Author's Note

Go follow Fiddlebottoms. What I am to shitfics, they are to weirdfics. They sovietized my story in the comments section, quite brilliantly given the simple substitution of phrases, which I'm reproducing here. Original Google Doc

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// Stakhanovitism’s in Bloom
// Story: Communism is Soviet power plus electrification of the whole country
// by Super Trampoline lol no actually not
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It's hot.

You wouldn't think Leningrad could get hot. But it's hot. One of the occasional heatwaves, the radio said.

The vodka isn't helping mind you. It's important though. Got to get in the spirit of things, as it were, being a young adult building Communism in the 20th century. It's just it adds to the sweating. No worries though; we packed more than enough water, and besides, we're almost to our destination, picked out by the comrade next to me.

"It took a bit of finding, but I really think you'll appreciate the spot I picked out." He's probably right. Flash is good at finding things.

Out past Leningrad Highway, it's quieter here. Just the distant roar of tractors, the chattering of insects, and the mild wind tickling the vegetation.

It's hot, but it's nice. Nice to walk, nice to talk, nice to listen to proletarian anthems, and nice to just be here. This is nice.

"Wanna hear an ultraleftist opinion?" I ask.

"Da," he says, leaning in to kiss my cheek.

"I actually liked Trotsky’s facial hair better than the Stalin’s."

"I mean, that's scientific. No one's going to call you a wrecker for that."

"I don't know, there are some fierce anti-revisionists. You haven't been to the party congresses I have. Which is strange, considering you've actually lived here your whole life."

"Yeah, well," he responds, "I've never been huge on political stuff. I guess I just prefer old school proletarian labor. Or, uh, you know, ponies-turned-into-proletarian labor."

I giggle. "So is that the tractor factory up there?"

"Yep, almost there." He squeezes my hand, and I'm reminded of how amazing something as simple as holding hands with your beloved can be.

I have a confession: I never really stopped running away. I tried to, believe me.

Before we left to build Soviet power, I went back to Equestria for a week. It was my third time. But it was my first seeing Celestia.

She missed me. I... guess I missed her. But it was awkward. What do you say to somebod...pony you once betrayed and tried to conquer? I certainly didn't know. She forgave me though, right off the bat. Like she always does, in that noble way of hers. Said she wanted me back. I told her I wasn't ready. She said I was certainly welcome anytime. I told her I would bear that in mind, and that was that. She's so forgiving, and it almost bothers me. I mean, you throw all this nastiness at her, all this shitty behavior, and she just shrugs it off in the name of reconciliation. It's... it's frusterating, in a petulent way. It makes you feel like a kulak. I guess my actions certainly bear that out though. Sooner than later, the proletariat in the imperialist countries will rise in revolt, and I'll be back at Clover University; a mere fifty miles from the mirror, only three hour's tractor ride away, taunting me to face my fears head on.

I'm not ready though. For now, I arrive at the tractor factory with my boyfriend. He sets his backpack against a bench, opening it to reveal the blanket he's brought along. Soon, it flutters down upon the ground, and we have a place to work. And so we work.

The heat seems to have scared off all the natives. We're the only ones here. The sole person we met on the way was an udarnik walking his 600 tons of coal back towards civilization. Praise his dedication to the Five Year Plan, in spite of the heat, he still wore the pants and jacket and Medal of Labor Valor that every tysyachniki seems to wear regardless of circumstance.

I wish I could be that resolute.

It's weird how I ended up back with Flash. I mean, maybe it isn't. Maybe I was meant to, and the first time was just a trial run that ended badly. Lots of things need a second chance. I mean, look at the Third International. It took the revolutionary left fifty years to realize that, "hey, all this international solidarity we made in the eighteen sixties pretty swell. Let's make some more!" So I guess for every Lenin, for every Stalin, there's also a Flash Sentry. It's just odd that a man I used so badly came back to me. He says I've changed though, and I try to believe him.

Under the watchful gaze of Comrade Stalin, his hand slips between blouse buttons and begins to fondle my breast. He's a right-deviationist, but I like it. I like his hands on my body. I like his body on my body. I guess I miss the social contact of ponies. Humans are so skittish about touch if they aren't your close friends or lovers. But then, ponies are skittish about everything else. I guess it evens out. I settle into his embrace and purr in satisfaction, eyes closed in the swirl of love and ecstasy. This is nice.

I want to go back to Equestria eventually. That's for sure. I do miss my homeland. And if I can give Flash a second chance, then certainly Celestia deserves one as well. But I'm not ready. Not yet. I haven't healed enough; I haven't gotten to the point where I can look back on the whole fiasco with neutrality. I still look back as a prisoner of want. At myself, for being a cunt. But also at her, for not doing more to stop it. And that's no good. So no, I'm not ready to try again. Not with her, and Equestria.

I open my eyes. Earth is my home right now. The tractor factory is brilliant and bright, a factory filled with so many tractors. Also him and Comrade Stalin. After sipping some more water, I only want to turn inward again, and I wisper some Hegel in his ear.

Stalin guides his hand as he slips my panties off, and soon we slip into dialectical bliss. I think back to Celestia's warning, so many years ago, about the harshness of the human world. Maybe she's right. In fact, I know she's right; humans can suck. But here in our little shock brigade in a tractor factory in the brilliant Russian summer, I manage to not mind. Right here, right now, I'm happy.

This Earth is a lot bigger than the one I came from. I don't think I've found a place to settle down. Not yet. I'm not even sure if I've found the person I want to settle down with; though certainly right this second I really hope I have. But I know that at the least, I've found a world I feel at home in. A world worth exploring. A world I want to explore.

So Celly can wait.

Fiddlebottom's Communist Russia Version