Three out of Ten, Healthy
“There’s no way she won’t eat this.”
Pinkie left the recipe card on the corner of the kitchen counter and went to work. She figured she had about half an hour.
Timing was key in this recipe, for several reasons. Boiling the pasta while softening the garlic and shallots wasn’t too demanding, but it kept her occupied without any chance for distraction. Moments when the act of cooking absorbed her completely transcended time. She found herself manufacturing moments like this more and more often, though she rarely had time to realize it until the moment had passed.
This sauce would do it tonight. She could feel it as she stirred. It just felt good. Stirring didn’t require thinking, and thinking was right up there with time. Add milk and bring it to a boil, double and toil, stir until thick with a spoon or a stick. Was the stove too hot? Not hot enough? Would it burn or explode, or fizzle lukewarm?
She had to time everything just right. She had to hit that delicate window between the basement door opening and the ghost of her marefriend shuffling to—no, that was rude, she shouldn’t think like that.
Cheese for flavor, tasteless protein powder to make every bite count, some more cheese to cover up the taste of the tasteless protein powder. Then spinach, then artichoke. Stir for a bit. Low heat. Maybe lower. How’s the pasta doing? Too soft? This was good. Cooking was good for her. Cooking was mindless motion, and with her hoppy kind of walk, mild aerobics. And best of all, more important than calories, more crucial than carbs, it kept her coming. Whether it was the smell or the rhythm established during their first few years together, before all this, before Pinkie started taking cooking so seriously, something trivial and unimportant would always seem to drag her up those stairs right about this time of day and break the spell that usually consumed her.
Just as the sauce was ready to break, the basement door opened. It glided on immaculately oiled hinges and hit the wall stopper with a soft thud.
Pinkie rushed across the room and gazed down the dark stairs.
“Twilight,” she called down the stairs, “dinner time! Come up come up come up!”
Twilight Sparkle, glassy-eyed and hunched, crawled up the stairs.
“I forgot something upstairs,” she said.
“The nuclear fusion converter?”
Twilight nodded.
“Don’t worry about that,” Pinkie replied. “I took care of it.”
This was how it normally went. Despite the apparent urgency, Pinkie was almost certain Twilight didn’t need the fusion converter—at least, not badly enough to do much more than take it apart and put it together a few times until something broke or the core melted. That’s just what happened in the lab. Things went down to be disassembled.
“You moved it?” Twilight asked. “It’s highly radioactive.”
“I saw it sitting on your workbench, and I know how finicky nuclear fusion converters can be, so I put it in a cool bath of water in the upstairs sink so it doesn’t explode.” A bad thought entered Pinkie’s mind. She smiled to push it away. “The sink next to the medicine cabinet.”
“Oh,” Twilight said, “well, thanks. I guess we won’t have to go looking for a new castle anytime soon.”
“If you’d like, I can bring it down to you later.”
“No, it’s fine,” Twilight insisted. Something told Pinkie she wouldn’t need to worry about the nuclear fusion converter. She would hear it when Twilight teleported it back into the basement. Teleporting things in water caused cavitation bubbles, and a huge mess. The bad thought returned, and she couldn’t smile hard enough. “We have at least five or six hours before it starts melting down.”
Pinkie felt an odd sort of pity for the nuclear fusion converter. The atom splitter would soon be split.
Pinkie motioned towards the table. “Look, though! Dinner! I made dinner!”
A faint glow from the upstairs lights drew Twilight’s eyes.
“Come on already.” Pinkie waved her on, towards the table. “I’ve got something special cooked up for you tonight. Even more special than yesterday, but not quite as special as tomorrow. Can you smell it?”
Twilight pondered the air. Pinkie knew the look in her eyes. She had her gears going, her mind sort of working, firing like mad in some places and wasting away in others. Trying to logically explain how an invisible thing like air could contain so many lights, so many smells. Trying to block them out.
Pinkie took Twilight’s hoof and led her to the table. “Don’t worry about a thing. Pinkie’s got you. Would you sit down for a minute with me?”
Twilight thought for a second, then said, “I’m not super hungry right now, but okay.”
Beaming, Pinkie pulled out a chair. “Thanks, really. I know the research is extra important this year, but thanks for making time for me.”
Twilight nodded, the signal for Pinkie to finish preparations. She extinguished the gas stove and took a bow. The night’s masterpiece was complete.
As Pinkie brought the pasta pot to the table and laid out the plates, she stirred the air with her voice to keep it from getting soupy.
“This will taste like a six out of ten, but it’s really only a three out of ten because I substituted arrowroot for mayonnaise and used vegan pasta—you know, the kind Tree Hugger was going on about at Fluttershy’s last week. I know you don’t care about it being vegan, but it’s much healthier for you than the regular stuff, and to me it doesn’t really taste any different. I snuck away to talk to Tree Hugger and ask her where she got it from when I said I was going to the bathroom to powder my nose even though I don’t need to powder my nose unless I’ve been cooking with flour and I’ve got powder on my nose, and she gave me the name of this vegetable farmer who makes vegan pasta on the side. So I went there a few days ago to get the pasta while you were dealing with that one griffon treaty traitor thingy, the one that almost caused another war, and I wound up getting some artichoke hearts he had preserved himself before they went out of season, so they’re much tastier and fresher than regular canned ones from the store. Real ones are so tough to find this time of year, so this was a really great find! Took me a few hours of skipping and like three songs to get there, but I think—watch that knife, cutie—I think it was all worth it to see how much you’re gonna enjoy it.”
“How’s Fluttershy been?” Twilight asked, her voice fleeting like a wisp of steam escaping her mouth.
“Oh, uh, yeah! She’s been good. Well, sorry. She’s been well.” Twilight licked her chapped lips in response. “Isn’t that nice?”
“Yeah,” Twilight said, finally. “She and Discord are doing alright?”
“Yup! Fit as fiddles, those two. She forced him to attend one of Tree Hugger’s meditation sessions in that hippie commune where she lives, the one east of Trottingham, and you know Discord, he absolutely hated every second of it, but Fluttershy was so happy to get the two of them on the same page, or at least in the same room without Discord pulling some nasty trick.” She picked up a large serving spoon with her teeth. “Phffit assh phffidduhlesh.”
Twilight stared through the table as Pinkie heaped a mountain of noodles onto two plates, then doused them with sauce. She made absolutely sure not to spill a drop on Twilight—that would only upset her. To complete the meal, she laid a whole loaf of wonder bread facing Twilight.
“Ta-da!” she proclaimed. “A meal fit for a princess. From my heart to yours. Dig in!” Pinkie grabbed her own plate, beamed at her success, then swirled her noodles with a fork. “You can feel how delicious it is. Have you ever had that feeling?—something’s just so delicious you can feel it with a fork? That’s the mark of a great chef, or baker, or whatever—when they can feel the love in their own food. It’s an interesting hypos—hypothesis, anyway.”
Twilight picked up her fork and tested the theory. “It looks great, really. I’m just not feeling hungry,” she mumbled.
But Pinkie was prepared. “That’s totally okay, buddy. You don’t have to eat all of it. I’m sorry for giving you so much. I really think you’ll love it if you give it a chance. A growing princess has to eat her food, otherwise she’ll get dizzy and tired while she’s working her fantastic machines downstairs and get her mane zapped off again.”
Twilight probed deeper, until her fork hit the plate and squeaked.
“Y’know how everypony has room for dessert?” Pinkie tried. “They don’t have a second stomach. They just eat because they like the way it tastes. You always loved my pasta before you started that new medication regimen. Won’t you just try a little for my sake?”
“I’m sorry, but I’m really not hungry,” Twilight repeated. “I don’t think it’s the medication—I haven’t even taken it this month. My appetite's gone with or without the pills.”
Pinkie grimaced. “Just eat half of it. I won’t bug you about it for the rest of the evening.”
“Pinkie—”
“How about you eat as much as you want, and you stop when you’re done and I won’t say another word, I’ll take the plate away and you can go back to the machines.”
Nothing.
“Ten bites.”
Nothing.
“Okay, fine, three bites and a slice of bread. That’s a good compromise. Three bites.”
Nothing.
“You need to eat, so eat three bites and a piece of bread and that’s all.”
“Bread’s so dry,” Twilight said, her eyes milky white and hopeless.
“Not this bread. This is wonder bread! Your favorite! It’s soft and yummy and sweet and you can sop up all the extra sauce with it, and it won’t be dry at all.”
“I don’t want wonder bread tonight.”
“But it’s wonderful, like you!”
Twilight buried her chin into her chest and shook her head.
“Okay. Okay, no worries! Not a problem at all.” The wonder bread disappeared. Pinkie threw the loaf across the room and through the kitchen doors. “No wonder bread.”
“I’m sorry,” Twilight said. “I can’t. I’m sorry.”
“No, don’t be sorry,” she replied. “It’s okay. I don’t mind. The bread is just bread. Don’t be sorry.” She paused, tail twitching, stretching towards the kitchen, towards the wonder bread. “You’ve just been doing such a great job watching your figure these past few years. Someday soon I’m gonna organize you a cheat day. And you’re gonna eat a dozen cupcakes and a whole loaf of wonder bread with butter and melted cheese—maybe we can toast it on the stovetop—and we’ll have strawberry pop and chocolate bars and potato chips all at once.”
Twilight nodded. “Gods, I’d turn into a balloon.”
Progress. Pinkie pushed ahead. “And then we’ll throw a party for you with you as the decoration.”
She smiled! Twilight really smiled! It was only a small one, but it still counted! “Maybe soon.”
“Not tonight.”
“Not tonight.”
“Pasta is so heavy.”
“I know,” Pinkie nodded.
“Carbs aren’t good tonight.”
“But there are no carbs in this pasta, remember? It’s totally vegan. No carbs, no nothing. Just tasty!”
“I think all pasta is vegan by definition, and carbohydrated.”
“What? You mean Tree Hugger and her hippie friends conned me?”
Twilight poked at the sauce with her fork, stirring the slight film developing on the top. “It’s got all that cheese, and mayo—”
“Actually,” Pinkie interjected, “I didn’t use mayo this time. I used arrowroot instead. It’s sorta like corn starch. It replaces mayo, and it’s much healthier.” Twilight nodded and played with the film some more. “I could pick out the veggies for you. That way you could get the most out of it without having to deal with all that cheese and creamy stuff.”
“I’m not a child,” Twilight insisted.
“Of course! Of course you’re not. But even grown-ups gotta eat. Come on—” Pinkie picked up her fork, trailing noodles and sauce across the table. “Come on. Eat with me, Twilight.”
“Pinkie, the tablecloth—”
“Come on, just try it. Would you just try it? I worked really extra super hard on this, would you just try it? Would you just—try it already?”
“The tablecloth, Pinkie.” Twilight finally looked up, to Pinkie, then to the stain between them. “You’re spilling sauce all over the tablecloth.”
Pinkie looked down. “Oh, sugar. What a silly accident.”
“I should really head back to the lab.” Twilight moved to get out of her chair. “The converter is probably going to explode soon—”
“No! Come on. It’s just a little spill. Look, here, I can cover it up just like that. I’ll make it disappear.” Without putting down the fork, she flipped up the stained section of cloth and sandwiched it between two napkins. “There. I’ll wash it tonight and you won’t even remember it.”
Twilight put her head in her hooves and shook her head.
“Come on, buddy. Three bites.”
“Who cares?” Twilight said, her voice muffled through her fur.
“Three bites, that’s all you need.”
“Doesn’t matter. Nothing matters.”
“Pinkie food is the best food, Twilight. Three bites is all you need to keep chugging for another day.”
“Then I don’t want to eat another bite ever again,” Twilight whimpered into her hooves. “I want to starve in the basement and die.”
Pinkie sat back in her chair and noticed she was still holding her fork. She slurped up the pasta as noisily as she could, pausing only a little bit when she realized how well the sauce had turned out.
“Holy cow,” she announced, “this is the best pasta I’ve had all year. That’s like, ten months worth of pasta.”
“I’m sorry, okay? I hate me too. Don’t patronize me,” Twilight moaned from across the table.
“I’m not patronizing you,” she replied. “If I were patronizing you I’d be doing something stupid and rash.”
Without warning, Pinkie launched herself across the table, landing next to Twilight on her knees. Her eyes stretched as big as saucers to catch the light. Twilight looked up, right into Pinkie’s eyes. The dimness in those purple eyes overwhelmed her. Instinct compelled her to shove a forkful of pasta into Twilight’s mouth, the only remedy Pinkie really knew.
“Don’t do this to me. I worked really hard on this. Just taste it, tell me it’s good. Or bad. Who cares? I can cook a thousand other kinds of pastas. Please.”
“Pinkie, please.” Normally she would have packed up and gone back downstairs at this point. But this time she went back to staring at her plate again. Hope manifests in all different kind of ways. Maybe this wasn’t hope to Twilight, but it was to Pinkie.
“Best pasta I’ve made all year. That’s all I’m saying,” Pinkie said dismissively, but not before placing her fork on the edge of Twilight’s plate.
“I just want to go downstairs.”
“How about one tiny bite to test the flavor, okay?” Pinkie reached to Twilight, and when she didn’t flinch away, guided her hoof towards the fork. “If you don’t like it for whatever reason, you can go downstairs and never ever think about it again.” Pinkie thought back days and weeks, all the perfectly good recipes, all the perfectly good cookbooks she would never ever think about again. She liked this recipe. It tasted fancy and large, something she normally didn’t get in her cooking. Maybe this one would pass the test.
Twilight nodded and surrendered to Pinkie’s touch. She picked up the fork and made a little mountain of pasta at the edge of her plate where the sauce was sauciest. “Looking good to you?” Pinkie pointed the dull end of the fork at Twilight, who reached out slowly and grasped it. “You just have to try it,” Pinkie reminded her. “That’s all. Just try.”
One tiny bite to test the flavor—“That counts,” she said.
Then two.
Then three.
She placed the fork on the edge of the plate again without a sound. “Three bites.”
Pinkie beamed approval. “Best pasta all year, right?”
“It was good,” she replied vaguely. “The pasta was good.”
“And you couldn’t tell the difference between the new pasta and the normal stuff?”
Twilight shook her head.
“Great!” Pinkie squealed. “I’ll buy this stuff from now on, even if Tree Hugger is just putting me on. At this rate, Twilight, you’ll be supermare in no time.”
Twilight stood up from the table. Her body swayed softly, eyes on the glob of pasta still on her plate, chin resting on the cushioned back of her chair.
“Are you feeling a little better now?” Pinkie asked cautiously.
Twilight nodded a little. “I’m sorry, Pinkie.”
“You have nothing to be sorry for.”
“I do. All this food’s wasted.”
“And you ate dinner with me tonight. That’s all I wanted. I’d cook twice as much if that’s what it took.”
“I’m sorry. It was good.”
Pinkie sighed. “I’m glad you enjoyed it, cutie. Can you do something for me though?”
“What?”
“If you feel bad, really bad, you know. Come and get me. Or don’t. Just slip a note under the door or something. I have Doctor Hindsight’s number written in the address book, and she does house calls. We can borrow Rarity’s fainting couch and you can just sit on it and talk about stuff.”
“If it’s all the same, I’ll come to you first.”
“I think a professional opinion would be good, though.”
“You’re a professional at making me better,” Twilight responded plainly.
Twilight pushed herself away from the chair. Pinkie made sure to kiss her on each cheek, so Twilight knew she meant it. Twilight let her, which was not normal.
“Just holler if you need anything at all,” Pinkie said.
“Okay,” Twilight nodded, “I promise. I’m gonna bring the converter back downstairs now. Me being me, I don’t think a dose of radiation will make me much weirder.”
“Oh, be careful though!”
Pinkie started giggling, until Twilight added, “Don’t worry. I’m not gonna try and hurt myself. I’m gonna, I don’t know, do something with it, so don’t worry.”
“Okay—good. No worries here. Have fun.”
Pinkie watched Twilight shuffle back into the basement, back to the machines. The door slammed shut, as it normally did. From upstairs came the sound of water splashing across the crystal floor.
She wasn’t sure whether to call tonight a success, but three bites was better than nothing, even if each one was a fight a week and a half in the making. Three bites was better than nothing when three bites meant five minutes seven steps from the windows fifteen feet above the twelve-inch thick triple lattice blast shields two inches beneath their brand new just-refurbished castle-crystal colored (but still twice as happy looking after Pinkie got to it) kitchen. Three bites was better than nothing, she repeated. Better than nothing.
“Better than nothing,” she said aloud as she stared at the door.
She picked up Twilight’s plate, took one last whiff of the sauce, and poured it into the trash.
She set the plate in the sink, then went back to the table and hefted the pot of pasta and the sauce bowl with two split sections of her tail. She looked away, sighed, and dumped it all.
Once she had given the pot a good shake to make sure all the pasta was out, she placed the now-empty cooking ware onto the crystal kitchen counter. To finish, she scraped away the sauce on the wall of the bowl and placed it beside the empty pan. Though she knew better, though it might spray sauce on the ceiling or the wall like it did last time, she tossed the spoon into the empty pot and listened to it rattle. Tossed it hard.
She regarded the used pot for a long time, staying as still as she possibly could. No tail shakes, no mane quakes. Hind hooves on the floor, forelegs propped on the island. Head on her shoulders, brain a dozen or so feet to her right, heart deeper than the triple lattice bones of the earth. Thoughts in the clouds, in the past, in the artichoke farm where the preservation process hadn’t sealed in enough flavor, where the pasta wasn’t healthy enough, where the sauce was too bland, where the arrowroot just didn’t quite cut it when stacked against good old fashioned mayonnaise. Where she was trying too hard. Where she was letting her soulmate starve right under her nose while she sniffed soufflé. Where she tried her hardest to reignite something in the oven and cooked duds. Mind, body, and taste buds.
She trotted past the endless shelves full of cookware she hadn’t used in weeks until she came to a bookshelf of binders and cookbooks, dog-eared and brimming with loose papers, hoofwritten corrections, substitutions, experiments and running notes—what was losing and what was winning.
She reached for the bottom shelf and pulled a slightly dusty purple binder and turned it over to see the label. It read:
things twilight can cook in the library
6/10 unhealthy — 9/10 very unhealthy
“Think big,” she said. “I like big.”
She flipped the binder open and set it on the countertop. Recipe after recipe, page after page, she searched. Nothing caught her eye, until—
“Guacamole cheese toasties with diced tomatoes!”
With a joyful flourish she yanked the paper out of the binder and placed it onto the kitchen counter.
”Tomorrow’s the day. I can even use up the rest of the wonder bread!” she exclaimed as she reached for a pencil. In the margin of the recipe paper she wrote, SOUR CREAM, MARGARINE MAYBE BUTTER?, CANOLA OIL, TOSTADAS (TOSTADOS??? ASK IF THERE’S A DIFFERENCE BETWEEN MALE/FEMALE TOSTADOS), YOU CAN DO THIS, JUST KEEP GOING
Once she was satisfied with the list, she placed it on the corner of the kitchen counter.
“Pinkie, you’re a genius,” she said as she turned out the kitchen lights. “In a few months’ time you won't even be able to see her ribs.”
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I have to admit, there were several spots where it became confusing to read, but overall this was a good story.
The fic is good but is close to deserve a tragedy tag
Anorexia is always pretty tragic for the loved ones of the affected
A very cathartic read. Was this by any chance inspired in part by Darf's, "As the Days Go By"? https://www.fimfiction.net/story/118244/as-the-days-go
6217924 Absolutely! Though the Twipie is coincidental.
Jeez that's a heartbreaking read. If twilight isn't eating properly then she can't work well and is going to be tired all day. That's kinda deadly what with forgetting a reactor of all things. Go pinkie pie!
Depressing read, but good. It reminds me of a friend who has eating disorders and practically lives of one meal a day.
I didn't really get what was happening until the last sentence and the comments. Still, this was neat.
Wow, I really loved this story! Great job!
I was only barely a survivor myself of something similar when I was much younger, though it wasn't based on what I was intaking versus fear of getting sick. Really, really bad time in my life.
I absolutely loved this story. You did an excellent job of giving accuracy to the story; I really believe Pinkie and Twilight would handle themselves this way in such a situation. This touches my heart in ways no similar stories have in a while, and in such a short read. 10/10 you will get this one day, Pinkie – I just know it.
A few years ago, my best friend and pen pal passed away from an eating disorder. Reading this reminded me so much of her...
This was a great story.
Really fantastic read, very heartbreaking, reminded me too of 'As The Days Go By'.
Love Pinkie's characterisation too.
6222787 so you think this is an eating disorder story?
I took it as depression story
6223373 To me, it was an eating disorder story, but I guess it can be seen as depression, too. My friend acted exactly like Twilight did in this story. She refused to eat.
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Don't the two occasionally go hand-in-hand? I seem to recall reading somewhere that anorexia and other disorders could lead to chemical imbalances that induce depression, and depression can manifest as the symptom of lack of appetite or unusual eating habits. It can become a vicious cycle.
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Maybe she's depressed that she has an eating disorder?
6223777 You are correct. That aside, extreme highs or lows of appetite are also amongst the more common symptoms of depression, even without eating disorders.
It was beautiful.
Jeez, I can imagine this fic hitting home to some people...
Ah well. Nicely written, man! I enjoyed it.
Okay. I read over this, and I'm as confused as hell as to what was going on. Others are saying its an eating disorder. But I couldn't figure out if Twilight was a ghost of Pinkie's imagination and she'd gone crazy over her death, or if they were survivors of some apocalyptic event and food was running low, or any number of other horrible things. It was a good read, but still confusing as hell.
The ambiguity is frustrating but also satisfying in a weird way. Because after a moment, I really don't care about the specifics, I really just care about this dance between lovers.
Thanks.
Wow. That... that hit me right here -->
You seem to be trying to deal with a serious issue. I'm entirely sure what this issue is, but from what I can tell, you treated the issue with an apprpriate level of respect. On that alone, you did a better job than many other people.
But this brings me the main problem here: the fic suffers from a massive lack of context. I know that with fanfics, you generally need les context because you can expect your audience to know the source material. However, when you alter the existing cannon, it is essential to provide some exposition, or else we won't know what the heck is going on.
There is obviously some form of cannon diversion here. However, since nothing is really explained, I can't tell what this diversion is. Does Twilight have an eating disorder? Is Twilight a ghost? Is the whole thing just Pinkie having a delusion? I don't know. And that's a real shame, because with context, this story would have been amazing.
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Interesting. I noticed people in the comments got confused. I can understand why if people are not familiar with the effects of radiation sickness.
Twilight is researching fusion energy and is suffering from acute radiation poisoning. You get very tired, lose your appetite and many get depressed. The medication was likely to try and combat the radiation.
Something tells me magic is weakening and she is desperately searching for a new source of energy for society.
6371967 Huh. That would make a lot of sense! I like that quite a bit.
6371967
I suspected radiation was at play, but her not losing her hair is what stopped me from thinking of that as being a possibility.
6372306 that's late stage of I recall. Also maybe ponies don't lose all of it? Not sure on that one.
6371967
Huh... Sorry, I fess eating disorder made more sence
6371967 But she doesn't display any of the more physical symptoms of Acute Radiation Sickness.
6371967 As much as I hate telling people how to think, I never envisioned this story being about radiation sickness.
6374861 well I certainly am not going to argue with the author about their intent.
Just the mention of equipment and the spot on ques for radiation sickness as if you had researched them (minus hair loss) just thought it was where it was going.
Nice to have clarification though, thank you.
6375621 I hope I didn't come across as belittling your idea, though. I totally see where you're coming from. It could just as easily be some other gadget or tool Twilight is worrying about, it just wound up being a nuclear fusion converter because it sounds important and it can explode with negligence. I felt a tool of some kind was necessary to the story because it reinforced the theme and drove the plot along all in one package.
6379387 No worries there. Just extending the same courtesy I would hope to get on my own stories if I was to do what you did. Didn't sound belittling at all. Though at this point I think there are many people that think it should be a little clearer in the story as to what it is that Twilight is suffering from, unless the point is to use that to show that Pinky is also confused.
Heart-wrenching portrait of anorexia.
I think I would like to see this expanded a bit. Perhaps in a non-food setting, where Pinkie and Twilight are doing something else, to see how she's acting when not around food. I like this and I could see this being something akin to Wintergirls
Twinkie is my favourite FiM ship. Bar none, seriously, nothing brings me as much happiness as seeing these two together. Do you know what I also love? Sad romantic stories, and boy does this deliver on both fronts.
I find myself short on words to convey how I feel right now. Melancholic, content, intrigued... All this is a testament to how you managed to keep me engaged throughout the story.
It really was the details that kept me going, the way Pinkie's worry and slight desperation was conveyed just through her dialogue--and likewise with Twilight. I find it commendable when an author manages to paint a vivid image with just a few strokes. You never go overboard with exposition or inner monologues, instead giving just enough information for the reader to make up their mind about what is really going on (as evidenced by the different interpretations in the comments).
So, all in all. Great story.
I thought this would be a cute story about Twilight suffering through bad cooking to make her girlfriend happy. Instead it was by far the most depressing thing I've ever read.
OOF! Was not expecting this, and this sentence just... agh, right in the feels man
This story was...
...
Congrats, have a Derpy:
(That means I liked the story)
Oof amazing story!!
... Fr
... Yeahhhhh that's not good... At all 
Twilight's just like me fr