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// Love at First Headbutt 
// Story: Buckin' Apples (and maybe Stallions too) 
// by JakTheYak 
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Brae wasn’t scared of heights, he just had a preference for the ground an- SWEET BUCKING CELESTIA THAT DROP LOOKS LIKE IT’LL TAKE ME RIGHT TO TARTURUS.

“Are you okay sir?” the neon green and pink pixie cut pegasus mare next to him gave him a half-hearted sideways glance. It appeared she was used to this kind of reaction.

Braeburn’s eyes did possibly the single worst thing they could do to him and started to dart about like wolves chasing hares. The balloon-port was tucked in a little alcove peeking out of a natural hole in the side of a mountain. The Friendship Express made the occasional stop here whenever the port was in service, but given Cloudsdale’s nomadic nature that wasn’t always an option. The mountain was a basalt grey and mostly smoothed on the count of constant battering by winds. Those same winds were forcing Brae to hold one hoof on his hat as his hair flailed about in the wind like a flag in a hurricane. The entire port was built on a little lip of wayward stone that had been artificially expanded to facilitate the wingless ponies who may need to visit Cloudsdale for whatever reason.

Said lip was a roughly half-mile hemi-circle that was dotted by deep evergreens and a carpet of crabgrass that crunched and buckled under Braeburn’s hooves. There was a small pond surrounded by a well-kept garden with a few chairs for patrons to sit in. Braeburn had a great of view the whole idyllic mountain suite from the launchpad that jutted a dozen feet from the second story of a coloneighal inspired light pine and cream-painted cobble port that had a disturbing amount of rocking and creaking to it.

The landing pad was made of the same kind of pine but also reinforced with old, rusting girders with peeled layers of paint revealing a long-storied history of brown paint covering up safety violations. The platform was in a roughly rectangular shape, but ended in what looked like a trapezoid somepony had slapped on the end. Probably to stop an off-target balloon from popping, or something. Braeburn shuttered slightly at the thought.

The attendant that was helping Brae and the three other ponies, a unicorn and Pegasus couple with their unicorn filly, had to shout just to be heard over the rushing wind.

“Alright folks! Thank you for choosing Convection Balloonlines, I’m Midnight Rave, and I’ll be helping you all on the balloon. Did you all get the cloudwalking necklaces?-” She moved her head, stretching at the neck trying to eye over all the ponies before her “-Okay, good. Those will be keeping you from falling through the clouds.”

Braeburn’s ‘necklace’ fit so damn snug it felt more like a choker than a necklace, but he’d given his up to have it wrapped around the filly’s waist. Poor little thing had been too small for the foal sizes and too big for the infant sizes.

Soon the garishly pink and gold balloon floated lamely into view, manned by a single grease covered mechanic. Luckily the thing was absolutely massive, the balloon was at least two dozen feet wide and the basket could hold with ease half that number of ponies. Everypony slowly filled on the “floating coach”, as the pamphlets called it, and Braeburn found himself sitting on the opposite side of the basket as the family, with the mechanic in the middle directly underneath the burner keeping the thing aloft.

Brae made one last mistake of looking over the edge of the basket and almost threw up the peanut butter and hay sandwich he’d brought. Okay, this may have been a mistake.





By the time Braeburn had finished his flight he was resolved to never fly in a balloon again. Now that may not have left him very many options in the way of getting down, but those kinds of small details had never gotten in his way before.

Cloudsdale was a massive sprawling metropolis of whites meeting blues and had a kind of sweeping aesthetic to it that reminded Braeburn of the oceans whenever he was out visiting kin on the coast. All the buildings looked like a wave of blue capped with white, which in this case fluff rather than foam. Surprising to absolutely nopony was the fact that Cloudsdale had a high proportion of pegasi living in it. On it? Who knows?

The streets were really more fast lanes where more rambunctious ponies could cut loose and zoom about the winding paths without worrying about the possibility of hitting somepony. There were some bridges of repurposed storm clouds that arched at intersections to allow for hoof traffic. The storm clouds had their edges facing towards the fast lanes blasted white. It was reminiscent of the way fire would leave the stones of the bonfire-pit licked with black scorching marks, and helped Braeburn to grasp just how mind-bogglingly fast some of these fliers were.

“Speaking of fast fliers, where the hay am I gonna find them Wonderbolts?” Brae pondered to himself absentmindedly, missing the stallion walking directly at him. The two met head-first, with Braeburn giving the other a solid knock to the head. “Aww geez mister, I’d completely missed seeing you there!”

The stallion before Braeburn was a smaller statured Pegasus, with a lighter grey-blue coat and black mane. He wore an aviator jacket that was an earthy brown on the outside and fluffy tan on the inside. On the flared out collar was pinned a meticulously polished gold pin. Braeburn could tell just from a glance that this boy was an athlete, his confident stance and the fact he wasn’t on the ground rocking while holding both hooves to his forehead were big tells.

The stallion shook his head from side to side for a moment, as if to shake out the confusion. “Ah, don’t worry about it.” He gave a lighthearted snicker, “I’ve hit the ground at mach 2 and was up and flying again in 10 minutes flat.”

“Well I’ll be a cow’s uncle, that’s a feat and a half if I ever heard one. Say my name’s Braeburn Apple, I don’t believe I caught yours…” Braeburn tipped his hat cordially.

“Oh yeah, guess we were a little occupied with going ‘head to head’.” This time his laughter was much louder, and just hearing the boyish joy in it made Braeburn’s stomach do summersaults. “I’m Soarin’ I’m co-captain of the Wonderbolts, pleased to meet ya Braeburn!” His smile’s warmth was mirrored by a sudden flash of heat creeping its way all throughout Braeburn’s cheeks.

The gears slowly began to grind together inside Braeburn’s head, and slowly two and two began to come together. “Wait a minute! You’re in the Wonderbolts?!” Braeburn exclaimed with a bewildered look on his face.

Soarin’ seemed to be used to getting this kind of a reaction before, and nonchalantly ran his hooves through his hair, making Brae go from normal blush to ‘oh god my cutie mark’s color just migrated to my bucking face’. “Pssh, yeah. It’s nothing all that special. I mean it’s not like I’m the youngest flier to ever reach the rank of co-captain or anything.” His easy confidence was infectious, and Braeburn found himself like a mindless groupie. Yeah obviously he’s the best. For Celestia’s sake he’s Soarin’. He was utterly enthralled by this pony he’d only met mere minutes ago. Truly a masterclass in keeping it cool that Braeburn Apple.

Soarin’ was like an eagle, seeing the looks on Braeburn’s face betraying his thoughts, and, like a predator, he was ready to get his kicks with some honest emotional predation. “Well damn there, you look like Celestia just smacked you looking all star-struck like that…” The Pegasus remarked slyly, watching this queer little out of depth Earth pony gawping in awe of him. Damn Soarin’ you’ve officially rocketed past lady killer, and shot straight to unstoppable flirt, nice. Making bedroom eyes at the poor little apple-assed cutie, Soarin’ asked “hey if you’re looking for the Wonderbolts, why don’t you take a minute and sit down for some lunch with me and you can tell me all about whatever it is you wanna bring up to Spits?”

Braeburn tilted his head quizzically, “Who the hay is Spits?”

“Ha right, you wouldn’t know her. Spits is a little nickname I gave the other co-captain, Spitfire. Trust me, she loves it.” Somehow, somewhere, Spitfire had some sixth-sense-esque feeling that Soarin’ was using her as a prop to be a cunt. Player, she meant player, sure.





Braeburn had begun to collect himself, as him and Soarin’ chatted about their upbringings. Brae had found that him and Soarin’ had grown up surprisingly similar. Both grew in houses that didn’t necessarily enjoy their sexual activities, but were all the same supportive. They had also found they shared a mutual respect for hard work, but they differed in how they handled being at the top of their respective trades. Soarin’ was a hell of a showboat, and it was adorable. As they talked he’d occasionally take a moment to try and slick his mane or but a hoof on Brae’s. Braeburn didn’t mind, he was hot as hell after all, but he also wasn’t the kind of pony to stay dumbfounded forever.

They had settled into a comfortable rhythm. Soarin’ would go on about how awesome he is, Brae would roll his eyes and one-up any feat Soarin’ brought to the table. After purposefully uncounted hours of conversation the two felt like they’d known the other for years, and both couldn’t deny they’d be more than happy to continue their banter indefinitely, but, finally, responsibility caught up to Braeburn.

“Say Soarin’, I came up to Cloudsdale to be delivering this here letter-” he pulled the enclosed envelope from the breast pocket of his vest- “to Spitfire. The mayor’d asked me to give it to ‘er in hopes to be having y’all come on down to Appleoosa and perform a show or thirty for us.” Braeburn was in full businesspony mode, as everything coming out of his muzzle was a charismatic as those Flim-Flam brothers that the two Stallions had seen making a scene in a park as they were first cantering cheerfully to the restaurant they’d been chatting at for the last blissful eternity. Soarin’ had misjudged just how passionate and convincing this catch had been, and he thought it was hotter than the Appleoosan sun. Oh Celestia, he was already picking up the country-isms from Brae. Suddenly, Soarin’ realized Braeburn had kept pitching while he was in lala land staring into those luminous emerald eyes of Brae’s.

“So whatcha think Soarin’? Both parties get something outta the deal, and we’d be able to see each other every couple of months!”

Now it was Soarin’s turn to start blushing and blubbering like a fool, all pretense of cool lost in a flash of warm in his heart. Soarin’ looked up at Braeburn gingerly, and breathed “Yeah Brae, I’d like that very much…”

Both Stallions locked eyes for a dozen tenuous moments, both afraid to make the first move.

“Hey Soarin’?” Brae pondered.

“Yeah Brae?”

“I think I may just have learned to believe in love at first headbutt…”

Soarin’ was quite for a moment, thinking to himself. Braeburn felt a few beads of sweat crawling down his neck.

“I think I do too.”

Both let out titanic sighs of relief and stood up. Brae did a few half-square dances while Soarin’ did some stretches with the mechanical precision of somepony with years of drilling to get themselves ready to start walking after sitting for so long. As they started walking towards the Wonderbolt’s Cloudsdale office the two found themselves subconsciously walking with their flanks swaying into each other’s every other step. After a few paces of lovely silence, Brae decided to pay back Soarin’ for their meeting, and wrapped his tail around the pegasus’, earning him an adorable yelp and deep crimson flush from him.

“Jerk!” Soarin’ whined.

“Ha, like you’d have me any other way, ya baby!” Braeburn retorted, nuzzling his not-quite-coltfriend, not-quite-friend. He felt like the piece he’d been missing had been set just before him, and he was determined to grab it.