I like—when did she even change that anyway?
But it’s okay… I guess.
Today we argued about how much space she needs for her books, and whether I really need four party cannons.
And that's not okay.
I can't remember the last time I threw a party. Even a ‘Partybecausewehaven’thadapartyinawhile’ party.
That's really not okay at all.
It must be all of her really important princessy stuff, but she comes home later now. Sometimes she kisses my cheek when she gets into bed—I know because I’m still awake. I try, but I just can’t sleep when I can’t hear her breathing beside me, but I don’t want her to know that and think me a silly filly.
I don't think that's okay either.
She still sometimes stares at me. I like to catch her in the act and stare back until she blushes.
But that's okay.
She's fine; she's just tired.
And that's okay too.
I miss Party Cannon #4; he was one of the good ones.
But not that.
Whenever I see her buried under one of her really cool book mountains, it makes me want to read what she reads and talk to her about it.
It doesn't feel like that's okay though.
We argued about why she has to work so much, and that I can’t very well time a cake that has to be eaten warm when I don’t know what time she’ll be home. She’s such a grumpy-pants at the moment.
And that's not okay.
Sometimes, it feels like that one moment at the party when you realise the best bit has happened and it’s all starting to calm down now. Even the parties you don’t want to end have them, it seems.
And I don't know how I feel about that.
We argued again, and after she teleported herself away somewhere Spike came over and gave me a hug. It was scaly and nice. Did you know that dragon scales are water-proof? ‘Cos I didn’t.
I wish that wasn’t okay.
I’ve started hiding those old joke notes under my pillow each night so I can read them when I get up.
That's… okay?
We had all our friends over one Sunday for a nutloaf roast. She drank a lot of Rarity’s really expensive wine and later dropped the pudding. I don’t know why we argued over that but we did.
It's… not okay.
Sometimes we just stare out the windows and don’t speak—sometimes for minutes, sometimes for hours. It’s a competition… I think.
Still not okay.
When I doze off on the sofa waiting for her to come home, I wake up and she’s placed a blanket over me. Sometimes she’s lying beside me, even though the sofa is too small and her wings are all bent and crooked.
I wish that was okay.
I didn't know you could argue about rugs. Not really argue.
And that's not okay.
She went out with Rarity the other night, and when she got back her eyes looked all red and puffy. She told me she hadn’t been crying, but I didn’t think she had any allergies. Rarity wouldn’t say anything about it either, even though I Pinkie promised not to say anything, but she did give me a hug.
Not really okay.
I told her a really funny joke I heard at work in the Corner and she didn't smile. She didn't do anything.
I guess that's okay.
Our friends keep coming round and asking me if I'm okay. I'm fine, I tell them. I’m just a tiredy-pants.
I know that's not okay.
I just don’t get why she needs to read in a separate room. Do certain rooms help you read better? I mean, I know kitchens are obviously great for cooking in, but surely you can read anywhere!?
But that's okay… I guess.
Sometimes I miss her when she's here.
That’s so not okay.
We’ve started eating separately lately. I guess we’re just busy at different times these days.
It doesn't feel like that's okay.
This Hearth's Warming Eve she surprised me by decorating the library and getting my favourite strawberry cocoa ready for when I got home, and in the evening we sang carols that almost sounded right and ate roasted chestnuts that almost tasted perfect.
I think that's okay.
I've created a new game.
It's not okay.
I’m super-confuzzled. We’ve managed to spend an evening where we forgot to pop the popcorn, make and bake the muffins or play a game. It was slow. I mean, really slooooow.
And that's not okay.
The game is called ‘the argument game’. Each time one of you gets really grouchy and all snappy mcsnapsnap then you get a frowny sticker for the chart. The pony that gets the most stickers wins the prize. I don’t know what the prize is though; I don’t even know how the game ends.
It's just not…
We argue about the fact that she’s much too busy to tidy up the library. I mean, what am I? A super cleaning pony or a super party pony?
… not…
She says she doesn't like butterscotch anymore.
Oh Celestia, it’s not okay!
If I was one of her books I wonder on what chapter she would stop reading.
…
She walked out of the library saying it’s too loud for her to concentrate. I don’t know who’s making all that noise but it can’t be me—I’ve been holding my breath all evening.
… …
I burnt muffins today. I didn’t mean to, but I was mixing in the popping candy and then my eyes went all wet and sore and by the time I remembered they were still in the oven they were all hard and crumbly. They had to go into the bin. So did the mixing bowl. And the spoon. And that special frosting I had ordered in especially because it was just the right shade of purple.
It’s...
I think Applejack might be going an itsy-bitsy bit deaf—I’ve had to repeat myself so many times tonight. And anyway, what’s wrong with the amount of cider I’ve had? Apples are good for you, everypony knows that.
… okay. It's okay.
Her eyes keep telling me that she’s sorry. I don't know why her mouth can’t do that, has it fallen out with her?
It's… okay, right?
I miss her super-cool night noises.
Right?
One day, when I was cleaning the library, I saw a paper that said 'pro's and con's', but both columns were empty. Is she still thinking about getting that rug?
…
Ugh. I hate throwing parties.
…
Applejack still keeps asking me if I’m alright. I keep trying to tell her that I’m fine, that I know that she’d be there for me even if we weren’t family, but it’s like I’ve got a mountain of invisible cake in my mouth. It’s fine if your eyes leak at times like this, right?
But that's okay.
My chest hurts. It hurts so much.
It's really…
She always leaves her journal out on her desk, and I so badly wanna to have a peek and see if I can find out what’s wrong, but I’m scared of finding out what’s wrong. Anyway, peeking and sneaking leaves a pony freaking—everypony knows that.
… really…
The place is so quiet these days. Have we moved house without me knowing?
… not okay.
I follow her sometimes, just to make sure she's okay.
Nope.
Some nights she just sits there at Sweetcream Scoops’ shop, drinking milkshakes and looking sad. Is that strawberry? It’s definitely strawberry. I’m gonna make her some strawberry cupcakes next time I bake. Heh, next time. That's funny.
It isn't bucking okay at all!
It looks like she’s going to say something some days—like she really really wants to tell me something important that I’ll no doubt need to Pinkie promise not to tell anypony else—but then she just does her breathing thing and asks me how I am.
But that's... okay…
You know what? Minuette is such a great pony—a really amazing, sweet pony. She dragged me out and we ate doughnuts and played games and laughed and laughed until our sides needed stitching up, and then it was night, and I had drunk too much cider and I just didn’t want her to go, and I know I hugged her for longer than normal, but it was just so so nice to have somepony hug you back.
That’s okay/not okay.
I hate butterscotch. And I hate cress. But I don't want to. I really, really don’t want to.
And that's not okay.
I wonder if she’s finding it hard to read books. I mean, I can’t even look at a kitchen at the moment, so it would only be fair, right?
Nor that.
I’m trying to think about things, but that night with Minuette is hogging all my brain.
… Maybe that.
When I start crying she hugs me tight, and it's almost like that time after Gold Crust’s party but this time I can hear and feel her crying too and it makes me want to be sick.
I just…
I’m going out for doughnuts with Minuette again this week, but I’m scared to go, and my heart keeps going rat-tat-tat-tat at the thought. I can’t think of the last time my heart made that sound; it’s freaky.
I think that's okay though.
I still love her. I love her so so much.
But that… No, I don’t think that’s still okay.
I don't know if she still loves me though.
And that's… okay, right?
Right?
Author's Note
Thank you for reading. When I first wrote/published this fic in September, I was looking to undertake something that took me outside of my comfort zone a little... namely fluff, up until that point.
The aim of this was to tell the story of the relationship between Pinkie and Twilight, in a slightly less standard way, as it slowly deteriorates over the course of time. I sought to use fragments of memories and scenes as a means of depicting this change, and utilised Pinkie's point of view as a means of making those memories more poignant. It was also something of a self-set challenge to produce something in Pinkie's voice that successfully walked the line between character honesty and story tone.
I was pleased with the initial finished product; despite it being quite rough around the edges, feedback suggested that it successfully conveyed what I wanted it to convey. However, I came on this site to help me improve my writing skills, and in the months following initial publication I have developed skills and a greater awareness of some of my earlier shortcomings. This was one story that I was particularly proud of, and wanted to treat well, so I returned to it in order to perform something of a rewrite. Some content has been removed or changed, and some new content added, in order to improve the tone and the message of the story, and also to build on Pinkie's character using content from S5. In addition, various grammar issues have been corrected. Although the story is significantly the same, most of the paragraphs had at least one alteration made to them.
If you are coming here as a result of the new chapter being uploaded, then I hope the changes have improved the reading experience for you. If you are coming here as a new reader, then I hope you have been entertained.
Although not a songfic, the mood of this tale was heavily influenced by the fine album Start/Stop, by Union Sound Set; particularly this gem of a song.
"And cracks will soon appear, where once you thought so clear."
