Laws of Motion

by mushroompone

4. The application of external forces changes the energy type of an object.

“I’m scared, Spits.”

“Aw, don’t be a baby,” I said, laughing. “C’mon. Let’s go again.”

“I-I don’t want to get hurt again,” Fleetfoot stammered. “Why don’t we just leave?”

“No, I wanna stay here ‘til we get this trick right!” I flared my tiny wings as wide as they could go, feathers trembling. I had oozed magic at that age—seven years old, absolutely nothing about me was efficient. “At least one more try!”

Fleetfoot shook her head. “I don’t think I can do it.”

“Yes you can!”

“I can’t!”

“You can!” I insisted. “You wanna be a Wonderbolt, doncha?”

Fleetfoot whimpered softly and peered over the edge of the cloud. She was always fast, but at that age she hadn’t yet mastered her trademark grace; she was clumsy, wading through the cloud rather than walking atop it, nearly tripping over the edge into the open air below. The wind rushed beneath us. The world awaited.

“Hey,” I said, wrapping my little wing around her barrel and squeezing. “This is what being a Wonderbolt is all about, right? Being brave?”

Fleetfoot sniffed. “I don’t feel very brave.”

I just hugged her tighter. “That’s okay. I’ll be brave enough for both of us.”

We looked together over the edge of the cloud. She wrapped her hoof around mine and slowly, carefully, spread her own little wings.

“On three?” I suggested.

She sucked in a deep breath. “One.”

“Two.”

“Three!”

And, together, we jumped.

We rushed towards the ground, tears leaking from the corners of our eyes as we squinted into the wind. We didn’t have goggles. We didn’t have uniforms. We only had each other. I don’t know how we communicated—maybe it was unspoken. Maybe I pulled her upward, yanked her into the loop by force. Maybe I shouted at her over the howling of the wind in our ears. All I know is that the ground fell away from us, and up we went.

My stomach dropped as we soared upwards. The acceleration ebbed away, and then we were weightless. The world was overhead, space beneath us. Everything stopped. I was warm.

That was the moment. And, in that moment, I felt every other moment—every future loop and dive, but also every fire I wouldn’t put out, every service I wouldn’t complete, every speech I wouldn’t give. All of my futures collapsed together into this one.

Then we fell again, speeding towards the ground with purpose. I remember feeling like there was a streaking flame in my wake—pure magic, I’m sure. We hit the ground, tumbled and rolled across the grass, and finally came to a stop in a tangled heap. We giggled in the way that little fillies do—unbridled, that is—and pulled ourselves apart. We were covered in grass stains and dirt and scrapes, but it didn’t matter.

Fleetfoot gasped and pointed at me. “Oh, my gosh—Spitfire!”

“Fleetfoot!” I gasped, too, and rushed towards her, pulling her wing up to reveal her flank.

Then, together: “Your cutie mark!”

---

“Now. Destiny entanglement is still a relatively new discovery,” Dr. Bloom said as she turned back to her white board. “So our discussion today is going to be highly theoretical. Just… hang in there, okay?”

Dr. Bloom began by sketching out a tree—at least, a tree as we tended to shorthoof them. It shared very few similarities with the foal’s broccoli-esque tree, and was instead a structure loosely composed of a bundle of lines fraying at both ends. Dr. Bloom noted the center as the trunk, the topmost lines as the branches, and the bottommost lines as the roots.

I looked over at Fleetfoot and mimed tying a noose around my neck. She rolled her eyes and suppressed a snicker.

“We’re all familiar with this by now, ain’t we?” Dr. Bloom asked. She glanced over her shoulder to see if the class was paying attention—she received a few nods and grunts in return. “Great! Now let’s imagine a second tree of destiny nearby. A parent, maybe, or a close friend.”

She scribbled another tree onto the board, this one even looser than the one before. Fleetfoot diligently copied down the drawing. I leaned back and watched Dr. Bloom work.

“As you can see, the roots and branches can sometimes tangle together,” Dr. Bloom explained, extending lines from both trees as little squiggles that reached out to latch onto each other. “The closer the trunks, the higher the likelihood that they’ll tangle together.”

Moondancer raised her hoof, but didn’t wait for the professor to call on her. “When you say ‘close’, do you mean, erm… physical closeness?”

Dr. Bloom whipped around and pointed to her student. “Ah-ha!” she shouted. She turned to jot down the word next to the trees: ‘physical’. “Now there’s a good question! What could we mean by ‘close’? Anypony?”

Fleetfoot tapped her pen on her lips, then raised her own hoof.

“Fleets?” Dr. Bloom called.

“Well, if the trunks represent core proficiencies, maybe there’s also a metaphorical component?” she suggested. “So… say one pony’s core proficiency is teaching, and another’s is learning. Maybe their trunks would be close?”

“Interesting!” Dr. Bloom added the phrase ‘core proficiency’ to her list. “Good!”

“Maybe it’s a little of both?” I suggested.

“Maybe!” Dr. Bloom wrote this, too—with an exclamation mark. “Likely, even! This is one of the big challenges we’re facing right now: how do we define this closeness? More importantly, how do we measure it? Can we predict it? Can we map out the whole, uh… the whole orchard, so to speak?”

She kept drawing trees as she spoke, little more than bundles of loose scribbles now—but they all touched. On and on. I pictured them linking together, running off the board and across the wall, down the hall, and all over the outside of the building. A tree for every pony here. A tree for every pony everywhere. A vast, interconnected web of could-bes and might-have-beens.

“We do, however, have an even bigger question:” Dr. Bloom capped her marker and set it down in the tray. “How far can we go?”

She locked eyes with me for a moment. I arched my brows. She arched hers back.

“We’ve already seen that especially tight-knit groups of ponies tended to shift all together—the Elements of Harmony are a particularly famous example, though our very own Wonderbolts did the same,” Dr. Bloom explained. “And, if this is true for small groups, it could also be true for much larger groups. Entire towns and cities. Countries. The whole world.”

Fleetfoot paused her note-taking to look up at the professor.

“If we could do that—if we could map the tree of destiny for our entire planet—then we stand a very strong chance of being able to change its course,” Dr. Bloom said. I could hear in her voice how hard she was trying to restrain her excitement. It was hard not to get emotional at the possibility, after all. She let it out in a breathy chuckle. “Of course, there are many, many scientific advancements between where we are today and being able to nudge the whole planet into a different timeline. But, theoretically, this is a strong possibility.”

I cleared my throat and pointed to the clock.

Dr. Bloom glanced at the time. “Oh, shoot. I’ve gone over again,” she muttered. “Let’s pick this up next time, alright? Oh! And Dr. Streak wanted me to remind you all about tomorrow’s quiz on magical entropy. Study up!”

A chorus of hushed voices and saddlebag zippers filled the room as Dr. Bloom’s students slipped their notebooks away and hurried to their next class. Dr. Bloom watched her students depart, waving to those who glanced her way.

I stood and stretched. “I’m headed to the lab,” I said. “They want another round of data in the wind tunnel. Apparently they’ve got some, uh… energy pack or something that’s supposed to eat up some of the radiation?”

Fleetfoot nodded. “Moony told me about that! She said she’s been working with your cousin on it.”

I clicked my tongue. “Y’know, I think he might actually be scared of me.”

“That’s not surprising,” Fleetfoot muttered playfully.

I punched her on the shoulder. “Shut up.”

Fleetfoot only snickered in response as she jammed her notebook back into her bag. Then she stood and turned, brandishing her newer-than-new cutie mark: a butterfly, its wings a dazzling collage of blue and white. I’m not sure what about it, exactly, made it look like it had only just emerged from its chrysalis, but it seemed fresh. New. Only just born again.

“You’ll want to belay that order, ma’am,” Dr. Bloom said.

I looked up. “Oh?” I asked. “Why’s that, Captain Bloom?”

“I, uh…” Her eyes flicked downwards, and a little bloom of embarrassment came over her face. “I’m going to counseling today. And I could really use your support.”

I did a double-take. “What?”

“Really?” Fleetfoot asked. “But I thought—really?”

“When you get down to it, I’ve been just as stubborn as Spitfire,” Dr. Bloom grumbled. “Just… in the opposite direction, I guess. I’ve kept my old mark because I thought it was useful. But… I dunno. I think it’s time to be a little selfish.”

I smirked. “I like that attitude, private.”

Dr. Bloom snorted. “I figured you would.”

“Good for you, Dr. Bloom,” Fleetfoot said. “I hope you find something you like. I gotta swing by the engine lab and help a few of the newbies get caught up on their physics—see you soon!”

Dr. Bloom tried to say something, but her voice came out strangled and wordless, so she merely waved to Fleetfoot as she left.

“You’re that nervous?” I observed.

“I-I’m a little nervous,” she lied.

I chuckled. “Anyone ever told you that you suck at lying?” I asked.

She blushed even harder. “Let’s just get moving, alright?”

---

Dr. Bloom was, apparently, performing destiny counseling on herself. She had neglected to tell me this—when she said ‘support’, she meant it in a very literal manner. She needed me to help her get suited up in the tentacle wires as well as interpret the read-out on the console. I was proficient in neither of these activities.

“No, no. To the right,” she instructed as I hovered a sticky pad over the shield emblazoned on her flank. “Your other right. More. More. Up a little. Too much! Back down.”

My hooves shook as I tried to follow her instructions. “Does it really matter?” I asked.

“Ugh, yes!”

“Then why didn’t you get one of the other counselors to do it?” I demanded.

Dr. Bloom was taken aback. “I don’t want them poking around in there!” she exclaimed. “There! Stop!”

I froze, then pressed the sticky pad down into Dr. Bloom’s fur with as much conviction as I could muster, which wasn’t very much.

“Eh…” Dr. Bloom peered back at her leg. “Well… I guess it’ll have to do.”

I rolled my eyes.

“Let’s boot ‘er up.” Dr. Bloom yanked the control panel out of the side of the console. “Just sit down in front, there, and tell me what you see.”

I watched as the console hummed to life, then produced that familiar little green dot at the center of the screen.

“We have liftoff,” I said.

“Good, good. Alright—we’ll start with this cutie mark,” she said. She tapped the tips of her hooves together, then began typing on the control panel, as she did, she narrated: “I got this mark when I was twelve and I helped a friend of mine understand her destiny. I got it at the same time as my two best friends, Sweetie—”

“Wait, wait. You’re entangled, too?” I scratched my head. “What are they doing?”

Dr. Bloom waved the question off. “I gotta focus!” She smacked a few more buttons on the control panel, and the first branch appeared on the screen. “Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo were both working as destiny counselors, too.”

“Were?”

Dr. Bloom rolled her eyes. “Well… after Operation Phoenix went live, they both went to counseling. They’re both still counselors, I guess, but less to do with finding, uh… space-oriented talents,” she said carefully. “Scootaloo helps disabled ponies transition to new talents, and Sweetie Belle helps artists get over blocks without changing talents.”

I actually remembered Scootaloo, not that Dr. Bloom mentioned it. That seemed like a nice change of pace for her.

“So… I’m guessing that’s why you suddenly wanted to go to counseling?” I pressed.

“Oh, yes, if you must know.” Dr. Bloom stuck her tongue out at me.

I stuck my tongue out at her. “You’ve got your first line up, by the way,” I told her.

“Right!” Dr. Bloom pulled back up to the control panel. “Okay. This might be a little tricky. I did lots of things back before I got my cutie mark. I guess there’s got to be a branch out there where I’m a farmer…”

She started tapping on the control panel again, this time only barely whispering direction to herself. As I watched, the screen slowly zoomed out and populated itself with new lines one by one. Each was a tiny flickering thread in the void.

“Potion-making, too…” Dr. Bloom murmured. “Plus construction… the election…”

More futures spring up and peeled away from the trunk. She built her tree out wider than I’d ever managed, and in a fraction of the time. I wondered what it must be like to be so aware of all your possibilities—I had been singularly-minded since I was a foal. How had she ever managed to settle on just one thing?

“Okay… okay…” Dr. Bloom was slowing down now. “I think we’ve almost got it!”

I squinted at the screen. “Almost? You’ve got about four dozen destinies on here! I can barely see them!”

Dr. Bloom chuckled and shook her head. “Just hold onto your hat, there.”

She pressed one final button. The console’s fans spun up. After a moment, the screen blinked away, then sprang back to life with easily twice as many branches on it. Possibly more. I think my jaw dropped—I wouldn’t have even known where to start. Dr. Bloom’s current position had all but vanished into the sea of intersecting green lines. There were some places where they were so tightly bundled that there didn’t appear to be a way to separate them.

“Whoa…” I murmured.

Dr. Bloom smiled proudly. “I told ya: I basically pioneered this field,” she said.

“So… now what?” I asked. “I mean, how do you choose?”

Dr. Bloom sighed. “Well, we’ve got to narrow the playing field a bit,” she said. “I know I want to keep helping ponies, but I think that might be my core proficiency. I guess I should specify that I’d like to focus on destiny science.”

She punched this into her control panel. Many of the branches dimmed—an effect that was nearly inscrutable—leaving only a hoofful highlighted in that ultra-bright green.

“You’re down to, uh…” I carefully counted the remaining branches. “Six, I think? It’s hard to tell.”

Dr. Bloom tapped her chin with one hoof.

I scooted my chair to the side, away from the console. “Look. I know you like all the tech and stuff, but why don’t we do this the old fashioned way?”

“What’s the old fashioned way?”

“Talking,” I said. “Ugh. You really are from a different generation.”

Dr. Bloom shot me a look, but I decided to ignore it.

“What is it that you want?” I asked.

She looked down at her hooves.

“You’re not just changing for the sake of it, are you?”

“Of course not!” Dr. Bloom raised a hoof to her face. “Well… I mean, I don’t think I am.”

“What made you want to change?” I asked. “There must have been something.”

She looked down at her hooves again, this time for far longer. I waited patiently. I didn’t try to fill the silence. Eventually, she spoke: “I’ve helped so many ponies find happiness when they were feeling stuck,” she said softly. “And, when all this happened, I think I felt… guilty for wanting to change. I had one of the most useful talents out there. But now… well, everyone’s leaving soon. And it’s not like I won’t still be able to do this!”

I chuckled. “I know.”

“Sorry,” she said quickly. “I just—I feel like I gotta defend myself or somethin’.”

I sighed. “Listen. I happen to know a bit about your family,” I said. “They’re a bit, uh… duty-bound?”

Dr. Bloom scoffed. “That’s putting it mild.”

“I know you’re a doctor and everything, but you’re still just a kid,” I told her. “Thirty-two? I had barely even started my life when I was thirty-two. I wasn’t coaching until I was thirty, and I didn’t like it for a few years after that.”

Dr. Bloom gave me a sheepish look. “Really?”

I nodded. “You should want a change,” I said. “I think it’s healthy. Especially given the… well, the everything.”

“Hm.” Dr. Bloom chuckled. “You sure have changed a lot these last few years.”

I smiled. “I think I’ve matured quite well, now that you mention it,” I agreed. “And I’m sixty. You shouldn’t feel guilty for wanting something new, Dr. Bloom.”

“You really gotta stop calling me that,” she said.

“No way. You earned that,” I said. “Now, what in the wide, wide world of Equestria do you want?”

Dr. Bloom looked back down at the floor. “Um…”

I furrowed my brows. “You know what you want. I know you do,” I said. “Say it! What do you want?”

“I, uh…”

“Bloom…” I threatened.

“Well, I just think that—”

“Bloom!”

Dr. Bloom sucked in a deep breath. “I want to work with you!” she blurted out.

I was struck silent for a moment. Of all the things in the world she could do, all the frontiers she could be exploring out there… She could live to see another habitable planet. She could be one of the first to set hoof on a new homeworld. And she would choose this?

I blinked. “You… do?”

She nodded silently, biting down hard on her lower lip. “Is that weird?”

I scoffed. “A little!” I exclaimed. “You’ve been all… all starry-eyed about the space stuff since I met you!”

“I know, I know, I just… the way you talk about it—it’s so…” She trailed off, and paused to take another steadying breath. “I’ve dedicated so much of my life to helping ponies, but so much of that has been uncertain. I don’t always know what’s best for ponies. I don’t always know if I’m doing the right thing. Honestly, I feel like I almost never know!”

I didn’t say anything. I just watched as Dr. Bloom pulled on one of her long braids.

“I’ve helped so many ponies through this destiny counseling thing, and I pushed so many towards doing the ‘right’ thing: helping get those spaceships off the ground. And don’t get me wrong—I think I did some good! But…” She trailed off again and yanked on her braid. “I just think I need to do something that I’m sure is right. And this? Staying behind to fix things? I’m sure that’s right. I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

I hadn’t even opened my mouth before it started. The console’s screen blinked—all of the branches popped out of existence, leaving Dr. Bloom’s little green dot floating in that endless void once again. The green light seemed to leap out of the console and travel down the wire tentacles to Dr. Bloom, where it quickly surrounded her in a halo. I leapt backwards out of the chair and backed up against the opposite wall.

The light intensified until it was pure white, bright enough that I had to shield my eyes. Even with them closed, I could feel the light pulsing and hear it shimmering. After a long moment, the light began to fade, and I peeked out from behind my hooves.

Dr. Bloom was standing, now—just in front of the examination table. She spun in a quick circle and looked back at her uncovered cutie mark: a seed, with a tiny seedling push out of the top and two healthy green leaves spread across her flank like wings.

Like so many others’ new marks, it felt almost obvious now. Apple Bloom had been born to help ponies blossom—now she would help the world itself do the same.

---

It was a beautiful day when the ships left.

We had to wait for it. That was still new to us—waiting around for the conditions to be just right, rather than molding them to our liking. I think the Princess would have approved a little weather manipulation, to be honest, but I also think that a lot of creatures were looking for reasons not to leave. I couldn’t fault them for that.

That morning, with clear skies and the orange flare of the sun on the horizon, they made the call: it was time to go.

The campus was a mess. Last-minute items were packed haphazardly into boxes: plates and cups wrapped in newspaper, clothes were half-heartedly half-folded, remaining nibbles and sips of things in fridges were consumed or washed down the sink. Everyone in the dorms had loaded their stuff into carts, and there were traffic jams in and out of every building. Groups of friends were taking tearful final pictures together. Sun streamed through windows and into empty rooms.

Fleetfoot and I helped as much as we could. In a lot of ways, more hooves just made the situation worse—but at least the rest of the squad could leave some things to us.

“Don’t forget to feed my fish,” Soarin reminded me sternly. “I want a photo every day. Every. Day.”

“Why did you even get a fish, Soarin?” I asked. “You knew you couldn’t take him with you. That was the one rule: no aquatic pets.”

Soarin peered into his little friend’s tank, a hoof resting on the glass. “He just looked so lonely at the store…”

I sighed. “Yes. Fine. I’ll feed the fish,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Come on, dude, you still need to get all the crap off your walls.”

I shooed him away from the tank with some difficulty.

“The pothos needs water once every week or so,” High Winds instructed a distracted Fleetfoot. “And the cactus needs water once a week in the summer, but absolutely nothing in the winter. Don’t touch it. At all.”

“Uh-huh…” Fleetfoot muttered. Her gaze was focused out the window.

“Are you even listening to me?” High Winds scolded. “These are gifts, Fleets. Say ‘thank you’, at least!”

“Yeah, yeah—thanks. Is that Hayseed Turnip Truck tinkering with the tertiary thruster out there?” Fleetfoot asked, scowling.

High Winds was at her side in an instant. “Oh, for the love of—what is he doing?!”

And she was off like a shot.

I arched a brow. “Should we be worried about that?”

Fleetfoot shrugged. “For all I know, he’s got an aerospace degree now,” she said. “I mostly just wanted Winds to stop talking to me about the plants.”

I chuckled.

Something hit a hot pan in the kitchen, and the sudden hiss of sizzling food filled the apartment. The sound and the smell lit up a disparate corner of my mind—fried green tomatoes over risotto. I felt the brief need to rush into the kitchen and supervise, but managed to restrain myself and merely poked my head around the corner.

Blaze flipped one of the tomato slices over. The sizzling was renewed as a yet-untouched surface hit the hot oil.

“Looking good, Blaze,” I said.

“You sound surprised.”

I shook my head. “Nope. Not a bit. Just wondering if you’ve made enough to share.”

Blaze smiled. “Yes, chef.”

“Hm. Even better, then.”

“Thank you, chef,” Blaze replied, mostly teasing.

“Last meal?” I asked.

“Ugh. Don’t say it like that,” Blaze commented, sticking out her tongue. “I just… well, I don’t exactly know what grocery shopping looks like in space. I might have to go back to MREs for a bit while the agricultural team gets the gardens up and running.”

“You really think you can do that?” I asked.

Blaze sighed. “No. I need fresh ingredients, Spits!”

I clapped her on the shoulder. “Ah, you’ll have ‘em before you know it.”

“I sure hope so…” Blaze muttered. Then she flicked off the stovetop and deposited the last few tomato slices onto a platter. “Soup’s on, everyone!”

The last meal was filled with reminders. What to do, what not to do. What to babysit. What to share. Who was staying, who was leaving—somehow, even that still wasn’t entirely clear. There was gossip. Old stories were retold. A ceremonial group chat was formed: The Wonderbolts’ Sixteenth Squadron, separated one last time. At least once a week, we promised. And for anything big, of course. And pictures. And video calls. We could play trivia together, like we used to after a big show. We could watch movies some nights. It wouldn’t be that bad at all.

And then, before we knew it, the last calls to board were ringing out across campus. Across the entire globe.

It’s a strange feeling: crying when you know everyone else alive is crying, too. It doesn’t make it any easier. It also doesn’t make it less embarrassing. We hugged each other. We hugged each other’s families. I hugged complete strangers, just because they were there and looked like they needed it. I think everyone did.

Fleetfoot and I watched as the ship’s doors closed. It was going to be an hour or more before takeoff—everything and everyone had to be strapped down. We both knew that wasn’t possible, really, and we had a tearful laugh when we realized everyone’s first day in space would just be cleaning up the jumbled mess left behind from the turbulence.

“Where should we go to watch it?” Fleetfoot asked.

I thought for a moment. “I know just the place. But… you’ll need your wings to get there.”

Fleetfoot furrowed her brows.

“C’mon, Fleets,” I teased. “How many creatures did they think were staying behind? Less than one percent? We’re in the clear.”

Fleetfoot chewed the inside of her cheek.

“Just say yes,” I said.

She sighed and rolled her eyes. “Fine. Yes.”

I helped her take off her wing-belting vest. It wasn’t as if it never came off, but Fleetfoot still needed to stretch her wings and give them a small experimental flap. They seemed stiff, but not altogether unusable.

“Ready?” I asked.

Fleetfoot nickered. “Yeah. Let’s do it.”

I took hold of her hoof and we were off. She was shaky, yes, but got the hang of it again quickly. We flew up above the campus and circled the area until we found the perfect viewing platform: a fluffy, white cloud. It had been years since either of us set hoof on a cloud, and we both sunk a half-step upon our first landing. We laughed together and, with some difficulty, managed to get seated.

It was beautiful, in a word. The air was different up here. The world was tiny. Problems felt easier to solve: like you could just reach down and shuffle things around until everything worked right again. And, for the first time, it felt like that might actually be possible.

“I missed this,” Fleetfoot said.

“Me too,” I agreed.

Fleetfoot let out a satisfied sigh. “Did you hear they added a new law of motion?”

I growled. “Not this again.”

“Ah, c’mon, Captain. I promise you’ll like this one!” Fleetfoot said, giving me a gentle nudge. “It goes like this: the application of force changes the energy of an object.”

“Uh-huh," I grumbled. "And what’s the metaphor?”

“The metaphor is… I’m proud of you,” Fleetfoot said. “You’ve been through a lot. I think I probably could have been more, uh… supportive than I was. But your energy has changed. I can see it. I just wanted you to know.”

“Ugh.” I turned my face away from hers to hide my grin. “What are you gonna do next? Tell me my horoscope?”

Fleetfoot didn’t say anything—she only gave me an affectionate pat on my shoulder.

We waited quite a while, but it felt like no time at all. Then came the roar of the engines. The heat. The light. And, just like that, the entire world was soaring past us. Fleetfoot and I exchanged a look. Then, without a word, we linked hooves and took off after it.

We followed as closely as we could bear. We followed it to the very edge of the atmosphere, where the chill of space froze the tips of our feathers and burned the insides of our lungs. Then, when we could follow no longer, the acceleration ebbed away, and we were weightless. The world overhead, and space below.

Then, together, we fell back towards the ground.

Apple Bloom was waiting. She’d picked a bench near the edge of campus, and was shielding her gaze with one hoof to watch the skies. When she spotted us, she waved. She wiped her eyes free of tears. We landed in front of her, and she hugged us, too. It was probably more hugs than I’d had in years, packed into one afternoon.

“I guess that’s that,” Apple Bloom said, her voice still a little weak from the crying. “What now?”

I sniffed. “Well. The countdown’s started,” I replied. “Time to get to work on bringing them back.”

Comments

[daOtterGuy]

For I adored this. It was so poetic in the end and I love love love that you ended this on such a hopeful message. I also love the resolution of spitfire joy just jumping the bandwagon but actually deciding to take responsibility and help clean the mess they made. This was just banger start to finish. Thanks for the read 😃

[Cross Lament]

Now I have to wonder if in some future all the cutie marks are in a sort of superposition state and ponies just observe themselves a new talent anytime they need one...

[GaPJaxie]

This was a masterpiece. I feel privileged to have read it.

A reminder that I need to comment on your many other stories which I have enjoyed. Thank you.

[Mousse]

Spoilers Ahead!!

Contrary to what other readers might think, I enjoyed the mild shipping in this story, and I think it really serves its part well. The contrast between what could have happened vs what actually happened is prevalent in both Spitfire's and Fleetfoot's relationship as well as the ponies' and their planet's relationship. They fucked it up but now they have the chance to restore it. At the end they decide to stay and fix their relationship and their planet :-)

I know my review is a little 'college board reply' but I really enjoyed the fic!!! And I'm always the biggest fucking sucker for love that never was but might be one day.......

[Fatail]

Let me put it this way... if this was a movie, I would buy myself a Blu-ray copy and rewatch the heck out of it.

Hell, I'd even buy a Blu-ray player!

[Raugos]

Oh, that was a good read!

Spitfire was a bit of an ass at the start, but that's understandable, considering the circumstances. I'm glad that her reason for staying was changed to one of taking responsibility for her home rather than her starting point of grim, fatalistic defiance.

Consider me thoroughly entertained and intimidated!