Love Life (or Pinkie Pie's Heartbreak Repair Service)by CrowleyChaptersPart 1Part 2Part 3Part 4Part 5Part 6Part 7 [Mature]Part 8Part 1Have you ever built a sandcastle on a beach before? A really good one. One that spends most of the day to make, only for the tide to come and sweep it away, or for a careless pony to trample it by mistake. Your life was a lavish sandcastle once. You had friends. You had money. You had a beautiful fiancé you were due to marry. But none of it lasts. Take one of those things away, and it all falls apart. The money wasn’t even the first thing to go; it was just the first problem. As soon as you told her that you needed to keep your bits for the house you were going to buy together, her attitude changed almost immediately. It meant an end to you buying stuff on her behalf. Apparently expensive trinkets and gems were more important to her than trying to make ends meet for life after the wedding. Ah, yes. The wedding. The worst day of your life. The day she left you at the altar and ran off with that rich stallion. Because she’d already drained you of everything you could give her, why in Equestria would she want to marry you? Naturally, your fake friends leapt to her side of the argument, if only for the chance to get up-close and personal with her, or impress her new, richer, more popular aristocratic unicorn than you. That’s the problem with Canterlot these days; you’d get sold out in a second if it meant they’d be part of an ‘in’ crowd as a result. Which is why you decided to start over. To drop anchor in Ponyville, buy a small house there with whatever funds you had left, and start with a clean slate. Sadly, those kind of story endings don’t exist. You were already broken-hearted and wrecked from the whole experience. Those feelings don’t just go away when you wake up in a small, empty house every morning, reminding you day after day of how you got there. The drinking helped at first. Let you forget the situation, if only for a single night. The mornings after… not so helpful. Eventually, the drinking slipped from an occasional treat to something you needed just to get through the lonely week. And from there, to sheer necessity. And a year of hurting and wallowing really takes its toll. You sit in your usual thinking chair by the fireplace, tipping the usual amount of whiskey into your gullet. You call it the ‘thinking chair’. It’s more of a ‘regret and weep chair’ these days. It’s been a whole dismal year since she tore you apart, and took everything you held dear. And you still haven’t recovered from it. Sure, you’ve been putting on a brave face to anypony who asks, and the money that your family in Canterlot sends you helps, but… …you can’t keep doing this. You can’t do this year after year, but there’s really no escape from it either. Unless you just sit there and wait to die. Perhaps the whiskey would speed that along. You take another gulp of it, lazily lifting the bottle with your unicorn magic. No. No, you’ve been gulping it for a year straight now, and you’re still here. Time for a different approach. A more permanent ending to this roller-coaster with all downs and no ups. Throwing yourself out of the thinking chair, you stumble forward, nearly falling flat on your face. Wow, the drink really sneaks up on you when you try to walk. Thank goodness you have four legs for keeping you upright, who knows how all those bipedal races manage it. Now go and set yourself free. Oh, and bring the whiskey, there‘s still half of the bottle left. There we go. ******* There’s a pony trotting down the crowded Ponyville streets, giving cheery greetings to any and everypony she sees. She loves these kind of days; sunny, but with a cool breeze drifting through the town. Not a cloud in the sky, but the breeze makes sure you don’t get hot and clammy. As a result, ponies are enjoying the time outdoors, browsing the market stalls for treats and bargains, and chatting at Sugarcube Corner over a sundae or a milkshake. The pony makes a mental note to return there later today; she may have finished her morning shift, but the Cakes are always in need of a helping hoof, be it with the store or their kids. She merrily skips her way past the market stalls and towards the centre of town, where a cluster of ponies have gathered around the Town Hall. Is there an event going on? Is Mayor Mare giving a speech about the nice weather? Ooh, ooh! She must be making today Weather Pegasus Appreciation Day or something, because this pony sure appreciates it! Curiously pushing her way to the centre of the throng of ponies, she looks up to the balcony where the other ponies are pointing. And when she sees what the bustle is about, her thoughts dip from delightful to dire. ******* “Everypony move, that stallion’s gonna jump!” Ugh. Why is everypony in this backward town so stupid? You manage to haul yourself up to the balcony with the intent of ending it all quickly and (hopefully) painlessly, and now all these ponies are standing right where you want to land! How can they expect you to jump if they’re in the way? Idiots, the lot of ‘em. One pony in particular, a panicking pink-and-pink pony, keeps shouting helpful tips from the ground, as if it could save you. “Whaddya think you’re doing, Mister? That’s not safe!” Wow, really? Honestly, you had no idea that balancing on the rails of a balcony using only your two rear legs (you couldn’t fit all four on) and holding the three-quarter-empty bottle of whiskey with your free fore-hooves could be considered unsafe. “You really oughta get down from there! Or at least stop drinking that stuff while you’re up there!” Oh, she did not just ask you to stop drinking your whiskey, did she? “Hey, it’s the first drop of this stuff that got me wasted, lady!” you shout back, “No harm in the last drop!” Speaking of last drops, you sure are taking your time with this whole ‘ending it all’ business. You’d hurry it up, but the crowd is still in the way. “But you’re gonna fall!” she kindly points out. No manure, Sherclop. “If you’ll excuse me, I’d like to test that theory!” you shout in retort. nearly slipping off the balcony, but regaining your balance at the last moment. “Do a flip for extra points! Try and land on your neck!” a stallion in the crowd pipes up. Oh great. Hecklers at your own curtain call. “Shut it, Sharpquill, you jerk!” the pink pony scolds him, “Can’t you see that’s the last thing we need right n-” She stops mid-sentence, interrupted by the sudden and unusual twitching of her fluffy tail. “No…” she looks up at you with a look of horror, then back to her quivering tail, then back to you, “Nonononono! NO!” And with that, she looks around desperately for… something, and shoots off like a panic-powered rocket. What a strange girl… At that moment, a gust of wind throws you off balance. You stumble, and try to place a rear hoof back on the rail. In your inebriation, you miss. Your rear hoof starts to fall. And the rest of you falls with it. Your eyes sting from the speed as you plummet, the whistling of the wind drowning out every sound but the occasional scream from the crowd you had attracted. Your stomach tightens into knots. It’s all a rush, with no time to think or regret. Only time to scrunch your eyes shut and wait for the ground to- Boing! And suddenly you get the feeling you’re travelling upwards again, if only for a second. Then the falling sensation again. Boing. You finally land on what feels like canvas. You chance opening a weary, delirious eye at your surroundings, whether it’s the good afterlife or the bad one. Instead, you’re met face-to-face with the wide-eyed pink pony who disappeared not a few seconds ago. “Phew! That was a close one!” she pants, mopping the sweat from her brow, “Don’t do that falling-off-things thing again, Mister! I should really start stashing trampolines around here, I hadda fetch this from outside the Carousel Boutique!” Looking down, you find yourself on said trampoline that had somehow appeared as you were falling. The pink girl must have brought it from somewhere. You look back up to the highest balcony of the Town Hall. You just fell from that height and survived. And now you feel sickeningly dizzy from the idea of it. You probably just need another swig from… wait, where is it? “Tell me,” you politely ask your life-saver as your vision blurs, “Did my whiskey survive?” “Uhh…” she checks the mess of glass and liquor that lies shattered on the ground, “No.” “Well, nuts to that.” What a fine thing to say to the mare who saved your miserable life. How very Canterlot of you. Unfortunately, the rest of today is lost to you, thanks to the alcohol rotting your think-pan. You can’t remember it. Memory fuzzy. Scene missing. Please fast forward to the next morning to continue. Part 2You wake up the next morning with a teeny, tiny hangover. “Aaarrrggghhhgeezmyheaduuuggghhh..!” Okay, you wake up with a pretty big hangover. After several attempts to curl back up into bed, you decide that the pain is too much to ignore, and the best way to cure it is re-hydration. Cue the zombie-pony-esque shuffle, complete with groans, to the bathroom to drink the tap water and use the facilities. And also try to remember what the heck happened yesterday. The first thing you recall is a pair of huge, blue eyes… belonging to that pink mare you met yesterday. You also recall a trampoline and… Oh. Now you remember what you did. The fiasco at Town Hall. Idiot. Are you really in such a state that ending it all’s the best way out? Your drunk self seems to think so, but then again, you’re not making any attempt to escape any other way. Bumbling down to the kitchen, you open the fridge in the vain hope of finding something besides the usual eggs, cheese and surplus ingredients you never eat. In all improbability, you actually found something interesting. Sitting there, on a small plate, on a shelf in your fridge is a generous slice of chocolate cake with a small slip of paper with your name scribbled on. Odd. You don’t remember having cake in your fridge before. Levitating the plate’s contents from the fridge to the table, you pick up and read the slip of paper. It looks like somepony scrawled this in crayon; Hi! I thought you needed cheering up, so I got you some cake. Nothing cheers me up like cake, so I’m sure it’ll help a little! Come to Sugarcube Corner when you feel up to it. We’ve gotta talk. P. P. Wow, you didn’t know her name was actually Pink Pony. Or at least something with the word pink in it, you’ll wager that much. You discard the paper, making a mental note to visit Sugarcube Corner at some point; you have nothing on your list of thing to do today (or this lifetime, really). In the meantime, you might as well have a slice of cake for breakfast. It beats ordering out like you do every other day… Oh sweet Celestia that’s delicious. ******* Standing outside the Sugarcube Corner, you realise just how much it looks like a gingerbread house. You guess you’ve never cared enough to notice before. Either way, Pink Pony said she wanted to meet you there, so there’s no point in hanging around with the other ponies, who were busy sitting at various tables outside the confectioners. You just stroll into the shop and ask the petite yet plump pony behind the counter. “Uh, hi. You haven’t seen a pink mare around, have you? I‘m supposed to meet her here.” The stout salespony nods in acknowledgement, before trotting up to the foot of the nearby staircase. “Pinkie Pie!” (You knew it! You knew she had the word pink in her name! You owe yourself a drink later.) “Yeah?” a high-pitched voice calls back. “Somepony’s here to see you. He says you asked to meet him here?” The voice from the top of the stairs makes a sound of exclamation before replying, “Oh my gosh, he’s actually here!? Tell him to wait up, I won‘t be long!” Within thirty seconds, the sound of - is that splashing? - comes from upstairs, before you hear what sounds like a dog shaking itself dry. Soon after, the recognisable pink mare who saved your life skips down the stairs, her mane and tail noticeably damp and limp. “Sorry about the wait, I was having a shower after my shift here.” she chirps, “Let’s go for a trot around town, I’ll walk myself dry. We gotta chat about something.” “Couldn’t you just use a towel?” Pinkie the Damp giggles, “Don’t be silly, silly! Didn’t you know towels are the number one cause of dry fur?” “But that’s exactly wh-” Before you can finish your perfectly logical outlining, you’re interrupted by the store’s owner, who’s Pinkie-savvy enough to ignore her string of logic. “Now, now, Pinkie dear, if you’re going to go for a walk, try to keep it down if you’re back late. The foals will be asleep soon.” “Will do, Mrs Cake!” the pink one grins, before turning back to you, “Let’s go to the park, it’s perfect park weather!” All you can do it shrug and follow her out of the shop. But not before buying another slice of cake - those things are good. ******* This girl sure is a strange one. Who knew she could glean happiness from just rolling around on the warm grass? At least her mane dried out quickly in the sunlight. “Yup, the grass is safe to lie on!” she confirms. Nopony had asked. Either way, you sit yourself down on the flower-dotted field, letting the sun’s rays wash over you. Now would be a good time for a nice, cold drink. “So,” you ask the sunbathing mare, “What did you bring me here for? Is it about the whole thing yesterday?” At the mere mention of your near-death experience, she stops her grass-rolling on the spot, leaving herself lying face-up, staring into the sky. “Well… yeah.” she says, watching an odd, wandering pegasus hop from cloud to cloud overhead, “That’s the first time I’ve ever seen a pony, you know, try something like that. I mean, I’ve read about it in newspapers before, but-” “Look, sorry if it made you panic back there,” you cut her off, before she makes too big of a deal of it (she seems like somepony who would), “I was drunk, I wasn’t thinking straight, and it was a stupid thing to even consider.” “But you still considered it, didn’t you?” her eyes drift from the clouds to you, “Plus, I’ve hosted enough parties to know that the truth comes out when you’ve been drinking. What you were thinking back there… was it genuine?” Yikes. She’s smarter than she lets on. But you don’t have the time nor patience for this, “I dunno, alright? You don’t know me, what do you care- Oof!” Just as you get up to leave, Pinkie knocks you back down like a speedy, pink wrestler. Suddenly you find yourself looking up at her as she pins you down. “I care,” she retorts with vigour, “because it’s my special talent to make everypony happy! You aren’t happy, and I wanna help! And yes, I do know you. I know most - if not all - of Ponyville. How else could I have written your name on the invitation?” Invitation? Oh yeah, the paper next to that cake in your fridge. “Are you really that obsessed with trying to make somepony happy?” you ask, “Do you have some kind of grand scheme into making Ponyville your own little happy town or something? Complete with a ‘No Sad Feelings’ sign?” “Of course not! I mean, that’d be swell, but…” she catches herself before she starts nattering off-topic, and gets back to the subject at hand, “It’s not that I want to spend all my free time trying to help somepony. It’s that I don’t want to stand by and watch somepony fall apart when I could be helping them.” It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that the somepony she’s talking about is you. “I don’t think my conscience would let me just sit by and watch somepony… throw himself off a balcony when I could save them instead. That’s why I’ve gotta help, don’t you see? Lemme help! Pretty pleeeaaase?!” You open your mouth, ready to tell her that there’s nothing she could possibly help with. That what happened yesterday was a one-time thing, and that it’d never happen again. But that would be a lie. Not just to her, but to yourself. Her help couldn’t possibly make your situation worse than it already is. So what have you got to lose? “Alright,” you sigh, “I don’t know how you’re planning to help, but I need it no matter what shape it comes in. It’s a deal.” She’s ecstatic by the news, bouncing up and down and all around like she’s made from the rubber of a bouncy ball, “Yes! You won’t regret this! I’ll do everything I can to get you back up on your hooves, I promise!” “You… promise?” She finalises the agreement by reciting a miniature ritual that involved crossing her forelegs over her heart, waving said forelegs around for a second or two and poking herself in the eye. You have no idea what it meant. You also have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into. Part 3The help started as soon as you agreed. The first lesson; how to deal with the mountain of issues that gnaw at you. Way to get straight to the point. “So you’ve got a lot of problems, right?” Pinkie asks, “And all of these problems are piling up on you. You’ve got the heartbreak, the whole betrayed by your friends thing… well, I wouldn’t call them friends myself, but… and then you feel like there’s nothing else for you out there, so you just sit all by yourself drinking…” “Are you going to list all of the things that are wrong with me?” you cut in, “Because we’ll be here until it gets dark if you do that.” “Oh, hah-hah,” she jests, “But it’s not the problems themselves that have you dragged down, you see. It’s the amount!” Of course, you were never expecting this pony to make perfect sense. You ask her to clarify. “Hmm, how should I put this?” she muses, “Ooh, I know! Imagine you’ve got to carry a whole ton of bricks, right? And each brick is labelled with a problem that’s got you down.” “Riiight?” You honestly aren’t sure where she’s going with this. You secretly hope she doesn’t actually make you carry a ton of bricks produced out of thin air just to prove a point… “If you try to carry all the bricks at once, why, that’d be impossible, right?! Buuuut! If you carry them one by one, it’s way lighter and easier!” You sigh in response to her innocent, yet sadly useless, advice, “I really wish the solution was that simple, Pinkie. Really I do. But I’ve tried, and it isn’t.” “Correction. You’ve tried alone,” she replies, “Everything’s harder when you’re alone; baking, babysitting, battling-the-forces-of-evil-with-the-Elements-of-Harmony… pretty much anything that begins with a B.” Battling the who with the what now..? Your confused expression goes unnoticed by her, “But when you’ve got somepony to help you, it becomes easier to rectify! Easier to repair! Easier to recover! Here, let me show you…” An odd sound fades into your ears, echoing from all around you. The sound of music, a jaunty, fast-paced melody with no clear source as to where it’s coming from. Pinkie perks herself up to the merry tune, and sings, letting her melodic voice rise up and join the source-less instruments. “Your life is in a rut, sure, but I can fix it up, It doesn’t take an S-O-S to ask me for my help, Just look at the world around you, every filly, every colt, They all have problems (you have too!) But we can take them on, let’s give it a shot! Wounds can heal over time, if you let them! Learn from your mistakes, but don’t ever resent them! That’s what living’s all about; how to live the life you want! Don’t let the past ruin your future if it ties you in a knot! It’s really clear to see, pal, you couldn’t run away, Sometimes you need a kick-start, get you on your hooves again, Give me a chance, just one, I’ll get your life back on the track, We all have problems (I can help!) So let’s work together to get your life back! Wounds can heal over time, if you let them! Learn from your mistakes, but don’t ever resent them! That’s what living’s all about; how to live the life you want! Don’t let the past ruin your future, take a hold of what you‘ve got! It feels like a lot, though, when troubles take their toll, Like a wall that’s made of bad things, but don’t become a foal, Take them on by being smart; not all at once, but one by one, The wall of problems (brick by brick!) Will tumble down, and then you’ll have won! Wounds can heal over time, if you let them! Learn from your mistakes, but don’t ever resent them! That’s what living’s all about; how to live the life you want! Don’t let the past ruin your future if it ties you in a knot! Don’t let the past ruin your future, take a hold of what you‘ve got! Don’t let the past ruin your future, it’s your life to live and love!” And just like that, it’s over, with no trace of it ever happening. What just happened? Did you really just witness a full-on impromptu musical number from her? You say the only coherent thing you can think of. “Whoa.” “Didja like it?” she smirks, “Singing it out loud makes it all way clearer, don’t you agree?” “Um… yeah.” you stutter. You’ve witnessed musical numbers before, sure, but it usually takes the emotions of a whole town at a major event to spark one, like the annual Winter Wrap-Up or something. Could it be that this single mare had the emotional capacity to break into song whenever she wanted? What’s more, she did that just for you. That girl is a sheer mystery to you. A mystery you have the urge to crack. ******* “Now let’s see here…” You have no idea why you agreed to let Pinkie poke around your home. She gave you a convincing argument that, in order to change your life for the better, you’d have to get tackle anything at home that could be holding you back. Frankly, you think the idea’s foolish. There’s nothing at home that reminds you of your problems other than… “Wow, you sure keep a lot of photos of your ex in here, don’t you?” “What? Hey! Put that back!” How the heck did she even find that envelope? You had it hidden under your drawer! Regardless, she doesn’t put it back - instead, she places it in front of you. Your eyes drift over the photographs of your old friends, your old lover, your old life. “Is there any wonder that you couldn’t move on when you left Canterlot?” she says with a serious tone to her voice. A rare moment to witness from Pinkie. “You literally carried your problems back with you.” “Pinkie, please, could you put that back?” you moan, “I really don’t want to look at those right now.” “Why don’cha just throw ‘em away-?” “No.” “Why not?” “Because they’re…” ugh, this is gonna sound so stupid, “too painful to throw away.” “So you keep them in a big old envelope, because they’re too painful to look at too?” “Yes.” “They’re too painful to look at or throw away?” “Yes!” “They must be kept so they can never be looked at?” “I know! I get it!” you snap. Pinkie flinches at your sudden outburst, looking visibly shaken. You immediately catch yourself a moment later. “I’m sorry. Really, I am. It’s just that… put it back.” She dutifully places the pictures back, and slides it under the drawer. “I’m sorry too. You know I’m just trying to help, right?” “I know.” you place a fore-hoof over her in an attempt to loosen the tension - did you really scare her that much? “That’s just a pretty sensitive spot for me.” “It’s okay. Everypony has a doozy to overcome.” Her fore-hoof mimics your own, placing itself on you with a friendly grip that tells you she’s far from given up. “Do you still want my help?” “Of course,” you nod, willing to do whatever it takes to help her help you, “You… hoof-wavey eye-pokey promised, after all. C’mon, let‘s find something else to tackle. Want some gin or scotch or something while we talk it over?” You trot over to the cold liquor storage - er, fridge - to show her a few bottles to choose from. “Geez, that’s a lot of drink there!” she gasps, “I could host a month’s worth of parties with those!” “And yet, this amount usually lasts me a week.” You didn’t know whether you were complimenting yourself or not with that statement. “Ever thought about quitting?” she asks. “Cold turkey?” “No thanks, I’m vegetarian!” You shut the fridge, plunging its contents into darkness. Part 4You open the fridge, bathing its contents with the little light from the top of it. A variety of vegetables, all forms of fruit and other assorted goods and cheeses decorate the interior. A couple of old bottles remain huddled in the fridge’s corner. You’ve stopped with the nightly bingeing through Pinkie’s advice, and learnt to save them for celebration, not self-mourning. Most of the supplies wound up being donated to your friend as thanks for her helping you. You decide that they’re better off bringing happiness to others in parties than being wasted on your wallowing. Honestly, nopony is stopping you from drinking them right here and now, but for some reason, you just don’t… need to drink right now. Not any more. That’s got to be a good thing. With a smile, you take the ingredients you need and shut the fridge door. It’s been four whole weeks since you fell off a balcony and into Pinkie Pie’s life, and every day has been a small improvement. On most days, these improvements were so tiny that you hadn’t noticed them until looking back and seeing how far you’d come. The house itself is cleaner too. Heck, if there’s a pretty mare coming here on a regular basis, it’s best to keep the place presentable. Wait. Did you just call Pinkie Pie ‘pretty’? Yes. Yes you did. And you have every right to! You’re single, you’re allowed to have an eye for the cute mares without fear of being chastised by… Your eyes drift towards the drawer, and the envelope that lies under it, gathering dust day by day. No. You still don’t have the heart to stand that. After a hearty omelette for breakfast (it’s a good job Pinkie’s given you a few tips for a quick and easy meal) you set off for the Sugarcube Corner. You’ve recently taken to helping your friend though her morning shift (voluntarily, of course, with no money spent on the Cake’s behalf). It just gave you a reason to get up in the morning. Plus, she doesn’t mind the company. Whoa, not like that. As in, she’s just really happy when she has somepony to talk to while the Cakes are preoccupied with their foals. Yeah. ******* She gives you a usual, cheery greeting; a quick, feel-good hug. She asks you how you’re feeling. A lot better, honestly. “That’s great to hear,” she chirps, “C’mon, I’m helping Mrs Cake with baking duty today, covering for Mr Cake while he’s taking the twins to the doctors.” “Are they going for their injections?” “Injections and lollipops by the end of it!” she beams. Pinkie Pie. The eternal optimist. The day ticks on, accompanied by the pleasant scent of baking. As midday approaches, you both discuss what step to take next on your road to recovery. “I’ve gotta be honest,” she mumbles, nervously scratching the back of her head, “I’m not too sure about how to get over the heartbreak part. I’ve been sad, sure, but I’ve never been heartbroken before, so I can’t really say I know how that feels like, nor how to deal with it.” “You’ve never been dumped before?” you ask casually, “Always the dumper, never the dumpee?” “Nah, I’ve just never been in a relationship.” “What!?” It’s hard to imagine that such a happy, bubbly personality like Pinkie Pie has gone through her whole life without a special somepony, “Really? But what do you do on days like Heart and Hooves Day?” “This past one? I got my friend Twilight to cast a glimmer-wing spell on me, then I flew around the town wearing a diaper, firing foam heart-shaped arrows at happy couples! They weren’t mad.” Trust Pinkie to say something like that. Before you could inquire more into it, Mrs Cake pokes her head through the door to the baking area. “Sorry to bother you, dearie,” she says, “but I’m a little behind on orders, could you whip up a couple of milkshakes for Twilight and her friend while I‘m tending to other customers?” “Twilight and who?” Pinkie muses, before gasping in realisation, “Say no more, Mrs Cake, I’ll get right on it! Better yet, I’ll pay for on their behalf too.” “Are you sure, dearie? It’ll be four bits.” “Sure I’m sure! Tell ‘em it’s on the house!” Later after the two lucky ponies who got free milkshakes came and went, you’re left wondering what would cause Pinkie Pie to do that. To be who she is, to do what she does. By the end of the shift, you think you’ve had it figured out. “I’ve got it. You don’t live for yourself.” you say suddenly as you help her pack away the baking utensils. “Huh?” “Those two ponies who walked in here a while ago. They were a couple, weren’t they?” Your pink friend nods cheerfully. “If they weren’t before, they are now!” “Exactly. You work so hard to make other ponies happy, but I’ve never seen you make time for yourself.” “Oh, I treat myself well enough, trust me,” she smirks, thinking back to the cupcake she had recently treated herself with, “It’s just that I’m happiest just to see everypony else happy too. It doesn’t matter if I’m missing out on anything as a result.” “But that’s not what living’s all about,” you reply, “It’s how to live the life you want, not anypony else’s. You told me that in your song.” Pinkie opens her mouth to explain how that wouldn‘t apply to her, but she ultimately fails to find the right words. “I’ll tell you what,” you continue, “Since you’ve been helping me all this time with my life - well, the remains of it - I’ll help you right back with yours. I’m sure somepony in this town would love to date a cute girl like you.” Pinkie’s response is something between a giggle, a daw and a swoon. “Are you alright?” “Y- yeah, it’s just that I didn’t know you thought I was cute.” Those words alone pluck at your heartstrings. Deep down, you know it’s a shame that you can’t offer yourself forward. Heck, she’s already helping you get over one heartbreak, if you risk losing Pinkie too, who could possibly help you recover from that? You wouldn’t survive a second love-loss. “Well, you are cute,” you say, pretending not to notice her rosy-red blush, “And I think you should find a special somepony for yourself out there and make them happy. It’s what you like to do best, after all.” When you finish clearing up, you bid Pinkie a fond farewell, complete with a friendly, parting hug. Unbeknownst to you, as soon as the door shuts behind you, Pinkie Pie takes a long, uneasy sigh of uncertainty, and trots through to the living room of the Cake family… ******* You drift through your thoughts on the walk home. Okay, so you’ve turned down the chance to date the nice party girl. That’s okay. Considering the past few weeks with Pinkie, compared to all of those months you were with your ex, it’s obvious that friendship has helped more than courtship. No biggie. But maybe comparing Pinkie to your ex isn’t really the way to go. After all, they’re both so different from each other. Your ex? She was self-centred. Her upper class connections in Canterlot was more important than the emotions of somepony she supposedly loved. The fact that she dumped you just for the sake of hooking up with somepony ‘more important’ proved that. Pinkie Pie, on the other hoof, is the opposite of self-centred. Utterly selfless, in fact. Her main objective in life is putting others before her, helping others, making them happy, throwing parties… because that’s where her key to happiness lies. And looking back, Pinkie herself is a happier pony than she-who-must-not-be-named despite not having all the bits in the world and having no connection to the upper class, as far as you know. It goes to show, money isn’t everything. It certainly shouldn’t play a big part in romance, at least. Expensive champagne, lavish flowers, posh meals by candlelight while a classical band serenades you both throughout the evening… what good is all of that when the love isn’t genuine? And yet, a cheap, hearty meal. A large box of tasty chocolates. Something, anything, to drink around the table as you gab and chatter and laugh the evening away. If the love’s real, it’s a million times better than the higher price tag. Screw the money you wasted. Your ex can keep it. You’re well enough off with happiness, thank you very much. The more you think about it, the more you’re starting to regret having Pinkie Pie as just a friend. You wish you could go further. Of course you wish that. Stick with somepony who gives you all the happiness in the world without a second thought. But the consequences of it all… no. Maybe you wouldn’t be able to make the jump from friends to lovers. Either you’ve left it too late already, or you’re jumping into it too early. You’re not sure which excuse to use. Either way, it’s safer to just not try. Can’t have your heart broken if you never leave it vulnerable in the first place. Soon, your thoughts guide you to the door to your abode. You turn the key in the lock, only to find it jamming. Not wanting to turn. A moment later, you discover that’s because it’s already unlocked. Could it be that you’re walking into your own home being robbed? Could it be that you’ve been broken into!? You push the door open, and feel an icy jolt of panic and dread runs through your heart and veins when you see- “Y- you!” “Hello, my dear ex-fiancé. It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” Part 5“What’s wrong, dearie?” Mrs Cake asks Pinkie Pie over the dinner table, “You haven’t touched your tulip tortilla.” The pink party pony pushes her food around the plate a little more, “My stomach just feels weird. It’s been like this for a few days now.” “What sort of weird?” “I dunno,” Pinkie shrugs, “I thought it was just a weird kinda hunger at first, that’d just go away if I ate a little. But it’s still here. It doesn’t hurt or anything, but it’s really strange. Like an empty part of me that needs filling up, and food isn’t working.” Mrs Cake is quick to diagnose - she too had noticed Pinkie's stranger-than-usual behaviour. “I think I know what it is, dearie. Does it feel sort of like butterflies?” “Yeah.” “And it gets worse whenever you‘re around a certain somepony?” “I- wha- ? Yes, exactly! How do you know all this?” Mrs Cake turns her head towards her husband, Carrot, who is dutifully feeding the young twins spoonful by spoonful as they giggle and smile throughout the meal. A happy scene for a happy family, especially in the eyes of the small, blue baker-mare. “Let’s just say I know the feeling.” she sighs with a smile. “Oh my gosh.” Pinkie gasps. It all makes sense to her now. “You work so hard to make other ponies happy, but I’ve never seen you make time for yourself.” “I’m sure somepony in this town would love to date a cute girl like you.” “Well, you are cute. And I think you should find a special somepony for yourself out there and make them happy.” “He’s too scared to move on by himself! He needs a push in the right direction, and I’ve gotta be the one to… I gotta go!” she bolts up from her seat, “I think I know what to do!” With that, she excuses herself from the table and makes a hasty exit from her home. Then she makes a hasty return, flings her tulip tortilla into the air, catches it in her mouth, swallows it in a single gulp and makes another hasty exit. ******* Your mind is still trying to unfreeze, as if it had seen a ghost. Trying to process the information sitting before you. She’s back. Your ex-lover is back. You’re starting to wish you were really being robbed. “Fleur! I- you- why are you here?” “Well, why not?” she replies in her shrill voice that drips with aristocracy, “Can’t an old friend stop by for a visit?” An old friend? After all the pain she’s caused you, after ditching you at the altar in favour of a bigger wallet, after a year of wallowing and weakening you to the point of you nearly taking your own life, she casually shows up out of nowhere and calls you an old friend!? You can’t talk. Be it from horror, confusion, anger… you just can’t bring yourself to reply. “Aristocrat got your tongue, honey?” she continues unabated, “If you’re wondering how I got here, well, you DID give me a spare key to this house before the wedding. This was supposed to be our little home, wasn’t it?” “No.” you choke, “This is my home now. You lost your share in this when you ran away with that Fancy Slacks.” “Fancy Pants, dear.” “What does it matter? You’ve probably drained him of his bits, and now you’re crawling back to me. Is that it? Is that why you’re here!?” “Fancy Pants won’t be running out of money for me in this lifetime, I assure you.” Fleur scoffs, “And you should know me well enough by now to know that I’m never the one to do the crawling. You, on the other hoof…” “I begged you to take me back.” Your quivering, breaking voice can’t keep still. You ignore the hot tear rolling down your face, as it was shed for yourself, and not for her. “I begged you, and you said no every time. Get out. Get out and leave me alone. I’ve only just managed to stand myself back up, and I’m not letting you knock me back down again. Get out!” “No.” Despite everything you could say, she simply knocks you back with a single word. A word that stung you every time you begged for her return. And now it stings you as you beg for her to leave. “Fancy Pants gave me enough bits for the best hotel in Ponyville while I browse some boutique here,” she explains, taking one step towards you after another, “but I’d rather keep those bits for myself as a little extra spending money. I suppose that means I’ll be sleeping here tonight, since this house was intended for me when you first bought it. I hope you don’t mind sleeping on the couch tonight, because I intend to stay right here, and there’s nothing you can do to stop me.” By this point, she’s practically towering over you, showing the demanding dominance she always had. Even after she breaks you, she still finds it justifying to squeeze you of your assets. She didn’t become the manipulative mare she is today by taking refusal for an answer. Bash-bash-bash! “Hello?” a familiar voice calls through the front door, “Are you home? I really, really, really need to tell you something!” Pinkie Pie? To your horror, your ex pushes you aside and opens the door in a huff. She disdainfully eyes the pink disrupter up and down. You can actually feel her judging every inch your friend. “Who’s this gormless peasant?” Fleur scrunches her snout. “Pinkie!” you wave your hoof to draw her attention away from the lavishly-styled fiend, “Don’t mind her, she’s just leaving. Aren’t you, Fleur?” “I said no such thing!” she refutes with a sneer, “But enough about me, darling, why don’t you introduce me to your latest wallflower?” “I’m Pinkie Pie,” your friend jumps in before you can speak, “and I know who you are. I’ve been told about you a lot.” “Of course! Who doesn’t want to talk about the stunning Fleur de Lis?” your ex waves her mane at the mention of herself, “You on the other hoof? You should count yourself lucky that you’re friends with somepony who once knew me as intimately as he knows you.” “Beg your freakin’ pardon?” Wow, this must be the first time you’ve seen Pinkie Pie clench her teeth. “Well, you are intimate with him, are you not? Which is a crying shame on his part. I mean look at yourself! No sense of expensive taste anywhere on you, poor thing; you can’t even afford hair-straighteners! Your special talent is… blowing up balloons, it seems! And not a hint of a royal horn on your head!” Fleur turns to you, ignoring Pinkie’s seething expression, “If this is who you convene with these days, honey, then oh, how the mighty have fallen.” “We’re not dating, she’s a friend of mine!” you snap back, “Just a dear friend, nothing more! You know what a friend is, don’t you Fleur? Somepony who doesn’t put money above those she’s supposed to care about? It’s sad to know that while you’re in your own little world, where money is the only language you know, you’ll never find beauty in the things that really matter. I have, thanks to my friend. Just go, Fleur. Go and think about the life you ruined for personal gain, and the life you’re draining right now. Let me live in peace.” “Alas, I believe you’re lost forever, dear.” Fleur sighs, “If you want to live your life with the peasants from this day forward, be my guest. I think I’d rather just skip the trouble of sleeping here and take the next train back to Canterlot.” She shoves Pinkie Pie aside as she makes her exit onto Ponyville‘s street. You could swear that you could see steam coming out of Pinkie’s ears by this point. “Anything you’d like to say to me before I leave you forever? I mean, before I leave you forever again?” “I can think of something.” your pink friend pipes up. Fleur shows her usual distaste for having to talk to a lower pony than her, but she humours the idea nonetheless. She might be able to glean one final insult out of it. “So do tell, my little nopony, what you would like to say.” “Bitchgettinglaunchedoutofapartycannonsayswhat.” “What?” Part 6Well now. You’ve never seen your ex-fiancée getting fired out of a cannon (that somehow appeared from nowhere) before. There’s a first time for everything. Pinkie Pie assures you that she’s going to land somewhere in Canterlot, most likely somewhere soft and relatively harmless. It doesn’t matter to you. Fleur’s shrieking as she propelled through the sky like a fancy rocket is a memory you’re going to treasure for a long time indeed. “That was… unexpected.” you say aloud, returning to your house and closing the door behind you, “But then again, I’ve come to expect just that from you, Pinkie. Thanks for your help back there.” “Don’t mention it.” she smiles, “I don’t usually do that sorta thing, but that meanie-butt had it coming.” “You can say that again.” you mutter, placing a friendly hoof on Pinkie’s shoulder. “If you say so; I don’t usually do that s-” “Hold on a sec.” a thought creeps into your head. You’d best get it out in the open while it’s there. “I didn’t know Fleur was going to be here when I got back. How did you know I was in trouble?” “I didn’t!” she replies, her expression changing when she remembers what she came here for, “I just really wanted to tell you something.” “Tell me what?” “I…” Pinkie Pie hesitates for a moment, thinking about the best way to arrange her words. “I really, really like you-” “We’re not dating, she’s a friend of mine! Just a dear friend, nothing more!” “-r improvements over these past few weeks. I really do!” she finishes with a clearly forced smile. You see right though it, “Pinkie, are you okay? I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t come all the way to my house just to say that.” She opens and closes her mouth a few times in response, trying to pick which excuse to say before discarding it for another, equally futile explanation. Eventually, she just looks at the floor in an uncharacteristic silence. “What’s wrong? Tell me.” When she shies away from the question, you decide to press on further. Gently, of course. “Pinkie, you’ve helped me so much since I’ve known you, the least you could do is let me help you back. Please tell me what‘s up.” She sits on her haunches, and takes a deep breath. She still hasn’t looked up from the floor yet. You sit right by her, your concern for her gnawing in your stomach. You can’t just sit by while she’s like this. You gently place a hoof under her chin, and lift her face to look at yours. Her cheeks are as red as the cherry topping of a cake. “You… you wanna help?” she breathes, “Can… I do this one thing?” “Anything you want.” you hold her in a reassuring hug, showing her just how much you want her to be as happy as she made you. “Anything you want.” You can feel her heart pounding away inside her ribcage, which rises and falls with each breath. Without a word, her eyelids flicker shut, and her lips part slightly as she moves her face closer and closer to yours, the sweet scent of her breathing rendering you motionless as your lips are met with hers. Your brain, however, is whirring with a million different questions and exclamations. She tastes every bit as sweet as you imagined her to be, a pure and tender individual that you’ve longed to be with, that is almost nonexistent in the upper-class world you came from. And then it’s over. The kiss breaks with Pinkie’s head burying itself in your shoulder. “I’m sorry!” she squeals, her panicked words pouring out at a mile a minute, as quickly as her tears, “I really am! I just really like you and I wanted you to be happy so much and I wanted to treat you better than your last girlfriend and you were so sad and I didn’t want to hurt you and I didn’t want you to get broken-hearted again so I didn’t do anything about it and then you told me that you wanted to find somepony for myself but I don’t want to have anypony else except you and I wanted to come over here and tell you that right here but then your ex came back and she started making you sad again after all that progress we had together and she tried to make it all for nothing like a horrible meanie-butt and I thought I’d never be able to tell you how I felt while she was there and I got mad and shot her out of a cannon but she was still here being mean in the first place and I was afraid that you wouldn’t like me if I tried to take you for myself because you were still sad about what she did to you and that you’d be too scarred by it all to find somepony else but I wanna be your special somepony because you’ve such a nice pony to me and you let me into your life and let me help you so much and you deserve somepony to love you and I wanna be that somepony who loves you and-” Kiss her, you idiot! With your heart pounding as if falling from a height, you move in with your lips, kissing her, stopping her tearful rant in its tracks. When she realises what this means - what she means to you - her fore-hooves wrap around you like a cocoon and squeeze you as tightly as possible, trying to wring every last drop of emotion from the kiss. You squeeze her in return, holding, supporting, the back of her head, and the cotton candy cushion of her mane. You were a fool. You should have been with a wonderful mare like Pinkie from the very beginning. She’s beautiful. She’s funny. She’s caring. She’s everything you ever wanted in a special somepony. Now is the chance to make up for lost time. Together. After… you don’t know how many wonderful minutes, the kissing ends. Pinkie is calm and wordless, nuzzling you as you both sit there on the floor. Your bodies are close, closer than they’ve ever been. And all you can think about is how much closer you want them to be. She seems to pick up on your thoughts. Like a mind reader, she stands up on all fours, taking you by the hoof. From there, she leads you up the stairs, and finally, to your bedroom. You’ve both been so courteous from the beginning, pretending not to have fallen head-over-hooves for each other. From now on, no more kidding yourselves. But first, you both have so many weeks’ worth of… emotions to sort between you. Part 7 [Mature]Author's Note Author's Note: Highly sensual scene inbound. If you wanna skip to the next chapter, go ahead, you won't be missing anything too storyline-central. Part 7 [Mature] With the soft thud of her body on the covers, Pinkie Pie flops gently onto your bed. You follow suit, positioning yourself over her and letting your eyes, your breath, your lips meet with her own. She has no hesitation towards your tender treatment, wrapping each of her limbs around you, as if she’s trying to give multiple hugs at once. Once you’d plucked up the courage, you push forward yet another step, testing your tongue into her mouth little by little. A short, hot connection is made. You can feel her shudder with… was it bliss or anticipation? Either way, her sweet-tasting tongue gives a cautious lick in return, before keenly slathering yours in a clumsy, rhythm-less dance. Her heart can be felt beating frantically behind her ribs as her body is held close - so very close - to yours. There’s no sound as you lie there, kissing her. No sound but the gentle breathing from her snout as her lips remains locked in yours, no sound but the occasional creak from the bed as you both try to rearrange, trying to find a way to become closer than you already are. Your fore-hooves begin to caress the back of her head, taking in her downy mane. They gradually work their way down her, bit by bit, past her neck, her shoulders, her ribs… her flank. You sense the slight vibrations of a chuckle from her throat as she giggles naughtily, your wandering hooves cheekily tracing her soft, round hips. You wonder how much further she’d allow you to go? You slowly test her yourself, your hooves massaging the inside of her thighs. The kiss breaks with a slightly surprised gasp on her part, before it changes to a calming sigh. However, her foreleg reaches out and stops you before you get too close to anywhere personal. “Wait,” she breathes, “I’ve never… I’ve never gone this far before.” Of course, you remember; she’s never had a special somepony like you before - never even thought of having somepony like you before - so this would be her first time. “Are you okay?” you reassuringly whisper, “We don’t have to go all the way if you don’t want to. This is our first time… like this after all.” “I don’t know,” she makes to attempt to hide her reddened cheeks, “It’s weird. I want this to be… well, really special. But I’m a little nervous.” Her uneasy chuckle betrays her tension. “Pinkie Pie,” you tell her, “so long as you’re here, it’s a special moment to me.” “Daaawww!” she metaphorically melts under your loving words. You continue to lavish her with kisses, because what you told her was true; there doesn’t need to be any sexual activity tonight, so long as you had the pleasure of lying by her side. You loved every inch of her, after all. You love her mane that bounces with life as she walks and skips. You love her smooth, pink coat that covers her from head to hoof. Her blue eyes, always looking for happiness, and radiating it in kind. Her tail, twitching in excitement as she curls up with the one she loves. The steady rising and falling over her chest, and her racing heart that beats behind it. Her lips, that taste as sweet as her personality. Her tongue, that sensually dances with your own right now. Her hips, pushing subconsciously against yours… She stifles another giggle amidst the passion, before breaking the kiss and giggles aloud. “You’re… you’re poking me!” she laughs. What? How am I p- oh. You look down and turn red at the sight. You can feel the heat rising to your face when you notice your rather… enthusiastic member pleading for more of a show. All you can do is apologise. “It’s been a while…” you explain. To your relief (or rather, soon-to-be-relief) her giggling fit as changed to a mischievous grin. “You know, I think I could help with that.” she says, her fore-hoof stroking your face, sliding down your body and making its way further down still, “It’s not really going all the way, but I’m sure you‘ll enjoy it…” Before you even think about saying a word, you feel a pang of pleasure as she grasps your member. From there, she slowly rubs it up and down, kneading it like gently, as if it were putty in her hooves. Very rapidly hardening putty. You lower yourself onto her, focusing on each soothing stroke, letting your moans get the better of you. Pinkie would want to enjoy this kind of pleasure as well. With a wayward hoof reaching just short of her lower entrance, you give her a pleading, yet trustworthy glance, as if to say ‘May I?’. She gives you a blushing smile and a wink. Go for it. You gently run a hoof over her delicate area, all the while trying to keep yourself under control; her forelegs are still busy pleasuring you. For a moment, Pinkie’s eye turn distant as you massage her. Soon, she starts taking deep breaths from the wonderful sensation you’re giving her. Slowly, you feel her lower lips parting in preparation, inviting you to enter. Despite what you said earlier, the temptation of entering her, combined with the rising pressure in your personal belonging… it’s all becoming too much to bear. Her rhythmic moaning of ecstasy, rising with each stroke, doesn’t help either. Finally, you shiver as you feel a warm, wet substance dripping out of her, little by little… Suddenly, she gives a sharp gasp, You stop what you’re doing at that point. She stops too, and wipes a bead of sweat from her bright red face. “I… I felt like I was about to burst.” she explains once she regains her breath, “But it felt good. It felt so good.” “Do you want to feel far better?” you smirk. When she agrees, you kiss her tenderly on the lips, before shuffling backwards slightly, until your head is nearly between her hind legs. With a moment of hesitation, you look upon her damp, quivering entrance before lowering your face closer to it, ready to- “Wait, hold on a sec!” Pinkie stops you, “I have a better idea.” You turn your head up towards her, wondering what she’s planning. She rolls over, until she’s the one on top of you. Then she turns over, so her head is level with your throbbing shaft, and your head just so happens to be level with her tender opening. “I’ve never done anything like this before,” she says, her warm breath teasing your tip with each word, “But I think it’s gonna work out well.” You say nothing. Instead, you calmly place your fore-hooves around her curvy flank, and slowly pull it down towards you. Pinkie’s breath quickens as she inspects your member with caution, trying to figure out how exactly to approach the matter. All of this is relatively new to her; she has every right to be cautious about it. Some pleasurable sensations should sooth her. When her open slit gets just close enough, you bring your muzzle up to it and massage it with your lips, provoking an uncontainable, high-pitched moan from your pink partner. You push deeper, and you can feel her every muscle loosen in response to your performance. From Pinkie’s side of… events, she plucks up the courage to press onwards, testing your shaft with a few slow licks. Soon, she wraps her mouth around it, her smooth tongue slipping and sliding around your tip. Your ecstasy heightens, sending dizzy chills through you. Your mounting pressure builds with each passing moment. You groan, sending the vibrations from your throat forth and you continue to caress Pinkie’s blossoming sensitivity with your tongue, focusing on the nub that nestles above her dripping hole. Judging by her returning moan, you’d say she likes it. The more you tease, lick, massage her with your mouth, the more you feel her respond with a sexually-driven shiver. You ignore the hot fluid that drips onto you as you bury yourself deeper into her. As if on cue, she takes it upon herself to envelop your member into her mouth, her tongue still working its magic alongside each blissful suck. The pleasure rushes over you, catching you unaware. You can’t take any more! In a bid to give her such a wonderful sensation in return, you go all out with your tongue, ravishing her every inch. “Mmmph… mmmph!” Her muffled moans build in pitch and volume with each passing second, similar to the rising pressure in your tip as you feel her vibrations and moaning. All the more reason to coax a few more out of her before you’re overwhelmed by your climax. “Mm’m… Mm’m gmmmph… Mm’m gmmmph brmph!” In a flash of pure sexual gratification, you’re there at the brink of your orgasm. At the very last moment, you take a free hoof, and use it to pull your possession from Pinkie’s mouth as the threshold breaks. Finally, you release yourself, one indescribable spurt of relief after another. Not only did you avoid getting her to swallow anything unpleasant, but you also returned her voice to her at the same time. “I’m gonna burst! I’m gonna- aaahh!” Those words only served to make you pleasure her more than ever. With a yell and a shiver of arousal, a final gush of her climax pours forth. By the time you’re done, all that’s left of her is the occasional twitching limb and the distant grin of her reaching satisfaction. Being one of the few ponies in the world to strike Pinkie Pie speechless, she instead thanks you for the best feeling she’s ever had by cuddling up to you. With a smile, you’re more than happy to lie alongside her. You may not have gone all the way, but you had both passed far beyond the reach of ‘dear friends’ this night. Part 8Something has gone wrong. We don't seem to have an archived copy of that chapter.
Part 1Have you ever built a sandcastle on a beach before? A really good one. One that spends most of the day to make, only for the tide to come and sweep it away, or for a careless pony to trample it by mistake. Your life was a lavish sandcastle once. You had friends. You had money. You had a beautiful fiancé you were due to marry. But none of it lasts. Take one of those things away, and it all falls apart. The money wasn’t even the first thing to go; it was just the first problem. As soon as you told her that you needed to keep your bits for the house you were going to buy together, her attitude changed almost immediately. It meant an end to you buying stuff on her behalf. Apparently expensive trinkets and gems were more important to her than trying to make ends meet for life after the wedding. Ah, yes. The wedding. The worst day of your life. The day she left you at the altar and ran off with that rich stallion. Because she’d already drained you of everything you could give her, why in Equestria would she want to marry you? Naturally, your fake friends leapt to her side of the argument, if only for the chance to get up-close and personal with her, or impress her new, richer, more popular aristocratic unicorn than you. That’s the problem with Canterlot these days; you’d get sold out in a second if it meant they’d be part of an ‘in’ crowd as a result. Which is why you decided to start over. To drop anchor in Ponyville, buy a small house there with whatever funds you had left, and start with a clean slate. Sadly, those kind of story endings don’t exist. You were already broken-hearted and wrecked from the whole experience. Those feelings don’t just go away when you wake up in a small, empty house every morning, reminding you day after day of how you got there. The drinking helped at first. Let you forget the situation, if only for a single night. The mornings after… not so helpful. Eventually, the drinking slipped from an occasional treat to something you needed just to get through the lonely week. And from there, to sheer necessity. And a year of hurting and wallowing really takes its toll. You sit in your usual thinking chair by the fireplace, tipping the usual amount of whiskey into your gullet. You call it the ‘thinking chair’. It’s more of a ‘regret and weep chair’ these days. It’s been a whole dismal year since she tore you apart, and took everything you held dear. And you still haven’t recovered from it. Sure, you’ve been putting on a brave face to anypony who asks, and the money that your family in Canterlot sends you helps, but… …you can’t keep doing this. You can’t do this year after year, but there’s really no escape from it either. Unless you just sit there and wait to die. Perhaps the whiskey would speed that along. You take another gulp of it, lazily lifting the bottle with your unicorn magic. No. No, you’ve been gulping it for a year straight now, and you’re still here. Time for a different approach. A more permanent ending to this roller-coaster with all downs and no ups. Throwing yourself out of the thinking chair, you stumble forward, nearly falling flat on your face. Wow, the drink really sneaks up on you when you try to walk. Thank goodness you have four legs for keeping you upright, who knows how all those bipedal races manage it. Now go and set yourself free. Oh, and bring the whiskey, there‘s still half of the bottle left. There we go. ******* There’s a pony trotting down the crowded Ponyville streets, giving cheery greetings to any and everypony she sees. She loves these kind of days; sunny, but with a cool breeze drifting through the town. Not a cloud in the sky, but the breeze makes sure you don’t get hot and clammy. As a result, ponies are enjoying the time outdoors, browsing the market stalls for treats and bargains, and chatting at Sugarcube Corner over a sundae or a milkshake. The pony makes a mental note to return there later today; she may have finished her morning shift, but the Cakes are always in need of a helping hoof, be it with the store or their kids. She merrily skips her way past the market stalls and towards the centre of town, where a cluster of ponies have gathered around the Town Hall. Is there an event going on? Is Mayor Mare giving a speech about the nice weather? Ooh, ooh! She must be making today Weather Pegasus Appreciation Day or something, because this pony sure appreciates it! Curiously pushing her way to the centre of the throng of ponies, she looks up to the balcony where the other ponies are pointing. And when she sees what the bustle is about, her thoughts dip from delightful to dire. ******* “Everypony move, that stallion’s gonna jump!” Ugh. Why is everypony in this backward town so stupid? You manage to haul yourself up to the balcony with the intent of ending it all quickly and (hopefully) painlessly, and now all these ponies are standing right where you want to land! How can they expect you to jump if they’re in the way? Idiots, the lot of ‘em. One pony in particular, a panicking pink-and-pink pony, keeps shouting helpful tips from the ground, as if it could save you. “Whaddya think you’re doing, Mister? That’s not safe!” Wow, really? Honestly, you had no idea that balancing on the rails of a balcony using only your two rear legs (you couldn’t fit all four on) and holding the three-quarter-empty bottle of whiskey with your free fore-hooves could be considered unsafe. “You really oughta get down from there! Or at least stop drinking that stuff while you’re up there!” Oh, she did not just ask you to stop drinking your whiskey, did she? “Hey, it’s the first drop of this stuff that got me wasted, lady!” you shout back, “No harm in the last drop!” Speaking of last drops, you sure are taking your time with this whole ‘ending it all’ business. You’d hurry it up, but the crowd is still in the way. “But you’re gonna fall!” she kindly points out. No manure, Sherclop. “If you’ll excuse me, I’d like to test that theory!” you shout in retort. nearly slipping off the balcony, but regaining your balance at the last moment. “Do a flip for extra points! Try and land on your neck!” a stallion in the crowd pipes up. Oh great. Hecklers at your own curtain call. “Shut it, Sharpquill, you jerk!” the pink pony scolds him, “Can’t you see that’s the last thing we need right n-” She stops mid-sentence, interrupted by the sudden and unusual twitching of her fluffy tail. “No…” she looks up at you with a look of horror, then back to her quivering tail, then back to you, “Nonononono! NO!” And with that, she looks around desperately for… something, and shoots off like a panic-powered rocket. What a strange girl… At that moment, a gust of wind throws you off balance. You stumble, and try to place a rear hoof back on the rail. In your inebriation, you miss. Your rear hoof starts to fall. And the rest of you falls with it. Your eyes sting from the speed as you plummet, the whistling of the wind drowning out every sound but the occasional scream from the crowd you had attracted. Your stomach tightens into knots. It’s all a rush, with no time to think or regret. Only time to scrunch your eyes shut and wait for the ground to- Boing! And suddenly you get the feeling you’re travelling upwards again, if only for a second. Then the falling sensation again. Boing. You finally land on what feels like canvas. You chance opening a weary, delirious eye at your surroundings, whether it’s the good afterlife or the bad one. Instead, you’re met face-to-face with the wide-eyed pink pony who disappeared not a few seconds ago. “Phew! That was a close one!” she pants, mopping the sweat from her brow, “Don’t do that falling-off-things thing again, Mister! I should really start stashing trampolines around here, I hadda fetch this from outside the Carousel Boutique!” Looking down, you find yourself on said trampoline that had somehow appeared as you were falling. The pink girl must have brought it from somewhere. You look back up to the highest balcony of the Town Hall. You just fell from that height and survived. And now you feel sickeningly dizzy from the idea of it. You probably just need another swig from… wait, where is it? “Tell me,” you politely ask your life-saver as your vision blurs, “Did my whiskey survive?” “Uhh…” she checks the mess of glass and liquor that lies shattered on the ground, “No.” “Well, nuts to that.” What a fine thing to say to the mare who saved your miserable life. How very Canterlot of you. Unfortunately, the rest of today is lost to you, thanks to the alcohol rotting your think-pan. You can’t remember it. Memory fuzzy. Scene missing. Please fast forward to the next morning to continue.
Part 2You wake up the next morning with a teeny, tiny hangover. “Aaarrrggghhhgeezmyheaduuuggghhh..!” Okay, you wake up with a pretty big hangover. After several attempts to curl back up into bed, you decide that the pain is too much to ignore, and the best way to cure it is re-hydration. Cue the zombie-pony-esque shuffle, complete with groans, to the bathroom to drink the tap water and use the facilities. And also try to remember what the heck happened yesterday. The first thing you recall is a pair of huge, blue eyes… belonging to that pink mare you met yesterday. You also recall a trampoline and… Oh. Now you remember what you did. The fiasco at Town Hall. Idiot. Are you really in such a state that ending it all’s the best way out? Your drunk self seems to think so, but then again, you’re not making any attempt to escape any other way. Bumbling down to the kitchen, you open the fridge in the vain hope of finding something besides the usual eggs, cheese and surplus ingredients you never eat. In all improbability, you actually found something interesting. Sitting there, on a small plate, on a shelf in your fridge is a generous slice of chocolate cake with a small slip of paper with your name scribbled on. Odd. You don’t remember having cake in your fridge before. Levitating the plate’s contents from the fridge to the table, you pick up and read the slip of paper. It looks like somepony scrawled this in crayon; Hi! I thought you needed cheering up, so I got you some cake. Nothing cheers me up like cake, so I’m sure it’ll help a little! Come to Sugarcube Corner when you feel up to it. We’ve gotta talk. P. P. Wow, you didn’t know her name was actually Pink Pony. Or at least something with the word pink in it, you’ll wager that much. You discard the paper, making a mental note to visit Sugarcube Corner at some point; you have nothing on your list of thing to do today (or this lifetime, really). In the meantime, you might as well have a slice of cake for breakfast. It beats ordering out like you do every other day… Oh sweet Celestia that’s delicious. ******* Standing outside the Sugarcube Corner, you realise just how much it looks like a gingerbread house. You guess you’ve never cared enough to notice before. Either way, Pink Pony said she wanted to meet you there, so there’s no point in hanging around with the other ponies, who were busy sitting at various tables outside the confectioners. You just stroll into the shop and ask the petite yet plump pony behind the counter. “Uh, hi. You haven’t seen a pink mare around, have you? I‘m supposed to meet her here.” The stout salespony nods in acknowledgement, before trotting up to the foot of the nearby staircase. “Pinkie Pie!” (You knew it! You knew she had the word pink in her name! You owe yourself a drink later.) “Yeah?” a high-pitched voice calls back. “Somepony’s here to see you. He says you asked to meet him here?” The voice from the top of the stairs makes a sound of exclamation before replying, “Oh my gosh, he’s actually here!? Tell him to wait up, I won‘t be long!” Within thirty seconds, the sound of - is that splashing? - comes from upstairs, before you hear what sounds like a dog shaking itself dry. Soon after, the recognisable pink mare who saved your life skips down the stairs, her mane and tail noticeably damp and limp. “Sorry about the wait, I was having a shower after my shift here.” she chirps, “Let’s go for a trot around town, I’ll walk myself dry. We gotta chat about something.” “Couldn’t you just use a towel?” Pinkie the Damp giggles, “Don’t be silly, silly! Didn’t you know towels are the number one cause of dry fur?” “But that’s exactly wh-” Before you can finish your perfectly logical outlining, you’re interrupted by the store’s owner, who’s Pinkie-savvy enough to ignore her string of logic. “Now, now, Pinkie dear, if you’re going to go for a walk, try to keep it down if you’re back late. The foals will be asleep soon.” “Will do, Mrs Cake!” the pink one grins, before turning back to you, “Let’s go to the park, it’s perfect park weather!” All you can do it shrug and follow her out of the shop. But not before buying another slice of cake - those things are good. ******* This girl sure is a strange one. Who knew she could glean happiness from just rolling around on the warm grass? At least her mane dried out quickly in the sunlight. “Yup, the grass is safe to lie on!” she confirms. Nopony had asked. Either way, you sit yourself down on the flower-dotted field, letting the sun’s rays wash over you. Now would be a good time for a nice, cold drink. “So,” you ask the sunbathing mare, “What did you bring me here for? Is it about the whole thing yesterday?” At the mere mention of your near-death experience, she stops her grass-rolling on the spot, leaving herself lying face-up, staring into the sky. “Well… yeah.” she says, watching an odd, wandering pegasus hop from cloud to cloud overhead, “That’s the first time I’ve ever seen a pony, you know, try something like that. I mean, I’ve read about it in newspapers before, but-” “Look, sorry if it made you panic back there,” you cut her off, before she makes too big of a deal of it (she seems like somepony who would), “I was drunk, I wasn’t thinking straight, and it was a stupid thing to even consider.” “But you still considered it, didn’t you?” her eyes drift from the clouds to you, “Plus, I’ve hosted enough parties to know that the truth comes out when you’ve been drinking. What you were thinking back there… was it genuine?” Yikes. She’s smarter than she lets on. But you don’t have the time nor patience for this, “I dunno, alright? You don’t know me, what do you care- Oof!” Just as you get up to leave, Pinkie knocks you back down like a speedy, pink wrestler. Suddenly you find yourself looking up at her as she pins you down. “I care,” she retorts with vigour, “because it’s my special talent to make everypony happy! You aren’t happy, and I wanna help! And yes, I do know you. I know most - if not all - of Ponyville. How else could I have written your name on the invitation?” Invitation? Oh yeah, the paper next to that cake in your fridge. “Are you really that obsessed with trying to make somepony happy?” you ask, “Do you have some kind of grand scheme into making Ponyville your own little happy town or something? Complete with a ‘No Sad Feelings’ sign?” “Of course not! I mean, that’d be swell, but…” she catches herself before she starts nattering off-topic, and gets back to the subject at hand, “It’s not that I want to spend all my free time trying to help somepony. It’s that I don’t want to stand by and watch somepony fall apart when I could be helping them.” It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that the somepony she’s talking about is you. “I don’t think my conscience would let me just sit by and watch somepony… throw himself off a balcony when I could save them instead. That’s why I’ve gotta help, don’t you see? Lemme help! Pretty pleeeaaase?!” You open your mouth, ready to tell her that there’s nothing she could possibly help with. That what happened yesterday was a one-time thing, and that it’d never happen again. But that would be a lie. Not just to her, but to yourself. Her help couldn’t possibly make your situation worse than it already is. So what have you got to lose? “Alright,” you sigh, “I don’t know how you’re planning to help, but I need it no matter what shape it comes in. It’s a deal.” She’s ecstatic by the news, bouncing up and down and all around like she’s made from the rubber of a bouncy ball, “Yes! You won’t regret this! I’ll do everything I can to get you back up on your hooves, I promise!” “You… promise?” She finalises the agreement by reciting a miniature ritual that involved crossing her forelegs over her heart, waving said forelegs around for a second or two and poking herself in the eye. You have no idea what it meant. You also have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into.
Part 3The help started as soon as you agreed. The first lesson; how to deal with the mountain of issues that gnaw at you. Way to get straight to the point. “So you’ve got a lot of problems, right?” Pinkie asks, “And all of these problems are piling up on you. You’ve got the heartbreak, the whole betrayed by your friends thing… well, I wouldn’t call them friends myself, but… and then you feel like there’s nothing else for you out there, so you just sit all by yourself drinking…” “Are you going to list all of the things that are wrong with me?” you cut in, “Because we’ll be here until it gets dark if you do that.” “Oh, hah-hah,” she jests, “But it’s not the problems themselves that have you dragged down, you see. It’s the amount!” Of course, you were never expecting this pony to make perfect sense. You ask her to clarify. “Hmm, how should I put this?” she muses, “Ooh, I know! Imagine you’ve got to carry a whole ton of bricks, right? And each brick is labelled with a problem that’s got you down.” “Riiight?” You honestly aren’t sure where she’s going with this. You secretly hope she doesn’t actually make you carry a ton of bricks produced out of thin air just to prove a point… “If you try to carry all the bricks at once, why, that’d be impossible, right?! Buuuut! If you carry them one by one, it’s way lighter and easier!” You sigh in response to her innocent, yet sadly useless, advice, “I really wish the solution was that simple, Pinkie. Really I do. But I’ve tried, and it isn’t.” “Correction. You’ve tried alone,” she replies, “Everything’s harder when you’re alone; baking, babysitting, battling-the-forces-of-evil-with-the-Elements-of-Harmony… pretty much anything that begins with a B.” Battling the who with the what now..? Your confused expression goes unnoticed by her, “But when you’ve got somepony to help you, it becomes easier to rectify! Easier to repair! Easier to recover! Here, let me show you…” An odd sound fades into your ears, echoing from all around you. The sound of music, a jaunty, fast-paced melody with no clear source as to where it’s coming from. Pinkie perks herself up to the merry tune, and sings, letting her melodic voice rise up and join the source-less instruments. “Your life is in a rut, sure, but I can fix it up, It doesn’t take an S-O-S to ask me for my help, Just look at the world around you, every filly, every colt, They all have problems (you have too!) But we can take them on, let’s give it a shot! Wounds can heal over time, if you let them! Learn from your mistakes, but don’t ever resent them! That’s what living’s all about; how to live the life you want! Don’t let the past ruin your future if it ties you in a knot! It’s really clear to see, pal, you couldn’t run away, Sometimes you need a kick-start, get you on your hooves again, Give me a chance, just one, I’ll get your life back on the track, We all have problems (I can help!) So let’s work together to get your life back! Wounds can heal over time, if you let them! Learn from your mistakes, but don’t ever resent them! That’s what living’s all about; how to live the life you want! Don’t let the past ruin your future, take a hold of what you‘ve got! It feels like a lot, though, when troubles take their toll, Like a wall that’s made of bad things, but don’t become a foal, Take them on by being smart; not all at once, but one by one, The wall of problems (brick by brick!) Will tumble down, and then you’ll have won! Wounds can heal over time, if you let them! Learn from your mistakes, but don’t ever resent them! That’s what living’s all about; how to live the life you want! Don’t let the past ruin your future if it ties you in a knot! Don’t let the past ruin your future, take a hold of what you‘ve got! Don’t let the past ruin your future, it’s your life to live and love!” And just like that, it’s over, with no trace of it ever happening. What just happened? Did you really just witness a full-on impromptu musical number from her? You say the only coherent thing you can think of. “Whoa.” “Didja like it?” she smirks, “Singing it out loud makes it all way clearer, don’t you agree?” “Um… yeah.” you stutter. You’ve witnessed musical numbers before, sure, but it usually takes the emotions of a whole town at a major event to spark one, like the annual Winter Wrap-Up or something. Could it be that this single mare had the emotional capacity to break into song whenever she wanted? What’s more, she did that just for you. That girl is a sheer mystery to you. A mystery you have the urge to crack. ******* “Now let’s see here…” You have no idea why you agreed to let Pinkie poke around your home. She gave you a convincing argument that, in order to change your life for the better, you’d have to get tackle anything at home that could be holding you back. Frankly, you think the idea’s foolish. There’s nothing at home that reminds you of your problems other than… “Wow, you sure keep a lot of photos of your ex in here, don’t you?” “What? Hey! Put that back!” How the heck did she even find that envelope? You had it hidden under your drawer! Regardless, she doesn’t put it back - instead, she places it in front of you. Your eyes drift over the photographs of your old friends, your old lover, your old life. “Is there any wonder that you couldn’t move on when you left Canterlot?” she says with a serious tone to her voice. A rare moment to witness from Pinkie. “You literally carried your problems back with you.” “Pinkie, please, could you put that back?” you moan, “I really don’t want to look at those right now.” “Why don’cha just throw ‘em away-?” “No.” “Why not?” “Because they’re…” ugh, this is gonna sound so stupid, “too painful to throw away.” “So you keep them in a big old envelope, because they’re too painful to look at too?” “Yes.” “They’re too painful to look at or throw away?” “Yes!” “They must be kept so they can never be looked at?” “I know! I get it!” you snap. Pinkie flinches at your sudden outburst, looking visibly shaken. You immediately catch yourself a moment later. “I’m sorry. Really, I am. It’s just that… put it back.” She dutifully places the pictures back, and slides it under the drawer. “I’m sorry too. You know I’m just trying to help, right?” “I know.” you place a fore-hoof over her in an attempt to loosen the tension - did you really scare her that much? “That’s just a pretty sensitive spot for me.” “It’s okay. Everypony has a doozy to overcome.” Her fore-hoof mimics your own, placing itself on you with a friendly grip that tells you she’s far from given up. “Do you still want my help?” “Of course,” you nod, willing to do whatever it takes to help her help you, “You… hoof-wavey eye-pokey promised, after all. C’mon, let‘s find something else to tackle. Want some gin or scotch or something while we talk it over?” You trot over to the cold liquor storage - er, fridge - to show her a few bottles to choose from. “Geez, that’s a lot of drink there!” she gasps, “I could host a month’s worth of parties with those!” “And yet, this amount usually lasts me a week.” You didn’t know whether you were complimenting yourself or not with that statement. “Ever thought about quitting?” she asks. “Cold turkey?” “No thanks, I’m vegetarian!” You shut the fridge, plunging its contents into darkness.
Part 4You open the fridge, bathing its contents with the little light from the top of it. A variety of vegetables, all forms of fruit and other assorted goods and cheeses decorate the interior. A couple of old bottles remain huddled in the fridge’s corner. You’ve stopped with the nightly bingeing through Pinkie’s advice, and learnt to save them for celebration, not self-mourning. Most of the supplies wound up being donated to your friend as thanks for her helping you. You decide that they’re better off bringing happiness to others in parties than being wasted on your wallowing. Honestly, nopony is stopping you from drinking them right here and now, but for some reason, you just don’t… need to drink right now. Not any more. That’s got to be a good thing. With a smile, you take the ingredients you need and shut the fridge door. It’s been four whole weeks since you fell off a balcony and into Pinkie Pie’s life, and every day has been a small improvement. On most days, these improvements were so tiny that you hadn’t noticed them until looking back and seeing how far you’d come. The house itself is cleaner too. Heck, if there’s a pretty mare coming here on a regular basis, it’s best to keep the place presentable. Wait. Did you just call Pinkie Pie ‘pretty’? Yes. Yes you did. And you have every right to! You’re single, you’re allowed to have an eye for the cute mares without fear of being chastised by… Your eyes drift towards the drawer, and the envelope that lies under it, gathering dust day by day. No. You still don’t have the heart to stand that. After a hearty omelette for breakfast (it’s a good job Pinkie’s given you a few tips for a quick and easy meal) you set off for the Sugarcube Corner. You’ve recently taken to helping your friend though her morning shift (voluntarily, of course, with no money spent on the Cake’s behalf). It just gave you a reason to get up in the morning. Plus, she doesn’t mind the company. Whoa, not like that. As in, she’s just really happy when she has somepony to talk to while the Cakes are preoccupied with their foals. Yeah. ******* She gives you a usual, cheery greeting; a quick, feel-good hug. She asks you how you’re feeling. A lot better, honestly. “That’s great to hear,” she chirps, “C’mon, I’m helping Mrs Cake with baking duty today, covering for Mr Cake while he’s taking the twins to the doctors.” “Are they going for their injections?” “Injections and lollipops by the end of it!” she beams. Pinkie Pie. The eternal optimist. The day ticks on, accompanied by the pleasant scent of baking. As midday approaches, you both discuss what step to take next on your road to recovery. “I’ve gotta be honest,” she mumbles, nervously scratching the back of her head, “I’m not too sure about how to get over the heartbreak part. I’ve been sad, sure, but I’ve never been heartbroken before, so I can’t really say I know how that feels like, nor how to deal with it.” “You’ve never been dumped before?” you ask casually, “Always the dumper, never the dumpee?” “Nah, I’ve just never been in a relationship.” “What!?” It’s hard to imagine that such a happy, bubbly personality like Pinkie Pie has gone through her whole life without a special somepony, “Really? But what do you do on days like Heart and Hooves Day?” “This past one? I got my friend Twilight to cast a glimmer-wing spell on me, then I flew around the town wearing a diaper, firing foam heart-shaped arrows at happy couples! They weren’t mad.” Trust Pinkie to say something like that. Before you could inquire more into it, Mrs Cake pokes her head through the door to the baking area. “Sorry to bother you, dearie,” she says, “but I’m a little behind on orders, could you whip up a couple of milkshakes for Twilight and her friend while I‘m tending to other customers?” “Twilight and who?” Pinkie muses, before gasping in realisation, “Say no more, Mrs Cake, I’ll get right on it! Better yet, I’ll pay for on their behalf too.” “Are you sure, dearie? It’ll be four bits.” “Sure I’m sure! Tell ‘em it’s on the house!” Later after the two lucky ponies who got free milkshakes came and went, you’re left wondering what would cause Pinkie Pie to do that. To be who she is, to do what she does. By the end of the shift, you think you’ve had it figured out. “I’ve got it. You don’t live for yourself.” you say suddenly as you help her pack away the baking utensils. “Huh?” “Those two ponies who walked in here a while ago. They were a couple, weren’t they?” Your pink friend nods cheerfully. “If they weren’t before, they are now!” “Exactly. You work so hard to make other ponies happy, but I’ve never seen you make time for yourself.” “Oh, I treat myself well enough, trust me,” she smirks, thinking back to the cupcake she had recently treated herself with, “It’s just that I’m happiest just to see everypony else happy too. It doesn’t matter if I’m missing out on anything as a result.” “But that’s not what living’s all about,” you reply, “It’s how to live the life you want, not anypony else’s. You told me that in your song.” Pinkie opens her mouth to explain how that wouldn‘t apply to her, but she ultimately fails to find the right words. “I’ll tell you what,” you continue, “Since you’ve been helping me all this time with my life - well, the remains of it - I’ll help you right back with yours. I’m sure somepony in this town would love to date a cute girl like you.” Pinkie’s response is something between a giggle, a daw and a swoon. “Are you alright?” “Y- yeah, it’s just that I didn’t know you thought I was cute.” Those words alone pluck at your heartstrings. Deep down, you know it’s a shame that you can’t offer yourself forward. Heck, she’s already helping you get over one heartbreak, if you risk losing Pinkie too, who could possibly help you recover from that? You wouldn’t survive a second love-loss. “Well, you are cute,” you say, pretending not to notice her rosy-red blush, “And I think you should find a special somepony for yourself out there and make them happy. It’s what you like to do best, after all.” When you finish clearing up, you bid Pinkie a fond farewell, complete with a friendly, parting hug. Unbeknownst to you, as soon as the door shuts behind you, Pinkie Pie takes a long, uneasy sigh of uncertainty, and trots through to the living room of the Cake family… ******* You drift through your thoughts on the walk home. Okay, so you’ve turned down the chance to date the nice party girl. That’s okay. Considering the past few weeks with Pinkie, compared to all of those months you were with your ex, it’s obvious that friendship has helped more than courtship. No biggie. But maybe comparing Pinkie to your ex isn’t really the way to go. After all, they’re both so different from each other. Your ex? She was self-centred. Her upper class connections in Canterlot was more important than the emotions of somepony she supposedly loved. The fact that she dumped you just for the sake of hooking up with somepony ‘more important’ proved that. Pinkie Pie, on the other hoof, is the opposite of self-centred. Utterly selfless, in fact. Her main objective in life is putting others before her, helping others, making them happy, throwing parties… because that’s where her key to happiness lies. And looking back, Pinkie herself is a happier pony than she-who-must-not-be-named despite not having all the bits in the world and having no connection to the upper class, as far as you know. It goes to show, money isn’t everything. It certainly shouldn’t play a big part in romance, at least. Expensive champagne, lavish flowers, posh meals by candlelight while a classical band serenades you both throughout the evening… what good is all of that when the love isn’t genuine? And yet, a cheap, hearty meal. A large box of tasty chocolates. Something, anything, to drink around the table as you gab and chatter and laugh the evening away. If the love’s real, it’s a million times better than the higher price tag. Screw the money you wasted. Your ex can keep it. You’re well enough off with happiness, thank you very much. The more you think about it, the more you’re starting to regret having Pinkie Pie as just a friend. You wish you could go further. Of course you wish that. Stick with somepony who gives you all the happiness in the world without a second thought. But the consequences of it all… no. Maybe you wouldn’t be able to make the jump from friends to lovers. Either you’ve left it too late already, or you’re jumping into it too early. You’re not sure which excuse to use. Either way, it’s safer to just not try. Can’t have your heart broken if you never leave it vulnerable in the first place. Soon, your thoughts guide you to the door to your abode. You turn the key in the lock, only to find it jamming. Not wanting to turn. A moment later, you discover that’s because it’s already unlocked. Could it be that you’re walking into your own home being robbed? Could it be that you’ve been broken into!? You push the door open, and feel an icy jolt of panic and dread runs through your heart and veins when you see- “Y- you!” “Hello, my dear ex-fiancé. It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”
Part 5“What’s wrong, dearie?” Mrs Cake asks Pinkie Pie over the dinner table, “You haven’t touched your tulip tortilla.” The pink party pony pushes her food around the plate a little more, “My stomach just feels weird. It’s been like this for a few days now.” “What sort of weird?” “I dunno,” Pinkie shrugs, “I thought it was just a weird kinda hunger at first, that’d just go away if I ate a little. But it’s still here. It doesn’t hurt or anything, but it’s really strange. Like an empty part of me that needs filling up, and food isn’t working.” Mrs Cake is quick to diagnose - she too had noticed Pinkie's stranger-than-usual behaviour. “I think I know what it is, dearie. Does it feel sort of like butterflies?” “Yeah.” “And it gets worse whenever you‘re around a certain somepony?” “I- wha- ? Yes, exactly! How do you know all this?” Mrs Cake turns her head towards her husband, Carrot, who is dutifully feeding the young twins spoonful by spoonful as they giggle and smile throughout the meal. A happy scene for a happy family, especially in the eyes of the small, blue baker-mare. “Let’s just say I know the feeling.” she sighs with a smile. “Oh my gosh.” Pinkie gasps. It all makes sense to her now. “You work so hard to make other ponies happy, but I’ve never seen you make time for yourself.” “I’m sure somepony in this town would love to date a cute girl like you.” “Well, you are cute. And I think you should find a special somepony for yourself out there and make them happy.” “He’s too scared to move on by himself! He needs a push in the right direction, and I’ve gotta be the one to… I gotta go!” she bolts up from her seat, “I think I know what to do!” With that, she excuses herself from the table and makes a hasty exit from her home. Then she makes a hasty return, flings her tulip tortilla into the air, catches it in her mouth, swallows it in a single gulp and makes another hasty exit. ******* Your mind is still trying to unfreeze, as if it had seen a ghost. Trying to process the information sitting before you. She’s back. Your ex-lover is back. You’re starting to wish you were really being robbed. “Fleur! I- you- why are you here?” “Well, why not?” she replies in her shrill voice that drips with aristocracy, “Can’t an old friend stop by for a visit?” An old friend? After all the pain she’s caused you, after ditching you at the altar in favour of a bigger wallet, after a year of wallowing and weakening you to the point of you nearly taking your own life, she casually shows up out of nowhere and calls you an old friend!? You can’t talk. Be it from horror, confusion, anger… you just can’t bring yourself to reply. “Aristocrat got your tongue, honey?” she continues unabated, “If you’re wondering how I got here, well, you DID give me a spare key to this house before the wedding. This was supposed to be our little home, wasn’t it?” “No.” you choke, “This is my home now. You lost your share in this when you ran away with that Fancy Slacks.” “Fancy Pants, dear.” “What does it matter? You’ve probably drained him of his bits, and now you’re crawling back to me. Is that it? Is that why you’re here!?” “Fancy Pants won’t be running out of money for me in this lifetime, I assure you.” Fleur scoffs, “And you should know me well enough by now to know that I’m never the one to do the crawling. You, on the other hoof…” “I begged you to take me back.” Your quivering, breaking voice can’t keep still. You ignore the hot tear rolling down your face, as it was shed for yourself, and not for her. “I begged you, and you said no every time. Get out. Get out and leave me alone. I’ve only just managed to stand myself back up, and I’m not letting you knock me back down again. Get out!” “No.” Despite everything you could say, she simply knocks you back with a single word. A word that stung you every time you begged for her return. And now it stings you as you beg for her to leave. “Fancy Pants gave me enough bits for the best hotel in Ponyville while I browse some boutique here,” she explains, taking one step towards you after another, “but I’d rather keep those bits for myself as a little extra spending money. I suppose that means I’ll be sleeping here tonight, since this house was intended for me when you first bought it. I hope you don’t mind sleeping on the couch tonight, because I intend to stay right here, and there’s nothing you can do to stop me.” By this point, she’s practically towering over you, showing the demanding dominance she always had. Even after she breaks you, she still finds it justifying to squeeze you of your assets. She didn’t become the manipulative mare she is today by taking refusal for an answer. Bash-bash-bash! “Hello?” a familiar voice calls through the front door, “Are you home? I really, really, really need to tell you something!” Pinkie Pie? To your horror, your ex pushes you aside and opens the door in a huff. She disdainfully eyes the pink disrupter up and down. You can actually feel her judging every inch your friend. “Who’s this gormless peasant?” Fleur scrunches her snout. “Pinkie!” you wave your hoof to draw her attention away from the lavishly-styled fiend, “Don’t mind her, she’s just leaving. Aren’t you, Fleur?” “I said no such thing!” she refutes with a sneer, “But enough about me, darling, why don’t you introduce me to your latest wallflower?” “I’m Pinkie Pie,” your friend jumps in before you can speak, “and I know who you are. I’ve been told about you a lot.” “Of course! Who doesn’t want to talk about the stunning Fleur de Lis?” your ex waves her mane at the mention of herself, “You on the other hoof? You should count yourself lucky that you’re friends with somepony who once knew me as intimately as he knows you.” “Beg your freakin’ pardon?” Wow, this must be the first time you’ve seen Pinkie Pie clench her teeth. “Well, you are intimate with him, are you not? Which is a crying shame on his part. I mean look at yourself! No sense of expensive taste anywhere on you, poor thing; you can’t even afford hair-straighteners! Your special talent is… blowing up balloons, it seems! And not a hint of a royal horn on your head!” Fleur turns to you, ignoring Pinkie’s seething expression, “If this is who you convene with these days, honey, then oh, how the mighty have fallen.” “We’re not dating, she’s a friend of mine!” you snap back, “Just a dear friend, nothing more! You know what a friend is, don’t you Fleur? Somepony who doesn’t put money above those she’s supposed to care about? It’s sad to know that while you’re in your own little world, where money is the only language you know, you’ll never find beauty in the things that really matter. I have, thanks to my friend. Just go, Fleur. Go and think about the life you ruined for personal gain, and the life you’re draining right now. Let me live in peace.” “Alas, I believe you’re lost forever, dear.” Fleur sighs, “If you want to live your life with the peasants from this day forward, be my guest. I think I’d rather just skip the trouble of sleeping here and take the next train back to Canterlot.” She shoves Pinkie Pie aside as she makes her exit onto Ponyville‘s street. You could swear that you could see steam coming out of Pinkie’s ears by this point. “Anything you’d like to say to me before I leave you forever? I mean, before I leave you forever again?” “I can think of something.” your pink friend pipes up. Fleur shows her usual distaste for having to talk to a lower pony than her, but she humours the idea nonetheless. She might be able to glean one final insult out of it. “So do tell, my little nopony, what you would like to say.” “Bitchgettinglaunchedoutofapartycannonsayswhat.” “What?”
Part 6Well now. You’ve never seen your ex-fiancée getting fired out of a cannon (that somehow appeared from nowhere) before. There’s a first time for everything. Pinkie Pie assures you that she’s going to land somewhere in Canterlot, most likely somewhere soft and relatively harmless. It doesn’t matter to you. Fleur’s shrieking as she propelled through the sky like a fancy rocket is a memory you’re going to treasure for a long time indeed. “That was… unexpected.” you say aloud, returning to your house and closing the door behind you, “But then again, I’ve come to expect just that from you, Pinkie. Thanks for your help back there.” “Don’t mention it.” she smiles, “I don’t usually do that sorta thing, but that meanie-butt had it coming.” “You can say that again.” you mutter, placing a friendly hoof on Pinkie’s shoulder. “If you say so; I don’t usually do that s-” “Hold on a sec.” a thought creeps into your head. You’d best get it out in the open while it’s there. “I didn’t know Fleur was going to be here when I got back. How did you know I was in trouble?” “I didn’t!” she replies, her expression changing when she remembers what she came here for, “I just really wanted to tell you something.” “Tell me what?” “I…” Pinkie Pie hesitates for a moment, thinking about the best way to arrange her words. “I really, really like you-” “We’re not dating, she’s a friend of mine! Just a dear friend, nothing more!” “-r improvements over these past few weeks. I really do!” she finishes with a clearly forced smile. You see right though it, “Pinkie, are you okay? I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t come all the way to my house just to say that.” She opens and closes her mouth a few times in response, trying to pick which excuse to say before discarding it for another, equally futile explanation. Eventually, she just looks at the floor in an uncharacteristic silence. “What’s wrong? Tell me.” When she shies away from the question, you decide to press on further. Gently, of course. “Pinkie, you’ve helped me so much since I’ve known you, the least you could do is let me help you back. Please tell me what‘s up.” She sits on her haunches, and takes a deep breath. She still hasn’t looked up from the floor yet. You sit right by her, your concern for her gnawing in your stomach. You can’t just sit by while she’s like this. You gently place a hoof under her chin, and lift her face to look at yours. Her cheeks are as red as the cherry topping of a cake. “You… you wanna help?” she breathes, “Can… I do this one thing?” “Anything you want.” you hold her in a reassuring hug, showing her just how much you want her to be as happy as she made you. “Anything you want.” You can feel her heart pounding away inside her ribcage, which rises and falls with each breath. Without a word, her eyelids flicker shut, and her lips part slightly as she moves her face closer and closer to yours, the sweet scent of her breathing rendering you motionless as your lips are met with hers. Your brain, however, is whirring with a million different questions and exclamations. She tastes every bit as sweet as you imagined her to be, a pure and tender individual that you’ve longed to be with, that is almost nonexistent in the upper-class world you came from. And then it’s over. The kiss breaks with Pinkie’s head burying itself in your shoulder. “I’m sorry!” she squeals, her panicked words pouring out at a mile a minute, as quickly as her tears, “I really am! I just really like you and I wanted you to be happy so much and I wanted to treat you better than your last girlfriend and you were so sad and I didn’t want to hurt you and I didn’t want you to get broken-hearted again so I didn’t do anything about it and then you told me that you wanted to find somepony for myself but I don’t want to have anypony else except you and I wanted to come over here and tell you that right here but then your ex came back and she started making you sad again after all that progress we had together and she tried to make it all for nothing like a horrible meanie-butt and I thought I’d never be able to tell you how I felt while she was there and I got mad and shot her out of a cannon but she was still here being mean in the first place and I was afraid that you wouldn’t like me if I tried to take you for myself because you were still sad about what she did to you and that you’d be too scarred by it all to find somepony else but I wanna be your special somepony because you’ve such a nice pony to me and you let me into your life and let me help you so much and you deserve somepony to love you and I wanna be that somepony who loves you and-” Kiss her, you idiot! With your heart pounding as if falling from a height, you move in with your lips, kissing her, stopping her tearful rant in its tracks. When she realises what this means - what she means to you - her fore-hooves wrap around you like a cocoon and squeeze you as tightly as possible, trying to wring every last drop of emotion from the kiss. You squeeze her in return, holding, supporting, the back of her head, and the cotton candy cushion of her mane. You were a fool. You should have been with a wonderful mare like Pinkie from the very beginning. She’s beautiful. She’s funny. She’s caring. She’s everything you ever wanted in a special somepony. Now is the chance to make up for lost time. Together. After… you don’t know how many wonderful minutes, the kissing ends. Pinkie is calm and wordless, nuzzling you as you both sit there on the floor. Your bodies are close, closer than they’ve ever been. And all you can think about is how much closer you want them to be. She seems to pick up on your thoughts. Like a mind reader, she stands up on all fours, taking you by the hoof. From there, she leads you up the stairs, and finally, to your bedroom. You’ve both been so courteous from the beginning, pretending not to have fallen head-over-hooves for each other. From now on, no more kidding yourselves. But first, you both have so many weeks’ worth of… emotions to sort between you.
Part 7 [Mature]Author's Note Author's Note: Highly sensual scene inbound. If you wanna skip to the next chapter, go ahead, you won't be missing anything too storyline-central. Part 7 [Mature] With the soft thud of her body on the covers, Pinkie Pie flops gently onto your bed. You follow suit, positioning yourself over her and letting your eyes, your breath, your lips meet with her own. She has no hesitation towards your tender treatment, wrapping each of her limbs around you, as if she’s trying to give multiple hugs at once. Once you’d plucked up the courage, you push forward yet another step, testing your tongue into her mouth little by little. A short, hot connection is made. You can feel her shudder with… was it bliss or anticipation? Either way, her sweet-tasting tongue gives a cautious lick in return, before keenly slathering yours in a clumsy, rhythm-less dance. Her heart can be felt beating frantically behind her ribs as her body is held close - so very close - to yours. There’s no sound as you lie there, kissing her. No sound but the gentle breathing from her snout as her lips remains locked in yours, no sound but the occasional creak from the bed as you both try to rearrange, trying to find a way to become closer than you already are. Your fore-hooves begin to caress the back of her head, taking in her downy mane. They gradually work their way down her, bit by bit, past her neck, her shoulders, her ribs… her flank. You sense the slight vibrations of a chuckle from her throat as she giggles naughtily, your wandering hooves cheekily tracing her soft, round hips. You wonder how much further she’d allow you to go? You slowly test her yourself, your hooves massaging the inside of her thighs. The kiss breaks with a slightly surprised gasp on her part, before it changes to a calming sigh. However, her foreleg reaches out and stops you before you get too close to anywhere personal. “Wait,” she breathes, “I’ve never… I’ve never gone this far before.” Of course, you remember; she’s never had a special somepony like you before - never even thought of having somepony like you before - so this would be her first time. “Are you okay?” you reassuringly whisper, “We don’t have to go all the way if you don’t want to. This is our first time… like this after all.” “I don’t know,” she makes to attempt to hide her reddened cheeks, “It’s weird. I want this to be… well, really special. But I’m a little nervous.” Her uneasy chuckle betrays her tension. “Pinkie Pie,” you tell her, “so long as you’re here, it’s a special moment to me.” “Daaawww!” she metaphorically melts under your loving words. You continue to lavish her with kisses, because what you told her was true; there doesn’t need to be any sexual activity tonight, so long as you had the pleasure of lying by her side. You loved every inch of her, after all. You love her mane that bounces with life as she walks and skips. You love her smooth, pink coat that covers her from head to hoof. Her blue eyes, always looking for happiness, and radiating it in kind. Her tail, twitching in excitement as she curls up with the one she loves. The steady rising and falling over her chest, and her racing heart that beats behind it. Her lips, that taste as sweet as her personality. Her tongue, that sensually dances with your own right now. Her hips, pushing subconsciously against yours… She stifles another giggle amidst the passion, before breaking the kiss and giggles aloud. “You’re… you’re poking me!” she laughs. What? How am I p- oh. You look down and turn red at the sight. You can feel the heat rising to your face when you notice your rather… enthusiastic member pleading for more of a show. All you can do is apologise. “It’s been a while…” you explain. To your relief (or rather, soon-to-be-relief) her giggling fit as changed to a mischievous grin. “You know, I think I could help with that.” she says, her fore-hoof stroking your face, sliding down your body and making its way further down still, “It’s not really going all the way, but I’m sure you‘ll enjoy it…” Before you even think about saying a word, you feel a pang of pleasure as she grasps your member. From there, she slowly rubs it up and down, kneading it like gently, as if it were putty in her hooves. Very rapidly hardening putty. You lower yourself onto her, focusing on each soothing stroke, letting your moans get the better of you. Pinkie would want to enjoy this kind of pleasure as well. With a wayward hoof reaching just short of her lower entrance, you give her a pleading, yet trustworthy glance, as if to say ‘May I?’. She gives you a blushing smile and a wink. Go for it. You gently run a hoof over her delicate area, all the while trying to keep yourself under control; her forelegs are still busy pleasuring you. For a moment, Pinkie’s eye turn distant as you massage her. Soon, she starts taking deep breaths from the wonderful sensation you’re giving her. Slowly, you feel her lower lips parting in preparation, inviting you to enter. Despite what you said earlier, the temptation of entering her, combined with the rising pressure in your personal belonging… it’s all becoming too much to bear. Her rhythmic moaning of ecstasy, rising with each stroke, doesn’t help either. Finally, you shiver as you feel a warm, wet substance dripping out of her, little by little… Suddenly, she gives a sharp gasp, You stop what you’re doing at that point. She stops too, and wipes a bead of sweat from her bright red face. “I… I felt like I was about to burst.” she explains once she regains her breath, “But it felt good. It felt so good.” “Do you want to feel far better?” you smirk. When she agrees, you kiss her tenderly on the lips, before shuffling backwards slightly, until your head is nearly between her hind legs. With a moment of hesitation, you look upon her damp, quivering entrance before lowering your face closer to it, ready to- “Wait, hold on a sec!” Pinkie stops you, “I have a better idea.” You turn your head up towards her, wondering what she’s planning. She rolls over, until she’s the one on top of you. Then she turns over, so her head is level with your throbbing shaft, and your head just so happens to be level with her tender opening. “I’ve never done anything like this before,” she says, her warm breath teasing your tip with each word, “But I think it’s gonna work out well.” You say nothing. Instead, you calmly place your fore-hooves around her curvy flank, and slowly pull it down towards you. Pinkie’s breath quickens as she inspects your member with caution, trying to figure out how exactly to approach the matter. All of this is relatively new to her; she has every right to be cautious about it. Some pleasurable sensations should sooth her. When her open slit gets just close enough, you bring your muzzle up to it and massage it with your lips, provoking an uncontainable, high-pitched moan from your pink partner. You push deeper, and you can feel her every muscle loosen in response to your performance. From Pinkie’s side of… events, she plucks up the courage to press onwards, testing your shaft with a few slow licks. Soon, she wraps her mouth around it, her smooth tongue slipping and sliding around your tip. Your ecstasy heightens, sending dizzy chills through you. Your mounting pressure builds with each passing moment. You groan, sending the vibrations from your throat forth and you continue to caress Pinkie’s blossoming sensitivity with your tongue, focusing on the nub that nestles above her dripping hole. Judging by her returning moan, you’d say she likes it. The more you tease, lick, massage her with your mouth, the more you feel her respond with a sexually-driven shiver. You ignore the hot fluid that drips onto you as you bury yourself deeper into her. As if on cue, she takes it upon herself to envelop your member into her mouth, her tongue still working its magic alongside each blissful suck. The pleasure rushes over you, catching you unaware. You can’t take any more! In a bid to give her such a wonderful sensation in return, you go all out with your tongue, ravishing her every inch. “Mmmph… mmmph!” Her muffled moans build in pitch and volume with each passing second, similar to the rising pressure in your tip as you feel her vibrations and moaning. All the more reason to coax a few more out of her before you’re overwhelmed by your climax. “Mm’m… Mm’m gmmmph… Mm’m gmmmph brmph!” In a flash of pure sexual gratification, you’re there at the brink of your orgasm. At the very last moment, you take a free hoof, and use it to pull your possession from Pinkie’s mouth as the threshold breaks. Finally, you release yourself, one indescribable spurt of relief after another. Not only did you avoid getting her to swallow anything unpleasant, but you also returned her voice to her at the same time. “I’m gonna burst! I’m gonna- aaahh!” Those words only served to make you pleasure her more than ever. With a yell and a shiver of arousal, a final gush of her climax pours forth. By the time you’re done, all that’s left of her is the occasional twitching limb and the distant grin of her reaching satisfaction. Being one of the few ponies in the world to strike Pinkie Pie speechless, she instead thanks you for the best feeling she’s ever had by cuddling up to you. With a smile, you’re more than happy to lie alongside her. You may not have gone all the way, but you had both passed far beyond the reach of ‘dear friends’ this night.
